He's surly, but at his core he's an affable guy, and when he drinks, this side of him is revealed.

When his partner, Loyd Emmerson, is found eviscerated in a London alley, he is emotionally shattered. The seventh victim of the "Beckenham Bludgeoner", Emmerson was Murray's closest and most trusted friend in the world. The blow from hearing this shocking news was incisive.
After a descent into heavy drinking that spanned several days, Murray has an epiphany...

Our protagonist vows to the late Mr. Emmerson's wife, Annie, that he will do everything in his power to find the ghastly murderer and put an end to his malicious spree. He's resolved more than ever to provide justice to the citizens of his beloved city.

Murray sets out on his endeavor, questioning every degenerate in the city under severe duress, indifferent to the laws and regulations of the force. He's as ornery, and pugnacious as ever, stopping at nothing to find the deviant that has the people of his homeland in crippling fear. He pays homage to his partner at every stop, leaving behind rosary beads at each den of debauchery the trail leads him to.

His new partner, Lawrence Cunningham is crooked, and before long finds himself the unwitting primary suspect of the investigation. Lawrence comes from a prominent English family; a coddled, but eminent officer that received several accolades due to nepotism alone. His handsome, squared visage, charisma, and smug demeanor have earned him the nickname "Dorian Grey" and the affections of many impudent strumpets. Aware that public opinion is in the favor of the alleged killer, Murray knows he must tread carefully. Murray follows his every move, keeping tabs on all of his associates and shifty acquaintances. Finally, he receives word that the undesirable has made a purchase of stolen art goods in the Bedford Park district, the site of the last known whereabouts of the Bludgeoner.

His cunning detective work appears to have finally paid off, he boards his carriage and heads in the direction of the brute. Upon arrival, he finds the street desolate, not a soul in sight. Realizing immediately he's walked into trap, he pulls out his single shooter and pivots in place, scanning the flickering lamp lit streets for his enemies.

None other than Dennis Webley, a well-loved attorney with 18 years of prosecutorial work under his belt, steps out from the shadows of an arched foot bridge... The standoff is tense, the opposer is armed with a musket and a knife gleams from his utility belt. Murray eyes his opponent, evaluating his weaknesses, and grimaces, hatefully.

Without a word spoken formerly from either party, Murray heaves his chest and bellows, "Goodevening Mr. Webley, it seems we're about to engage in a quarrel bound for history textbooks, but before we begin, let me ask you one question..." His eyes ablaze, he remains fixed in a defensive position, arms splayed at his side, gun prepped. "Yes, Murray?" Webley replies, without deigning to speak in his direction, head cocked towards the row of colonials to his right, arrogantly dismissive of his threat. "Did you really think you could get away with it?"

Murray goes on to share several revelations he had in the days prior to this current exchange. How he, while tracking Cunningham, had (entirely on whim) perused dining reservations at a well-known gangster's resort and found Webley on the VIP roster. How he'd gone on to discover during his interrogations of petty criminals, that Webley had accepted several bribes, farthings relative to his wage, but significant to a law enforcer nonetheless. And finally, Murray had uncovered a most damning trail of evidence, witness testimony that placed the prosecutor at each of the crime scenes, within hours of the estimated time of death of each victim.

Webley was aghast by the end of Murray's diatribe, his full attention on the accuser. And with nary the slightest warning, Murray shot and killed the clearly guilty man, sight unseen. A trial would be too fair to award a bastard the likes of Webley.

Lawrence's name has been cleared, but Murray presents evidence to the local media of several scandals he unraveled during his investigation into the now infamous "Beckenham Bludgeoner".

In the end, our hero is seen sitting by his lonesome in the parlor of his humble manor, a single tear running down his cheek and a mixture of elation and sorrow in his emerald eyes.

He's not the hero we deserve, but the hero we need.

edited added few pieces of info necessary for story continuity and corrected syntactical errors