Murder in Whitechapel (The Judas Reflections) (24 page)

e left him, screaming obscenities, his bloodshot eyes glowing with evil intent. It was vital we took ourselves away, as far as possible, toward the lodgings to rest. Somewhere for me to nurse my wounded ego.

“I will see you in hell, Judas Iscariot!” I heard him shout. Not to lower myself to his level, I ignored the tirade and walked firmly away,
his
bag of tricks firmly tucked under my arm. While in the throes of his furious diatribe he failed to see I had unobtrusively taken it.

My overcoat was covered in coal soot and dried blood, I feared bringing attention to myself as we made our way back but the weather was a perfect cover. The few people walking in the late night did not look my way. Like us, they were distracted by the task of finding their way through fog thicker than pea soup.

“I cannot believe you found me, and what were you thinking? Walking the streets alone, anything could have happened,” said I.

“I couldn’t leave you alone, Manny, but I wish I’d done more to help. We needed to kill him stone dead. Now he’s free to carry on with his crimes.”

There was little I could say. Miserable and forlorn as I was, I had reached my limits. I valued my immortality far greater than losing it in such a circumstance. Roderick did not understand Ratibor’s superhuman strength-his size deceptive.

“Thank you so much for finding me, my good friend,” I replied. “I fear the hunt is over. He is making his way to Paris, in order to continue to satisfy his lust for killing.”

“Let’s hope that he doesn’t get on a boat to America. Can you imagine?”

Yes, I could imagine the carnage he would cause. I may have acquired his bag, damning evidence that needed to be disposed of quickly, but, Ratibor still had the meat cleaver. I prayed he did not use on a random victim in revenge for being disturbed.

We reached the boarding house without hindrance, gratefully turning the key and closing the door quietly on the world outside. Roderick, being a hardy Irishman, had no problem to sleep in the chair. Surprisingly, it was not long before I fell into an exhaustive sleep, only to wake a few hours later at dawn by my conscience, serving as a reminder. I had failed to put an end to Ratibor and even though my wounds healed quickly, thoughts did not. What if he was to ignore my threat, angering me further? If his story of leaving the country was sheer fabrication, there would more victims in Whitechapel. How could I be sure he was really done? Questions continued along with frustration. My hands were tied tight. If I were to go to Scotland Yard, I would be a laughing stock. Ratibor was
one
person I refused to lie about, but Chief Inspector Swanson would never believe he was dealing with an immortal, no matter how hard I tried to convince him

The morning light brought me little reprieve. I awoke with a sense of disappointment, but also acceptance. There was nothing I could have done to change what happened.

It was imperative I turned to the practicalities of my situation instead of brooding. I had to purchase a new overcoat and discard the blood stained one where it would not be discovered; the second time in as many days! Roderick and I also needed to discuss what to do with the bag of dangerous evidence.

I was hungry and weary, but, there were important matters to attend to. I needed to leave Whitechapel forthwith and return home, to my life. What else was there to do? Remain where I was in hope the killings stopped with Mary? That would be futile and unproductive. It was imperative I took a carriage to Belgravia before the morning was done, before I had time to reconsider and change my mind. Roderick decided to take the bag, leaving me with one thing on my mind. Home. I just wanted to go
home.

The journey felt long and tedious as I pondered on how accustomed to life in the east-end I had become. The sights and particulars smells, not all agreeable of course, disappeared the moment I reached Belgravia. People were well dressed, houses clean, and the pavements swept daily. For the first time, I really noticed the only sign of sign of poverty in such an opulent area. The street hawkers who, every day, traveled to the nether world in the hope of a penny sale or two.

“Master Ortiz, it’s wonderful to have you home.” Edward had heard the carriage and come out to retrieve the luggage with a huge grin.

I had dropped Roderick home with the reassurance there would be no more late night forays, and a promise I was returning home with no diversions.

I walked up the steps, relieved to be back safe and sound. Cook would surely rustle up something delicious to feed my unstoppable obsession with her delights and I would tend to my somber mood with a well deserved nap. Edward commented on my new overcoat and jacket I bought in a shop on the Whitechapel Road. I purchased both in haste and found an ideal spot to dispose of the old ones with Roderick’s help. If someone had the misfortune to find them and suspected a terrible crime, we made sure nothing was left in the pockets that could incriminate me. Although gone the shortest time, it felt longer and the situation of a police visit in my absence was not mentioned. Edward knew his place and I had no desire to reveal any information. It would be swept neatly under the carpet, Victorian style.

I devoured a late lunch of Cook’s wonderful game pie with rhubarb and custard for dessert. Food never tasted so good!

Retiring to my bedchamber soon after, the discomfort of what happened slowly lessened.

Being immortal had advantages. I could tell myself there was always a chance Ratibor may cross my path again in the far distant future and
not
be as lucky. After a few hours sleep, I awoke with renewed vigor. It was time to catch up with the post and one telegram caught my attention. It was from Marianne, expressing her good wishes on my trip to York and she hoped I would contact her at my earliest convenience upon my return. The circumstances of what was happening with Mary’s remains stayed uppermost on my mind, I had no information on when the funeral was to take place or where she was to be buried. I hoped she would not be alone when laid to rest, that someone she knew, apart from the grave diggers, would be there to bid her farewell.

My first evening at home was not particularly memorable. After recent events it was to be quiet and mundane. Alone and rested, I sat by the fire and read, penned two letters and partook of a small port.
Normality had returned!

The next morning Roderick arrived on the door, flushed and concerned.

“I have just come from the lodgings in Whitechapel. I had to go back to be sure we had not left anything, but I was too late. The landlady was most distressed when, upon cleaning the room, she discovered a torn, blood stained shirt tucked away under the bed. She was considering calling for a constable. I arrived in time to allay her fears, which I did by giving her a pathetic tale of heavy and uncontrollable nose bleeds. But, I could not for the life of me find a reason for the cuts in the fabric. I hope the five shillings I gave for her distress caused her to have amnesia and I
have
rushed here, Manny. I got as far away from there as possible and have disposed of the evidence.”

What I had not done was explain to him, in full, my evening spent with Mary, her gruesome murder, the fight and final moments with Ratibor before he arrived. We spoke very little to each other afterward. I was in no mood to talk and he respected that. Now I was ready to tell all. He remained attentive, quiet, and at times as I told my story, shocked.

“I am so glad you are home all in one piece - he could have finished you off. I don’t understand why he spared you. He looked to be a master with the cleaver,” said Roderick.

“I, myself, am at a loss to know why. We have to consider his drive to murder is primarily triggered by women. Perhaps that was the reason he didn’t take off my head or yours with a swift of hand and the sharpest axe!”

The hand of fate dictated I was still here and I slowly came to the realization that while I lay unconscious, there had been ample opportunity for Ratibor to permanently dismember me. My immortality brought to an end in a dirty coal shed. Was it a higher force, sent to save what was left of my soul in the form of my closest friend?

“Roderick, I respect your need to return to Virginia for the peace and quiet. But I would like it if you stayed until spring when the weather has improved. We also need to secure a good manager for your role.”

“Come with me, Manny… Belgravia is not your home.”

“Now is not a good moment to consider returning. Soon enough, my good man, soon enough.”

Roderick harbored a wish from the moment he arrived in England. All he wanted to do was return to America with me in tow. The suffocating Victorian morals did little to soothe his relaxed Irish ways that fitted so well in the new world. The fact women did not have to hide their ankles so as not to evoke wild passion in men irked him greatly, as did the rigid table manners and the formality of tea drinking. His impatience with people around him led to many bones of contention, causing undue stress to both of us. I, on the other hand, found it easier to settle wherever I landed. Once my reasons for being in London were no longer valid, I, too, would return posthaste to America. In the meantime, I could not relent on my obligation to the business and to my home. I started to think about the people who took care of me every day and wondered what would happen to them if I left. I was morally obligated to find alternative employment for each and every one. Edward would be snapped up quickly and Marianne, soon to be married, would desire a cook and housemaid.

If not, I would keep them on a small allowance, enough to get by until suitable employment was found. Having now seen a workhouse, I could not envisage
any
of them being there.

“I was thinking,” said I to Roderick, “that a change of career would be interesting. I do so enjoy reading and studying the world of antiquities and ancient artifacts. If I were to gain knowledge in these subjects to a high standard, opportunities may arise in certain places, museums and such like. I could use my finances to fund the research needed.”

“What then of your search for the coins? Will you to continue?”

“I have no choice but to carry on searching. In the meantime, I will live out my immortality the best that I can.”

The coins.
To forget how imperative it was to retrieve them and lose sight of my goal would be disastrous. Now, I needed to consider my quest to be a more serious matter with no distractions!

Roderick and I never really discussed the deeper, more perplexing issues in life. Come to think of it, I never desired to with anyone. Could it be that I was undergoing a change through my experience?

“Do you think we immortals have souls? That when we die we will go to heaven, regardless of our reasons for being afflicted?” asked I.

“I would like to think so, but where
exactly
we go after this remains a mystery to me. There is one thing for sure, Manny, you’ve shown your soul to be good one. Mary would be looking down on you right now saying exactly the same as I, you did your best.”

A compliment? Something rarely given by a man who never wore his heart on his sleeve, and quite frankly, neither did I. There was to be no time for hesitation concerning a sense of normality. First on my list was to voluntarily go to Scotland Yard and give a witness statement for the purpose of avoiding another visit. Secondly, I was determined to try and make peace with Albert. Lastly I had something very personal to do in Whitechapel.

Another telegram arrived from Marianne, asking if I had returned. In spite of her recent engagement, I missed her company, and wondered if she was prepared to cast propriety aside and call on me alone.

I had no intention of damaging her new reputation as a woman soon to be married. As a proper gentleman, I replied requesting the company of them both, for dinner, secretly hoping Marianne would come alone.

Life had resumed to normal, my household delighted and happy with my return. Edward had a spring in his step and cook fussed over forthcoming meals with a smile. I was blessed to have such a beautiful home and to be residing in London; a welcoming city where, I lived amongst trusting mortals for over three quarters of a century.

The newspapers were full of information concerning Mary’s murder, speculation mostly on it being Jack or a drunken sailor, while Scotland Yard was closed mouthed and gave little away. It became a farce when local Whitechapel man, John Pizer, was arrested because he made leather shoes. Detectives tied this to the leather man theory penned by a local newspaper. The poor man had been put through the mill, but had a strong alibi that subsequently allowed him to be released without charge. Now as I read the latest reportage, I took it with a grain of salt. The police had little to go on, apart from imagination, and fared no better when they sent detectives to numerous butchers and slaughterhouses on the advisement of Queen Victoria, who suggested the killer was most likely someone in the profession.

My visit to Scotland Yard was largely uneventful. Detective Dawson, newly assigned to the case, lost no time in telling me he knew well of me. I had become quite famous in the Yard - the strange gentlemen with a foreign name who claimed to be a private detective and a fearless hunter of fiends and murderers.