Naming Jack the Ripper: The Biggest Forensic Breakthrough Since 1888 (6 page)

The murder of Martha Tabram typified the difficulties that the police at the time faced. Evidence was often built on vague eye-witness statements that could not be confidently corroborated and
as a result the police had no further reliable information to go on. Whether the two unidentified soldiers were involved is doubtful, as the murder happened more than two hours after Pearly Poll
saw Martha go into George’s Yard with one of them. And you have to remember that Pearly Poll, like Martha, had had a great deal to drink that night, which may have compromised her ability to
identify them.

The murder of Emma Smith, four months previously,
had obviously stuck in the minds of the local people and the press, and the fact that these two murders were committed
within very close proximity, on bank holiday weekends, that they were of the same class and lived in the same disreputable neighbourhood, struck a chord. I am certain that these two murders were
not committed by the same person (or persons), but the similarities started the furore that would eventually engulf the East End. Martha’s murder, in particular, appeared to be random and
savagely brutal and in some ways matched the killings of the later Ripper victims.

Although there was no skilful mutilation as there was in the next five, I believe there were enough common factors for this to have been his first attempt, a ‘try-out’, probably very
hurried as he was testing out how much time he would have to carry out his mission and then escape. Like the others, the death occurred at a secluded spot, in the small hours of the morning, and
the victim was an impoverished prostitute. It is probable that among the many wounds inflicted on Martha, at least one was to her genitals. We know today that while serial killers often develop a
‘signature’ or style of killing as their headcount increases, they do not always display that signature from the word go. So Martha Tabram’s murder is definitely more likely to
have been one of his than Emma Smith’s and, although many experts will disagree, I will stick my neck out and declare that in my opinion she was the first Jack the Ripper victim.

But even if he was not involved, there is a possibility that the publicity surrounding the deaths (and the press coverage was bordering on frenzied) triggered in him a desire to emulate these
savage attacks, and launched his grisly career. In the years since I became fascinated by the case, I have acquired various items dating back to 1888, and among these I have the
original newspapers covering Martha’s death. The
East London Advertiser
reported, ‘The virulent savagery of the murder is beyond comprehension.’

Yet in the next five murders, which are definitely accepted as Jack the Ripper’s (they are known to experts on the case as ‘the canonical five’, meaning that they belong
together and are the work of one person), this ‘virulent savagery’ would be a common factor, and the press and the public would find their comprehension stretched even further.

CHAPTER THREE

A NAMELESS MIDNIGHT TERROR

The Deaths of Mary Ann Nichols and Annie Chapman

A
t 3.40 a.m. on the morning of 31 August 1888, Charles Cross walked along Buck’s Row, a quiet, dark street behind Whitechapel Underground
Station, bordering the Jewish Cemetery. Cross was on his way to work at Pickfords in Broad Street, close to Liverpool Street Station, where he was employed as a carman, transporting goods on the
back of a hand-pushed cart. The first glimmers of dawn were lighting up the sky, but Buck’s Row, poorly illuminated like many East End streets, was still shrouded in darkness, cut off from
the encroaching light by the tall walls of warehouses and terraced dwellings.

As he approached the gates of Brown’s Stable Yard, Cross saw what looked like a large piece of tarpaulin on the ground. As he got nearer he realized that it was the body of a woman lying
on her back on the pavement. While he was standing near the body, he saw another man walking down Buck’s Row, Robert Paul, who was himself on his way to work at Corbett’s
Court in Spitalfields and was also a carman. Cross touched Paul on the shoulder as he passed him and asked him to look at what he had found. They both approached the body and saw that
the woman’s clothes were in disarray and her skirts were pushed up to her middle. Touching her hands they realized that they were not entirely cold, and Paul thought she moved slightly and
may be breathing ‘but it is very little if she is’.

Not knowing whether she was dead or alive, and worried they were going to be late for work, they made sure her skirts were pulled back down to preserve her modesty and made their way west in the
direction of Baker’s Row with the intention of alerting the first policeman they found. Charles Cross and Robert Paul walked out of Buck’s Row and into the history books, for they had
unwittingly discovered the body of Mary Ann Nichols, commonly known as ‘Polly’, who is widely regarded today as the first victim of Jack the Ripper.

She was born Mary Ann Walker in Fetter Lane, near Fleet Street, in the City of London, in 1845. In 1864 she married a printer, William Nichols, at St Bride’s Church. Together they had five
children, but the marriage was troubled and in 1880 Mary Ann and William separated for the final time: they had lived apart on five or six previous occasions. He claimed it was due to her drinking,
but Mary Ann’s father said that William had an affair with the young midwife who attended Mary Ann through the birth of her last child.