The Last Confession of Sherlock Holmes (11 page)

I paused in my narrative to contemplate the facts so far. None of the victims showed any sign of a struggle; although considering their occupation and that they were most likely to have been ambushed, this is hardly of surprise. It is also a safe assumption that Holmes would have made note of every detail that he believed to be of importance; the curious items found upon the bodies were therefore worthy of his attention, although I could not deduce any reason for being so.

“Could we have the latter stage of that particular night, please, Watson,” said Holmes, who seemed so vacant in his tone that I began to wonder whether it was the details themselves that he wished for, or rather a distraction from the irritation of Inspector Abberline.

“The murder of Miss Eddowes took place under the noses of no less than four serving or ex-policemen. Later that night at five minutes to three, Constable Alfred Long discovered a piece of a woman's apron stained with blood upon the staircase entrance to numbers 108-119, Wentworth Mouldings, Goulston Street. The apron later proved to be that of Miss Eddowes, and written upon the wall above in white chalk were the words:

‘The Juwes are

The men That

          Will not

Be blamed

    For nothing.'

“On the premise of preventing an anti-Semitic riot, these words were removed at the order of Sir Charles Warren, then Chief Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police. The evidence of the apron was left as a mocking token that not only had the Ripper claimed two victims in a single night, but he had also escaped the City boundary back into Whitechapel, undetected. The cryptic message upon the wall was believed to be deliberately misleading.”

“And now, gentlemen, we should have ample time to hear what was previously the final and most grotesque chapter in this most heinous of tales,” said Holmes.

“Friday the ninth of November, the body of Mary Jane Kelly was discovered in her lodgings at 3 Millers-Court. She was discovered by her landlord's shop assistant, at a-quarter-to-eleven in the morning. She was five feet and seven inches tall: she had a fair complexion, blonde hair and blue eyes. To those who are concerned by such matters, she was thought of as desirable. She was twenty-five years of age. There was no evidence of a struggle. Miss Kelly was found lying naked upon her bed. Her face had been butchered beyond recognition. Due to the extent of the lacerations, it was impossible to ascertain from which angle the throat had been cut. Her arms had been mutilated: her breasts removed. Beneath the head was the uterus, the kidneys and one breast, the other lay by her right foot. Situated between her feet was her liver. The intestines were placed upon the right side of her body: the spleen alongside the left. Upon the bedside table lay flaps removed from the abdomen and the thighs. A fire had been lit before the murder, and Kelly's clothes had been burnt to provide the Ripper with sufficient light.”

“Thank you, Watson,” said Holmes, turning his attention back inside the carriage. “Now gentlemen, to briefly summarise all that we have heard - there is nothing remarkable about any of these crimes.”

“Holmes!” I shouted in unison with the two Inspectors.

“Let me rephrase,” said he, ever dramatic, and seemingly rather pleased with our indignant response. “Other than the brutal nature in which these crimes were performed, they are by all accounts pointless slaughters with what would appear to be little motive; but it is the motive which we must focus upon. The victims have all been women of the night, but to mutilate them in such a fashion would suggest the Ripper is not primarily motivated by any perverted sense of moral cleansing; he is no demonic philanthropist. If this were so, then quantity would be key, not savage mutilation. The increasing ferocity of the crimes, accompanied with the evidence of his grotesque appetite not being satisfied upon the night of the double murder, is sufficient to support such a theory. I also do not believe these to be motivated in any way by any form of cult ritual. The only hypothesis we can follow is that he is motivated by terror and quenching his own perverse pleasure.”

“Savage!” spat Lestrade.

“It would be unwise to harbour such prejudices, Lestrade,” Holmes replied. “Difficult though it is, we must try to remain emotionally unengaged in all cases. The atrocities Jack the Ripper has committed are adequate to blind any man with contemptuous rage, but we must keep him from pulling the blood-soaked wool over our eyes, and look only at the facts.”

“And which facts do you consider noteworthy, Mr Holmes?” said Abberline.

“They are thus: he strikes always between twelve and six in the morning and always upon a weekend; his victims are always women, and more specifically, nightwalkers. He always uses a knife, with great skill and increasingly terrible violence. Each murder has left only the slightest trace of evidence, and is never sufficient to guide us down the correct path. His actions and continuing freedom suggest that he is a ruthless man with a meticulous logic and an education of the highest order.”

“Not unlike yourself then, Mr Holmes,” Abberline sneered.

“In some respects, no,” he replied. “We must remain careful, gentlemen, be mindful of these facts, but do not let them prejudice your judgment when we arrive. If we begin to theorise before we have the facts, we shall be forever chasing shadows through the underworld. I suggest we attempt to move our minds away from this ghastly business until we have the misfortune to examine the next victim of Jack the Ripper.”

As we reached our destination, I was struck by the location; although not a main-street, the murder had taken place on what was seemingly a busy road. Leading from this were side-streets and the darkest of alleyways, yet the murder was almost semi-public; the Ripper was moving out of the shadows. We were met at our carriage by a tall and powerful looking constable, and instantly one was struck by a commendable sense of purpose. I had heard Holmes mention Constable Warrington from time-to-time, and though they had yet to be formally introduced, he had gained a high reputation with both Holmes and the force. Despite his youth, the constable's strong personality accompanied by the occasional demonstration of reckless bravery had gained him a respect which far outstripped his rank. There was no man more befitting such a daunting task, but even this most valiant of fellows bore the visible disturbance of one who has only recently laid his eyes for the first time upon a victim of Jack the Ripper.

“Constable Warrington, I presume?” said Sherlock Holmes as we vacated the carriage.

“Mr Holmes, it is indeed an honour sir,” said Warrington, wringing Holmes's hand.

“Constable,” interrupted Abberline, striding menacingly up to Warrington and standing so close to him that he could surely see his pupils dilate, “let me make it clear to you right now; you do not give me orders. You do not tell me how to conduct my investigations; and, no-matter what childish admiration you have for Mr Holmes, you do not decide whether I consult him. Unless, that is, you wish me to send you heroically on your own after a suspect in a rather unforgiving part of the city? Have I made myself clear?”

“I apologise, Inspector Abberline,” replied Warrington. “It is the first time I have seen a victim of Jack the Ripper… I was not myself.”

We left Constable Warrington to continue his patrol of the area; the thought of a peacefully sleeping public was of slight comfort, but it would not be long before the brief interlude of docility would inevitably turn to widespread panic. Warrington's efficiency at least spared us any untoward local attention, but the distinct lack of human presence served only to create a more daunting atmosphere.

Some of our more fanciful newspapers may write of Britain and her glorious empire, but this is far from the complete picture; deep within the heart of this greatest of civilisations lies pockets of cancerous tumours. For every grand country home there is an urban slum: families living in basements, with filth and squalor as their homely companions. For these poor souls, the miracle of birth and the tragedy of death take place in the same room. Too often are the bright eyes of innocence opened, only to stare into the lifeless pits of a recently deceased loved one. The streets echo with the groaning of decay, and the nostrils burn at the stench of diseased and decomposing flesh. To a man of conscience, such suffering is a torture to behold: the glorious empire and her rotting children is a notion which is inconceivably immoral. I am not sure which disgusts me more, the existence of such conditions, or the wealthier elements of society who find themselves wandering into such areas, simply to leer at the residents as though they were some form of hellish circus.

Fortunately, tonight we would be spared the presence of those who saw the streets of Whitechapel as a walking tour of Bedlam. Other than the sounds of our boots upon the pavement, the streets were silent and empty: the rows of identical, inadequate houses were all blacked out, as if the presence of the Ripper had swept through, extinguishing all life within.

As we approached our destination, I glanced up to see the cold stone-grey of the church dominating my vision; the soft menacing glow of industrial furnaces caused the night sky to burn with a subdued yet furious anger. Though we approached a house of God, I was overcome with an intense feeling of foreboding: it was if the comfort of the Deity had been banished, and only the empty chill of evil remained. The grounds were surrounded by a stone wall, and though designed for privacy, they now served to contain the malevolent presence inside. We reached a breach in the form of an arch and a small wooden gate, where Dr Phillips was awaiting our arrival.

“Mr Holmes,” he said, as we approached. “I must say that I am pleased to see you again, having read of your demise. But I was rather hoping to never lay eyes upon you again under professional circumstances.”

Despite Holmes's rather brisk reaction to Dr Phillips testimony, he was a much-liked and respected police surgeon. He was a charming man, and distinctly old-fashioned in both appearance and attire.

“Ah, Dr Phillips, I am inclined to agree with your sentiment. Within the confines of our profession, you are the last person I wish to see,” said Holmes.”

“And for good reason sir. If you gentlemen would please follow me, I shall escort you to the poor woman.”

A short loose-stoned path brought us before an alcove two yards in depth, a large wooden door at its end. Protruding from the left-hand side of the stone archway, which had been barely visible from the roadside, were two legs. Though I was braced for the horror which waited, I still recoiled at the sight. Slumped in the doorway was the body of a naked mutilated woman. Her skin was torn and ripped, her torso defiled, and her eyes removed. Though I had often noted Holmes's mechanical nature, I have never been more agitated by his complete lack of compassion.

“Could you please provide us with your report Dr Phillips?” he said.

“Certainly; I shall give you a complete summary of the facts, and I think you will notice a few peculiarities.”

“I have already observed several, but pray proceed, and then we may compare our findings.”

“The victim has been dead for about two hours, placing the time of death around half-past two this morning. The woman is believed to have been in her mid-to-late-thirties. Her hair was removed prior to the murder. The throat has been slit from left to right. It is a relatively deep cut but sufficient only to kill the victim; it is not as deep as in previous instances. The face has been meticulously cut, but it has not been mutilated as we have seen before. The eyes have been expertly removed: a thin surgical blade was used for this part of the operation, and has been performed with professional execution. The victim has not been disembowelled, but the arms, legs and torso have been subjected to mutilation. The blade was inserted by about half-an-inch and dragged up the body, creating relatively deep, jagged columns. Upon the right hand only, all the fingers and the thumb have once again been expertly removed.”

“Is that all?” asked Holmes.

“Yes sir, although it is also notable that the victim had some very faint markings upon her wrists and ankles. Whether that is relevant or just an unfortunate result of her profession, I cannot say.”

“Well, that should be easy enough to deduce,” said Holmes, bending down to minutely examine the victim. “She has not been moved? She was found slumped in this seated position, in this very alcove?”

“Yes sir, no one has moved the body.”

“Lestrade do you have a pencil upon your person? And Dr Phillips, could I procure a swab?”

Gently using the offered pencil, Holmes lifted the lips of the victim in order to examine both her teeth and gums. He then took a sample of moisture from the woman's lips. Satisfied with the results, he handed the swab back to Dr Phillips before examining every inch of the alcove and the church door. As Holmes walked off to examine the shingle path and surrounding area, I examined the body myself, but could note no omission on behalf of Holmes or Dr Phillips, and simply stared into those empty sockets in disbelief that such horror had returned once more.

“Any theories, Holmes?” I enquired as he returned to the church entrance once more.

“Six so far, but none which are conclusive. The path has been completely distorted by numerous prints, and so effectively obscures our murderer's print. This is undoubtedly one reason he chose the location. There are clear markings upon the street, which suggest a carriage drew up, stopped, and then departed. Such evidence suggests that the victim was chosen; brought to the location, and then subjected to these heinous crimes, to ensure that we would be certain of the man we are dealing with. I have sent Constable Warrington to fetch the man who discovered the body. Unfortunately, in a moment of ill-advised compassion, they allowed him to leave until called upon; we must hope he does not know of anyone in the area who can provide him with any form of medicinal comfort, or we shall be most inconvenienced.”