Whitechapel (10 page)

“Good to see you, Frederick, and you Sergeant Godley, come on in and take a seat gentleman.” He ushered them towards the two conventional oak office chairs positioned in front of his desk.

“As you know the Commissioner has been under pressure to show an interest and fairness to the lower classes since the riots of the last two years at the Lord Mayor’s show, Clerkenwell and Trafalgar Square. These vicious murders have begun to stir unrest in the East End already with the local people believing that the government and police don’t care about them. There are mutterings of vigilante committees being formed. This has as yet not happened as far as we know but we must nip it in the bud before it does. Frederick, you are popular man there and the locals will believe that something is being done to catch this maniac if you return there.”

“Believe, Superintendent?” Abberline asked quizzically.

“Yes, they’ll see that something is being done.”

“Something will be done if I am to be left to run the investigation with George as I wish to, there is no case of ‘believe’ if you are putting me back to where I almost drunk myself to an early grave. My job will be to catch this man as quickly as possible and I expect no political hampering in doing so,” there was obvious anger in is voice and his direct response. He disliked the term believe and emphasised it in his response because he did not wish to be a political pawn, but an effective policeman looked to with trust and respect by the public. It was something which he had always commanded from the people of Whitechapel and Spitalfields in the years when he worked there. Godley remained diplomatically silent as Arnold responded.

“Absolutely, Fred, this will be your case and you will run it as you wish on the street in order to reassure the local people and to catch this man. I shall oversee it only, but I will need regular updates on progress. Come to me directly for resources. Chief Inspector Donald Swanson will be a nominal figure above you just to comply with the usual command structure of these things. I have already informed the local stations to lend you all possible assistance and they have set aside an incident room at Commercial Street Police Station if you want. You are to liaise directly with Inspector Spratling and Sergeant Kerby.”

Godley and Abberline exchanged a knowingly dissatisfied glance hearing the names of the two local officers they were deal with, uniform officers who had made no secret of their dislike of detectives in the past.

“All right then, Superintendent, what do you want me to do first from your perspective before I begin my investigation?” enquired Abberline.

“Your choice, Fred, but I do know that Spratling will be waiting for you either at the scene or at the mortuary right now.”

Abberline looked at Godley. “Right then, George, off we go back to the sunny old East End. Thank you, sir.”

They exited Arnold’s office leaving an uneasy atmosphere. Abberline had not liked the brief intimation of a political posting and had quite obviously made no secret of the fact. He wanted to be doing his job, unhampered for the best results.

“Careful, Fred,” said Godley, “You don’t want this to end up being a lasting career move due to you old foible; belligerence.” They walked out of The Yard and hailed a cab to head off for Bucks Row and the murder scene of Mary Nichols. It was now 10.a.m.

***

The morning boat from Boulogne arrived in Dover around the same time that the detectives left The Yard. As it had been entering the breakwater Severin Klosowski had gone on deck and taken a deep breath of the English coastal air. So fresh in its taste it brought about within him the feel for new opportunities within a new country. He had plans to find himself lodgings in the East End of London and find his feet in medicine or if necessary barbering within the Polish community where he could blend in unnoticed. He could see they were nearing the quay side and he was keen to be one the first off so that he could get a good seat on the train to London.

There was a slight bump which unsettled some people on their feet as the boat met its moorings. Klosowski remained steady on his feet and with his air of confidence strode onto the gangplank as soon as it was lowered despite shouts of ‘Wait!’ from some of the dockside workers and sailors. His command of verbal and written English was good and he ignored their derision and spotted the signs for the station. Having passed through the immigration control he walked with excitement through the streets of Dover taking in the new sights and sounds of England and noting how different in many subtle ways to France and the rest of mainland Europe it was. He observed with great interest the look of English women, their style, their varying types of deportment and, as they passed closely by, their scents. He drew long lingering breaths through his nose so he could fully appreciate the wonderful perfumed scent of the high class women emanating from their soaps, the powders and the perfumes they carefully prepared themselves with.

There was a vastly different odour from the lower class women he passed, most of them trying to disguise poor or non-existent levels of personal hygiene with shockingly fragranced cheap perfumes. Both had their individual merits as far as he was concerned dependent on his mood.

He bought his third class ticket to London and waited on the platform. He could see further along an Arabic looking young girl of about twenty, slim, tidily dressed in clothes which gave her away as having come from France too. He found her alluringly attractive as he had done Monique from the Bois, but had no murderous intentions, purely sexual. The train pulled in to their platform, empty having come from the sidings leaving plenty of space for all. He followed her into the carriage she chose and sat opposite her in a set of four seats, her flowing Victorian bustle encompassing the seats onto which she sat whilst he dominated his seats with his case and overcoat and dark homburg hat to try to discourage anyone else from joining them.

The train set off with the customary jolt but at least with everyone settled in their seats. He could not take his eyes off of this tanned skin beauty as she looked restlessly out of the window trying to avoid his stare. He would either have to wait until the train emptied or follow her off of the train if she was also headed to London. He could feel himself beginning to shake with excitement at the thought of probably being the first man to take her and his palms began to sweat with the anticipation of being able to take part in some debauched sexual act. He noted that she was quite heavily made up and that her Victorian blouse collar seemed to come up very high to under her chin. He did note that as the journey went on that she began more and more to acknowledge his stare and on one occasion stared back at him with the hint of a smile.

Passing out of Ashford continuing to the capital she got up and headed for the carriage door. As she reached it she looked back at him and gestured very subtly with her head for him to follow her. He could not believe that she was willing to partake in sex with him so willingly so he followed eagerly feeling his excitement growing. She found a toilet cubicle in one of the second class carriages and opened the door beckoning him in. He happily followed and found her standing in front of the sink looking at him and licking her lips as she watched him enter. He considered that she might be a prostitute from France looking for new employment in London. He had not intention of paying for anything.

He lifted her onto the enamelled sink and she sighed with excitement as he did so. She was fumbling with the belt and buttons of his trousers to free him as he had his hands around her waist. He ripped open her blouse to reveal wonderfully rounded pert breasts that indicated her level of excitement. He plunged his face into them kissing and sucking on the flesh with lustrous intensity, and at the same time he begin searching within the folds of her bustle to reach her womanhood. Eventually he moved up from her now saliva coated chest to kissing and biting her neck. She began to pant with excitement as he did and pulled hard on him with her right hand whilst her left hand felt for his rectum to give him a quick but massive climax and avoid full intercourse.

Suddenly he discovered two things which caused great horror and for him to immediately pull away from what he thought had been a woman. As he had kissed her neck he became aware of the fact she had an Adams apple and also felt his hand brush an erect penis. She was a hermaphrodite. She too had a look of horror from his discovery as she would normally keep this tucked to one side to avoid detection and looked with fear into the dark eyes of Klosowski wondering what he would do next. He pulled up and buttoned up his trousers and turned away as if he was about to leave. She felt relief as it looked as if he was going to walk away. But before she could react he turned swiftly having taken a surgeons knife from his coat and slashed out at her face gashing it across her cheeks and nose and sweeping twice, once in each direction to maximise the damage. She screamed out in agony and shook as he attacked her, cursing at her “You will never fool another man again as they will never give you a second glance now!” He wiped the blade of the knife with a ragged handkerchief from his pocket and put it back in his coat and opened the cubicle door.

She tried a vengeful lunge with her hands at his face but she was not quick enough, he caught her hands and threw her back onto the sink. He looked cautiously around and saw no one. He pulled her out into the corridor and punched her twice in the face inflicting more damage to her nose and causing her to sob heavily. She began shouting “Au secours!” repeatedly but not for long and to no avail. Klosowski wrenched open one of the carriage doors to the outside world, “Non, NON!” she screamed as he threw her from the train, observing her body tumble over and over as it ended up lifelessly in a field.

Klosowski washed his hands and returned casually to his carriage seat.

***

Abberline and Godley arrived at Bucks Row the murder site of Mary Nichols to be met by a crowd and some uniform constables clearing up the blood from the scene with buckets and stiff brushes on the cobbles. Abberline spotted a paper boy with a dirty looking old collie dog to one side from the rest of the crowd who was watching the actions of the constables intently. The crowd was made up of a few grubby looking working men, a large bunch of what appeared to local prostitutes, assorted children of all ages with a group of constables and a sergeant keeping them all to one side. About half a dozen of the filthy street kids were larking about as if nothing had happened as all the adults talked amongst themselves in hushed voices. Abberline immediately approached the paper boy.

“What’s your name, son?” he said as he began stroking the apparently friendly dog’s head

“Ralph. You’re Inspector Abberline, ain’t ya?”

“You know your stuff, young fellow, who told you that them? Him?” he said pointing to the dog and smiling.

“No, I don’t think so, mister, ‘e’s clever but ‘e’s a dog. It was ‘im over there,” he said pointing to one of the constables doing the washing down.

Abberline flicked him a penny and said “Well, you keep your ear to the ground and your eyes open and let me know what you see or hear, all right?” Ralph took the money eagerly and replied “Certainly, Mr Abberline, you leave it to me.”

Abberline and Godley approached the two constables who were doing the scrubbing. They were both aware of the two detectives heading towards them and they kept their heads down and carried on brushing. One said to the other

“That’s bleedin’ Abberline, isn’t it, Rob?”

“Yeah, it is, but don’t know the bloke that he’s with, Del.”

“Oh, that’s George Godley used to work around here, don’t you remember?”

“Suits all look the same to me, Del Boy, don’t remember him meself.”

“So, what the bloody hell do you two think you’re doing then?” said Abberline.

“Inspector Spratling’s orders, sir. Clear it away now that the body’s gone.”

“You know what all that is, son?” asked Godley.

“No, sir, I don’t,” answered Robert Ford.

“Evidence, Constable, and its Sergeant Godley.”

“And you’re Inspector Abberline,” piped up Del.

“Got it in one, lad, where is Inspector Spratling?”

“He’s down at the mortuary at Old Montague Street Workhouse Infirmary with the body and Dr Llewellyn, sir.”

“Well, George, it’s off to there then.” As Abberline continued to speak the sergeant from the crowd walked over to them. “Now you, lads, when you’ve finished get yourselves back to The Street and start tidying up the incident room for me please.”

“I don’t think so, they’re my blokes and I say what they can or can’t do. They are going back on patrol,” said the bearded sergeant.

“Do you know who I am, sergeant?”

“I expect you are Mr Abberline,” he replied arrogantly looking the detectives up and down, “And I am Sergeant Kerby.” Abberline stepped up to be face to face with Kerby.

“Well, Sergeant Kerby, if you know who I am then you may well know that you are to lend us all courtesy and help in the swift resolution of these murders. So you, Sergeant, will go with them and clear up that incident room. I expect to find it ready for us first thing on Monday. Now, all your lads, are they the early shift?”

“We are, guv’nor,” said a somewhat disgruntled Kerby.

“Well, once you’ve got it tidied up and ready for us and an eventual squad of detectives you’re off. Don’t want to hear that the C.I.D never gives you something.” Kerby took Rob and Del off to The Street and Abberline and Godley made for the mortuary and the expected showdown that Abberline knew he would have with one of his old working uniform rivals, John Spratling.

They arrived at the Old Montague Street Workhouse Infirmary Mortuary to find Dr Rees Llewellyn, a forty-nine year old General Practitioner and one of the district’s Divisional Surgeons, examining the now naked body of Mary Nichols with forty-eight year old stern faced Police Inspector Spratling looking on. Llewellyn was dictating his findings to a constable who was making notes in his pocket book. Abberline and Godley listening as the doctor catalogued her injuries.