Whitechapel (32 page)

“Mr Lees,” said Abberline, “you are a noted medium and spiritual advisor to the Royal family, what is your business with us, sir?”

“Well, Inspector, I have been troubled by visions regarding this case over the last fortnight and each time the images are nearly always the same. My visions in the past have been of use to many walks of life.” Abberline and Godley looked at each other before Godley interjected.

“Mr Lees, it is not usual practice for the police to solve crimes on a spiritual basis, so you must excuse deep questioning and any hint of cynicism. What exactly have you seen, sir?”

Lees closed his eyes and cupped his hands together in a prayer like fashion over his nose and mouth, gently rubbing them over the bridge of his nose, and sat silently for a few moments. Again the detectives looked at each other this time somewhat incredulously.

“I see a woman late at night in a dark and unlit part of the East End. She is drunk and unaware of her surroundings, unaware of being watched by a brooding figure. The figure is only one man but he has two humours. Charming and polite, but then a crazed savage capable of unspeakable acts, but never outwardly showing this side to anyone but the dead. He speaks in a foreign tongue but by demeanour and appearance he could fit in anywhere.” The room fell quiet for a few moments. Abberline spoke.

“Mr Lees, trying to put a cold police interpretation on what you have said, are you telling me that this man by day would not stand out and could be anyone from any background, but by night could be spotted by the savagery of his behaviour?”

“No, Inspector, not at all. This man appears to be of good class, not a common worker, and until he strikes you would never spot him in crowd.”

“And what about the foreign tongue?”

“That, Inspector is one of the vagaries; all I know is that he is not a native of this land.” Godley sat silent and pensive about this, drawing attention to himself as a result.

“What you thinking, George?”

“Fred, the nearest physical interpretation I can put on what Mr Lees has said is that fellow Richard Mansfield, the American actor playing ‘Jekyll and Hyde’ at the Lyceum.”

“That is a very good interpretation of my vision, Sergeant.”

“Mr Lees, can you tell us more about the victims, so we could know who to protect?”

“Inspector, not easily, not until quite late very often.”

“Mr Lees, that would not be terribly helpful if it’s too late. Did you know anything of the last victims?”

“Victims? No, this man certainly killed at least one of those women, you see. He was in a dark alley entering a square with religious significance when he saw his victim. He attacked with extreme violence a woman in her mid forties with an apron who had already been in police custody.” He paused before finishing his description of his visions. “And he mutilated her. Didn’t he?” Abberline and Godley sat silent looking at each other. They were yet to attend the post mortem for Cathy Eddowes and knew nothing of the mutilations in full. Godley spoke first.

“What mutilations did she suffer then?”

“Hideous injuries to her abdomen, but you’d guessed that, but she has ritualistic cuts to her face. They are either in the shape of the compass or the set square, however you choose look at them.”

“What? You’re trying to say they’re Masonic symbols are you?” Abberline scowled dropping his head in an obvious cynical demeanour.

“No, I say nothing, Inspector.”

“Some would say you are now making the mutterings of a fool or a lunatic, sir.”

“Really, Inspector? Then answer me this, had she had her ‘ears clipped off just for jolly’?” They all sat silently as Lees calmly finished his tea. The detectives had been stunned by this last statement and had not yet seen the body.

“How did you know that, Mr Lees?” asked Godley. Lees stood up.

“Gentlemen, please do not underestimate what I can do to help. Contact me when you have seen the body.” He breezed out of the office, passing Kerby at the front counter and left in his waiting cab.

Abberline and Godley sat stunned for a couple of minutes before speaking, simply looking around the photographs, letters and statements in the office. They had begun to receive a lot of what could be immediately considered to be hoax mail.

“Fred, he knew about the letter.”

“I know, George that bothers me. He knows so much. How the fuck, does he know so much?”

“He’s got the Queen’s ear. Maybe he does truly have a gift. I don’t think the quip about fools or lunatics was wise.”

“I know. Sorry, that was the whisky and that bastard Sir Charles talking having spited me at the weekend. Let’s get down to the City’s mortuary at Golden Lane and have a look. If it’s true what he says then this fucker really is taking the piss out of us. Torn aprons, chalked on walls and letters.”

“Fred, what’s with the Masonic thing you mentioned?”

“Right, the chalking had the word ‘Juwes’. That is not a misspelling that is this bastard trying to lay a second scent, a suspicion confirmed to me by this talk of the symbolic mutilations. He mentioned compasses and set squares, the principle images of freemasonry. The Juwes were three individuals who murdered Hiram Abiff in the Temple of Soloman and their names were Jubelo, Jubela and Jubelum hence the term ‘Juwes’ and they are the basis for Masonic ritual. We need to get down the mortuary and see if he’s right.”

They grabbed their top coats and hats and left the office having written a note on the chalk board as to where they were for anyone looking. As they left Godley made one final observation, “And the thing about the site of religious significance, that really got me.”

“Mitre Square?”

“You got it, Fred. How the hell did he know that?”

***

‘Christ!’ thought Tumblety. He couldn’t find the blood stained shirt he had left in his room at Batty Street and he still hadn’t collected his bag from Gowers Walk. Mrs Long wasn’t in so he’d have to try to trace the shirt later but he had to get that bag, he couldn’t afford to let anyone else find it with his trophies. He’d decided to spend a few days dressing down like a local man to avoid attention which would also make it easy for him to rummage around the area when he eventually got to Gowers Walk to find his belongings. Only a few days on from the murders and the streets had returned to normal with street urchins playing in the gutter and on the pavements, men selling their wares and bustling traffic along the Commercial Road. As he neared Gowers Walk there was an organ grinder with his monkey making his way up into Central London. The beast aboard the organ being pushed by a tired looking grinder stared down with a heavy scowl at Tumblety. It gave the eerie appearance of a presiding magistrate delivering a stiff sentence. He walked south along Gowers Walk having turned in from the main road to find the street fairly deserted with just a few children running up and down along the cobbles. He could see the small alcove among the buildings as he progressed and as luck would have it there was no one close to it. He got to its mouth a turned to look down and spot the bag to find a pack of three street dogs around it sniffing intently with one frantically pawing at it and beginning to have some luck at getting it open driven by the scent of flesh inside.

“Get away from that, you bastards!” Tumblety shouted forgetting that he would immediately draw attention. The dogs persisted; looking around he found a broken broom handle. He grabbed it and began hitting the wretched animals to drive them away. The two smaller collie types ran off with tails between their legs yelping with the shock of the blows but he main dog attacking the bag was a dirty black and white German shepherd cross-bred dog who turned to retaliate at it’s attacker. Tumblety tried to strike out with the stick but the dog caught it in its mouth pulling it out of his hand and becoming more enraged by his success and the persistent attack. Tumblety was forced to back off and as he did so he wrapped his coat around his left arm to use to defend himself if necessary. The dog slowly edged towards him with its head down looking up at him through the tops of his eyes and bearing its teeth making a low and menacing snarling sound. Knowing dogs well he knew this animal had little fear of him and in being so quiet no doubt possessed a high level of aggression and tenacity.

He desperately looked about him for something else he could use for defence let alone attack to retrieve his property but could see nothing of use. He continued backing off feeling that the mission to collect his bag was lost when he tumbled over a set of dustbins behind him and fell knocking them everywhere and releasing a deluge of rats running from them; all equally as stunned as him. The rats distracted the dog who sensed fresh game to be had and immediately chased off the largest of them catching it within a few bounds and beginning to crunch down on it very satisfied as the rat made a couple of futile squeals before dying. Tumblety lunged across the road for his bag which he successfully retrieved and ran off south away from some onlookers who had begun taking an interest in the commotion he had created. He ran through and alley way into the bottom end of Leman Street not seeing that the pavement at this point had a very restricted width. He lurched straight into the main carriageway to face an oncoming omnibus and receive a glancing blow to his left arm and shoulder as he desperately tried to avoid a collision. Tumblety was knocked back onto the narrow pavement; the bus driver unaware of what had happened and fell to floor clutching his arm having dropped the bag in the impact. He knew something was broken. Standing up, he grabbed the bag while in exceptional pain clutching his left arm with the right also now holding his precious luggage and made off north in Leman Street managing to then catch a bus back along Commercial Road getting off near Batty Street.

Walking back to number 22 close to collapse with the pain he could see Mrs Long on the door. ‘Christ! The shirt,’ was the thought that sprung into his mind. He approached her and she was immediately surprised by his mode of dress, a far cry from his normal military finery.

“’ere, what’s with the working blokes get up then, you?”

“Mrs Long, you know how I said I wanted to reflect life here, it’s just all part of it you see.” He was sweating profusely with pain.

“What’s wrong with your fuckin’ arm then, en all?”

“Mrs Long, I have just had an accident, the victim of a careless omnibus driver. Please let me get to my room to rest.”

“What’s with that blood stained shirt in your room the night after the double murder then, mister?” Tumblety had a pause before replying.

“Mrs Long, you know that I am doctor by trade and occasionally I still practice. I was out that night when a man was attacked with a broken bottle in The Ten Bells pub. I stripped down to my shirt to administer some first aid and do some makeshift surgery to stem the blood flow. I saved the man’s life, so please don’t treat me as a murder suspect for Gods sake.” She eyed him up suspiciously. He could tell she wasn’t totally convinced but it seemed to placate her for now.

She let him pass and then he staggered grimacing with pain up to his room where he dropped the bag and collapsed onto the bed and very quickly passed out, breathing heavily with the physical exertion of the mornings events.

***

Robert Ford went into the Commercial Street Tavern that lunchtime and spoke to the barman to pass on his only piece of intelligence so far.

“He’ll probably know, but Lusk lost a lot a face with Abberline for a second time the other night, some of the men are raising disquiet. He’s all wind and no rain they say. But I’ll tell you this; there is absolutely no Irish influence so far.”

“Right ho, ‘eres some wedge for you, keep your ear to the ground Littlechild says.” Robert was compelled to mention one more thing.

“One other thing, I went to the Barnum show last night, loads of cowboys and Indians, Abberline had an American military button he found at a scene, don’t know if it’s worth looking at.”

“I’ll pass it on, lad. Take care now.”

Robert walked out into the fresher feeling air of Commercial Street and looked south to where he used to see young Ralph selling his papers. He sadly reminisced at what a short time ago it was he and Del strolled the beat happily before this evil struck the area, when they readily won the trust of many of the local community. He now walked as a man apart from the societies he knew. He was segregated from his work friends by suspension and potential disgrace for having left his partner to indulge a personal vendetta, and in many respects he felt apart from the local community as he had to view almost all with suspicion. He made his way towards his lodgings to take the aging Bruiser out for a walk and to wait until dark to meet up with members of the Vigilance Committee at The Blind Beggar pub.

Mary Kelly, on the other hand, was at Millers Court lifting the floor boards to check that her stolen jewellery was still there safe and sound, her and Robert’s future together. She pondered Tumblety for some minutes. Was it co-incidental that all of those killed except for Martha had been good acquaintances of hers? Was he stalking her in the shadows about to strike at any moment getting closer and closer with each victim? She knew he had behavioural problems but could it run to murder? Had she known about the exact missing body parts of her friends she would have put the two issues together and told Robert immediately. She decided to take the jewels and hide them at Robert’s lodging where she believed they would be safe until they left once the killer had been brought to justice.

She left Millers Court with a bag and passed a brooding looking man in Dorset Street who viewed her with obvious lust. A foreboding looking fellow only, she guessed, in his early twenties he sported a grand moustache and was reasonably smartly dressed but obviously a local working man. She walked on as Severin Klosowski eyed her up and down. Would she be one who plied the streets later? He hoped so, she would make a change to the wizened older women he had had to recently settle for. She may even be the noted ‘Fair Emma.’