Whitechapel (35 page)

“But why, mate? WHY!”

“Because a local boy had been murdered and thought I had a lead. I messed up. But I tell you this, if I find who did it, I’ll kill them.”

“That won’t bring him back.” Bert stared in him in the eye for a few seconds and walked away. Robert watched him return to a table with his family where Lusk was chatting with them; as he sat down Mrs Lake got up and came over to him. He prepared for the worst.

“Robert, he loved you, you know, like a brother. I know you didn’t mean to leave him, I‘ve known you too long for that from meeting you and from what Del used to tell us. I believe you would only do it for good reason, but promise this, you’ll get the man who did this to the gallows.”

“Yes, Mrs Lake I will, I promise you and him that.”

Late afternoon Robert and Mary left the wake following on from most of the others from the police community. Abberline had already gone but most of the bearer party were still getting drunk and all of Del’s family were still there still engaged in conversation with Lusk. Walking into the Romford Road they headed west with the intention to take the cooler air for a while before hailing a cab back to Whitechapel. A carriage drew alongside them, the door opened and leaning out Littlechild spoke.

“Get in, you on your own, not with her.”

“No fucking way, where I go she goes, Guv’nor, like it or not.” Littlechild was taken aback by this forthrightness but didn’t want to loiter.

“All right, get in both of you, quickly.” Robert helped Mary in then jumped up briskly himself as the carriage pulled off with the door slamming itself shut with the motion.

“Right then, who was there and who is she?”

“This is Mary Kelly a local girl, and my girlfriend, she’s to be trusted right? Lusk was there, Abberline and Murphy from the murder team, loads of the uniform boys, Del’s family and a few others.”

“Lusk, eh? Who did he associate with?”

“Abberline and the Lakes.”

“All right, any Irish there?”

“Couple of coppers, Taffy Evans, he’s an Irishman that couldn’t swim.”

“Very funny. Where do you want to go?”

“Well, back to Whitechapel.”

“Right, get in The Blind Beggar tonight with her, she’s good cover, and see what’s going on with Lusk’s mob. Don’t report anything until you got something decent, know what I mean?”

“All right, Guv. I need some money please.”

“Here’s £20. MAKE IT LAST!”

Littlechild stopped the carriage in Stratford to avoid being seen letting them out in Whitechapel where he didn’t wish for people police or otherwise to notice his presence.

***

6.p.m. and Godley walked into the foyer of the Lyceum theatre.

“I’m sorry we’re closed, sir,” said an effeminate male member of the front of house staff, “doors open at 7.15, sir.” Godley held up his warrant card.

“Detective Sergeant Godley, of Scotland Yard. I need to speak to Mr Mansfield please.”

“I don’t know about that, officer, he’s preparing for his performance.”

“Right, tell him the police are here regarding the Whitechapel murders, and he can either have a polite conversation with me here now or I’ll drag him and you down to Commercial Street nick and do this very formally. Now do you want to warn the understudy or let me in?” The steward bent his head uneasily to one side and said “This way, sir.”

They arrived outside a dressing room with garish star on the door and the steward knocked lightly. There was an American voiced response.

“Will you fuck off, at this time I am preparing.” Godley pushed the steward to one side and opened the door bowling into the room and holding up his warrant card for Mansfield to see.

“Detective Sergeant Godley, Scotland Yard. I need to ask you some simple questions, Mr Mansfield.”

“Oh, yeah? Get a fucking warrant and I’ll get my lawyer, cop.”

“Sir, please don’t take that line with me or there’ll be no show tonight. Some simple questions for just a few minutes.” Mansfield stood up looking confrontational. He was thirty-four, with thinning hair and a square jaw. He stood silent, considering his options and his somewhat brash words. He offered Godley a seat and sat back down again himself.

“Bourbon, officer?”

“No thank you, sir, I’m on duty. How long has your show been on, sir?”

“Well, bizarrely since just before the second murder.”

“Honest, that’s good. You have a reputation of being the best in the world in the transformation of one person to another. Is it purely physical?”

“Well, as with all acting you have to put yourself into a mind set beyond your own and become the person you wish to portray to make it convincing. But I don’t carry that away from here with me.”

“If I gave you dates, would you be able to tell me where you were for us to eliminate you from our inquiries?”

“Why am I in you enquiries anyway?”

“It has been suggested to us that the murders have been committed by a man with two natures, as does your ‘Jekyll and Hyde’.”

“Oh, come on. This is a theatrical character not real life.”

“But it could occur in real life?”

“Sergeant, yes the play is about the dark side of human nature. That’s it. Don’t accuse me of murder because I have theatrical talent. If it gets you off my back, come back with your dates, but at my convenience. Now good day to you, I have a play to prepare for.”

“Fair enough, Mr Mansfield, we’ll meet later. Thank you for your time.”

Godley left the theatre via the foyer again to be spotted by Will Bates who was collecting complementary tickets for a performance for The Star to review. The presence of the police aroused his journalistic nature and he felt a headline already emerging.

That evening witnessed a low key gathering of the Vigilance Committee at The Blind Beggar with Lusk actually discussing with his gathered members rationally the important role of the policemen on the beat in the area but the misdirection of the investigation by sources, in fact, beyond the well known Abberline. He urged his members to keep patrols low key and if they witnessed any unlawful actions to keep watch and find a policeman to keep them within the law. Robert listened intently and chatted with Mary from time to time over what Lusk was discussing who responded in her broad Limerick accent. It was this that attracted the attention of a stranger they had not seen before in the pub.

“Couldn’t help but hear a welcome accent,” said a short thick set stranger in a strong Ulster accent. “It maybe over the boarder but at least it’s close to home. My name is Sean Miller; may I ask who you and your fella are?” Mary and Robert looked at each other and he gave her an encouraging look before she decided to respond.

“Mary Kelly, and this is my fiancé Robert Ford,” they all shook hands vigorously in a friendly manner.

“What brings you here, Mr Miller?” asked Robert casually.

“Been labouring over here for a while but just moved into the area so trying to find a friendly pub and social group. What do you make of this vigilance thing?”

“Seems like people power at work,” said Robert “but thuggery must not see out the rule of law.”

“Aye depends if you think if the police are on your side or just a pawn of the government.” A very political response to a stranger felt Robert.

“Don’t know about your neck of the woods, mate, but over here we police by the consent of society.” Miller laughed in a friendly manner.

“Good point, Robert. Now what are you both drinking, eh?” They whiled away the evening discussing politics within the echo of Lusk addressing those gathered in the pub; Robert wary of the fact that this could be Fenians trying to infiltrate.

Elsewhere in the pub John Netley listened intently to Lusk and his suggestions to improve police community relations and make effective use of the Vigilance Committee in conjunction with the police. Being the idle gossip that he was and always keen to pass on his slant on the world to his clients he stored away all he heard to brag to others in the vein attempt he always made to improve his credibility. As the evening went on he lost concentration on the subject through his alcohol consumption to the point that the landlord actually refused to serve him. He staggered into the gentlemen’s toilets and fell asleep as he knelt in a cubicle having vomited heavily into the bowl.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
 

Friday 11
th
October 8.p.m; the Masonic Hall, Great Queen Street, West Central London and a gathering of a group of unusually linked freemasons had been called by the Grand Inspector General, The Duke of Kent. They had one purpose; to discuss the Jack the Ripper murders. The gathering was not large but highly significant and took place away from any Temples within the halls in a private committee room, away from the earshot of those it did not concern. The Duke chaired the meeting with the following individuals present: the Prime Minister Mr William Gladstone, Sir Charles Warren, Major Henry Smith, the Home Secretary Mr Henry Matthews, the Queens Physician Sir William Gull, Dr Wynne Baxter the London Coroner and George Lusk. The Duke stood up at the head of the table addressing everyone and began the meeting.

“Gentlemen, we gather here today in advance of an impending constitutional crisis the like of which we have never seen potentially rising from some isolated area and its people. We know that the Queen has been concerned with slum conditions for many years and the potential for social unrest it can harbour. Now we have concentrated in one part of the Metropolis not only slum conditions but civil unrest brewing as a result of series of grisly murders with little apparent motivation or sign of abating with two occurring in one night. You all have your role in resolving this and all have responsibility for the failings within society that fuel this. Lusk, I shall start with you. What was this foolish notion to try to take the law into the hands of a group of thugs and undermine the natural authority of the police?” All eyes focused on Lusk and he moved uncomfortably in his seat and took a deep breath before rising to speak.

“I can only apologise for my conduct. I was wrong to do such a thing forming effectively a mob and should have offered simple vigilance by the local community to assist the police.”

“So, what are you going to do now to resolve this mess you have created, this divide that some must see within the East End that you have driven between police and community,” demanded the Duke.

“I shall call a meeting of the Vigilance Committee and offer a new approach supporting the police, a process that I have in fact already touched upon and further enforcing it I hope will reduce tension.”

“Good,” said the Duke. “All right, before we talk about police resources I wish to call upon Sir William to speak about what may motivate these murders and how that may effect the policing of this matter.”

Sir William Gull unsteadily and slowly got to his feet as Lusk sat back down. A man of seventy-two, he had suffered a stroke the year before which had left him partially paralysed along his right side; but his mind was as sharp as it ever had been and he had some strong views on these crimes.

“Brethren,” addressing the group on a Masonic basis, “I have observed these ghastly events with great interest over the entire period upon which they have occurred because homicide is not a natural human act. It is driven by an unbalanced and irrational emotional state fuelled by trauma in an individuals life or and imbalance of chemicals within the working of the brain that reverses the sense of right and wrong within that persons mind, this must be especially so when such horrors are committed. The police must therefore seek out a man who has been so badly wronged and seeking revenge that he is driven to act in such a manner; or a man who has undergone this chemical change within his brain, something that at face value would be impossible to detect. But of course, a new theory I have developed since these murders have taken place is one that follows on further from the one involving chemical imbalances. This ‘Jack the Ripper’ taunts us with letters and mutilates women for no apparent reason but to steal parts of their bodies for reasons we cannot fathom, so sick as to be beyond the comprehension of normal men. He kills in a succession or series, always striking the same way with, importantly, the same victims; and we cannot say if he will ever stop of his own accord so we must catch him. I am developing a theory called the ‘succession’ or ‘serial’ murderer as this truly is a freak occurrence, yet if we can understand it we maybe able to stop him or prevent it in the future.

“I must complement the police in their innovative and yet ultimately tragic use of the officer in disguise. You are unwittingly playing into this man’s mind, unwittingly understanding how he operates so trying to entice him to play what he may see as his game. I have to advocate that this could be the only way to come close to catching this man, highly dangerous but ultimately the only way to resolve these repulsive crimes.” He sat, wiping his slightly moist brow the result of standing and talking in his now generally weakened condition.

Remaining seated Gladstone asked a very un-Victorian question.

“Sir William, tell me you talk in the masculine all the time regarding these crimes. Is not a possibility that this ‘Jack’ is indeed ‘Jill’ and sends letters in the masculine to fool us, so the police never look upon women as potential suspects?” Gull remained seated but replied academically.

“A very valid point, Prime Minister, but personally flawed for several reasons. First off, women do not train in medicine or butchery and therefore would be unlikely to have the at least basic anatomical knowledge this individual has. Second, few women possess the physical strength that is required to conduct these unspeakable acts with the speed and ferocity in which they are conducted. Thirdly, my years of medical research with the mentally ill and dissections of the dead have led me to believe that the lobes within the brains of men and women work differently with different chemical balances, and I frankly don’t think women are capable of such acts.”

“Thank you Sir William,” said the Duke, “now I would like to call upon Sir Charles to talk about the future strategy of the police.”