Whitechapel (42 page)

“Sorry, sarge, didn’t know it was you. That bloke up there by Commercial Street matches the description of the one involved in those assaults on them lads. Thought it might be better to approach him together to nick him.” Caunter looked up to see the figure of a well dressed man turning into Commercial Street. He nodded to Cartwright and they began walking in the same direction.

“Good thinking, lad, let’s go and have a chat with him.” Caunter spoke in a quiet voice to avoid any attention.

They eventually caught up to confront Tumblety up by the junction with Middlesex Street, so just short of where the busiest pubs all lay.

“Excuse me, sir, can we have a word please,” said Caunter with Tumblety stopping in his tracks. Both the policemen had their truncheons to hand. The American turned around slowly and prepared himself to speak. He knew he could not physically confront anyone because of his damaged arm so he had to front out what the officers wanted of him. The thoughts raced through his mind as to why they were confronting him. ‘Was his time up? Had he been seen at some point during or after a crime? Had his old acquaintance found the courage to go to the police?’

“Officers, what can I do to help?” Tumblety calmly replied. Caunter continued with the conversation while Cartwright watched intently.

“Sir, can you tell me your name please?”

“Yes, Frank Townsend. I’m sure you’ve guessed I’m a visitor to your shores.”

“Indeed, Mr Townsend. What brings you to Whitechapel in particular? It’s not the most scenic part of London. Hardly pretty one might say.”

“You’re quite right. I am a doctor researching a book on diseases in lower class areas of population; I’m on a field trip you could say.”

“Really? Discovered much then?” said Caunter cynically.

“Yes, the area suffers in the same way as deprived parts of New York.”

Caunter looked at Cartwright with a knowing glance before speaking again.

“Mr Townsend, I have to ask you to come to the local police station with me as you match the description of an American man involved in four cases of indecent assault.” Tumblety could see both officers were ready to strike with their truncheons if necessary and could see little value in resisting with only one strong arm. At least he wasn’t being arrested on suspicion of being the Ripper.

“Officer’s, I will gladly help but I can assure you that you have the wrong man.” Cartwright produced some handcuffs in his left hand. “They won’t be necessary, constable, I will come quietly. Commercial Street I presume?” Cartwright put the cuffs away but Caunter took Tumblety’s walking cane before he replied again. “Sir, I’ll need to secure this please,” Caunter held the cane in a good grasp, “and you are correct we are going to The Street.” The group of three headed off with a brisk walk north towards the police station with Tumblety again frustrated that he would not find Mary for another night. Ironically he passed within yards of her as they strolled quickly by The Ten Bells on their way to the custody office and further questioning.

Mary Kelly staggered from The Ten Bells arm in arm with Julia Styles at about eleven o’clock wandering straight across the road to head towards Dorset Street and Millers Court. Watching from the shadows of the pillars at the front of Christchurch was Severin Klosowski, also known as George Chapman, noting exactly where the two drunken women had gone to. As they disappeared from sight he ran across the road to try to keep observation on them. He saw them turn into the dark recess of Millers Court and listened to their drunken conversation echoing back along the dim passageway.

“Mary, can I doss with you tonight to save the journey to Bethnal Green, love?” Julia’s voice was slurring its words heavily.

“Course you can, I shan’t be getting this drunk on Thursday you know,” said Mary in a chirpy manner. A snippet of information that Klosowski would use to his advantage in couple of days time as he hatched a plan to gain this woman’s wealth. It must be considerable based on what the man called Townsend had asked him to do.

***

Abberline had been called back in to The Street from home as a result of the arrest of the American suspect. He had also told the officers who called on him late on that Tuesday night to get Godley in too as he wanted the pair of them present to interview this man. On the journey he sat in a rattling hansom cab. He couldn’t believe they had someone in custody who bore the few consistent hallmarks of the vague descriptions given regarding the Whitechapel murders. He really didn’t care about the homosexual assault allegations, they could be co-incidental, and he would let Bill Thick deal with them, but he would interview this man intently over the Ripper’s crimes and take samples of handwriting from him.

It was a cold November night around eleven o’clock when he arrived outside Commercial Street Police Station his breath visible as he alighted from the cab with an officer on the door of the nick about to leave who held it open for the noted detective. He strolled purposefully to the incident room dumping his top coat, hat and scarf on his desk and made straight for the custody office. Inside he met Bill Thick and Kerby who was the night shift custody sergeant.

“Is George on his way?” he asked of Thick

“Yes, Guv, a cab’s been sent to bring him in.”

“Right, tell me all about this bloke then, Kerby, and get one of your lads to get me a decent cup of tea.” A young constable was despatched to get tea for all those present.

“His name he says is Frank Townsend, a doctor allegedly in the area to do some research on diseases in poorer areas. Reckons it is his first time here in the East End although he did say he’s been in London for a few weeks. He’s fifty so he says, born in New York to an Irish immigrant family, a doctor and he seems a very calm character. He hasn’t been fazed by being here so far. Says he recovering from a broken arm he’s had for at least a month.”

“All right Bill, good stuff we might have to get the divisional surgeon to have a look at that to confirm it, with that in mind does that rule him out of your case?”

“If it’s true, technically yes because two of the alleged assaults were in the last month.”

The young, thin, pasty looking probationary constable walked back in with a tray of steaming cups of tea which the gathered group looked at enthusiastically each taking a cup for themselves.

“Well done, lad,” said Abberline having a small slurp from his cup. “That’s handsome.”

“One for me then?” said Godley entering the office from behind the heavy wooden door leading from the main corridor. The young constable was somewhat disappointed when Godley took the remaining tea from the tray that he had ear marked for himself. Dejectedly he walked back into the depths of the custody office from whence he came to make another for himself.

“Right tell George what you have told me, Bill, while I just go and have a look at him through the cell door spy hole.”

Abberline sipping his tea wandered down the corridor of cells which were unusually quiet as he began to go and take a look at Townsend. His footsteps were obviously heard by some of the evening’s inmates and the noise and shouting began.

“You fucking filth bastards, let me out of here, or I’ll do the lot of you!” came a drunken shout from the first cell on the right accompanied by banging on the cell door. Abberline in his calm style paid it no heed and carried on walking and drinking. As he passed a cell two doors down on the left the wicket was open and he heard a hissing sound coming from it and then some hateful speech.

“Abberline, you slag! I remember you when you were a shit bag DS, you sent me down to Newgate for eight months and I ain’t forgot.” Abberline stopped and bent slightly keeping his distance from the wicket to face his abuser who he recognised instantly from the past in Whitechapel.

“Well, well, Michael Kidney. Nice to see you. Obviously a crap thief still if you’re still being caught,” Abberline slammed the wicket leaving Kidney to pointlessly shout more abuse after him.

He came to cell number eight the ‘accommodation’ as it was sometimes called that Townsend had been given. The wicket was shut so Abberline was able to stand square in front of the door unnoticed and peer through the spy hole above the wicket and look at the suspect. He could see a well dressed medium built man of around fifty with the bushy moustache sat very calmly on the bed of the cell with his hands resting on his lap, his cane in the possession of the custody sergeant. For a man who it seemed unlikely to have been incarcerated before he was remarkably calm. He may well be prepared for an interview, although he would not be expecting an interview regarding the Ripper murders. Abberline returned to the main office deep in thought and spoke to the trio of sergeants.

“Right, George, go and prepare the interview room, make it look nice and comfortable non-confrontational. Kerby get ready to do the custody records when Bill brings him out. Bill, bring him up, offer him a tea and then show him in to us. Will you charge him over your assaults today?”

“Depends what he says, Guv, I’d like to trace this other lad before charging him really. If I can’t we’ll charge in a few days time, giving him a drop of bail to return,” replied Thick.

“Right,” said Abberline, “give me a couple of minutes and bring him through”

Abberline joined Godley in the interview room. They were keen to try to lull the calm looking Townsend into a false sense of relaxation and drop his guard. The desk was pushed to one side with a single chair for Godley to sit at and make a contemporaneous record of the interview, two other chairs were arranged centrally near enough facing each other with only a slight angle to them to take them off true about six feet apart. Abberline was keen to create an air of informality and having no barriers between them to break any sense of advocacy. Godley took a seat behind the desk with sheets of official statement paper in front of him in a pile and two pens with ink pots to hand. There was a rap at the door so Abberline remained standing as he called for the parties outside to enter.

The door was opened from the outside by Thick who showed Townsend into the interview room remaining outside himself. Abberline beckoned him in.

“Good evening, Doctor Townsend please take a seat.” He showed him to the seat facing the door and therefore facing him and Godley. Tumblety, or to them Townsend, was taken by surprise at the high level of courtesy showed to him by these officers and sat in a slow dignified fashion.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” he said calmly taking his seat. Abberline closed the door acknowledging Thick and sat himself down facing him.

“Sorry for the discomfort and inconvenience of being brought here, Doctor, but as I’m sure you appreciate these are routine enquiries. I am Inspector Abberline and this is Sergeant Godley of Scotland Yard, we are investigating the crimes of the man who has branded himself ‘Jack the Ripper’.” Tumblety who had been suspicious of their kind treatment to this point immediately felt himself becoming more defensive.

“I’ve heard of you, Mr Abberline, but I was arrested on an enquiry regarding assault on young men. It seems that you wish to question me on the Ripper killings. With that in mind am I not entitled to legal representation?” Tumblety spoke hoping to put the detectives on the back foot. Abberline was completely unfazed and Godley kept writing with his head down as if the other two didn’t exist.

“Doctor, it is doctor isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he replied arrogantly

“You are quite right, however, if it is deemed prejudicial to the investigation of a serious arrestable offence, which I am sure you would agree five murders are, then I can begin or continue the interview whilst waiting for that representation to arrive. Now do you wish for the presence of a solicitor?” Abberline maintained a relaxed matter-of-fact manner which made Tumblety feel uncomfortable. He could recognise the old detective’s wily skill and experience in such matters.

“Thank you for that legal explanation, Mr Abberline. I won’t require a solicitor at present.”

“Doctor Townsend, can you illuminate me on whether you have been in England since the start of August?”

“I have, yes.”

“And in all that time have you been in London or the greater London area?” Tumblety knew he could lie and say he had been in Liverpool as he knew the city well, but he had no alibi. He knew he would have to try re-kindle a relationship with Druitt to forge a decent alibi regarding his movements in London.

“I have been in your capital since that time, Mr Abberline, and have been for most of August enjoying the sites of the city and the hospitality of the Ritz Hotel. You check with them as to whether or not I have been a guest.”

“Indeed we will, sir, but it wouldn’t stop you frequenting Whitechapel would it?

“No it wouldn’t, Inspector, but I don’t think the proprietor’s of the Ritz would take too kindly to me returning covered in blood would they?”

“Who said anything about returning covered in blood?”

“But you said that you were investigating the Rippers crimes, right?”

“Yes, doesn’t mean I was necessarily accusing you of being him though, does it?” said Abberline watching Townsend shift a little in his seat.

“So, do you have an interest in anatomical specimens?” asked Abberline.

“As a doctor I obviously do.”

“Do you own a collection of any specimens?”

“I do have a few here and there, yes for diagnostic and teaching purposes.”

“Ever been to Paris, Dr Townsend?”

“What’s that got to do with Jack the Ripper?” He said with mock confusion knowing where Abberline maybe going with his questions.

“Just asking because of a story I heard doing the rounds in medical circles.” Abberline spoke nonchalantly.

“Well, I don’t know what this story is but whether I’ve been to Paris or not is none of your business, Inspector, I thought your jurisdiction was in London.”

“London, the rest of England and Wales actually if necessary,” Abberline quipped, he did enjoy the banter of challenging interviews.

“So, were you frequenting the East End on the 6
th
and 7
th
of August?”