Whitechapel (48 page)

Four days later at the court the case was being heard with Tumblety and the youth, Fred Churchyard, finally coming face to face. The lad looked terrified appearing in a public forum and seeing the man he was so superficially lying about. Druitt sat in the back of the court out of sight in the public gallery from either party. Unbeknown to him within the crowd were Abberline and Godley. Tumblety was representing himself and sat quietly as the prosecuting council made their case and then called Churchyard to come to the witness box and give his evidence.

Unsteadily he was led through his account of what had happened with an obvious air of nervousness in what he said and the questions he answered when put by the prosecuting counsel. Tumblety had sat impassively through this waiting for his chance to destroy and discredit this obviously false witness. Judge Joseph Reed spoke to him; his chance had come.

“Dr Tumblety, do wish to cross examine the witness?” Tumblety stood.

“Yes, your Honour, I do.” He turned away from the judge to the slightly shaking Churchyard and smiled gently at him and began to speak.

“Young man, have you really seen me before?”

“Yes, of course I have. You’re the one what buggered me.”
”Really? All right. I put it to you, you are lying.”

“Nah, I’m not. You assaulted me and my mate.”

“I don’t think so. I put it to you; you are lying for some personal or financial gain. I also put it to you that we have never met before and you were never assaulted.” The boy paused and swallowed before answering.

“That’s not true. You assaulted me and that’s it.”

“No. You are lying and stand to perjure yourself. You were not assaulted and certainly at least not by me. You are a false witness.”

“I’m not!”

“You are, young man.”

“I’m fucking not!” The judge interjected.

“No swearing in the court or you’ll be in contempt.”

“You are an inveterate liar who for money would try to slur anyone’s good character.” The boy was sweating and shaking and now looked at his feet before speaking, his voice breaking a little. He had finally been intimidated to tell the truth; his resolve was simply not strong enough to take anymore cross examination from the American whose steely glare seemed to intrude into his very soul.

“All right!” He shouted emotionally, “I was never assaulted. My mate don’t exist. He’s right I was put up to it by some posh bloke from South London.” The court suddenly went into a constant hum as everyone turned to each to speak with the shock of this announcement. Churchyard carried on shakily telling the truth.

“Some posh bloke who looks like the queen’s grandson, works in a school or something by all accounts, told me to do this to get back at this fellow.”

“And why was that then?” asked Tumblety.

“Don’t know, he just wanted to get back at you it seemed.”

“Was his name Druitt, a South London school master?”

“Yeah, I think so. I only did it for twenty quid.” The court went into uproar as the judge began to speak.

“Order, order! I hereby dismiss this case as a false and malicious allegation. The complainant is sentenced to thirty days in Newgate, I also issue a warrant for this man Druitt for conspiracy to pervert the course of justice. Dr Tumblety is herby acquitted, with twenty pounds costs awarded from the prosecution.”

Thick was furious that he had been taken for a ride by this young liar as the prosecuting counsel packed up his brief. In the public gallery Druitt made a swift exit as Abberline stood and spoke to address the judge.

“Your Honour, I am Inspector Abberline. I must request you keep this man subject to court or police bail as he is a suspect in the Ripper case and I am still waiting for the results of a handwriting analysis. The result of this test could mean that this man is charged with the crimes. There is currently a surety in force for his bail, and I ask you set a date to return to court as he can, if necessary, be charged in your presence or released.” The judge considered this application as Tumblety looked around in horror at Abberline’s presence and his request. He felt the net closing in and he must now be prepared to sacrifice the surety money. The judge spoke.

“I grant your application, Inspector, the Doctor must return here on the 10
th
of December for the hearing you have requested and the bail with surety remains in force to that date and to here.”

“Thank you, your Honour,” said Abberline making eye contact with a hateful Tumblety as he sat back down.

“Do you understand, Dr Tumblety?” asked the judge.

“Yes, sir, I do,” replied Tumblety, standing to do so. He approached the bench and extended his hand to Judge Reed. He spoke catching the Judge off guard who autonomously offered his own hand in a handshake in response, never to realise Tumblety’s dishonest intentions.

“Your Honour, I must thank you for this great service you have done, I will not let you down, sir,” said a very sincere Tumblety. Calculating as ever in his actions he clasped Reed’s hand in a Masonic grip; having spent much time since making his fortune mixing with the wealthier echelons of American society the Doctor had become well versed in Masonic customs and traditions from his brief membership of the Brotherhood. He knew that by making this implication, if he was right about the judge being a mason himself, he would set the wheels in motion for the ‘Brotherhood’ to protect ‘one of their own’. It would be Reed’s duty to ensure that Tumblety not be convicted or fall into harm’s way as he was a brother mason. He clasped the judge’s hand in a kind of half grip against that of a conventional handshake and then ensured that he applied pressure with his thumb to the knuckle of the middle finger to convey membership of an organisation who declared ‘they were not a secret society, but a society with secrets’. The identity of the true perpetrator of the majority of the Ripper crimes would become one of their greatest secrets, and falsely too. This was just another example of the charlatan Tumblety duping those around him to his own ends to ensure he could make good his escape. No one knew the irony in the actions that Judge Reed would take in immediately contacting Sir Henry Matthews, the Home Secretary, when he left the court. Tumblety disguising himself in the eyes of the brotherhood as a member of such an upright social order knew the deception would be a way for him to seek immunity. They would never betray their own. It was a gamble that would pay dividends to Tumblety but would deliver one of the greatest injustices in the British legal system.

The court emptied, Churchyard was taken down to the court’s cells to be transferred to the next door Newgate prison. Tumblety left knowing he now had to prepare to leave in the next few days. He knew that Abberline would come looking for him before the 10
th
with his address having now been made public in open court. On the steps of the court he was unfortunate enough to come face to face with Abberline, the man that had now become his own nemesis.

“Well, doctor. Don’t go too far. You know we haven’t eliminated you from our enquiries.” He spoke looking the American doctor in the eye. Tumblety saw an opportunity to buy himself some time and incriminate the man he had failed to stop, having set him on a destructive trail.

“Abberline, I have one thing for you to consider, I have heard the name Chapman connected with this matter, perhaps this is someone who you should be looking for,” replied Tumblety walking away bumping shoulder to shoulder with Abberline as he did so. Abberline turned to Godley having watched Tumblety walk away and spoke.

“Well, we know he didn’t do the last one, but he’s no way in the clear. We need to look up that name though, can’t afford to assume it’s a red herring after six murders.”

“I’ll get on it Fred when we get back to The Street.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
 

Monday 19
th
November; John Netley was waiting outside Tumblety’s Graham Road lodgings to take his American client off to one of the Central London stations. He had already brought one trunk out that Netley had loaded onto the rear of the carriage and Tumblety now came out for one last time carrying a medium size suitcase, his cane and a gladstone bag. He was smartly dressed as previously but looked unusually flustered. This sense of panic to flee the country had caused Tumblety to bolt without making the clearest of preparations, a massively unusual circumstance for him to find himself in. His sense of thoroughness which had always helped his sense of self preservation would not return until he found himself on route for America, and the port of New York. Tumblety had quite deliberately left his arts bag with its gruesome contents out of sight in the coal bunker at the lodgings in case he had received a visit from the police. In his flight from London he had forgotten about it.

He clambered aboard the carriage and told Netley to set off for Waterloo Station, the terminus well known for travel to France. He was making for Le Havre where he was to board a French steamer bound for his homeland. His familiar cab driver tried to initiate conversation.

“Leaving us for a while then, Doctor?” asked Netley.

“None of your business, driver,” replied a cold and abrupt Tumblety. The carriage set off and it was to be a long, slow and silent journey free of conversation for both through the busy Monday morning streets.

The premises were under observation by two of the Ripper detectives, Sergeants Mather and Robinson who were not expecting to see a rapid departure by Tumblety. The two of them desperately tried to hail a cab to follow their suspect off and were fortunate in finding one travelling in the right direction whilst Tumblety’s carriage was still in sight. They jumped aboard relieved that their quarry wasn’t about to escape and instructed the driver to follow the carriage in the distance; however this mild euphoria was short lived. After only a few minutes, they saw the carriage driven by Netley turn into Mare Street and begin to head south, so for a split second it moved out of sight past the building line. As they approached the junction a group of children, who had been playing foolish games on the street corner, ran into the road after some quoits that one of them had just thrown forcing the cab driver to attempt to pull up his horse quickly and he veered harshly to the left to avoid a collision. The pavement side wheel of the cab shattered as it impacted with the kerb snapping several spokes and causing it to lurch downwards on the left hand side heavily, throwing the two policemen into a heap on top of each other within the cab.

“Fuck it, FUCK IT!” Screamed Mather as he scrambled out of the cab from under Robinson onto the pavement to see the carriage with the subject of their surveillance disappearing. Robinson got out and stood next to him to witness the same sight. They looked across at the group of children who were in shock themselves, and as the cab driver jumped out to approach them. They all ran off not wanting to be scolded.

“Well, that’s that then. He’s bloody well gone,” said a fed up Mather.

“Abberline ain’t going to be pleased, mate,” replied Robinson.

“No, but at least it ain’t completely our fault.” The two of them eventually hailed an alternative cab which took them to Commercial Street to face the music in the incident room.

They were quite right in their anticipation of Abberline’s reaction; he went into a verbal fury in reply to their news, although within it he did accept that it was circumstances beyond their control. He quickly formulated a plan of action to be put into place to try to catch the obviously guilty Tumblety.

“Right, we need all ports watched at the earliest opportunity and his details circulated to all surrounding forces. We can’t let him escape.”

“But, guv’nor, don’t you need permission from above for all that? They might be resistant without the handwriting analysis coming back,” said Godley. Abberline seemed agitated by this information.

“George, I fucking know that, just get it done!” His fury wasn’t with Godley but with the loss of Tumblety by the surveillance officers. They all left the office to get on with their tasks leaving Abberline to pull out his bottle of single malt once on his own and take a generous shot.

Hours later Abberline was confronted by the office door being opened violently and Superintendent Arnold storming in to speak to him.

“Now look here, Abberline, the Metropolitan Police cannot take on any more embarrassment. The Commissioner has resigned, we have six unsolved murders and now you want to circulate details of a man we have failed to apprehend? You must be joking.”

“Mr Arnold, we will lose a crucial suspect if we don’t. He may not have killed Kelly, but oddly he has given us a name. He could well be in the frame for the others. He must be found.”

“On what evidence do we do that then?”

“The handwriting we are waiting on. That will nail him.”

“Abberline, is it back yet?”

“No, sir, anytime though.” Abberline replied dejectedly.

“Well when you have that decent level of evidence, tell me and we will then blockade the ports to find him.”

“Fine, it will be too bloody late. So you can burden that responsibility. I’ve done my bit and will write a statement now to that effect.”

“You do that, Inspector, and look up this other suspect in the meantime. Do something useful,” he spoke the last line with venom and left the room. Abberline’s conscientiousness hit a new level of turmoil as he hit the bottle again.

Godley wandered back in to find him becoming drunk. He grabbed the bottle and flung it against a wall in fury; it smashed sending splintering glass all over part of the office and the remnants of the alcohol ran down the wall as Godley spoke to his troubled friend.

“For fuck’s sake, Fred! That won’t get you anywhere. It’s not your fault if the politicians of this job get in your way. Just document it and we’ll do what we can, history will be the judge in this and you are a good detective. Go home and sober up and come back with a clear head and we’ll make a start on the Chapman lead tomorrow and deal with Tumblety when the results come back and the politicians untie our hands.” Abberline stood up to face his longstanding friend with a tear in his eye. He needed the reassurance at that moment he had been given.