Whitechapel (53 page)

Klosowski was blissfully unaware, however, of a casual conversation Lucy had had with one of her local acquaintances back in Whitechapel. He had told her where he intended to relocate them and she had in turn innocently mentioned it in conversation before leaving to a friend who was wishing her well. This would lead the authorities to his door when he was least expecting it and force another more substantial move.

***

With the crushing news regarding the investigation delivered by Superintendent Arnold, Abberline hurried back to The Street to call a briefing with the entire investigation team and implement a covert plan of action against Tumblety. As he arrived at the front door of Commercial Street Police Station he was met on the steps by Chief Inspector John Littlechild. They knew each other only in passing but both were acutely aware of the skill each possessed as detectives and leaders of men. Although one rank divided them, they had always politely spoken as equals.

“Fred, before you go in, can I have a word?” asked Littlechild.

“Yes. What can I do for you, John?” said Abberline in response politely shaking hands with the veteran detective.

“You know about my department. I am the only one within it who probably knows what you have just been told. I am not going to offer a flood of secret sleuths to help you, but as I hear things at The Yard I’ll let you know. Do you know Robert Ford who is attached to your team?”

“Yes, of course. Why?” said Abberline quizzically, amazed that nothing seemed to slip past the Special Branch.

“Right, he’s a reliable young lad, I know he’s been terribly scarred by the events of the last twelve weeks but use him over others. He won’t arouse suspicion and he’ll be tenacious.” Abberline paused looking into his eyes. There was no hidden agenda with Littlechild; Abberline’s years of interviews and instinct told him that.

“All right, John. Yes I will do. It will be him with either Godley or Bill Thick. He’ll need a little guidance.”

“Good choice. Remember, if you need help give me a call.” They shook hands and Littlechild disappeared along the main road whilst Abberline entered the building.

Inside the police station the corridors bustled with people as always as he made his way to the incident room. Inside the room fell silent as Abberline entered; he looked around relieved to find everyone key was there: Godley had returned as expected, Parish, Murphy, Bill Thick, Robert Ford, Robinson and Mather and Walter Dew, now permanently on the team. The only one he would have to brief separately would be Inspector Andrews who was now on route from France due back at The Street the next day.

“Fellas, get yourself a tea, a smoke, something to eat or whatever but no alcohol thank you. I‘ve got some serious news for you and you won’t like it. But, we must push on undeterred. So take a few minutes to make yourself comfortable and then pin back your ears and listen.” All within the office looked around at each other with concern but made sure they were indeed comfortable with fresh tea and a smoke or sandwiches that they had brought from home to eat during the day between tasks.

“Sarnies, that’s a good idea, Robert get up to the canteen and get some plates done, here’s a couple of shillings for them,” Abberline passed the young constable the money and he scurried out of the office as directed.

“I take it the news is big then, Fred,” asked Godley with Bill Thick listening in standing next to him.

“Huge. It’s a kick in the bollocks too, but we’ll get round it.” Abberline was watching the room and gave them some direction. “Right, pull out all the chairs from behind the desks and set them in a circle facing the display board. Once Rob’s back we’ll lock the doors and only open them for the sandwiches.”

Within a few minutes Robert returned carrying two dinner plates full of sandwiches. Unusually for policemen everyone gave him time to put them down and the entire gathered crowd only took a couple each ensuring everyone got some. Godley locked the office doors and took a seat within the circle as Abberline took up position in front of the display board to address them all. Behind him on the wall were photographs of the victims, street plans of the murder scenes, pathologist’s statements and sketches and a large street map of the area with each murder site marked, except those of Del Lake and Ralph the paperboy.

Abberline coughed clearing his throat, drank from a steaming mug of tea, then took a bite out of a cheese sandwich and began.

“Mmm, anyone had the cheese, they’re bloody good, Rob!” The room burst into laughter as it certainly wasn’t what they expected from the detective inspector’s mouth. “Right, settle down, sorry lads. They are bloody good though. You’ll all be wondering what this is all about and you’re going to find out and not like it. I want you all to read this brief but corrupt letter and say nothing until it’s been round the room. Corrupt? Well I think so because I don’t think the author would have written it without massive influence. There is establishment or society membership involvement here, maybe even complicity and we are being told to sever a key line of enquiry. But I have a plan to deal with this. Before I voice that, I welcome comments or questions from the floor.” The room sat in silence as the letter did the rounds with those gathered who read it looking around the room and up to Abberline in disbelief. It forced several to light a cigarette to calm tensions that they could feel building within them. The letter returned back to the front edge of the circle and into Abberline’s hands. Bill Thick was the first to speak.

“Guv’nor, what the hell is going on?”

“Bill, that’s what this meeting is all about. I am forced to trust that none of you are linked to organisations such as the catholic guild or the masons. If you are I stand to end up in the Tower of London and so do some of you if we pursue a covert line of enquiry against Dr Tumblety. For that reason I ask all of you to display the loyalty and integrity that you have so far and leave the room and the investigation if any of you are members of either society.” Abberline’s words seemed to echo around the room as the atmosphere could be cut with a knife. Abberline quite deliberately said nothing for what seemed to all like an eternity but was in fact only half a minute as he made eye contact with all in turn looking around the office. With the assembled team still sat firmly he continued. “So from here on in officially you can all only go on the hunt for George Chapman and evidence against him regarding any of the murders. But I will be selecting a small team to continue the investigation against Tumblety. You will have the right to refuse if I ask you, but I ask any of you to say nothing of any ongoing enquiry of this nature. If you do, all of us will be at risk and I can assure you anyone that betrays the team will be taken down with us.” He scanned the room again ensuring he made eye contact with all gathered. Again the detectives and those assisting looked resolute.

“Good. Chapman must be found as he most likely responsible for the murder of Mary Kelly, but motivation? That remains unknown. That we may only discover by arrest and interview. Tumblety will be found but, gentlemen, I cannot guarantee justice for him.” Robert listened intently, he was determined that both men would be brought to justice. “Saturate the area around Cable Street. I want any lead regarding Chapman followed. He must be found. To that end I want everyone visiting every barber’s establishment in London to see if he’s moved on or to find any trace of him having passed through, Bill and George will supervise those enquiries.” He said pointing to Godley and Thick. “Fellas, any questions?”

Everyone wanted to ask, but no one dared to, who was going to pursue the Tumblety enquiry. Most realised from Abberline’s as yet silence on this matter that he wanted to keep the risk to each man to a minimum. They all looked around the room shaking heads, most still stunned from the revelation of the Royal intervention in unfathomable circumstances.

“Good, you two,” pointing at Thick and Godley “sort out teams to go out and do these enquiries, no stone unturned.” As the gathered began to break up from the circle Abberline grabbed Godley’s arm and whispered quietly into his ear. “Make sure Robert is tasked by you because I need to use him.” Godley looked at him and nodded in instant recognition of what the detective inspector was implying.

Abberline then left the office without saying a word to anyone as to where he was going.

“Where do you think he’s off to then, George?” said Bill Thick looking on curiously as Abberline left the office.

“No idea, leave him to it. He’s close to cracking despite his front I think,” replied a concerned Godley.

The detective inspector was actually making his way to a local main post office to go and send a telegram to the head of the N.Y.P.D to warn him of the latest development and contact him directly.

He arrived at the post office in Whitechapel High Street after a casual ten minute stroll south along Commercial Street. On route he passed so many now ominous sites that he once treated with nonchalant familiarity; The Ten Bells, Millers Court, Hanbury Street, The Britannia. All now permanently etched on his psyche as a result to their connections with Jack the Ripper. Abberline was determined to bring both his key suspects to justice by legal means or otherwise.

In the post office the clerk instantly recognised the celebrated policeman.

“Hello, Mr Abberline. What can we do for you today then, sir?” Abberline sometimes felt uncomfortable with his local notoriety.

“I have a brief telegram to be sent to a colleague in New York.”

“Oh, really, how flattering you come here and not to your telex office in Scotland Yard.” Abberline knew that the clerk would find this curious.

“I was passing and you were obviously closer. I don’t have a lot of time can we get going with it?” He knew he had to get word to Thomas Byrne as soon as possible.

“Certainly, Mr Abberline.” Abberline had to word the message carefully. He did it knowing it would sound a little odd to the clerk. He was sure that the almost celebrity status he had locally would prevent the post office staff taking the matter up with other officers from The Street or even Scotland Yard. He began to dictate the message to the clerk.

Mr Byrne,

Due to political conflicts you maybe asked to not pursue the investigation of Dr Tumblety. This is a cover to avoid attention. On my authority please keep this man under observation until Inspector Andrews arrives and please extend him all available assistance. Don’t hesitate to contact ME directly to maintain discretion.

Frederick Abberline (Insp).

“Will that be all, Mr Abberline?” asked the clerk having taken down the message on post office notation paper.

“No, destroy the copies of this telegram once it is sent, a matter of national security,” replied an official sounding Abberline.

“Yes, sir. I understand. Thank you.”

Abberline left the Whitechapel post office and began to stroll casually back towards The Street. As he walked he was aware of a carriage pulling up alongside him; looking round he saw it was John Netley.

“Hello, Mr Abberline. Can I give you a lift?”

“Ah, Netley,” Abberline paused for a moment “Yes, thank you.” He climbed aboard and Netley set off. There was design in taking this opportunity. He knew Netley seemed to always have an ear to the ground and was all too aware of what was happening in the area.

“So, Netley, how’s business?”

“Very good thank you, Mr Abberline. Where to then?”

“Commercial Street nick, but there’s no rush. What’s the word around the streets then about the murders?”

“Well. That American surgeon did a runner so I hear,” Netley would not be so foolish to incriminate himself saying he had assisted, the job had paid well. “Seems old George Chapman had something to hide. Shop closed straight after the last murder and seems to have pissed off.”

“Yes, so I heard,” said Abberline innocently. “Any word around as to where.”

“Well, I have heard somewhere in north London. But no one knows for sure.”

“Hmm, interesting. Know anything else. What about the Vigilance Committee. Heard what they’re up to?”

“Naah, gone very quiet they have. I think since they got their knuckles wrapped for not helping your boys they try and steer clear, know what I mean?” Netley waved his crop at the horse as he spoke.

“Yes, I do. Look, hear anything about anyone, even it’s something or someone that seems disconnected from what you’ve heard, let me know. It’ll be worth your while, old son.” Abberline watched Netley’s back for any obvious body language reaction. He seemed impassive.

“Yes will do, Mr Abberline. Will do.”

They arrived at The Street barely ten minutes after leaving the post office. Abberline alighted and offered Netley the fare. He politely declined and tipped his hat to the famed detective and set off towards Bishopsgate. Abberline stood and watched him drive off with a feeling of distrust of the obliging coachman. He returned to the incident room to find it empty apart from Godley and Robert Ford busy with desks full of paperwork.

“Excellent. George, lock the door. Rob, listened very carefully. As far as we are concerned you are the only member of the team now beyond corruption. Sadly you have a vested interest in the investigation so I will be tasking you to do some very discrete jobs. Do you understand?” Young Robert stared at him intently and with a concerned frown.

“Yes, Mr Abberline. I think so. What do you want me to do?”

“Good. First off I want you to take all of the documents that relate to Tumblety and get them photographed by a local bloke. His name is Morley and his studio is in Stratford. It’s not far so get a cab and get them done first thing in the morning. Wait with them and then get a cab back to here, come and see me and then we’ll get the originals passed on to Mr Arnold.” Abberline looked across at Godley as he finished.

“Very well, sir. What time?”

“Leave here at six and he’ll be expecting you. Now bugger off for the rest of the day, lad and we’ll see you tomorrow.”