Mayhem (25 page)

She thought idly that he might not recognise her now. She was thinner, even pregnant, her hair was no longer spun gold, and it had been a very long time since she had smiled in the way he had claimed to have fallen in love with. Her shoulders were hunched. There was nothing beautiful about a broken woman, and that’s what she was, broken beyond redemption. He strode towards her, and even in the fading light of the evening she could see the mottled blotches on his cheeks. She shuddered, but did not move. Where would she go?

He stood in front of her and reached out his hand. A tear slid down her cheek. She was glad she had seen her mother, two days past – perhaps that meeting, purely by chance, bumping into each other in the street, had been Fate’s work too. They might not have talked for long, but they parted friends, and she was happy about that, for her mother’s sake. It would help her with what was to come. She reached out. His fingers were cool.

32

Evening Star
– Washington, D.C.

JACK THE RIPPER

A Belief that He Has Resumed His Bloody Work

London, June 4.

THE DENIZENS OF HORSLEYDOWN, on the southern side of the Thames, were thrown into a fever of excitement this morning, by the discovery in the river of the lower portions of a woman’s body cut into pieces. The rest of the body and the legs were no where to be seen. These ghastly objects were tied in a parcel with a stout cord. Shortly afterward a parcel of female clothing was found at Battersea. Both the fragments of the body and the clothes were wrapped in pieces of cloth, which together had comprised a pair of woman’s drawers.

At Battersea were also found the thighs of a female, showing conclusive evidences of having been cut from the trunk found at Horsleydown. They too were wrapped in pieces of the pair of drawers.

The
Times
of London
June 5, 1889

Early yesterday morning, almost simultaneously, two packages containing portions of a woman’s body were discovered on the foreshore of the Thames …

The
Times
of London
June 7, 1889

In fact, the entire makeup of the ghastly parcel was exactly similar to the others, and the work was evidently done by the same hands.

The
Times
of London
June 8, 1889

A most careful search for the portions of the body still missing is being maintained. All along the foreshore of the Thames experienced watchers have been engaged, and every likely hiding place, such as the shrubbery of Battersea Park, where one of Thursday’s discoveries took place, is being inspected.

33

London. 13 June, 1889

Dr Bond

As winter passed into spring, and with no further killings, London had relaxed slightly. Jack was gone, the people whispered – either dead, or moved on to become some other place’s problem.

For my own part, however, although the days were lightening, my mood was not. I did not analyse the amount of laudanum I was taking, nor the frequency, nor the fact that sometimes my urge to visit the dens was so overwhelming that I paced and paced around my house through the night until my legs ached. My anxiety attacks were increasing, so I did my best to battle them and my perpetual exhaustion by hunting more often, embracing nature and fresh air and putting all thoughts of creatures existing in men’s shadows out of my mind, if only for a few short hours. Juliana rode with me, and rather guiltily, I used these opportunities to question her about Harrington’s travels in Europe.

It appeared that most of his stories were focused on a rather eccentric American he had met in Venice and to whom he now spent long hours writing; it was
this gentleman who had apparently prompted James to be more adventurous. Juliana told me Harrington’s stories of his travels had become vaguer after they split up in Venice, although she thought he had become ill for the first time in Poland.

After hearing this, I could not settle. That very night I had found my way to the priest’s rooms, determined to share this with him – if only to relieve my own anxiety. There was no light on, and no answer to my knock on the door, so I headed to Whitechapel to find Kosminski. His sister told me that he was in the grip of one of his ‘fits’ and could not receive visitors, doctor or no, but the expression on her face suggested that no matter her verbal assurances, she would not be passing on my message, asking him to contact me. Perhaps she saw a little of her brother’s madness in my own eyes, and I found I could not blame her for that.

Afterwards, when I had returned home and my nerves had calmed, I was glad I had not reached either man, for I had no actual proof against young Harrington, who had grown weaker and sicker over the weeks. He was still just about managing to go about his business, but he was not capable of much else, and this in turn worried Juliana enormously. My suspicions of her husband felt like a betrayal of her. I needed to remain as rational as possible.

And yet here we were: another death – another woman – and in the brief, snatched moments of sleep I had managed over the past few days I had
been haunted by something awful in the shadows: something watching me, something that I could not quite see. I had woken sweaty and breathless, and more exhausted than I had been before. The last piece – a right arm folded at the elbow and tied with string – had been recovered this very morning and brought to us at Battersea Morgue, to add to our gruesome collection.

‘Let’s put her back together then, shall we?’ Charles had been eager to start from the moment he had arrived, and immediately started removing the preserved body parts and laying them out for our study. There was something about the intensity of his enthusiasm that unnerved me slightly. I did not know if it was simply my own dark imaginings of late echoing into this situation, but there was an eagerness there that differed from his normal cheerfulness. ‘I think we have nearly all of her,’ he said.

‘Apart from the head,’ I added.

He nodded and smiled, but was already lost in his work, making notes as he examined the brutalised remains. Once again I was glad that I had distanced myself from the priest and the hairdresser, for I found Charles’ mood-swings disturbing enough. Some evenings he was so gripped with melancholy I was sure he was going to do some harm to himself, and at others he was bouncing with fevered over-enthusiasm, as he was now. Although I still went for dinner frequently, I did so mainly for Juliana’s sake. Harrington rarely came
himself – he was too ill – but he insisted Juliana did, for the company, as he was too weak to provide much at home. I did not know if I was flattering myself, but I sometimes thought that given her father’s strange moods, she too was there primarily to see me.

‘How is James?’ I asked as we studied each of the severed pieces. The top portion of the trunk had been separated from the missing head at the sixth vertebra, cut off with several relatively clean cuts. ‘A fine-toothed saw, perhaps?’ The chest had been opened up at its central point, the sternum cut through and the lungs and heart removed to God only knew where.

‘I would say so,’ Charles agreed. ‘And a sharp knife through the skin. The separation of the arms and legs would definitely suggest a saw.’ He shrugged at me, calmer now that he was working. ‘He’s certainly adept at dismemberment. Oh, and I meant to say earlier, but with all this’ – he gestured towards the gory display – ‘anyway, thank you for asking, but young James appears to be on the mend. Juliana says that he’s become much more himself over the past week. He’s certainly got his colour back – quite a relief, I can tell you. They’re going back to Bath for a few days, and then when they return, they’ll come and stay with us while the house is finished.’ His face twitched slightly as he spoke, an involuntary action, betraying an underlying distaste or worry at that thought that was at odds with his next words. ‘Mary and I are looking forward to it tremendously.’

For my part, although my hands continued with their work, my mind was racing elsewhere. Harrington was recovering. There had been another death, and Harrington was now regaining his strength. What about the other bouts of sickness – had he got better around the time of the previous killings?

‘Glad to hear it,’ I said. I leaned in towards the torso section. ‘The lower part of the vagina is still within the pelvis, the same with the rectum.’ I tilted my head slightly. ‘And the front part of the bladder.’ I stood back and looked at the wreckage of the woman. Could James Harrington really have done this? James, who slept at night with the lovely Juliana – did the hands that touched her so gently, so lovingly, also commit this atrocity?

*

It was quite late by the time we had compiled our report and replaced the body parts in alcohol, and I was relieved that Charles did not suggest I return and dine with him and Mary. His behaviour had returned to normal over the course of the day, but that did not mean his melancholy of previous evenings might not return, and my mood was black enough with thoughts of monsters and madness and Juliana. I needed to speak to her, to get some clear idea of Harrington’s movements over the past year, when he had recovered from his various bouts of illness, but until she had returned from Bath I would have to wait.

When I arrived home, I paid the driver, and as I
did so, I felt the hairs on my neck prickle. I turned and looked behind me, my eyes peering through the fading evening light for evidence of someone watching. I found him in the flash of waxy black cloth in a corner opposite. Knowing I had spotted him, the priest stepped out onto the pavement. Our eyes met, his as full of fiery purpose as always – and he must have seen something in my own, because he began walking towards me. Despite my last words to him, my heart thumped with relief: I could talk to him about Harrington, and he would understand. The newspapers had been filled with the gruesome details of each new part pulled from the river or the park, so the priest knew his
Upir
was back at work. If I could just talk to him about it, then perhaps I would feel better, maybe my anxiety would lessen – at the very least, thoughts of my own madness would dissipate. I took a step forward, towards him.

‘Dr Bond!’

The words came from somewhere to my right and I jumped slightly, then turned swiftly – I had been so focused on the priest that I had not looked for anyone else I might know.

‘Inspector Andrews,’ I said with a smile. ‘You startled me.’

‘I’m sorry. You looked distracted.’

Andrews had as keen an eye for detail as I did, and he was already looking across the road, but there was nothing where I had been staring; the priest had gone.

‘I wondered if perhaps you would care to join me at my club for dinner?’ Andrews asked. ‘I know you’ve had a busy day, but I thought you might want to discuss some of your findings. It can be hard to unwind at the end of the day, and sometimes reviewing the information can help. I am always impressed by your thoughts, you know that, and I would enjoy your conversation.’

I smiled again, this time a more natural expression than my first had been. I too had grown to enjoy Andrews’ company, and his rational thinking. We had, perhaps without noticing it, become friends of a sort, and it was a friendship I hoped would grow – it might have done so already, if I had never met the priest, and become so entwined in his hunt. I could never share this with the inspector, of course, but I found that the idea of a quiet dinner of rational conversation was entirely what I did need.

‘Shall we walk?’ I asked.

‘Certainly,’ he said.

The priest could wait – he
would
wait; I was sure of that. Deep in the pit of my stomach, I knew the priest was always waiting.

34

London. June, 1889

Inspector Moore

Henry Moore watched as Smoker emerged from the thick undergrowth. With his nose pressed to the ground, the little dog ran briefly in one direction and then circled back on himself. Moore had never been one to give beasts human attributes, but if ever a hound could wear an expression of frustrated confusion, it was this terrier. Jasper Waring egged the dog on, making noises of encouragement around the cigarette clamped between his teeth, but Moore held out no hope that Smoker would find a trail. It had been several days since the gardener had pulled the wrapped torso from the bushes, and hundreds of people had traipsed through here since then.

‘I take it we’re having no luck?’ Andrews came alongside him, Dr Bond in tow.

‘He’s doing better than the bloodhounds,’ Moore answered, tipping his hat to the doctor. ‘At least he’s in the right bush.’ They watched the dog for a moment before Moore turned away. The others followed. The dog would find nothing; there was no point in them all watching him doing it.

‘Thank you for your report, Dr Bond. Very thorough, as usual.’

‘To be fair, Charles Hebbert did most of it. I would not be at all surprised to discover he was preparing for a paper of some kind.’

‘Strange how there is always some benefit to tragedy,’ Andrews said. There was no accusation in his voice, just observation. ‘I hope you don’t mind me bringing Thomas along. Just in case something was found.’

‘Not at all,’ Moore said, and meant it. ‘You have a good eye, Dr Bond. Any observations you would care to share with us?’

‘From here?’ Dr Bond looked around at the mêlée of people in the park. ‘I don’t think you’ll find anything here – most of her went in the river. A dog can’t scent a trail from water. But he would not have wanted to carry her far.’

‘We think the site of the murder was probably here in Battersea somewhere, or maybe Chelsea, so that would fit. We do know that despite the name in the clothes she is not the missing barmaid, who has been found safe and well in Ramsgate.’