Authors: Bryan Lightbody
Whitechapel (21 page)
“Well, Lad, I do as it happens. I was called down to just off Grove Road by one of the other lads whistling and there was the dog howling like a bastard in the street by an entrance to an alley. Old Mizen was out of the alley itself when I got there with the paperboy pretty lifeless but wrapped in his tunic. I stopped a cab and packed them off to the hospital and stayed at the scene and once all the clearing up was done brought the poor old bugger back to here, pal.”
Robert was confused and concerned “Hang on, the dog is here, but what happened to this boy?”
“I told you, the paperboy, he got taken to the hospital and was dead though, bloody pity, nice young lad him, see him everyday normally in Commercial Street with that old dog.” Taffy for once seemed genuinely a little moved by the incident.
“Ralph, then,” Robert said, stunned and staring into space, “little Ralph, The Star seller,” he said in disbelief.
“Yeah, that’s him, yeah, nice young lad, bloody shame,” said Taffy pulling his tunic on. “Bloody real shame. Sorry mate, got to go, Mrs E got some pie waiting. See you tomorrow, lad.” Evans was gone out of the station office door before Robert could think of what to say.
He wandered sadly back over to the kennel and again could hear Bruiser whimpering. Some old rope was tied to the kennel door’s upper grill so he took it, opened the door and got a brief tail wag from the dog that recognised him equally. He fastened the makeshift lead gently around the dog’s neck who then slowly and stiffly stood up and walked out of the kennel with Robert nuzzling his hand for a bit of affection. Robert bent down and gently took the dog’s head in his hands stroking the sides of his face and spoke gently to him looking him in the eyes.
“Don’t worry, old fella, you can walk with me tonight and come home with me later, but we’ll have to see Ralph’s mum tomorrow, mate, and she might want you.” The dog responded by wagging it’s tail and lifting one his front paws onto Robert’s hand and whining gently.
Del spotted Robert and met him middle of the yard as Robert made his way from the kennel with Bruiser in tow. “What you doing with him?” Del asked quizzically. Robert crouched down by the dog and stroked him reassuringly and was very distant staring at the dog as he spoke, his mind on revenge for the boy’s death.
“He’s coming with me tonight; he can’t stay in there, poor old sod.”
“Well, where’s Ralph then? It’s his bloody dog,” said Del curiously and with a hint of impatient puzzlement. Robert paused before answering and then stood up and looked directly and coldly into Del’s face.
“Murdered. Now lets get out there, I need to do something decent amongst all this death.”
Back inside The Street in the investigation office Abberline and Godley were now drinking tea with Doctor Llewellyn before all of them headed off home for the night, the detectives wanting to get his view on the murders having gained that of Doctor Phillips. In his broad Welsh accent Llewellyn spoke expounding his theories in a booming almost theatrical manner as he sat back with his steaming mug of tea and pipe burning with finest old shag tobacco.
“Well, Abberline, I see it like this. You’ve now got three of these poor unfortunates who have been ripped up in the same manner and the second two have the same characteristics with the abdominal mutilations. This is quite obviously the work of a madman, a psychopath as we now call them, bent on wanton killing. It would be to me purely co-incidental these murders could be done by more than one person, by that I mean a different person perpetrating each of them. You could possibly, by co-incidence, maybe, have two killers by chance with vastly different motives but the same M.O. But not three. Find one or all of these men and the chances are it will stop, gentlemen.”
Abberline and Godley looked at each other saying nothing with Abberline then standing from his desk, mug of tea in hand, and strolling over to the two black boards now together with scant witness information. He drank from his cup as he perused what was written.
‘Male, 5’2” to 6’, aged 27 through to 50, stocky to medium build, military clothing or smart attire or street ragged clothing, local accent or foreign of some sort seemingly eastern European or some type of colonial lilt, deer stalker hat, peaked working cap, top hat or military working hat, seen with a cane, without a cane and finally believed either to carry a bag, or’ just to complete the vague information Abberline was reading, ‘no bag.’ He stared at the board shaking his head and then turned to speak to Godley and Llewellyn.
“What do you two think of all this information then?”
Godley spoke first “Fred, it’s useless, none of these people around any of these incidents have seen either the same person or probably seen anyone connected with it. They are seeking attention and the desire to get their name in the local paper for bit of notoriety.”
“Detectives,” said the Doctor, “You overlook a very important factor in all these contradictions. Let me ask you, in what condition is the majority of the local populace in the early hours if still on the street?” The two detectives paused, looked at each other then Godley clicked his fingers in true Archimedes type acknowledgement and laughed and then spoke to Abberline.
“Fred, this is all so vague and such a lot of bollocks because most of these so called witnesses are drunk. They don’t know what they have seen. The only ones with any credibility are the few sightings of strangers in the area by policemen.”
“Well fuck me, George,”
“Sooner not, Fred, but thanks all the same,” replied Godley before Abberline could continue which lightened the room as they all laughed at the joke.
“Fellows, we have struck a key point, these testimonies on the whole are bloody useless. We need to dig deeper and further with straight forward enquiries but we also need more than the number of disguised patrols we are using now. Get Spratling to get some more volunteers for that tomorrow, and if he can’t get volunteers then forced men. We have to flood it with lucid people to catch this bastard and take him to the gallows.”
Little did Abberline know how the events of the coming night would not make it easy to get volunteers for the plain clothes patrols. They all drank their tea passing the remaining minutes before heading home reflecting on the nature of the local people.
Del and Robert headed off into Spitalfields and The Ten Bells along Commercial Street one walking either side of the road as they didn’t actually want to be together. On their plain clothes patrols Robert was merely tasked with watching Del’s back from a distance with tonight being no different. Del was yet to be approached by anyone other than pitiful penniless local drunks, most of who weren’t sober enough to get to the pub door, let alone have sex somewhere beyond it. Del was dressed again as an unfortunate whilst Robert sported a Victorian working man’s look with Bruiser in tow on a scrappy piece of rope. Not only could Robert not bear to leave the sad old dog in the kennel but he also he felt that having him with him might help authenticate his cover. It was now close to nine with the evening drawing close and the temperatures holding an autumnal feel; the streets were busy with drunks, prostitutes and policemen dotted around to try to allay public fears and maybe catch the culprit, and there were a few teenage children scurrying about most just playing late with each other but some out to thieve.
Passing Lamb Street, then Hanbury Street the site of the Chapman murder and then Red Lion Court to get to The Ten Bells the picture was almost the same in each of these side streets; the unfortunates selling their wares, stray dogs running around with some of the miscreant children and families on their doorsteps trying to take in the fading light. Robert waited on the opposite side of the road from the pub as he watched Del enter the now over crowded saloon bar with Bruiser sitting and waiting patiently with him, then resigning himself to a laying position on the cold cobbled floor. He took a pipe from his pocket and began to amateurishly light it and draw on it whilst he delayed his own entry to the pub. He stood watching those come and go from the general area and observed passing constables who correctly ignored his presence as they passed by.
He saw two very well dressed gentlemen approach walking north in Commercial Street from the direction of Aldgate which wasn’t particularly out of place as well to do gentlemen often came for excitement or debauched entertainment in the area. What attracted Robert was how different they were from each other. One dressed in a top hat and three quarter length steed jacket with a wing collar shirt and cravat, looking remarkably like Prince Albert Victor. The other gent with him sported a large handlebar type moustache and was slightly portly and much older than the first. He wore a military type tunic, though not of English origin, and an American cavalryman’s type hat. Both had canes but no bags.
Tumblety and Druitt chatted freely about the merits of alcohol and whoring in Whitechapel as they headed towards the doors of the pub each laughing heartily at the other’s observations. Druitt would see a darker side to his colonial associate tonight as drink took its toll, and Tumblety sported no bag as he would try to control his mania and just subtly gather intelligence from locals about the whereabouts of Mary Kelly. As they passed Christ Church and crossed Church Street to reach The Ten Bells, Tumblety glanced a steely look across the road at Robert which the young policeman found unusually piercing. Did this strange man recognise him as a policeman? He certainly hadn’t seen the uniformed stranger before, perhaps he read too much into a chance stare. The two gents disappeared into the pub.
Robert remained outside watching the comings and goings when he felt the dog stand from his laying position and step forward towards the kerb and stop as the lead went taut. He looked up to see a furtive looking character passing the pub paying much attention to those around him dressed in a shabby cleric’s type suit with dirty dark hair and an unkempt beard. The cleric looked across the road in his suspicious demeanour and saw Robert and the dog stood there. He paid significant attention to Bruiser. As he did so the dog reacted instantly. He began to pull hard on the makeshift lead, barking and snarling at the stranger as if about to want to attack him and ready for the fight, even beginning to rear up on his hind legs and shaking at the lead and collar to get free. Bruiser was going mad with uncharacteristic aggression.
Both Robert and the cleric reacted to this. The cleric ran south in Commercial Street almost immediately as he saw Bruiser react. The two behaviours Robert saw were so bizarre that he forgot about the job in hand with Del and reacted by checking the road was clear to cross and give chase with Bruiser almost pulling him along still barking and now snapping savagely to get to the stranger. As he chased the cleric he could see the man had impairment to his left arm which slowed his own speed of foot. Robert already started to wonder if this could be the man who had given police the slip following the attempted robbery in the market. The cleric had got a bit of a start on Robert and the dog and was approaching the junction with Flower and Dean Street having passed Fashion Street, knocking passers-by out of the way with a shoulder barge or a push as he tried to make good his escape. Robert dodged the human debris in his quarry’s wake as best as he could with the aging dog seemingly with a new lease of life pulling hard at the lead in front of him and jumping or running straight over previously toppled pedestrians. Robert couldn’t believe the irony in the fact that there were no policemen in sight just at the point when he needed them most.
At the junction with Flower and Dean Street a cab was just alighting a passenger who was paying his fare to the driver as the cleric reached them. He punched the passenger in the face, a well to do West London gent, and with his good arm pulled the driver from his seat. He landed heavily on the cobbles of the street as the cleric then jumped onto his perch and grabbed the horses’ reins. He whipped them sharply and with a characteristic snort the horse then lurched forward into the start of a gallop. Robert and Bruiser continued their chase initially closing a little on the cab but within seconds it started to make distance on them. As luck would have it another hansom was coming along Flower and Dean Street towards him apparently empty. He flagged it down with driver asking him “Where to then, guv’nor?” Robert ignored the question and with no identity immediately to hand he pulled the driver from seat almost as roughly as the cleric had done. He and the dog jumped onto the cab bench. Again whipping the reins like his quarry he lurched off in pursuit turning into Commercial Street.
“Come back here, you thieving bastard!” cried the cab driver after him as he tried in vein to chase Robert down the road. The cleric had about a hundred and fifty yards on him and was approaching the junction with Whitechapel High Street where he was forced to slow with Robert getting the chance to gain some distance because of the crossing priority stream of traffic.
The cleric saw a gap and lurched forward forcing an omnibus to swerve to a halt and another cab to mount the pavement sending pedestrians scattering. One drunk staggered into another who taking his intentions as hostile punched his believed attacker in the face sending him crashing through a haberdashery shop window. Robert now close behind was able to take advantage of the delay to the cleric and was now only about thirty feet from the lead cab able to follow him through the path he was creating. They sped into Leman Street with both cabs sliding sideways on the cobble stones as they made their hurried and almost out of control turns and then kept heading south towards the river. The dog sat silent on the bench of the cab either stunned into this state through the fear of the ride or in anticipation of capturing what he perceived as prey now in a deadly chase. As they approached the junction with Alie Street, Robert could see policemen ahead who had obviously spotted the speeding cabs. Not realising what was going on, both of them at the junction stepped out to try to flag down the speeding drivers, Robert getting ready to take evading action to avoid injuring his colleagues. He could see one of them was ‘Ginger’ Tom Wilks a thirty year old local officer who Robert knew vaguely in passing from another shift standing in the carriageway blowing his whistle and raising his arm gesturing the hansom to stop. Foolishly thinking the lead cab’s driver would adhere to his instruction he stood his ground slightly to one side of the carriageway as the cab approached and was struck by the side of the carriage and spun violently back onto the footway. Robert could only look on in horror as he saw Ginger land with a massive wound to the side of his face with the other officer now going to his aid.