Murder in Whitechapel (The Judas Reflections) (18 page)

I had nothing to say as I was truly speechless. How on earth did they link the missing file to me? Who had made a blunder concerning the opium? Prostitutes never, unless, of course, I had been spotted entering Rosie’s establishment.
Thoughts raced.

“We have been looking for you these past few days, having first been to your place of residence. The butler, one Edward Brown informed us that you were away to York to visit a sick friend. Why, then, are you here in Whitechapel at the same moment?”

“I will come clean,” I replied, knowing it was the right moment to tell the partial truth. “I am doing my own investigation into the Jack the Ripper murders, having had previous experience in these kinds of operations, though not in London. If you would be so kind to contact Chief Inspector Swanson at Scotland Yard, he will fully explain my intentions. As for prostitution, that is a big misunderstanding on your part. The opium? My company imports and supplies opium legally. We have contracts with pharmaceutical companies who use it in the manufacturing of Laudanum. I have all the papers in my office to prove where it goes. There is nothing illegal about my transactions.”

“From what we have gleaned so far you have considerable wealth, assumed to be gained legally?”

“Of course legally, this business is not managed by me alone. There is a partner.”

“Ah, yes, Mr. Roderick Cooley. He is also helping us with our enquiries.”

I could only groan. My fears I would implicate Roderick had become reality.
What had I got us both into?

“Chief Inspector Swanson is not here, nor will he be this night. Do you require legal counsel? It is your right?”

“I need someone to contact Mr. Neville Palmer of Baker Street as soon as is possible. He is my solicitor.”

There was a moment of silence, I watched him meticulously fill his quill with ink and write the name down.

“Cup of tea?” said he, without looking up from his writing.

“I beg your pardon?” I enquired, unsure whether it was me he was addressing or the constable standing by the door.

“I asked you if you would like a cup of tea.”

“Yes, please,” I replied.

I had never been able to get used to the strangest phenomenon amongst the British. No matter what the occasion, happy or sad, frightening or truly wonderful, tea was always served to a grateful population.

Waiting for it to arrive, my concern grew. I did not know where they had taken Roderick and whether he was okay under the circumstances. I took slow deep breaths in order not to panic and, with manners, asked of his location.

“May I enquire on the whereabouts of my associate?” I asked tentatively.

“You may enquire but that does not mean I will give you an answer.”

Detective Edwards was far from agreeable, politeness sadly lacking as he ushered the constable to see why the tea was taking so long to arrive. I also noticed he unconsciously bit his lip with alarming regularity.

“It is a very late hour. We have no choice but to hold you in custody at the station until your solicitor arrives in the morning.”

A holding cell was what he intended for me, although he skittered around the inevitable it was obvious. He planned to lock me up. The tea arrived and I did my best to drink it slowly.

“Come along, Ortiz, how long does it take for one to drink a small cup of tea?”

“I have a stomach that is delicate, therefore, I have to take care with ingesting hot liquids.”

His English politeness prevented him for chastising my ‘disorder’, tea was decidedly sacred. Every moment I lingered in the interview room was a moment less spent locked up. Unfortunately, time had run out and, with the final slow sip of tea, I lost my bargaining power as I was unceremoniously marched to a dreaded cell. With the door firmly bolted behind me, I was left to wait anxiously for my solicitor to arrive. Hour after hour I could do little else but stare at the door willing Neville to appear. I had lost the notion of time, all of my belongings taken way leaving me powerless. I surmised it was soon to be light as I peered out of a small barred window.

I was entombed in a room no bigger than a coffin. Damp walls made of concrete, a perilously low ceiling and a small burning candle- my punishment. “God, please forgive me. I will never sell illegal opium again, nor steal documents if you help me to get out of here unscathed. While on the subject, please protect Roderick, he is not always as strong as I.” I
prayed hard
as I chastised myself and tried without success to ignore the stench.

After what seemed an eternity, the door opened. “Emmanuel Ortiz, your solicitor is here.”

I had never been more delighted to see Neville, an old Etonian with a snobbish attitude who fastidiously set up the business. He had not a clue of my real identity, but asked on more than one occasion why Roderick’s appearance was so strange. I assured him of fictitious aliments in the hope to appease and now, in the early morning light, he arrived, looking most perplexed.

“What have you done, Emmanuel, to find yourself in such a predicament? These are serious accusations. They are also suspicious of your reason to be in Whitechapel. Damn irresponsible old chap, particularly when you know they are trying to catch a killer.”

“They have me all wrong, I never hid my intention. It is imperative you seek out Chief Inspector Donald Swanson. He will verify that we had a meeting concerning my desire to assist in their enquiries. I know nothing of stolen files and my opium sales are legitimate.”

“The files have yet to be recovered, so they are only going on hearsay. Unless you make a confession, they cannot charge you for theft.”

“What of the trumped up charge of opium dealing?”

“They caught a young man who had opium on his person. He spoke of you being the main source of supply. Again, it’s his word against yours.”

“So if we can summon the Chief Inspector then they will know I am not lurking in the streets of Whitechapel hoping to murder a prostitute, I am assisting
them.
”

“I will do my best to contact this Swanson fellow, but it may be difficult. Do you think you can solidly confirm your whereabouts for all of the dates of each murder? We must eliminate you from the line of enquiry.”

Neville was an extremely costly, and much sought after solicitor, amongst London’s high society. Marianne, amongst others, was convinced the man was a genius in law. Up until this moment, I never expected to test his criminal expertise. “Where is Roderick? Do you know, have you spoken with him?” I voiced my concern.

“He is being held at Charing Cross Police Station. I will go next to him, but first I must work to have you released without charge.”

My brain matter began to tick; who was the culprit that had spoken out and named me in the process? What of Albert? Had the fool gotten into a drunken state and spoken carelessly to the wrong person? They must have searched my home and the office and found nothing. So where on earth did Roderick hide the files? It had to have been Copper who was arrested. Perhaps he too had spoken out of turn to the wrong people? Clearly, I was in trouble and the only person who would be able to get me out of it was Neville. Without his expert help I would be sunk.

They brought me some breakfast of tea, a bowl of watery porridge and a piece of thin dry bread. I only managed to drink the cold tea while I anticipated a final interview to tie up loose ends. Neville was right, they had nothing substantial. I was confident that soon I would be on my way back to the lodgings via the telegraph office to make contact with Roderick.

Detective Edwards was waiting for me in the interview room and Neville managed to supply good news. Chief Inspector Swanson had sent word to confirm I had indeed expressed an interest in ‘playing private detective’, a comment I chose to ignore, and he accepted my credentials from America. Leaving me to my own devices in hope I would supply leads and further evidence. Neville encouraged me to supply names of employees and friends that had seen, or been with me, on the nights the murders took place. But that still left the burning issue of the opium, one I needed to battle out as I prayed Roderick did not bow under pressure and confess all. Not knowing what he said, or not said, left my nerves frayed and my head banging.

“Interview conducted at 9.55 am, Tuesday, November the seventh, 1888,” Edwards announced as he wrote down the particulars word by word. I had to once more confirm my details whilst Neville sat next to me, carefully perusing the police reports.

“Let’s talk about your opium business. I understand it has grown into quite a large import and export opportunity for you. According to our evidence, not all of your opium has been sold direct to the pharmaceutical companies in your ledgers,” said Edwards.

“I have never knowingly supplied opium to private sellers. As I stated, I have receipts to prove where my imports have gone. If someone in the shipping warehouse stole an amount away from the prying eyes of the foreman then it would not, and could not, be my responsibility.”

“How could you not notice opium that was missing? Claiming to have receipts to prove every transaction does not mean some of the opium, can, how shall I put it, go in another direction?”

I had hardly slept nor eaten, exhaustion began to creep slowly over my mind and body, but I knew it was imperative I kept my wits about me. The conversation of missing opium went back and forth with Neville prompting me a few times to
not
say anything in response to a particular question by remarking ‘no comment.’

My earlier optimism slowly diminished as particulars were repeated over and over. It was as if he did not believe my story no matter how many times I told it. The very circumstance I

now found myself in was nothing unfamiliar. I had talked my way out of many unpleasant and even dangerous situations that could have alluded to my being sent to prison for an interminable period of time. The idea of a term of prison in Victorian England was not an option. I had to fight my way out with determination, pure common sense and Neville’s costly assistance.

“Mister Ortiz, in regard to your meeting with the Chief Inspector. Although he has confirmed your intentions, he also states that you expressly asked for copies of confidential files regarding the ongoing investigation into Jack the Ripper.”

“The fact that my client had requested a copy of a file does not preclude to a theft. There are newspaper men who would go to any means possible to get their hands on these files. Why has my client been accused when you have not a shred of evidence that he did it?” asked Neville in utmost seriousness.

“It was an inside job. The detective in question has been suspended pending further investigation. It appears that a large sum of cash money had been supplied in return for the files and by coincidence the trail stops at your client’s feet.”

“But all you have is hearsay, a dishonest detective that possibly knew of my client’s meeting with the Chief Inspector, and his request to see the files. This, he then used as a cover to protect the real perpetrator, who he may fear would bring reprisals. There are newspaper men from America in London right as we speak, hard men who would lose an arm for information of this nature. Let’s face it detective, this is the most heated case that Scotland Yard has ever had to deal with and, while it remains unsolved, the need for answers increases, at any cost.”

There was an uncomfortable silence as Detective Edwards digested a viable point, it was not only me who would want to get their hands on the precious file. Neville was correct. Ripper fever gripped the nation and its shores beyond. There was no hard evidence against me, no reliable witnesses and, with good fortune, Roderick had held his ground and denied everything concerning the opium. Could it be God heard my prayer? I was to be exonerated and set free even though I’d knowingly sinned?

“If you are not intending to charge my client, is he now free to go about his business?”

“Please wait here. I will return forthwith,” said Edwards as he left the room in a hurry.

“They have nothing concrete, Emmanuel, and cannot hold you for much longer, therefore, they will have no choice but to let you go. My advice to you is to watch your opium distribution and be careful where you decide to stroll late at night. Any man wandering alone in Whitechapel in the darkness may become a suspect. Be aware that there are also vigilante groups roaming the streets and setting on innocent people. Rumors that Jack is a man of professional standing, a gentleman, also puts you under suspicion.”

“I will proceed with caution if and when I am free to do so, Neville. But my fears are still with Roderick. Will you be going straight to Charing Cross when you are done here?”

“Of course, but I suggest that you return to Belgravia and go about your business. Leave the detective work to the professionals. Your involvement has not served you well!”

It was an unpleasant feeling to be rebuffed for my attempt at a ‘good deed’ I genuinely thought would gain admiration and support. Made even more admirable if I succeeded in catching the slippery eel.

“From the moment I am released, I will attend to Roderick to be sure he is okay, and then I am to return to Whitechapel to pursue my quest.”

My stoic answer did not go down well. Neville did not, and would not, comprehend my motives, nor would I dare reveal the truth of my identity. I doubted he would believe me anyway and, like others, he would think I live in a world of fantasy, my mind unbalanced.

Reluctantly, Edwards was left with no choice but to release me without charge, although he did leave me with a strong word of warning.

“I will be watching you. If you choose to stay in Whitechapel or not is of no consequence unless, of course, you act in a suspicious manner. I can assure you though that if you are picked up again it will
not
be so easy for you.”

Taking his threat with a pinch of salt, I walked out of the police station free of charges. Relief! A sense of urgency swept over me, what of Roderick?

Neville was firm and commanding, “I am on my way to Charing Cross. I suggest
you
go about your business as I expressed earlier. Roderick will be okay. That is, if he has not been implicated by evidence in any way. Off you go now.”