Murder in Whitechapel (The Judas Reflections) (22 page)

“That’s a sad fate for the poor girl, and what an insane act of murder. Did the police not suspect you, seeing as you confessed to being alone with her the evening before?”

“For reasons unbeknown, they saw me as a witness, not a possible suspect.”

“I don’t think they know what they are doing, Manny. They’re at a loss. Jack has them in the palm of his hand and he’s playing them for fools.”

“I am making my way back to Whitechapel. There is not a chance I will relent on this hunt. More so now he has killed Mary.”

“I think, though I know you will deny it, you had a sweet spot for the girl?”

He was wrong, my intentions were honorable, and I only wanted to help her escape a bad life. To go to America, where, like others in the New World, she would have had a good direction, a chance. My notion or fantasy of putting Mary on a boat was not perceived as a gesture of goodwill by Roderick. It was, in his eyes, nothing more than my male ego wanting to take on the role of a knight in shining armor. Charging in on a white horse to accomplish a successful rescue and proclaim myself the hero of the hour. He would be wrong; my intentions had been genuine all along. I pleaded my case.

“Then you must be changing, Manny my boy, having a soft spot for a fallen woman and wanting to help without any advantage to yourself is a sign I’ve never seen in you before.”

“Then it will be a new chapter in my immortality. I will shed my old skin for new!” I replied with good intention.

It was good to be involved in business for a time, it served as a distraction from my sorrow. We talked about a new import contract, looked at the finances then closed the office and went for an early supper. It was a relief to be able to eat digestible food once more, but Roderick was determined to remind me of my social impropriety.

“Can you imagine the scandal if one of your acquaintances heard you walked out with a common street girl? You’d be shamed and cut off from society. Even Marianne would be shocked and forced to reject you to save even her questionable character. “

“Then I would live with the consequences and, let us face facts here, God almighty did not intervene and save either Mary or the others. Do you know, sometimes I am so angry when I speak his name I want to scream. I care not for his judgments on me, nor others. They can say what they want. ‘Let he who is without sin cast the first stone,’ as Jesus once said in the Mount of Olives, when they brought the adulterous woman to kneel by his feet!”’

“Manny, I have read the bible, I’m not an idiot. Tell me, what you were thinking when you offered to help her start a new life in America? Did you seriously consider that you could parade her on the streets of Manhattan and pass her off as a lady?”

I was
not
thinking. I only wanted to do what I thought was right, a just cause. Now I had to run the gauntlet of Roderick’s sharp summary of the situation. Dare I argue with the feisty Irishman, no!

“It was a silly notion after all and, sadly, never to come to fruition. Perhaps with hindsight I would have given up the idea, in fact I’m sure I would have done just that,” I relented, leaving Roderick to have the upper hand. Well deserved after what I put him through.

We parted company in better spirits than our previous encounter, and I walked alone in Bond Street resigned to Mary’s fate. There would be an enquiry into her death and a funeral I had to detach myself from. It was imperative I kept an unobtrusive distance so as not to arouse any more suspicion, but Scotland Yard could decide I was indeed a suspect. I had appeared again on the streets of Whitechapel the same night of the murder. A truthful confession, I spent the evening with Mary, may be viewed as a strange coincidence, and pressure was still building for the case to be solved.

Time could become my enemy for as long as Jack was at large and I remained in my lodgings doing nothing. I did not wish to dwell on my morbid thoughts of possible arrest and prison, instead preferring to feel the full force of my determination to seek out the monster who, in all probability, was basking in his glory of being free to continue his murderous acts. My mind was taken away from serious thoughts by the sight of a young woman walking toward me. With her svelte figure adorned in a red velvet coat, she walked elegantly through Bond Street, leaving me captured and enchanted by her beauty. A woman for any man’s dreams, including mine. The sight of such beauty prompted me to think of Marianne and what might have been in another time and place. With strong concern, I asked myself what was wrong with me. Swept away so easily by the sight of a beautiful woman, while someone I had known was lying cold on a mortuary slab.
Where was my conscience
?

Whitechapel was just as I left it, a hive of activity. Constables were going from door to door making enquiries, detectives milling on every street corner close to Millers Court and a larger police presence as constables were brought in from outside the area. People were standing around in groups talking, each with their own conclusion as to who killed Mary. My heart was ill at ease when I heard her name being spoken and thought it best to return to the lodgings for some tranquility. The landlady sent her son to light the fire in my room, no more than a slip of a boy, tall and thin. He paid attention to making sure it was well lit and chatted with me in the meantime.

“Terrible goings on there was this morning. Did you ‘ear about that woman murdered? Another one.”

“Yes, I heard the news. A dreadful crime; it had to be the work of Jack the Ripper.”

“I’ve ‘eard that it’s a toff, someone from ‘igh society, loaded with money.”

“Don’t believe everything you hear. There are many rumors about Jack and who it might be, I’m inclined to take most of them very lightly.”

“I reckon it’s one of them doctors from the ‘ospital, the way the bodies were cut up.”

Everyone had a theory of who it could be, from the man in the street, the newspapers and Scotland Yard. It was becoming the biggest unsolved case England had ever seen.

he night brought fresh terrors as fog enveloped the entire area, thick as pea soup. So thick, I was forced to cover my mouth with a handkerchief.

I could barely see in front of my face and struggled to find my direction, certain Mary’s murder brought me a disadvantage concerning a larger police presence. I was more likely to be stopped and asked to explain my reason for what was perceived as loitering than previously. I would need to have just cause for my presence. It was imperative to remain vigilant and avoid ‘the coppers’ at all costs. There were fewer prostitutes to be seen, fear driving them to hide for their own safety. But the noisy ale houses were full and, after recent events, I expected full of talk. Jack had struck their streets
once
again. Temptation to enter and listen was thwarted by my past violent encounter. I continued to walk on. A brawl with the police in such close proximity would be out of the question. Around eleven pm, I heard a scream from an alley to my left and I immediately went in the direction of where I thought it could be. On the ground, against a wall, was a girl, her clothes torn from her body and her face covered in bruises. Barely out of her teens and judging by her style of clothes, was it plain to see she walked the streets, as a prostitute.

“Can I be of assistance? What happened to you?” I asked urgently.

“It was a bloke it was, ’e came from behind an’ I fought ‘im off. ’Ee tore me clothes and punched me a few times,” she sobbed.

“Please, can you tell me what he looked like?” I assisted her to stand, and as a true gentleman, ignored the sight of her exposed breasts.

“A short fella, wearing a trilby ’at and a long overcoat. ’E ’ad black eyes ’e did. I ‘eard ’im say something, it sounded like… what was it… oh yeah… ’e said it were time to die.”

I had at long last found him, and my assumption was right. Ratibor! That was his signature announcement to anyone luckless enough to be at the end of his wrath,
time to die!

I aided the poor girl to her lodgings close by and, just as I warned Mary, I insisted she was to firmly lock her door. She told me her name was Gwyneth, she was orphaned at twelve and had been selling her body ever since. I was perturbed to be standing in the face of child prostitution-sadly a common practice. Fortunately, she had survived, but the reason why she had been spared when he killed so many others eluded me. It was a mystery soon to be horribly revealed as I experienced a sense of foreboding that something else was about the happen.

“Thank you, kind sir,” said the girl, her face stained with tears as she hurried safely inside.

I moved on, determined to find Ratibor. If he had been disturbed in the attack, and scuttled off, he was not far away. More than likely searching for another victim with his lust for murder unquenched. Knowing him as I did, I was certain he was boiling, pushed into an ever deeper rage. The fog had driven most people off the streets with visibility almost non existent. I took direction to Berner Street when, passing through an alleyway, a voice came from behind.

“Judas. We meet again.”

I turned around to face Ratibor standing but two feet away. He grinned and bowed to me, a sickly comical move as he waved a small leather bag I assumed was carrying his tools of the trade.

“I knew it was you all along. What do you think now, Ratibor? That I will let you walk away without a fight?”

“So, the Jesus betrayer is convinced he can stop me. Why are you not off searching for your pathetic coins instead? I warn you, be gone! You are out of your depth. On your way now, you stupid, misguided man. Crawl back to your greed and your fancy women. This is my business and I am unstoppable!”

“I can’t let you do that,” I proclaimed, “I will stop you one way or another!”

He let his bag down slowly and raised both his hands into the air, exaggerating his movements with flamboyant gestures. Nothing had changed in the man except underneath the show he appeared to be very frustrated with my presence.

“That girl, the blonde one, Mary, was a worthless excuse for a human being. She did not deserve to live, none of them did. No one will miss them either. Why? Because they were nothing more than common concubines… whores of Babylon!”

Something snapped inside and, with every ounce of strength I could muster, I knocked him down with a massive kick. We had come across each other in a narrow alley, the chance of someone stumbling onto our confrontation was low, but still a possibility. The last thing I wanted was a well-meaning citizen, upon seeing the confrontation, to summon the police. I wanted to be left alone to deal with the monster! Ratibor jumped back on his feet with relative ease as if nothing happened, our strength unequalled. He was stronger and more powerful than I, but I was fuelled with anger, “For the death of Mary, and so many others through the centuries, I am taking my revenge!”

“For that little whore? She was no Mary Magdalene and was eager to do whatever I asked. For a few coppers, her legs spread open with ease.”

As if by a sixth sense, we both went for the unattended leather hold all, each wanting to retrieve a weapon to inflict the maximum injury. Its contents spilled out, various deadly knives, a meat cleaver, a saw and some rope. The tools of a murderer. Ratibor was
indeed
Jack the Ripper, the evidence scattered on the ground as we desperately fought each other to gain the upper hand. I managed to procure one of the knives, but was unable to get to the meat cleaver. Ratibor had gotten to it first.