The Last Confession of Sherlock Holmes (12 page)

“Mr Holmes,” said Constable Warrington, returning after a brief interlude, “this is the man who discovered the victim, Mr William Faulker.”

Before us stood a scruffy man of unfortunate circumstance: his clothing was frayed, his dark hair unkempt, and an aged cap perched carelessly on his head. His dirty face showed signs of poverty and also betrayed a hint of violence; though physically not a powerful man, his stocky frame suggested a strength which most would find surprising.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr Holmes,” said Mr Faulker, an air of uncertainty in his otherwise gravelly voice.

“And yours, Mr Faulker,” replied Holmes politely. “I trust you have not consumed any substance that may have rendered you incapable of aiding us in our investigation?”

“No, sir. I most certainly wanted to but I cannot afford such luxuries.”

“I regret to hear of your troubles, Mr Faulker, and I sympathise with the distress you have suffered, nonetheless I am pleased you have remained sober. Fortunately I have brought with me a small flask of Watson's gin. Please take a mouthful to help regain your nerve, and if you would be so kind, describe for us how it was you came across this most unpleasant of scenes.”

“Thank you,” said Faulker, taking the flask, “I live on Court Street, near the station, with my wife Marie and our three children.” He took a brief pause and a swig; it was unclear whether it was the effect of alcohol or the disturbing events of the night which caused him to shudder. “Our circumstances are dire, but for around these parts that is regular,” he continued. “I'm an Ale Turner at the brewery, on the east end of Pelham Street. Every morning I leave the house by four, walk up Hanbury Street, past this church, then go up Deal Street and onto Pelham. I saw the body lying in the entrance as I walked past.”

“That is your complete statement, Mr Faulker?” said Holmes.

“Yes, sir, it is,” he replied gruffly.

“If that is indeed your entire statement, Mr Faulker, then I assume you are hoping that I would fail to take into account the singularity that it was you in particular who discovered the victim, despite the numerous early risers who travel down this street? You wish me to ignore that the wall which surrounds these grounds obstructs the view of this alcove from every angle, and that the victim could only have been viewed from the gateway entrance? Even from there, this would prove exceedingly difficult: no mere passer-by could simply have noticed her out of the corner of their eye. Not only this, but also you wish me to ignore that, while you stood in this singular spot, you were also capable of noticing the woman's legs, which only slightly protruded from their area of shadowed concealment? You have also revealed, Mr Faulker, that you live upon Court Street, which is remarkably close to where Polly Nichols was found murdered six years ago. Perhaps then, you are a far more sinister individual than Constable Warrington appreciated: after all, you could quite simply sink back into the shadows of your profession or your establishment, having carried out such deeds. If I were you, Mr Faulker, I would provide a more coherent case for your discovery, or you shall find yourself placed amongst the most infamous of suspect lists: that of Jack the Ripper.”

Our man had turned a ghostly shade of white as he realised his miscalculation. His breathing became sharp and his hands began to tremble; it seemed as if he were about to embark upon some form of grotesque transformation.

“Mr Holmes, I assure you that I am not capable of such violence,” Faulker stammered.

“Once again, Mr Faulker, I must insist that you stick to the facts.”

“You accuse me of such a crime?”

“I do not accuse you of anything: I can see by the scratches upon your neck, the rips in your clothing, and your slightly bleeding knuckles that you have been involved in a recent skirmish. Furthermore, we have a dead woman, and a highly suspicious and, judging by your countenance at my remarks, violent individual, who is refusing to or incapable of providing an adequate alibi as to how he discovered the victim. Perhaps you thought you would be clever and avoid suspicion by alerting the authorities yourself? So I ask you again, Mr Faulker, how did you discover this woman?”

“Very well,” said he, his face in a state of terrible contortion. “There are some things a man wishes to remain private, even from the authorities. I told you I have three children, Mr Holmes, but a little over two weeks ago, I had four. Our youngest and my only daughter, Emily, was just two years old, but she contracted some awful disease and died within days. I attend this church regularly but it has no cemetery, at least not for people of my background. Emily was buried in one of those great cemeteries outside the City; but every day, upon my way to work, I stop for a few minutes at the gate and say a prayer for my baby daughter. I wouldn't have noticed the body, but there was a bit of a breeze and it made her dress blow about her ankle. I thought the movement was a bit odd, and when I strained, I thought I saw what looked like legs. I went to have a look and then alerted the authorities.”

“The death of an infant is not uncommon, Mr Faulker. Why is it that you wish me to believe a man such as yourself would harbour such sentiment?”

“Whatever you comfortable folk may believe about the citizens who make up the bulk of this city, we are not savages. The death of one of your own is a pain no man, no matter what his circumstances, should be made to suffer. Not that I would expect you to understand.”

“A touching story, Mr Faulker,” said Holmes, “I thank you for giving us the true and complete version of your night's events. If you have nothing more to add, you may continue upon your way.”

“Holmes, I understand you wish to extract the truth but must you use such tactics?” said Abberline, as William Faulker departed the scene, an array of pain and emotion evident in his eyes.

“Had he not insisted upon providing an incomplete testimony I would not have pushed him so; if he had presented before us the complete narrative when I first enquired, I would have been inclined to believe him and prepared to have been more sympathetic.”

“A coherent account, I would say, but should we not have asked him about the carriage?” said Lestrade.

“No, the murder took place hours before the body was discovered by Mr Faulker. Jack the Ripper vanishes into the shadows, he does not sit in a carriage waiting to be sighted. As for my suspicion of the man, I never believed in his guilt; such people mistrust the authorities and are always reluctant to give a full account, even though it usually contains nothing incriminating, they merely gain satisfaction from being unhelpful. In such circumstances, demonstrating the stupidity of such action is usually sufficient, in this case more than so. What conclusions did you draw upon your inspection of the body, Watson?”

“The teeth and gums are quite healthy, and the fingernails appear well kept. The skin looks a little off-colour, though, something which could have only developed over time, so I assume you were searching for traces of poison. I also noticed that the wounds around the fingers and the eyes have been wiped; the excess blood was smeared across the door and upon the handle, but the neck and torso were left alone, though I can offer no reason for this action.”

“Excellent. I had deduced as much. As for the poison, the evidence would suggest such a method, though at this stage of the investigation I cannot be certain. So, gentlemen: we have heard from our man, and seen the body, do any theories begin to materialise?”

“The fingers and mouth surely point to a life of relative comfort,” said Inspector Abberline.

“Perhaps, although not necessarily,” said Holmes. “Watson?”

“The nails were well kept but slightly soiled; that is suggestive of one who took pride in her appearance but did not have the means to do so, or her circumstance dictated that she at least must dirty her hands. She could had previously lived in comfort and recently fallen on hard times.”

“Excellent, Watson! I would be inclined to use your theory as the basis for one of our more probable hypotheses. If we apply the same reasoning to a similar train of thought, we may also consider the possibility that she was a lady of the night who was being courted by a wealthy benefactor. Such a scenario is quite common, and I am told that a number of women get into the profession in the hope of achieving such an end.”

“And if she had been poisoned and brought to the scene?” injected Lestrade.

“Bravo Lestrade, you focus upon the two notable features of the case. She was certainly brought here by carriage, and the likelihood of poison, in tandem with the marks upon her wrists and ankles, suggests she had been held captive. The victim, as you perceive, gentlemen, is an anomaly.

“And the fingers?” I asked.

“For one of either two plausible reasons: the fingers and thumb were removed from the right hand only, so naturally it was upon this hand which she wore items of value or recognition.”

“Are we sure this is the Ripper?” said Abberline. “All the previous murders appeared to be random. We had no trouble identifying any of the victims and found no motive, other than increasingly devilish violence. Now you are saying that the same man purposefully kept a woman hostage, poisoned her, removed her identifiable features and cleaned only some of the wounds, before smearing her blood upon a church door?”

“We have an anomaly,” repeated Holmes. “The public location accompanied with the slitting of the throat, the unnecessary rips along the body, as well as the demonstration of expertise in the delicate removal of the eyes and the fingers, show that this is no mere impersonator. As for the smearing of the blood, I can only assume that defiling a house of God would appeal to such a man; not every action has a devious purpose, Abberline. We have but one similarity to our previous victims; we have been left with what I believe to be purposefully insufficient evidence. Our working hypothesis is thus: Jack the Ripper has kidnapped and murdered a woman believed to have been, or becoming, of reasonable status; he bound her, and to free himself of the duties of watchman used a slow-working poison. When it became apparent that she would not fulfil his original design, he brought her to this church and carried out these atrocities, though why I cannot say.”

“We shall alert the Yard to begin a search for such a woman straight away,” said Lestrade.

“Anything else?” asked Abberline.

“Yes, search for any men who are also teetering between social escalation and disaster, with possibly a wife or daughter who has gone missing.”

“What about the wealthy clients of these women, Holmes?” said I. “If she were looked after, she could bear the appearance of a woman of higher class.”

“A solid theory Watson, and one which we shall pursue; the authorities are unlikely to have much luck enquiring into such personal matters, and I believe they would be met with blunt and rather unhelpful responses. We shall use more un-official means directed at the social associates of the woman.”

“But do we not have any leads as to the identity of this man,” exclaimed Lestrade, a hint of desperation in his voice.

“Unfortunately not, Lestrade, for we are hunting Jack the Ripper. The man we chase is an anonymous spectre; he may well even be dead. There is little more for us to learn here gentlemen. Watson and I shall return to Baker Street and await any further developments, for until we discover the identity of this poor woman, we have reached an impasse.”

Chapter VII - A Great Deception

It would perhaps be a trifle inaccurate to describe the following days as panic-stricken: they were sheer pandemonium. Never in my life had I seen such terror. One would think that an announcement had been issued for some ghastly European war. The press, of course, revelled in delight, and not a second was wasted before the sensationalism of murder was blazed across what seemed to be every publication: hundreds of pages of lurid and graphic descriptions were upon the tips of almost every tongue. Newsboys shouted their usual distasteful slogans at passers-by:

“Resurrection of the Ripper: new murder in Whitechapel!”

“Back from Hell: woman Ripped outside of church!”

The public, though horrified at the crimes, had no issue with devouring every sentence, listening to every fairytale, and gossiping in the streets over the identity of this most infamous of criminals. It was not until I journeyed around some of London's more civilised quarters that I began to feel cold, suspicious eyes upon me. I heard the faintest of whispers, similar to a gentle yet unnerving breeze upon a cool dark night, rustling menacingly through the leaves of dying trees: soft mutterings, terrified murmurs which haunted my every step. The more intellectual sections of society had noted a rather curious trend in recent events; the rise, fall and resurrection of Jack the Ripper was an almost perfect reflection of my companion's recent activities. Sherlock Holmes, the foremost champion of the law, the pinnacle of reason, had become a Ripper suspect. Of course, such notions were utterly contemptible. Myself, Lestrade and two other constables were with him throughout the night of the recent murder, with myself and Mrs Hudson completing the alibi upon that day. But such is the nature of society that they are willing to believe any wild theory. My portraits of Holmes' abilities had created an image of such profound genius that some were willing to believe he could be in two places at once. Others believed that I was his accomplice.

I am sure those who harboured these suspicions felt vindicated, and were convinced that we were merely cowering from their accusations, when Holmes and I locked ourselves away in Baker Street: but I can assure you our self-imprisonment served a far greater purpose. For days, Holmes had been consumed by work. Measuring cylinders, glass test tubes and small Bunsen flames could be seen throughout our quarters, and often peculiar and most undesirable smells were to be found simmering within. At least a hundred samples of chemical substances lay scattered across our rooms. A great pile of unanswered correspondence sat upon the side-table, some of which I am sure presented the kind of intricate puzzles my friend would have previously relished the opportunity to investigate.

During this time, I decided that while I could not be of help to Holmes directly, I would at least be of some use; certainly I had no desire to walk amongst those who suspected my involvement in such disturbing events. I therefore decided to analyse those neglected suspects, on the albeit highly unlikely premise that the official authorities had in fact been upon the true course. They may have been previously dismissed, but it was necessary to determine the plausibility of such men in relation to the development of recent events. It was clear to me that, though likely to fail, it was a necessary step, for Holmes could no longer insist upon his Moriarty theory.

My search began with a man named Montague John Druitt. In 1888, he was believed to be insane and suspected guilty by his own friends, with whom the police had been in contact. I immediately hit a dead-end, however, when I discovered he had committed suicide soon after the murder of Mary Jane Kelly. His suspicion was never taken seriously by most within the upper-echelons of the force, and was suspected rather flimsily by his companions; the only somewhat far-fetched conclusion, which had been placed upon such a suspicion, was that his suicide coincided with the final murder. This presented a rather simplistic yet tidy explanation for the end of the Ripper, but even amongst the most ludicrous of conspirators this could now be clearly dismissed.

My next suspect was a Polish Jew by the name of Aaron Kominski. He was labelled insane due to many years in solitary vices; he had a known hatred for women, as well as homicidal tendencies. I recall Lestrade mentioning that Kominski was of notable interest as he bore resemblance to the man seen in Mitre Square in the company of Catherine Eddowes. The suspect also lived in the immediate vicinity of the crimes, and some believed that due to the nature of the lower-Jewish class to which he belonged, his people refused to give up one of their own to Gentile justice. However, I could gather no evidence that this man had displayed even the rudimentary basics of anatomical knowledge. Mr Kominski was admitted into a lunatic asylum in March 1891, but was discharged and moved to Leavesden Asylum near Watford on April thirteenth 1894, where he had remained ever since. Once again I had found myself staring down the barrel of defeat. There was no conceivable explanation how this man could have carried out the latest murder if he still resided in an asylum.

Determined to find something of interest to raise before Holmes, I examined the case of Michael Ostrog: a thief, confidence trickster and self-proclaimed doctor. He had been caught and prosecuted for numerous thefts before being admitted into Wandsworth Prison, a lunatic asylum in Surrey. He was discharged upon the tenth of March 1888, and three weeks after the double murder, an advert was placed in the
Police Gazette
with a description and caption that stated ‘special attention is called to this dangerous man'. He was a man who had been recently discharged from a lunatic asylum, with anatomical knowledge and a known past for crime and cruelty to women.

“Ostrog could not be placed at any of the previous scenes,” said Holmes.

I had scarcely noticed that he had risen from his chair, let alone was now leaning over my shoulder and examining my notes.

“I did not realise you had taken notice of these men,” said I, slightly flustered.

“I always give suspects a momentary glance, Watson, no matter how absurd they may appear. A fruitless and rather tedious task it is, but I must always ensure that every path is travelled when I am in the dark over my destination,” said he, taking a seat next to me.

“There are no previous suspects who arouse your attention then?”

“Only one,” said he.

“Holmes?”

“Professor James Moriarty.”

“What on earth would make you state such a fallacy? He could not possibly have committed the latest atrocity.”

“Look out into the streets, Watson. You have seen the panic, the terror; you have heard the whispers and rumours that surround us. Sherlock Holmes is Jack the Ripper and dear Watson, my ever-faithful accomplice. Who else could have conjured such a notion? Who else could have manipulated the public into swallowing such a deception? The more I consider the problem, the more I am convinced that this is all some terrible scheme which has been left behind. Perhaps Moriarty was not the Ripper after all, Watson, perhaps he merely orchestrated him. Take these suspects, for example; if we apply my hypothesis we could read the situation as thus: Moriarty hired or threatened Mr Druitt to murder only Mary Jane Kelly. He had no connection with the previous victims, was recruited and then taught how to inflict such injuries. There was then a buffer in place, so that if Mr Druitt began to show signs of moral fibre, the kind of remorse which would have disgusted Moriarty, he was disposed of into the Thames: one Jack the Ripper cast into the mighty river, made to appear as suicide. Both our next suspects could have also been the Ripper. Their insanity could have been caused by the atrocities they had committed, a means of escape from the murderous figure of Moriarty, or forced upon them by the Professor himself. One by one a different Jack the Ripper adds to the work of his predecessor, before being presented with quite the conundrum: a choice between insanity, suicide, or their own murder.

“Such an orchestration would certainly explain the force's inability to catch the man,” I said.

“Quite. Now, if you pass me your notes I think we shall find them of greater use than you may have anticipated.”

I passed Holmes my papers, bewildered at this most intriguing of developments. The rebirth of his Moriarty theory at first sounded like the ramblings of a lost soul, refusing to relinquish his grasp upon a singular strand of straw that had blown away so long ago; but as ever, Holmes's seemingly fanciful beginning appeared to be developing into the kind of circular theory he so often championed.

“Here we have Druitt. An Oxford man with a third-class degree in classics, he became a teacher before attempting a profession in law. He had a considerable social standing, and became Director of Blackheath Cricket Club. The years prior to his death were marred by tragedy: the death of his father and the incarceration of his mother in a mental institution say as much. But this does not strike me as the profile of a man upon the brink of suicide. The most suggestible piece of evidence was given by his brother, William, who claimed Montague had stated, ‘I felt like I was going to be like mother, and the best thing for me was to die'. Suggestive, is it not?”

“You believe Moriarty was forcing him into a mental asylum, so he committed suicide?”

“It seems plausible, if he performed the deed himself; then at least he chose the manner in which he joined the afterlife, rather than waiting in fear for whatever terrible scheme Moriarty may have planned for him. The method would have been of irrelevance to Moriarty, so long as he achieved his desired result. Our next man, Kominski, was an unmarried hairdresser. There was no history of mental illness in his family, and the cause of the illness remains unknown.”

“I assume this fits into your Moriarty theory as well?” I enquired.

“Quite; either his mental instability was caused, as we have said, by performing such deeds or through the terror of Moriarty which still gripped his heart. Perhaps more likely was that the institution in which he was imprisoned had, and continues to have, an anonymous benefactor who ensures the man is supplied with suitable substances to maintain his condition. As for Mr Ostrog, his early years were tarnished with countless cases of theft and identity fraud, and you mention in your notes, Watson, that he was committed into a lunatic asylum. But you failed to note that there were several present at his trial, PC Mulvey and Dr Hillier for example, who believed he was trying to manipulate the court. Not exactly surprising behaviour from a confidence trickster, of course, but it is rather telling that Dr Hillier stated that Ostrog showed no signs of insanity when he saw him at the police station. Curious then, how he was able to achieve admission, despite being under the light of suspicion. Of course, that the authorities failed to link the man satisfactorily with any of the crimes is neither here nor there if he were being orchestrated by Professor Moriarty.”

“What about the last victim? Perhaps this is the reason behind Moran's and Adair's clash?”

“That is a distinct possibility; after all, Moran is more than capable of such persuasion, while it is obvious that he would have laid such plans prior to his visit to the empty house. Perhaps Adair did finally discover his moral compass and was incapable of orchestrating such vicious crimes, necessitating the need for his immediate removal. But regardless, having examined some of the facts, does my theory bear scrutiny?”

“To an extent, Holmes,” said I, still slightly apprehensive, “but it does not account for the fact that only one of these men can be placed at only one of the crime scenes. I know this does not disprove your theory, far from it if we are talking of Moriarty, but surely that will not be sufficient for the authorities?”

“I admit that as an official line of investigation it is for the time being rather inadequate; however, I may point to the fact that I encountered many such dead-ends during the majority of my pursuit of the Professor. To dismiss such a notion, when faced with an all-too-familiar continuity, would be a mistake which could well cost me my life, and indeed, perhaps even yours. We must be careful, my dear fellow, we are re-entering very dangerous waters. Our case may not be tight enough for the ears of Lestrade and Abberline at the present time, but I believe we at least are upon the correct path. Our attention must be focused toward any other plausible suspect who has taken a rather sudden and unexpected turn toward insanity or suicide. But for now, Watson, what I require of you is a task in which I am sure you will take great pleasure.”

“Holmes?”

“Do you recall my telling you that the press is a valuable institution, if you know how to use it?”

“I do,” said I, slightly bemused.

“Well, as Jack the Ripper is clearly using my own words against me, I rather believe it is time to retaliate. You are my press, Watson, and I need you to publish some more of your charming little narratives which romanticise yet to a large degree dilute my cases. You may consult my notes, though I must insist you enquire with me first as to their suitability for publishing, since there are still matters that must remain private. There should be plenty of accounts which satisfy your usual criteria, but should they prove lacking in fictional value, I am sure that together we can fabricate a suitable tale or two.”

“But why do you wish me to carry out such a task now? You have never allowed me unrestricted access to your notes before.”

“I need to continue my work uninterrupted, Watson; therefore you can search all my notes, but only enquire when something takes your fancy. I have no desire to carry out an unnecessarily tedious question and answer task. As for the stories, they will demonstrate that I have returned to business as usual, and Jack the Ripper will assume, quite rightly, that I cannot move until the identity of his latest victim is discovered. We must play the game, Watson. He wishes the public to turn against me, so I must return to business and infuriate them further still by openly demonstrating that my attention is elsewhere.”