Whitechapel (37 page)

“Oh I’m glad you brought your little fucking terrier with you, Abberline, perhaps you could learn to keep him on a tighter leash and not spread gossip about me as a murder suspect.”

“Mr Mansfield first off let me assure you we did not contact the newspapers and we conducted the enquiry at an off peak time basis to be discreet.”

“Well funny how Will Bates didn’t seem to think so. What you got to say then, Godley?”

“Mr Mansfield, I’m sorry but I never saw Bates around the theatre,” replied Godley.

“No I guess you fucking didn’t,” sarcastically replied the indignant Mansfield.

“Mr Mansfield, I’ll tell you what happened, Bates was at the box office as George was leaving. He made an unjustified assumption and ran with it making the rest up as a headline. Now I think to be fair you owe us an apology, and believe you me I will becoming to speak to you further as your name has come up in our enquiry. Now, keep your sarcasm and profanities to yourself and take your beef to the press. Come in here again and I’ll run you in for disorderly conduct in a police station. Do we understand each other?” Mansfield stood stunned for a moment to have been played and justifiably so at his own game and considered his words.

“Very well, Inspector, but I expect enquires by you to be absolutely by the book and I shall request that my lawyer is present.”

“Very well, Mansfield, good day.” And with that final response Abberline followed by Godley turned and left the station’s front counter heading off along the dimly lit Victorian corridor. Mansfield was opened mouthed at the lack of opportunity to address Abberline for calling him by his surname only; for once feeling beaten at his own game of absolute rudeness he wandered back outside into Commercial Street. It was a little early in the day but without a matinee on a Monday he went into the Commercial Street Tavern for a drink and some company.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
 

Tuesday 15
th
October. George Lusk was enjoying a late breakfast with his children whom he cared for in conjunction with a professional nanny, Eleanor, since the death of his wife earlier in the year. Living in Tollit Street, just off Alderney Road East in the Globe Road area, he and his family of seven had only recently come to terms with the loss of a wife and mother. Fortunately his business was doing well and his brother masons had been very supportive in his grief. His formation of the Vigilance Committee was significantly fuelled by the knowledge that the loss of a wife or mother was very hard to bear.

It was around half past nine and there was an uncharacteristic knock on the door. He received post but rarely any that warranted hand delivery; rising from the breakfast table he made his way along the hall to the front door. Opening it he was handed a small three inch square box wrapped in brown paper tied around with twine to secure it. He thanked the postman kindly and shut the door somewhat puzzled and walked back towards the living room and the breakfast gathering. The box seemed to emit an odd preservative type of smell and so he instantly changed his mind and made for the privacy of the kitchen scullery where he knew he could keep the children out and open it in private. As he passed the living room door his youngest daughter spoke to him with obvious curiosity.

“What is it, papa?”

“Oh, nothing, just something for work, Catherine. Stay in there with Eleanor and your brothers and sisters, I need to look at this in private.” He closed the kitchen door behind him and took hold of a pair of scissors and cut the twine to pull it away. He carefully undid the brown paper and as he pulled it away the great sense of the curious smell hit him; it was that of formaldehyde. He could see that the box inside the paper was blood stained. Hands now shaking he opened the box slowly and cautiously to reveal a folded up letter. Lifting it away finding it blood stained, he wretched when he saw what was underneath and dropped the letter in a flinch reaction. As a layman, he did not know if the organ he could see was animal or human or even what it was. He could hear Catherine at the door, with his voice breaking he warned her away.

“Don’t come in, darling, papa is just preparing something.” She heeded his words and stayed out. He composed himself and picked up the blood soaked letter and began to read it. When he noted the senders sick address he struggled to read any further.

Only someone with a mindset ‘from hell’ could orchestrate such a thing. He had to get to Abberline.

***

Montague Druitt woke up in his school lodgings with a splitting headache from the alcoholic excesses of the previous night that consisted of absinthe mixed with a drop of laudanum on a flaming sugar cube. The cube would sit on a spoon across the top of a glass of absinthe and then be dropped into the distinctive green alcohol and all mixed together. He rarely frequented Whitechapel anymore preferring to indulge his vices in seedier areas of South London for fear of bumping into Tumblety. The murder of the policeman still weighed heavily on his mind but he was fearful of approaching the police as anonymity could be an issue. Druitt also sensed that his former associate could be the man responsible for the unspeakable murders in Whitechapel knowing of his bizarre anatomical collection. He was considering a safe course of action for him would be to make contact with the Whitechapel Vigilance Committee who would be unlikely to be interested him or who he was but keen to pursue a suspect in the case. He was aware that this organisation met in The Blind Beggar on the edge of the ill fated district and decided he would go there, not in his normal dress, but donning working man’s clothing to court even less attention. He wasn’t required in class today so he could afford to leave himself unshaven, so he cut short his morning ablutions and drank several cups of tea briskly to try to rehydrate and take away the bitter-sweet aniseed taste of the absinthe. With post alcohol induced shaking hands he lit and smoked a succession of cigarettes too while staring blankly from his window across the expanse of Blackheath.

Simultaneously at The Street Abberline was in conference with some of the other detectives discussing the public briefing he had planned at Toynbee Hall for the next evening, and the need for the American specimen collector story to be pursued. He despatched Bill Murphy to visit the London Hospital as a start to investigate the matter, hoping that at least from there the staff may direct them to local anatomy specialists. They were disturbed by a knock on the door and Taffy Evans who was working at the front desk walked in.

“Sorry to disturb you all, but George Lusk is at the counter in a terrible state, you see, demanding to see you, Mr Abberline. He says it’s very urgent and a very distressing matter. He’s well shook up.”

“All right, Taff, send him through please,” replied Abberline. Taffy left the office with a lively discussion starting amongst the detectives as to what could have shaken up the normally uncompromising George Lusk so much.

He walked in ashen white and still shaking from the shock of the package he had received with Abberline surprised to see such a confrontational man in such a withdrawn and shocked condition.

“Mr Lusk,” said Abberline, “take a seat and tell us what’s happened.” Lusk slowly sat himself at Godley’s desk and stared at the package he placed on the table in front of him, re-wrapped in the brown paper disguising its true nature.

“Abberline, I received this through the morning post,” said Lusk pointing to the box. “I can’t look at it again; you must see the horror of it for yourself.”

“What is, sir?” asked Godley. Lusk sat head now in hands and mumbled,

“It’s from one of the victims.” The detectives all looked at each other knowing as a group this must be some gruesome human remains. Abberline walked over to the table and opened the box, confidently but with care and caution. He pulled the letter out to reveal what he could recognise as part of a kidney; disturbed he unfolded the letter and read. The others crowded round the desk with many different mixed shocked reactions as Abberline read the letter out loud.

“Sent ‘from hell’. ‘Mr Lusk sir I send you half the kidney I took from one woman preserved it for you, tother piece I fried and ate it was very nice. I may send you the bloody knife that took it out if you only wait a while longer. Signed catch me if you can Mr Lusk’.” Abberline paused and looked up from the letter to those in the room. “The fucking bastard. The sheer gall of him. When we get him I will, I swear personally pull the trap door of the gallows.” He passed the letter around the others who in turn read it.

“Mr Lusk, I’m sorry he has dragged you further into this affair and thank you for coming straight to us. I shall get the police surgeon to examine this to confirm if it is human and I will be in touch. Do you wish a police guard on your home, sir?” said Abberline. Lusk stood and composed himself before replying.

“No thank you, Inspector, I don’t wish to cause my children undue alarm at present. I shan’t hesitate to be in touch if I need your assistance. I will see you tomorrow at Toynbee hall.” He left the office and returned home ensuring on way that one of the committee got word to Will Bates.

“George, we need to take this to Dr Brown right away. The rest of you get on with doing whatever.” Abberline and Godley grabbed their coats and left for Golden Lane mortuary.

During that afternoon Mary Kelly and Robert were at home at his lodgings with a very uncomfortable silence between them. To Robert, Mary seemed massively pre-occupied and with the events of the previous weeks and rightly so, but he felt they had to talk.

“Mary, you know that when this thing is done then we’ll leave here and start a new life. What’s wrong? Why are you so quiet?” She sat silent just staring out of the window at the view across the rear of the house in Bakers Row. “Mary, please talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong!” They again sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity until she broke it.

“Robert, I think I know who is doing this and why.” Robert sat aghast at this statement made out of the blue that he certainly wasn’t expecting.

“You swear to not get angry or arrest me because it involves a theft on my part which will secure our future.” He sat silent, but thinking of his own very delicate position. He was hardly one to be able to cast judgement upon her.

“All right, go on I promise that everything now is for us.”

“I met a man called Francis. An American. We were together for a while and travelled together, went to France. But it was there I found out how odd he was, and not the gentleman I thought he was at all. We were in Monmartre in Paris and he said he liked art so I said he could sketch me. When he was finished it was horrid, a sick representation of womanhood. He went out and I found a collection of preserved human specimens, I think all from women, in his arts bag so I knew I had to leave him. But I also found that he had this expensive looking collection of jewels. I was scared, I had no money so I ran with most of them back here, but I don’t know what to do with them all, I thought I’d be conned out of them if I wasn’t careful, but with you, they can be our future.”

Robert was stunned he didn’t know what to say, he stood up and began pacing the room and started crying, which rendered him unable to speak for quite a few minutes. He managed to compose himself and speak.

“So you questioned me when I admitted to killing a murderer through sheer rage and a sense of revenge, an act that potentially had no consequence to society other than to benefit it.” He took a breath pausing and considering his further words carefully. “And you steal from a man who is a lunatic, goes on a killing spree fuelled by your theft quite possibly which leads to my best friend dying! How I am I supposed to respond?”

“But you love me!”

“Yes, I do, but I’m hurt by the fact you were so shocked by my honesty and all this time you failed to tell me this. We could have stopped these murders weeks ago if you had been honest. Del would still be here!”

“Del would still be here if you hadn’t gone on your crusade for revenge. How do you think I feel? What about Cathy and Liz and Mary and Annie? I have to carry the guilt for their deaths too!” A long silence again was cast over the room. Robert more composed broke it.

“What’s his name? How old is he?”

“Francis Tumblety, early 50s, wears a uniform a lot, all the time really. Big moustache, tall, not fat but not thin.” A silence fell again for a long time between them until it was eventually again broken by Robert picking up his coat. Angrily he said “I’m going out.”

“Where?”

“Out I need some air and a drink.” He walked out slamming the door behind him. Mary went to the window and crossed her arms in front of her, stared out and began to cry.

Robert took himself off to The Blind Beggar to have a drink and to try to gain some perspective on this earth shattering news. As he neared the pub passing a dark alleyway in Whitechapel Road he got pulled harshly into it by a huge figure of a man and pinned up against one side of it. He instantly recognised a voice that spoke to him from one side close to his ear as he was held firmly against the wall by the giant with seemingly limitless strength.

“Robbie boy, I hear that you are one of the filth, is that right now, eh?” said Sean Miller in his broad Ulster accent. Robert was unsure how he should reply.

“I have it on real good authority. Now while didn’t you tell me this the other night in the pub now, eh?”

“It’s not true; some one is stringing you along. I’m a bricky.”

“My Fenian friends at The Yard don’t think so. Patrick, do him.” Miller stepped to one side as the huge Irish man let go with his right hand and landed a massive blow into Robert’s nose. He felt it shatter and the warmth of blood spread across his face and run down onto his chin. More blows struck his body as he fell to his knees and received a series of upper cut punches devastating the area around his eyes. For a split second he felt the assailant release his grip; he fell on to all fours and as if out of a sprinters position he launched himself to his feet and ran clear back into the main road but heavily dazed from the beating so far. It caused him to lose his sense of direction and spatial awareness and he ran into the busy road carriageway, heavy with moving traffic. He ran into the path of a carriage drawn by two horses and got knocked to the ground by the harness running between them, falling into the path of the nearest horse. He was instantly concussed and knocked unconscious then trampled on by a horse breaking his left arm and then tossed under the carriage. His head made a further heavy glancing impact with the nearside wheels taking off skin across the right side of his forehead with his limp body eventually coming to land in the gutter.