The Abduction of Pretty Penny

by Leonard Goldberg

  “Why would he leave the feathers on, then?”

  Lestrade shrugged. “I would guess he planned to defeather it once he found a place to cook it.”

  “But starving men do not wait for an ideal location to cook their food,” Joanna countered.

  Lestrade moved his head from side to side as he further considered the matter. “Perhaps he was in no rush, for he had dined earlier on the other parts of the bird.”

  “I believe you are correct in that assumption,” said Joanna, but the humming sound that followed told me there was more to this puzzle than she was revealing. Next, she closely inspected the suspect’s heavy coat and tattered shirt, which was soiled but free of blood. The lining of the coat had been torn out long ago and what remained held no hiding places. A search of the shoes and socks was likewise unproductive.

  “I see you are avoiding the most important item of evidence,” Lestrade broke the silence.

  “Are you referring to the large, bloodstained piece of glass?” she asked.

  “I am.”

  “And pray tell what renders it so important?”

  Lestrade gave my wife a rather perplexed look. “Because he no doubt used it to slit the last victim’s throat.”

  “So our suspect did not do the deed with his knife after all.”

  “If we find the knife, all well and good, but for now the bloodstained piece of glass will do nicely.”

  “Perhaps not so nicely,” Joanna said as she furrowed her brow in thought. Again she hummed to herself at length until she found the fact she was searching for. Turning to me, she asked, “Tell me, John, is it not true that avian blood differs from that of humans?”

  “It does indeed, but it requires microscopic examination to distinguish between the two,” I replied.

  “Excellent, for much depends on that distinction.”

  “We have a microscope in our small laboratory, if you wish to use it,” Ellis offered.

  “Do you employ a technician?” I inquired.

  “Part-time, for she performs only the simplest of tests,” Ellis answered.

  “Such as peripheral blood smears?” asked I.

  “Oh, yes, she is very good with Wright’s stain.”

  “Is she present today?”

  “She is until noon.”

  Joanna picked up the large piece of bloodstained glass and held it up to the light. “This will do quite well for our purposes. Now, Dr. Ellis, if you will, please show us the way to the institution’s laboratory.”

  We hurried a short distance down the corridor and entered a very small laboratory whose only major instrument was an ancient microscope. A middle-aged technician, with gray-streaked hair held back in a bun, quickly got to her feet.

  “Alice, would you be good enough to do a Wright’s stain on a piece of broken glass for us?” Ellis requested in a soft voice.

  “Of course, sir, but for the best results we would need a flat surface,” she complied.

  “I believe this will do,” said Joanna, and gave Alice the blood-soaked piece of glass.

  After holding it up to a bright light, she cleansed the undersurface with saline, then added purple Wright’s stain to its top. Within minutes, the stained piece of glass was under the microscope and ready for viewing.

  I quickly studied the glass and pronounced, “It is bird blood, as demonstrated by the nucleated red blood cells. Human erythrocytes are devoid of such a nucleus.”

  “Well done, John, for everything now fits together,” Joanna said, and, after thanking the technician, departed the laboratory, with the rest of us close behind.

  In the corridor, she asserted, “I am now even more certain that Artie is not our Jack the Ripper. He no doubt used the sharp piece of broken glass to open the bird and remove its edible parts. He consumed all except for the chicken leg, which remained protected by its feathers and which he planned to later dine on. Before this event occurred, however, I believe that Artie, while roaming the dark streets of Whitechapel, happened onto the corpse of Annie Yates and took advantage of the find.”

  “Why didn’t Artie use the knife he was flashing to section the chicken?” Lestrade argued. “It would have served the purpose far better than broken glass.”

  “Here I would be guessing, but I believe it to be a guess of high probability,” Joanna replied. “I believe The Ripper slipped the knife into Artie’s pocket unnoticed.”

  “Why not simply hand it to him?”

  “It would be most reckless to give a madman a large knife in a dark alley.”

  Lestrade nodded and held up an envelope which he emptied onto a nearby gurney. We gathered around to view a single copper earring that also had blood on its surface. “In all likelihood this, too, was slipped into Artie’s pocket,” the inspector deduced.

  Joanna stared at the bloodied earring as a thin smile crossed her face. “How clever he is.”

  “Based on the earring?” Lestrade asked quizzically.

  “Precisely so,” she replied. “Allow me to draw your attention to the attachment which permits the earring to be fastened to a woman’s ear.”

  “It appears to be perfectly intact,” Lestrade noted, with a shrug.

  “Which it should not be,” Joanna said, turning back in the direction of the padded room. “We must question Artie once more.”

  “I am afraid he will be most uncooperative now,” Ellis informed. “He will remember his last painful encounter with you.”

  “I can persuade him to behave,” she responded, unconcerned.

  “But the straitjacket must remain on.”

  “That will present no problem.”

  As we rushed down the corridor, I continued to dwell on the bloodied earring and why its intact attachment was such an important clue. The common type of attachment, which this one possessed, made it simple to fasten and remove. Certainly even a madman would have little difficulty detaching the earring. Why then all the attention on an intact attachment?

  We entered the padded room, with the burly attendant and constable by our sides. Artie remained restrained in a straitjacket and was angrily pacing the canvased floor, all the while muttering nonsense to himself. He paused briefly to give us a menacing glare as he seemed to struggle against his restraint, which made him even angrier.

  “Get out!” he shouted at the top of his voice.

  “I have more questions for you,” Joanna said calmly.

  “Go bugger yourself!”

  “Perhaps we can reach an agreement which would make my interview more appealing.”

  Artie stopped pacing abruptly, now giving thought to such a proposition. His anger appeared to subside while he contemplated and searched for an advantage. Then a smile came to his face. “Remove the straitjacket and we can talk,” he negotiated cleverly.

  “That is not an option,” Joanna refused.

  “Then leave, for I soon have a meeting with another Angel of Death which cannot wait.”

  “He will wait.”

  “Blasphemy!”

  “He will understand as we discuss matters over a Turkish cigarette.”

  Artie considered the offer and continued to bargain despite his madness. “Only one?”

  “Three, for that is the number which remain in my pack.”

  “How do I know you will hold up to our agreement?”

  “I will give the pack, with its three cigarettes, to Dr. Ellis, who will pass them on to you once the straitjacket is removed.”

  “I want to see you hand him the pack now.”

  Joanna did so, but with a warning. “If you do not answer my questions truthfully, I will take the pack back and our conversation will come to an end. Understood?”

  Artie nodded, his eyes still riveted on the pack of cigarettes. “Understood.”

  “Describe the man who gave you the copper earring,” Joanna requested.

  “He was an ordinary bloke.”

  “Did he speak cockney?”

  “No, ma’am. He spoke more like a gentleman.
”

  “Could you see his face?”

  “Not much of it, for he was wearing one of those fisherman caps pulled over his forehead.”

  “I would guess he gave you the chicken as well.”

  Artie nodded unhappily. “A scrawny bird, if ever there was one.”

  “Did he supply you with a knife to carve it up?”

  “No, madam. I had the good fortune to find it later in my pocket.”

  “Do you have any idea how it got there?”

  “I suspect God put it there,” Artie replied. “To do his work, you see.”

  “He is good at those sorts of things.”

  “He is indeed.”

  “Let us turn to the copper earring,” Joanna redirected the conversation. “Did the man you described give you only a single earring?”

  “I asked for the other, but he refused. So then, I asked him what good one earring was, and he told me to go to Froman’s Jewelry Shop where the owner would purchase it from me, for people are always seeking a replacement for one that was lost. He assured me it would bring a shilling.”

  “Why did you not take it to Froman’s?” asked Joanna.

  “I was on my way there when I was nabbed by the coppers; otherwise I would have—” Artie stopped in mid-sentence and stared up at the bare ceiling. “Here comes the other Angel of Death. You must leave or the meeting will be canceled.”

  “So we shall.”

  “Leave! Leave! Before it is too late.”

  In the corridor and away from the padded room, I could not help but ask Joanna, “What was the significance of the intact attachment on the earring?”

  “It was dark in that passageway where Annie Yates lay, and I think it fair to say that Artie could have hardly seen a copper earring under her long blond hair. And had he somehow noticed it, with such little light and being a man unfamiliar with such jewelry, he would have surely ripped it off her ear, which would have left the flimsy attachment behind.”

  “And Annie’s ears showed no signs of traumatic injury,” I recalled from the autopsy.

  “Very good, John,” Joanna went on. “So why then was Artie given only a single earring?”

  “I have no idea,” I admitted.

  “As a clue, which would inform the police that Artie was present at the crime scene and, in all likelihood, was the person who murdered Annie Yates,” said she. “It was a nice touch to give him a single earring, for that is how a totally crazed individual might be expected to behave.”

  “But why the chicken as a gift?”

  “It wasn’t a gift, but a nicely contrived bribe,” Joanna elucidated. “You see, our Jack the Ripper, being a physician, knew he was dealing with a psychotic who he could manipulate. He no doubt had shadowed Artie earlier, and when he saw Artie coming down the passageway, he indulged him with conversation and bribes. He might have actually known Artie from the poor soul’s days at the butcher shop.”

  “Of course, of course,” my father interjected. “Being a longtime resident of Whitechapel, The Ripper knew all about Artie, including his psychosis and traumatic injuries.”

  “Which made Artie the perfect pigeon to carry all the clues that would at first make him appear to be Jack the Ripper,” Joanna concluded. “But The Ripper knew that we would uncover the charade after a careful investigation.”

  “Why do such a charade?” Lestrade asked.

  “He is playing a game with us, Inspector, which leads us off in different directions,” she replied. “He is taunting us and telling us how clever he is. In a silent way, he is saying, ‘I am much smarter than you and you will never catch me.’”

  “He is a most clever madman,” my father noted. “And the worst of all opponents.”

  “Or the best, depending on one’s point of view,” said Joanna, obviously pleased with the competition. “Here is a man who I am happy to do business with.”

  CHAPTER 17

  The Copper Cuff Links

  Joanna spent the entire night pacing back and forth across our parlor, lighting one cigarette after another, which left the air polluted with dense tobacco smoke. My father and I did not interrupt, for we were aware that a break in her concentration would be most unwelcomed. We had seen this type of behavior before and knew it represented a puzzle that refused resolution.

  But the interruption in her thoughts occurred nevertheless when Miss Hudson entered after a brief rap on the door. “I was wondering when it would be convenient for breakfast to be served.”

  “Later,” Joanna replied absently, still pacing.

  Miss Hudson waved away the thick smoke and hurried to the window which she opened to allow in a crisp, fresh draft. “I do not understand how you can tolerate such foul air.”

  “It suits my brain,” Joanna replied, and rushed to close the window.

  “A nicely prepared breakfast could suit it better,” Miss Hudson retorted.

  “Give us a bit more time, if you will,” Joanna requested, and reached for another cigarette.

  “Really, Dr. Watson,” Miss Hudson addressed my father, “you must discourage her from such an evil and unhealthy habit.”

  “I shall do my best,” my father promised. “And rest assured our appetites will soon demand one of your most sumptuous breakfasts, which we always look forward to.”

  “Very good, sir,” Miss Hudson said, pacified by my father’s gentle words, and departed as quietly as she had entered.

  Once the door closed, Joanna remarked, “On occasion, she interrupts my thoughts at the most inopportune moment.”

  “She means well,” my father said.

  “I am aware of that,” Joanna agreed. “But her entrance occurred just as my brain was formulating a solution to a most troubling problem which demands an answer.”

  “What so troubles you, may I ask?” I queried.

  “The copper earring that Jack the Ripper gave to Artie,” Joanna answered. “There is a purpose to that move which escapes me.”

  “It was his marker,” said I.

  Joanna shook her head at my notion. “He had already left an earring behind on the corpse of Annie Yates.”

  “But then he gave the other one to Artie to further convince us that the psychotic was Jack the Ripper.”

  “He was far too clever for that,” Joanna countered. “There was more than enough evidence on Annie Yates to show it was the work of The Ripper. Moreover, all the clues planted on Artie were superficial and would be seen through by a worthwhile observer. The single copper earring on the corpse of Annie Yates and the one given to Artie are beyond a doubt interconnected, but not in the manner we think. There is another purpose to the madness; of that I am convinced.”

  “You may be stretching it a bit, Joanna,” my father said.

  “Not if my suspicions are correct.”

  “Which are?”

  “My initial impression, like Lestrade’s, was that The Ripper may have decided to split the pair and leave a single earring on the corpse as a marker. He then gave the other to Artie to indicate the inmate was at the crime scene and was most likely the murderer.”

  “But why give one to Artie when it is The Ripper’s custom to bestow a complete set on each of his victims?” my father asked. “After all, as you just mentioned, there was abundant evidence to show that it was the work of The Ripper and not Artie.”

  “Well thought out, Watson, for it makes my initial suspicion untenable,” Joanna replied. “The true reason continues to escape me, but we must keep in mind that our killer is most clever and enjoys playing games, particularly when he holds the advantage.”

  “Are you saying he is intentionally leading us on?” my father queried.

  “That thought has crossed and stayed in my mind, for I am of the opinion that the single earring on the corpse and the one on Artie were presented to us as clues he wishes us to follow.”

  “To what end?”

  “One that we will no doubt find surprising.”

  “Yet it must surely be to his benef
it.”

  “Oh, it already is and continues to be, for I believe he derives great pleasure in knowing that he is controlling us again and again, while he goes on his merry, killing ways.”

  “Leaving only bits and pieces behind,” my father grumbled.

  “Bits and pieces indeed,” Joanna agreed. “As you pointed out a moment ago, it was The Ripper’s custom to bestow a pair of earrings on each victim, but in the case of Annie Yates he leaves only one.”

  My father shrugged. “So that he could give the other to Artie, as an obvious lead disguised as a gift which had no value by itself.”

  “No value by itself!” Joanna exclaimed as a sudden epiphany came to her. “The Ripper was leading us to Froman’s Jewelry Shop, not to Artie. He purposefully removed an earring from Annie Yates and gave it to Artie, with instructions to take it to Froman’s where it would be purchased, which was absolute nonsense.”

  “But not to a psychotic,” I interjected.

  “Precisely, John. All Artie could envision was a shilling in his pocket, which was a tidy sum to a man starving on the streets of Whitechapel. The Ripper was directing Artie to Froman’s, knowing we would follow.”

  “But why specifically there?”

  “Because that is where the next clue will be,” Joanna said, obviously pleased with her reasoning as she reached for the bell to summon Miss Hudson. “And now for a hearty breakfast, for we have a long day ahead of us.”

  * * *

  The commercial section of Whitechapel was quite busy, with all of the stores now open and the footpaths filled with shoppers and merchants and tradesmen, as well as the ever-present loiterers and vagrants. I was again impressed with the international flavor of the neighborhood we were riding through. There was a French bakery, Polish restaurant, Jewish clothier, and Irish pub on a single block. A recent article in the Guardian stated that over twenty-five languages and dialects were spoken in the district. But behind the façade of legitimate businesses were the slums, gangs, and brothels that brought violence and crime along with them. The same article in the Guardian noted there were twelve hundred prostitutes and sixty-two brothels that were known to exist in Whitechapel. Our carriage passed by the doss-house which once housed Annie Yates, the poor girl from Bristol who now lay in the cold earth of a potter’s field. It reminded me of how fragile one’s existence could be. Had she not come down with tuberculosis, she might still be employed as a lady’s maid on a grand estate. I quickly cleared my mind as we approached the block which contained the jewelry shop. Joanna was now telling us her plans for the investigation.