Here

by Sean Moynihan

  “I don’t want to go nowheres else,” Michael said. “We’re fine out there with our friends.”

  “I understand,” Falconer said. “But all you kids aren’t supposed to be running around in the streets—it isn’t safe and it’s against the rules. You need a good home so you can grow up to be an important guy, know what I’m saying?”

  “Sure,” Michael replied unconvincingly.

  “Well, you two just stay here for a bit,” Falconer said, “and I’ll keep in touch, okay?”

  “Yeah,” Michael answered.

  “You okay, Artie?” Falconer asked looking over at the younger boy looking down at the magazine.

  “Yes,” the boy replied quickly before looking back at the page.

  Falconer stood up and motioned for Halloran to walk back out into the hallway. “Thank you, ma’am,” Falconer said to Matron O’Keefe, tipping his bowler at her.

  “Thank you, gentlemen,” she replied with a smile. “Don’t be strangers now.”

  The two men then walked out into the hallway and headed back towards the stairs leading up to the first floor of the stationhouse.

  “Are you going to tell me what this case is all about, detective?” Halloran asked, trying to keep up with Falconer’s quick pace.

  “Yes,” Falconer replied, “let’s take a walk and get you briefed, shall we?”

  “Yes, sir,” Halloran said as he followed Falconer up the stairs and out the front door to the sidewalk below.

  53

  Later in the evening, Falconer brought Halloran to his apartment in midtown, where they were to meet Levine and Penwill, both of whom had been summoned by message. At the appointed time, Falconer and Halloran heard a knock on the door and Falconer walked over to admit the two men. “Good evening,” Penwill said cheerily, walking past Falconer at the doorway and looking over at Halloran. “I see we have a newcomer.”

  “Yes, this is Officer James Halloran of the Fourth Ward,” Falconer announced. “He’s been assigned by the Central Office to assist me in all of this.”

  “How do you do, gentlemen?” Halloran said, looking first at Penwill and then over at Levine, who had entered right behind the British inspector.

  “Just fine, lad,” Penwill replied. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  “Good evening—nice to meet you, officer,” Levine said quietly with a smile.

  “So, if the young officer here has been assigned to assist you,” Penwill said, “I take it this investigation is no longer unofficial.”

  “That’s right,” Falconer replied. “A lot has happened in the last twenty-four hours, and you need to hear about it, so please, have a seat, gentlemen.”

  Penwill, Levine, and Halloran all sat down in chairs on the outskirts of the room as Falconer walked over to the fireplace and mantle, pulling a sheet of paper out of his jacket. He glanced down at it for a moment and then looked back at the three men. “They have found another body this morning,” he began, “a young woman left in a barrel in an alley not far from my stationhouse. She was cut up pretty severely.”

  “Good god,” Penwill said. “He’s at it again.”

  “Yes, I think he is, I’m afraid,” Falconer said. “Some street kids playing in the alley found her, but we have no witnesses to the actual killing, and as far as I can tell, no physical evidence left at the scene by the killer—except a note.”

  “A note?” Penwill asked. “What sort of note?”

  “It’s in the possession of the Central Office right now,” Falconer said, “but I made sure to copy it down before handing it over so that you could at least hear what was typed out on it. Here,” he said, handing the sheet of paper to Levine, “I think you’ll all find that it changes things for us and for everyone.”

  Levine took the sheet of paper and glanced down at it momentarily.

  “Well,” Penwill asked, “what does it say, professor?”

  “My, my,” Levine replied, his eyes still intently scanning the page before him. “Let me read it for you.” Levine then took a deep breath and adjusted his glasses on his face, and read out loud what Falconer had copied onto the page:

  Dear Falconer,

  You very well know what my intent here is. I am leaving this girl as a gift for you, and as evidence that I am here now, in your city. I am here, Falconer. Your superiors once boasted that they’d be able to catch me in a few days’ time, so this is their opportunity. I don’t believe they’ll be able to have much success, though. I’m still free as a bird. The one down near 33d Street fought back and surprised me, yes, but I did manage get away relatively unscathed. Your Inspector Byrnes and his men appear inept, after all, but not you, Falconer. I know that you are on to me, and you will be a challenge. I want you to know: I fear you, Falconer. That is something new to me. We may yet meet before this is all over. I wish you luck, sir.

  J.

  “‘J?’” Penwill asked, breaking the silence in the room. “He signs it simply, ‘J?’”

  “Yes,” Falconer replied, “that’s it. But I think it’s clear what he meant.”

  “J for ‘Jack,’” Levine interjected from his seat. “He is telling us—telling the world—that he is Jack the Ripper, and he has come to take up Inspector Byrnes’ on his dare from a couple of years ago when the Whitechapel murders were occurring. He is challenging the New York Police Department to try and catch him this time, here on American soil. It’s fascinating.”

  “But true?” Penwill inquired. “Do you believe, professor, that this is actually the Whitechapel killer himself, or simply a madman who wants us to think that?”

  “The language and style are vastly different from the infamous Jack the Ripper letters received by Scotland Yard,” Levine noted, “so it’s clearly a different writer. But as I’ve mentioned to you, detective, many people feel that those letters were fakes, and were merely the disturbed creations of a particularly degenerate interloper—a disgusting clown who wanted to have his fun with the authorities.”

  “And what do you think about those letters, professor?” Penwill asked.

  “I am inclined to agree with those who say that they are fakes,” Levine replied. “I’ve always believed that the Whitechapel killer was actually a very intelligent and refined man who simply has no morals to speak of—a highly educated and bloodthirsty maniac.”

  “So, you believe that this may actually be the Whitechapel killer in our midst, professor?”

  “I do, inspector,” Levine replied calmly. “We have the bodies, the similar methods of killing, the motivation to embarrass the police department—there is no intelligent or logical reason to dismiss the notion of Jack the Ripper being in New York as some sort of fiction or fantasy. In fact, there is every reason to believe it, and to take it very seriously.”

  “Well, good,” Penwill said, sitting back in his chair, “I’m glad you feel that way because I believe it, too.”

  “Pardon me,” Halloran interrupted from his chair in a corner of the room, “but are you all saying Jack the Ripper is here in New York?”

  “That’s exactly what we’re saying, lad,” Penwill replied. “He’s having his little brand of fun with you Yanks now. The question is, what do we do about it? What’s our next play?”

  “We go out and draw him in,” Falconer said from his place at the mantle. “Catch him in the act.”

  “And how do suppose we do that, detective?” Penwill asked.

  Falconer walked to the middle of the room and looked at each of the men. “We send detectives dressed up as streetwalkers out onto every street corner of the city at night,” he finally said. “Hire girls to go into every saloon and clip joint and get the killer to come out into the open while we’re watching, and we grab him in the act, or kill him in the process.”

  “Have men dress up as ladies?” Penwill asked with a hint of amusement showing on his face. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Dead serious, inspector,” Falconer replied. “And why not? It’s a desperate move, but we
are desperate now. We have three victims, and soon the press is going to get ahold of this and the city is going to be in a panic. Byrnes can’t keep this suppressed for very much longer.”

  “Well,” Penwill conceded, “I suppose you have a point there. So where do we all figure into this scheme?”

  “I’ll work with Halloran here,” Falconer said, “and be his shadow as he walks the streets in my ward. I’m sorry inspector, but I had to reveal your existence to the Central Office and let them know that you’re here. But don’t worry—the good news is, I also demanded that they allow you to work with me, and they agreed, so you’re officially on the case with me, and you can work with another officer that we recruit.”

  “Well,” Penwill said with a mischievous smile, “jolly good fun to pretend to be a New York ward detective for a spell. I just hope I don’t disappoint in the role.”

  “Excuse me, detective,” Halloran chimed in, “but you just said that you’d be working with me out on the streets. May I ask what I’ll be doing?”

  “You’ll be dressing up as one of the ladies, Halloran,” Falconer replied, turning to face the young officer. “You’ll be one of our baits.”

  “Dressing up as a lady?” Halloran asked incredulously. “Me?”

  “That’s right, Halloran,” Falconer said walking a few steps towards to the young man. “You’re young and you’ve got a frame that could be believed to be that of a woman if we dress you up just right. Don’t look so disappointed—you may be the man who finally arrests Jack the Ripper, even if you have to do it in a dress. This is serious work, Halloran, and I need you.”

  “Yes, sir,” Halloran replied sheepishly as he sat back in his seat, seemingly lost in a welter of thoughts.

  “What about the professor here?” Penwill asked. “Is he officially a part of the investigation, too?”

  “No, not yet, I’m afraid,” Falconer replied, turning to Levine. “Professor, I’m sorry, but I just didn’t get the feeling that the brass would agree to let a law professor join us in a potentially dangerous operation such as this, so I didn’t ask at the time. But I’m hoping you’ll agree to remain on the case with us unofficially.”

  “Certainly, detective,” Levine answered agreeably, “and no offense taken. Let’s face it—I’m an academic, not a crime fighter. I will help you as much as I can.”

  “Thanks, professor,” Falconer said. “I think we’ll be needing it.”

  A knock suddenly interrupted the discussion, and the four men all looked in the direction of the noise, surprised. Falconer raised his hand to prevent any of them from speaking, and the men waited anxiously in silence. Then another knock was heard, this time more pointed and sustained. Falconer took out his revolver and motioned for Penwill to do the same, and then he slowly walked over to the side of the closed door. “Who is it?” he asked gruffly, as the other men moved slowly to the sides of the room.

  “It’s me, detective,” a female voice answered from the other side of the door. “Your friend from the alley after the Cooper Union lecture?”

  Falconer took a deep breath and looked at the others as he unlocked the door and opened it to admit the uninvited stranger. “Thank you,” Bly said breathlessly as she swept into the room. “I thought for a minute that you weren’t here.”

  “Who’s this, I wonder?” Penwill asked as he held his two British Bulldog revolvers down at his side.

  “This?” Falconer said, trying to suppress his anger and frustration. “This is— ”

  “Nellie Bly—pleased to make your acquaintance, sir.” Bly walked briskly over to Penwill with her hand extended. Penwill, appearing confused, slowly put one of the revolvers in its holster at his side and meekly offered his hand to the smiling woman.

  “Nellie Bly?” Halloran gasped from his position over at the mantle. “For real?”

  “Yes, in the flesh, young man, if you can believe it,” Bly stated as she looked over at Halloran. “And who might you be?” she asked, walking over to him with hand extended again.

  “James,” Halloran replied haltingly. “James Halloran. I followed all your travels when you went around the world, miss.”

  “Why, thank you, Mister Halloran, and aren’t you a young one, I’m sure,” Bly stated cheerily. “It’s as if they took you right out of elementary school and threw a uniform on you! And finally, Professor Levine,” she said, turning to Levine.

  “Yes, how do you do, Miss Bly?” Levine said, shaking her hand warmly. “Very pleased to meet you.”

  “I am pleased to meet you, as well, professor. I found your lecture the other day at Cooper Union simply enthralling—we will definitely have to talk about it, sir.”

  “Yes, certainly, thank you, Miss Bly,” Levine said, looking mildly surprised at her comments.

  “Well,” Falconer interrupted, “now that we’ve got introductions out of the way, do you mind telling me why you’re here, Miss Bly, and how you know where I live?”

  “Oh, yes, Detective Falconer,” she answered, turning towards him. “I’m sure you’re wondering that by now. Well, I wanted to speak with you about that little subject we had discussed the other night, and I thought it would be a little more discrete if we did it away from your precinct stationhouse, so I did just a little digging with my sources and located you here. I hope you don’t think I was being too forward, detective?”

  “Now why I would I think that?” Falconer replied with more than a trace of sarcasm in his voice as he walked to the center of the room and stood before her. “How long were you standing outside my door? And how much of our conversation did you hear?”

  “Not long, really,” she answered matter-of-factly. “And I really didn’t hear much.”

  “Pardon me,” Penwill interrupted, “but may I first inquire why Miss Bly is here in our presence this evening? This is a little unnerving, I must say—a world famous reporter jumping into our little clandestine meeting like this. Quite a thrill, too, I must confess, but still rather risky, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I didn’t plan this, inspector,” Falconer said sharply. “Miss Bly felt that it was perfectly all right for her to barge in on us like this, and I’m still waiting for an answer as to why.”

  “Detective Falconer,” Bly stated as she stepped even closer towards him, “you know why I am here. I told you the other night that I am aware of certain investigations going on in the police department unbeknownst to the press or the public, investigations that may touch on world-shattering news, namely that none other than Jack the Ripper is here in our midst, quietly leaving victims in dingy hotel rooms and alleyways strewn throughout the city. I intend on finding out if that is the truth, gentlemen, and I have a right and a duty as a member of the press to find the story. Can you deny me that? This is America, after all.”

  “She is very compelling, you have to give her that, Falconer,” Penwill said from the side of the room.

  “Yes, we have a free press, Miss Bly,” Falconer said, ignoring Penwill’s comment, “but we also have laws against obstructing justice, and right now, I’m thinking that you’re getting very close to crossing that line. We do have a serious investigation going on right now, and I don’t want some sensationalist stunt girl from the papers ruining it just for the sake of another byline, understand? This isn’t just another fly-by-night escapade for you to entertain the world about in your column—it’s a serious murder investigation, and you’re about to bring it down like a house of cards.”

  “We shook hands in the bar, remember?” she asked. “You didn’t seem so unenthusiastic then. And if you are getting cold feet now about me working with you because you fear that I will reveal all before you catch your killer, let me disabuse you of that notion, detective. I want the story, yes, I won’t deny that, but I promise to keep everything quiet—not a word to anyone outside this room—until the man is locked up in chains inside the Tombs. I want the fiend caught, too, you know. And as you said, I may be liable to being charged myself if I were to destroy the ongo
ing investigation by blaring everything in public on page one of the newspapers. I hope you know that I’m not that stupid, Falconer, really—I do prefer the comfort of my townhome on 35th Street rather than a small prison cell out on Blackwell’s Island.”

  Falconer looked over at the men standing around him, and then walked silently over to the mantle again. “I’m sorry, gentlemen,” he finally said, turning back to them. “Miss Bly here caught me unawares, either through my own carelessness or her own ingenuity—I can’t tell which, frankly—and it’s true that I agreed to let her do her own checking around regarding the killings. But regardless, here she is, and I’m not sure what you want to do about this now.”

  The men looked at each other as if each was waiting for the other to say something, and then Penwill finally broke the silence. “It seems to me,” he said, “that the cat’s already out of the bag, gentlemen. Miss Bly clearly knows about the investigation and it’s a little too late now to squeeze her out of the loop, as they say. I’m certainly not laying the blame at your feet, Falconer. I should say that probably nobody could have kept Nellie Bly from finding out about this—I think there was really no stopping her. But in any event, she is with us now, and I think it most prudent to utilize those talents that she clearly possesses. Professor?”

  The others in the room turned to Levine standing quietly over in the corner of the room, and he appeared surprised to be suddenly placed on the spot. “Well,” he finally began, “I must agree with the inspector. I believe Miss Bly when she says she will remain quiet until the investigation is fully over, and the murderer is tracked down and convicted in a court of law. And I also agree that she possesses unique talents and skills that we would not otherwise have in her absence. She has been the world’s foremost investigative reporter and has an obvious ability to insinuate herself into a position to gain information that is not readily available. Witness her exposé of the ladies’ insane asylum just a few years ago. I should think that that took the cunning and skill of the best of detectives, gentlemen. If she keeps to her promise as she says she will, I should think that she could help us to find our killer.”