by Giles Ekins
The inquest opened two days later – on the 10th September – but nothing in the mass of evidence and witness statements shed any light onto the identity of the killer.
Albert Cadosch had been in the yard of the adjacent house – No 27 – at 5.25am. The two yards were separated only by a five foot high wooden fence and Cadosch could hear noises – conversation – the word ‘no’ all that he could hear clearly. Three minutes later, at about 5.28am he returned to the yard at No 27 and heard ‘something’ fall against the fence but thought nothing of it.
Mrs Elizabeth Long had seen a man and a woman outside No 29. As she passed by on her way from Church Street where she lived, she heard the man say, ‘Will you?’ and the woman answering ‘Yes’. She only saw the back of the man and testified she would not be able to recognise him again. She was however able to identify the body in the morgue as the woman she had seen.
Mrs Amelia Richardson identified the leather apron as belonging to her son and stated that she had put it out in the yard under the tap two days previously. The son, John Richardson, also testified. He stated that he was a market porter and left the house at 4.45am. He did not see any signs of a body.
The inquest continued on the 12th, when Doctor Phillips was called to give his evidence. He described the scene as he had found it that morning when attending the crime scene. He described the manner of the killing: the dissevered throat, the placing of the intestines over the shoulder and the missing organs. He also gave evidence as to the items found in the yard – the envelope, steel bar, and apron together with a small piece of coarse muslin, a small-tooth comb and a pocket comb in a paper case. These last items had ’apparently been placed there in order – that is to say arranged there.’
When queried about the knife used by the killer, Phillips stated that it was most probably the same sort of instrument that was used at the throat and the other parts of the body. It must have been a very sharp knife with a very thin, narrow blade, and must have been at least six to eight inches or more in length – probably longer.’
When asked by the Coroner, Mister Wynne Baxter, whether the killer had displayed anatomical knowledge he repeated his opinion – ‘I think there was, there were indications of it. I think the anatomical knowledge was only less displayed or indicated by being hindered in consequence of haste.’
‘Was the whole of the body there?’
‘No. The absent portions were from the abdomen. I think the mode in which they were extracted did show some anatomical knowledge. I am positive there were indications of a struggle in the yard. The marks of bruises on the face are evidently recent, especially about the chin and the sides of the jaws. I am of the opinion that the person who cut the deceased throat took hold of her by the chin and then commenced the incision from left to right.’
The inquest was resumed on the afternoon of Wednesday 19th September. Doctor Phillips was recalled and instructed by Wynne Baxter to read out the results of the post-mortem, a highly unusual step, inconsistent with the police philosophy of withholding as much information as possible: so that when a suspect was apprehended, only he and the police would know details of the killing. Despite the police surgeons expressions of regret the Coroner insisted and had the court cleared of females and boys. Reluctantly Doctor Phillips gave out the particulars, revealing much more detail of the inflicted injuries and expressing the view the mutilations were performed to allow the killer to excise and remove the womb of the victim.
THE FINAL DAY OF THE INQUEST was held on 26th September when the Coroner gave his summing up. The jury then returned the inevitable verdict: Wilful murder against person or persons unknown.
Collingwood and Flanagan attended all the days of the inquest, Flanagan as usual taking his copious notes.
They interviewed some of the witnesses, especially anyone who thought they had seen the dead woman or anyone she had been seen with before she died.
The evidence of Elizabeth Long was especially of interest – she had testified that she had actually seen Annie Chapman with a man, a ‘foreign looking man,’ shortly before her body was discovered. Collingwood thought that her evidence deserved more attention than it had received – discredited by Doctor Philips’ assertion that the murder had taken place two hours before the corpse was found. However, Elizabeth Long, a small birdlike woman dressed entirely in black, was convincing, utterly certain that the woman she had seen at 5.30 that morning had been Annie Chapman.
‘No, sir,’ she had answered firmly. ‘No doubts in me mind at all that the woman I saw that dread day was her, Annie Chapman, God rest her soul in Peace,’ crossing herself as she spoke.
‘Did you know Annie Chapman? Before that day, I mean. She was sometimes known as Dark Annie?’
‘No sir, I’m an honest woman, I’m not given to keeping the company of the likes of she, but it was her all right, as God is my witness,’ she answered, crossing herself again as she did so.
‘And the time, you are certain as you can be as to the time?
’ ‘Yes, sir, as I said at the h’inquest, I ’eard the clock chime the half hour.’
‘Half past five?’
‘Yes, I was on me way to Spitalfields, the market. I allus go that time, to get me vittals and veg’tibbles fresh, and I heard, def’nitly heard, the ar’past chime.’
‘Tell me about the man you saw with her.’
‘I done told the magistrate that already. Don’t want to think about him no more.’
‘Please try Mrs Long, anything you can think of, the smallest detail you might have forgotten will be of great help in trying to catch this fiend and bring him to justice. To the gallows.’
Elizabeth Long sniffed extravagantly. ‘The papers, they wants me to talk only to them, the ‘Suffolk Chronicle said there might be a guinea or two for me if I tells them exclusive like.’
‘Mrs Long, this is a police matter. Murder! Withholding evidence is a serious crime. You could go to prison.’
‘No reason why I sh’unt try and make a shilling or two, is there?
‘I can promise you that if you tell me everything you know, there will be no objection to you trying to make your shilling or two.’
‘Fank you sir, you are a real gentleman, not like some of the police you get round ’ere.’
‘Be that as it may, but should I read in the Suffolk Chronicle or any other newspaper, something that you do not tell us now, I can also assure that it will go hard on you. You will not find me so much the gentleman then.’
She sniffed again, wiping her nose on a small, embroidered handkerchief.
‘Take your time,’ prompted Sergeant Flanagan.
‘As I says, I was walking down ‘Anbury Street, on me way to the market. Minding me own business as per usual. She was standing by No 29, Annie Chapman that is, not that I knew her name an’ that, but she was waiting like. I didn’t take it no notice, minding me own business. But then I sees him come up to her.’
‘From which direction?’
‘Er … he was in front o’ me, crossed over the road to ’er. Which is why I niver saw ’is face. As I come near ’em, I ’eard ’im say, will you?’
‘Will you? What do you think he meant by that. Will you?’
‘Ow should I know. That’s all I ’eard ’im say. Will you? Then she answers ‘Yes’ and that’s all I ’eard. Then the clock, you know, the Black Eagle Brewery clock, chimed the half, just like what I sez.’
‘Describe the man again for me, would you please. Take your time.’
‘As I say, I only saw the back of ’im, mindin’ me own affairs as I was.’
‘How tall was he?’ Flanagan asked.
‘E was taller that ’er. The woman, I can say that for certain.’
How much taller? Six inches? Nine inches?’
‘Ard to say, really, ’cos ’e was bent over as he spoke. But about five or six inches mebbe.
‘Age, how would you put his age?’ asked Collingwood.
‘Well ’e weren’t a youngste
r and ’e weren’t old. About forty I’d say, yeah, ’bout forty. And I reckon ’e was a foreigner.’
‘A foreigner?’
‘Can’t say for ’xactly sure what but there was just summat about ’im. Made me think foreigner! Sort of dark skinned, not like a darkie but darkish complexion, ’ard to say really what it was made me think foreigner.’
‘Could it have been his clothes that made you think that?
‘Could be, yeah, mebbes, could be. ’e had a dark coat on and a brown ’at, one of them ’ats with a flaps what come down over yer ears, but mostly the flaps are buttoned up on top, you know, watcha call ’em ?’
‘A deerstalker?’
‘Yeah, deerstalker, not that there’s too many deer round about ’ere to stalk.’
‘How would you describe his appearance, was he smartly dressed. Would you say his clothes were expensive?’
‘They might have been once, ’e was wot you might call shabby genteel. Down on his luck a bit but no vagabond. Lumme. To think I seen him wiv’ me own eyes. Just minutes afore he gets ’is knives into her.’ She shuddered dramatically. ‘A body ain’t safe in her own bed these days. Lor’ d’you think ’e might come after me, I mean to say, I might be the only one ’oos ever seen him in the light. I might be the next.
‘No, no, Mrs Long, why should you be?’ Collingwood tried to reassure her. ‘After all, you testified you in court that you could not recognise or identify him.’
‘E might fink I was lying, that I did know ’im but said as ’ow I couldn’t h’indentify him to proteck meself. He might still come for me. You know, just to make sartain.’
‘Don’t worry Mrs Long, I’ll ensure that a policeman comes by you regularly, just to make sure you are kept safe. Thank you for your time. If you think of anything else, let me know. Without fail, Mrs Long, let me know.’
Mrs. Long shuffled out of the room, sniffing disdainfully; piqued that no money had been offered for her tale.
‘Do you think the man she saw is the killer, sir?’ Flanagan asked when the door closed behind her.
‘Yes I believe so.’
‘But the surgeon placed her death much earlier?’
Collingwood nodded and took out his pipe, half full from an earlier unfinished smoke and lit it up before answering his sergeant. ‘I believe that Doctor Phillips is mistaken in his timing of the killing. Think about it. If she had been killed earlier, how was it that …’ he clicked to his fingers to prompt his memory, ‘John Richardson, the market porter, who left the house at 4.45 did not see the body. He would have had to virtually climb over it to reach the passage from the door of the house.’
‘Unless he was the killer.’
‘He reported for his duty at five o’clock. He had no time to wash away any blood from his hands or clothing. His clothes were examined, his house searched, and nothing found. No, John Richardson was not the killer and there was no body in the yard when he left to go to his work. Philips is wrong in asserting that the murder must have taken place two hours before he examined the body at 6.20. I am of certain of that as I can be.’
‘And the neighbour?’ Flanagan consulted his notebook, rapidly flipping through pages with his thumb. ‘Albert Cadosch, he heard conversation in the yard of No 29 at about 5.25, when he returned three or four minutes later he heard ‘something’ fall against the fence.’
‘Quite so. Whom-ever it was in the yard of No 29 most certainly would have seen a body had it been there since 4.20 and they would have raised the alarm, just as Mister Davis did some thirty minutes later. The only logical explanation is that the persons Mister Cadosch heard were Annie Chapman and her killer.’
‘Which makes it very likely that the man seen by Mrs. Long is the killer, since the timings match, within a minute or so?’
‘I believe so.’
‘Sir?’ Flanagan asked hesitantly, ‘do you really think that Edward Sinistrari is this killer. I mean, we have spent a great deal of time on these Whitechapel murders, when, begging your pardon, our quest is to hunt down Sinistrari.’
‘No, I do not believe that the man who killed Polly Nicholls and Annie Chapman was Sinistrari. However, I do believe there to be a connection. I cannot explain why, but all my instincts tell me that there must be such a connection.’
‘You think that Edward Sinistrari is … orchestrating these killings.’
‘Yes, I believe that he is trying to lure us away from his trail.’
‘As a diversion.’
‘Precisely, Flanagan. As a diversion. So, if we find this killer, he may possibly lead us back up the trail to Sinistrari.’
Chapter 23
RAZOR GEORGE NEVER FORGAVE A SLIGHT – never relinquished a debt – never let anyone cross him without there being terrible retribution.
Long Liz, Elizabeth Stride, had been one of his girls. – One of his ‘Bible Study Group’ if you will – nurtured to the bosom of his ‘fambly’ with kindness and sympathy and how had she repaid him? She had run off and left him for another pastor – another keeper of the souls – and Razor George did not like that one jot.
Long Liz had stolen from the other girls, Razor George didn’t give a toss about that – but it was the loss of her earnings that irked him so violently. Some other minder – he never thought of himself as a pimp – some other minder might be taking what was rightfully his, Razor George’s, and for that, there could be no forgiveness. No compassion. No mercy. Nobody but nobody left the warm loving confines of George’s little ‘fambly’ to go elsewhere – not unless it was in a box or as a broken bleeding wreck like Cast-Iron Peg.
Razor George knew that Long Liz could not remain hidden for long – excuse his little pun – and that as soon as she starting working the streets again, the only means of work she had ever known apart from a bit of sewing and cleaning, the word would come back to him. A shilling passed around here, the threat of a beating from Boiler and Sealskin there, the promise of a kiss from Jenny-No-Nose everywhere and the word would come floating down the along the tide of underworld intelligence as surely as a dead rat in a sewer. And when that word arrived, Long Liz would come to know the full wrath of the righteous. The long awaited encounter between Long Liz Stride and Jenny-No-Nose would surely happen.
And Razor George was a patient man.
Chapter 24
THE LETTER, WRITTEN IN RED INK was addressed to The Boss, Central News Office and delivered to the offices of the agency at No 5 New Bridge Street on 27th September 1888. It read:
25th Sept. 1888
Dear Boss,
I keep on hearing the police have caught me but they wont fix me just yet. I have laughed when they look so clever and talk about being on the right track. That joke about Leather Apron gave me real fits. I am down on whores and I shant stop ripping them till I do get buckled. Grand work the last job was. I gave the lady no time to squeal. How can they catch me now, I love my work and want to start again. You will soon hear of me with my funny little games. I saved some proper red stuff in a ginger beer bottle over the last job to write with but it went thick like glue and I cant use it. Red ink is fit enough I hope ha. The next job I do I shall clip the lady’s ears off and send to the police officers just for jolly wouldn’t you. Keep this letter back till I do a bit more work then give it out straight. My knife’s so nice and sharp I want to get to work right away if I get a chance.
Good luck.
Yours truly
Jack the Ripper
Don’t mind me giving the trade name.
Wasn’t good enough to post this before I got all the red ink off my hands curse it.
No luck yet. They say I’m a doctor now ha!
The editor thought the letter to be a hoax and did not pass it on to Chief Constable Williamson of the City Police until the Saturday 29th September.
10.30 PM - SATURDAY 29TH SEPTEMBER 1888.
LONG LIZ STRIDE STILL ACHED FROM THE BEATING that Michael Kidney had given her three nights ago.
She had shared a hous
e with him for more than a year and she could not begin to count the number of times he had come home from the taverns in a foul drunken mood and taken his fists and boots to her. But this last one had been the worst ever. Her ribs ached, as did her breasts where he had punched her. When she urinated her piss was stained with blood from the kicks to her kidneys –‘Mickey Kidney kicks my kidneys,’ she rhymed to herself in indignant anger – and her right ear still rang from the slap across the head he had given her and she was sure she would lose a tooth or two from the punch to her face. ‘Bastard,’ she muttered to herself, ‘Bastard, bastard, bastard.’ wondering why she had put up with it for so long. Wondering how she had ever ended up like this. Battered and brutalised, hawking her body out on the streets.
Once she had had a home and husband, when she had first come to England from her native Sweden as Elizabeth Gustafson she had married John Stride, a carpenter and lived in a nice house on Gower Street. For a time she had run a coffee house on the first floor of their house but the marriage had not lasted and she had turned to drink and prostitution, a trade she had practised before in Gothenburg.
Then she had fallen into the clutches of Razor George. Foolishly, she had borrowed some money from him, and no matter how hard she worked, she was never able to pay off the interest on the loan, let alone the principle. Liz shuddered at the memory, she had never been at the end of one of Sealskin and Boiler’s beatings or received a kiss from Jenny-No-Nose, but the way that Razor George used to look at her, with his chubby ringed fingers forever touching the handle of the razor tucked into his waistcoat pockets used to give her the chills. He never threatened her direct, not as he did with Black-Eyed Mary or some of the other girls, but she knew, just knew, that her turn was coming – and not too far away at that.