Murder in Whitechapel (The Judas Reflections)

by Aiden James

  “Interview conducted at 9.55 am, Tuesday, November the seventh, 1888,” Edwards announced as he wrote down the particulars word by word. I had to once more confirm my details whilst Neville sat next to me, carefully perusing the police reports.

  “Let’s talk about your opium business. I understand it has grown into quite a large import and export opportunity for you. According to our evidence, not all of your opium has been sold direct to the pharmaceutical companies in your ledgers,” said Edwards.

  “I have never knowingly supplied opium to private sellers. As I stated, I have receipts to prove where my imports have gone. If someone in the shipping warehouse stole an amount away from the prying eyes of the foreman then it would not, and could not, be my responsibility.”

  “How could you not notice opium that was missing? Claiming to have receipts to prove every transaction does not mean some of the opium, can, how shall I put it, go in another direction?”

  I had hardly slept nor eaten, exhaustion began to creep slowly over my mind and body, but I knew it was imperative I kept my wits about me. The conversation of missing opium went back and forth with Neville prompting me a few times to not say anything in response to a particular question by remarking ‘no comment.’

  My earlier optimism slowly diminished as particulars were repeated over and over. It was as if he did not believe my story no matter how many times I told it. The very circumstance I

  now found myself in was nothing unfamiliar. I had talked my way out of many unpleasant and even dangerous situations that could have alluded to my being sent to prison for an interminable period of time. The idea of a term of prison in Victorian England was not an option. I had to fight my way out with determination, pure common sense and Neville’s costly assistance.

  “Mister Ortiz, in regard to your meeting with the Chief Inspector. Although he has confirmed your intentions, he also states that you expressly asked for copies of confidential files regarding the ongoing investigation into Jack the Ripper.”

  “The fact that my client had requested a copy of a file does not preclude to a theft. There are newspaper men who would go to any means possible to get their hands on these files. Why has my client been accused when you have not a shred of evidence that he did it?” asked Neville in utmost seriousness.

  “It was an inside job. The detective in question has been suspended pending further investigation. It appears that a large sum of cash money had been supplied in return for the files and by coincidence the trail stops at your client’s feet.”

  “But all you have is hearsay, a dishonest detective that possibly knew of my client’s meeting with the Chief Inspector, and his request to see the files. This, he then used as a cover to protect the real perpetrator, who he may fear would bring reprisals. There are newspaper men from America in London right as we speak, hard men who would lose an arm for information of this nature. Let’s face it detective, this is the most heated case that Scotland Yard has ever had to deal with and, while it remains unsolved, the need for answers increases, at any cost.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence as Detective Edwards digested a viable point, it was not only me who would want to get their hands on the precious file. Neville was correct. Ripper fever gripped the nation and its shores beyond. There was no hard evidence against me, no reliable witnesses and, with good fortune, Roderick had held his ground and denied everything concerning the opium. Could it be God heard my prayer? I was to be exonerated and set free even though I’d knowingly sinned?

  “If you are not intending to charge my client, is he now free to go about his business?”

  “Please wait here. I will return forthwith,” said Edwards as he left the room in a hurry.

  “They have nothing concrete, Emmanuel, and cannot hold you for much longer, therefore, they will have no choice but to let you go. My advice to you is to watch your opium distribution and be careful where you decide to stroll late at night. Any man wandering alone in Whitechapel in the darkness may become a suspect. Be aware that there are also vigilante groups roaming the streets and setting on innocent people. Rumors that Jack is a man of professional standing, a gentleman, also puts you under suspicion.”

  “I will proceed with caution if and when I am free to do so, Neville. But my fears are still with Roderick. Will you be going straight to Charing Cross when you are done here?”

  “Of course, but I suggest that you return to Belgravia and go about your business. Leave the detective work to the professionals. Your involvement has not served you well!”

  It was an unpleasant feeling to be rebuffed for my attempt at a ‘good deed’ I genuinely thought would gain admiration and support. Made even more admirable if I succeeded in catching the slippery eel.

  “From the moment I am released, I will attend to Roderick to be sure he is okay, and then I am to return to Whitechapel to pursue my quest.”

  My stoic answer did not go down well. Neville did not, and would not, comprehend my motives, nor would I dare reveal the truth of my identity. I doubted he would believe me anyway and, like others, he would think I live in a world of fantasy, my mind unbalanced.

  Reluctantly, Edwards was left with no choice but to release me without charge, although he did leave me with a strong word of warning.

  “I will be watching you. If you choose to stay in Whitechapel or not is of no consequence unless, of course, you act in a suspicious manner. I can assure you though that if you are picked up again it will not be so easy for you.”

  Taking his threat with a pinch of salt, I walked out of the police station free of charges. Relief! A sense of urgency swept over me, what of Roderick?

  Neville was firm and commanding, “I am on my way to Charing Cross. I suggest you go about your business as I expressed earlier. Roderick will be okay. That is, if he has not been implicated by evidence in any way. Off you go now.”

  Left to my own devices, starved, tired and anxious, I first sent an urgent telegram to Roderick I would be on my way to the office as soon as possible. Then, finding solace in a hot breakfast, I deliberated what to do next. Go back to my lodgings and a bed I had not slept in, or make my way to the office to await Roderick’s return? I feared his reprisal and I could hear his damning words before he had even spoken. That I was the most irresponsible, idiotic, deceitful, opinionated human being he had ever had the misfortune to know. I would in turn permit him to chastise me, while I bowed my head in shame, because I deserved it. I could, on the other hand, be churlish and avoid his Irish temper altogether in the hope he would calm with time or, I could face him as a man and take my punishment. With a heavy heart, I made my way to Bond Street to cautiously await his return. I had a lot to be sorry for and I hoped he would understand that.

  Common sense had been sadly lacking on my part. Without consideration I naively imagined I was doing a fine deed for humanity coupled with a selfish need. To partially exonerate myself in the eyes of Jesus-if he were watching me.

  “I don’t think I will forget this idiotic behavior for at least another two centuries, if the world still exists by then!” Roderick returned two hours later to find me sitting quietly in a chair staring listlessly out of the window. As I predicted, he was extremely agitated.

  “They searched the entire office, having easily obtained a warrant from the judge. Lucky for you, I had hidden the files after you left for Whitechapel.”

  “Where did you hide them? Surely they searched your home?”

  “They searched my home alright, but they found nothing. I had already buried the files.”’

  “Buried? In God’s name, where?”

  “A cemetery in east London.”

  “I fear you jest with your Irish wit. Who in their right mind thinks to bury police files in a cemetery?”

  “Me. I think like the Irishman I am. It would be the least obvious place to look. They are in a box buried not too far down, close to the grave of one of the victims. If, by chance, they’re discovered I’ll wager the police will lin
k the theft to Jack himself, not us.”

  “If there is a method in your madness, I have yet to understand it! I am presuming it will be common sense to leave the files where they are; we can’t go digging them up. Maybe they will lay undiscovered a hundred years from now. Can you imagine the fuss if, they were to be found in the future?” I replied, shocked but impressed.

  “That all depends on whether he was caught or not and we’ll still be around to know it.”’

  I was full of admiration for Roderick’s sharp thinking. It was something he had done to protect us, without a word of disclosure. Perhaps he thought I would panic and dig them up.

  “Neville told to me that Copper was been formally charged with the illegal selling of opium. He had been caught with it on his person and implicated you. I expect he’ll face prison and that means, Manny, no more dealings with the likes of him or anyone other dubious character who crosses your path with temptations. From this moment on, all supplies must be legitimate. We have managed to walk free by the skin of our teeth. Luck may not be with us next time.”

  I assumed him to be much more angered than he was. Roderick had a way of harboring resentment until a later date when it would ignite and, lo and behold, anyone who happened to be in the crossfire would feel his force. His tired, watery eyes only gazed at me with annoyance, for now.

  That I put him out of his routine, forced him to lie and cover for me was not a pleasant thing to do to a friend. There would come a time in the future, one day out of the blue, that he will remind me in no uncertain terms, what I put him through. Now, both of us needed to rest. Rather than return to the comfort of home where I did not wish to face the embarrassment of having the house searched, I made haste to my simple lodgings in Whitechapel, more determined than ever to see my hunt through to the bitter end. Roderick stayed on in the office, claiming there was much work to be done. It was his way of regaining a sense of normality, vital to his equilibrium, and, I expected, sanity. It was late morning when I arrived at the boarding house. Florence was far from welcoming, my absence a bone of contention.

  “Where yer been all night? I knocked this morning to change the sheets and the bed ain’t been slept in. I warned yer before, this is a respectable ‘ouse!”

  I apologized, giving the excuse I used on my staff. A late night card game in Marylebone turned into breakfast, and then a quick stop in the office meant an empty bed. She calmed upon hearing my tale, mothering me to the extent of demanding I get ‘some shut eye.’

  I took her advice and fell into the small uncomfortable bed not caring if it was day or night. Ignoring the hard mattress, noisy pillows and paper thin sheets I counted my blessings.

  I had escaped prison and all was well.

  Sleep came quickly with a dream like no other. What could only be described as a vision where past and present collided in a myriad of powerful messages and colors. I found myself in a desert and knew immediately I stood in the wilderness of Judea.

  “Judas Iscariot, come closer, I have something to whisper to you.” I heard the voice but saw no one. I stood alone in a vast expanse of desert… it was heavenly.

  I looked up, the cloudless sky a deep blue, “What a wondrous and beautiful place.”

  “It is nature in harmony with your thoughts, my dear one. Come to me now.” The female voice was gentle but still unseen.

  “Who are you and where can I find you?” I asked.

  “Right here, as close as can be. Come, Judas.”

  I walked further and further through endless hot sand until I reached what appeared to be a large rock. On the other side, sitting in the sand, was a young maiden from a time long ago. I remembered.

  “Oh, dear God, it is you!” I was face to face with my first love Leah, no more than a young man barely out of puberty I was sure she was the one. Leah was the daughter of a local carpenter, a prosperous family who had no objection to an Iscariot being smitten on their daughter. Her golden hair reached her tiny waist and her smile had captivated my young heart. By the time I arrived at the age of sixteen, it was decided we were a good match until a snake bite took her life. Now she was here, in my dream, looking as angelic as ever.

  “You are long dead, Leah, so this must be a dream.”

  “No, it is not a dream. It is but a vision for you alone. There is someone else here who wishes to speak with you, a good and wise friend.”

  The rock was as tall as it was wide and out from behind walked someone who I did not want to look at nor speak with; shame prevented me from doing so. I was, in the presence of Jesus.

  “I will fall at your feet in disgrace of myself!” I exclaimed loudly as I did just that.

  “No, no. Do not belittle yourself, Judas. Get up now, I command you.”

  I rose somewhat reluctantly. It was not the first dream encounter I experienced with Jesus. There had been others, but none as clear as this.

  “Have you come into my dreams to admonish me for my wrongdoings? I know the procuring of files that did not belong with me and the selling of opium to line my pockets was a heinous act. I have broken the commandment again. I stole.”

  “I will not judge you, Judas. Only you can judge yourself.”

  “For shame, shame on me, shame for everything I have done wrong. For betraying and leaving you to a terrible fate. For my selfish acts that have caused repercussions for many. I am a sorry excuse for a man, a pitiful waste.”

  “The time must come for you to stop berating yourself. Mistakes have been made and you will atone for them. Man is not a perfect creature, he is flawed.”

  “I don’t want to be so flawed, Jesus, and I never wanted your death. Deep down having despised my act of betrayal and I still do to this day.”

  “I have eternal life, my friend, where I walk with God in paradise, the kingdom of heaven. Let us walk together, there are some things I need to tell you.’

  He beckoned me to follow, but I could no longer find Leah, she had disappeared.

  “Judas, there will be a time in the future when your life becomes easier. You will find some sense of peace and experience the true love you so desire. The desire for a child will come to fruition and you will be a better person working for the good of humanity.” He placed his hand on my forehead, gently, and smiled.

  “My friend, you have not been forsaken. But until you accept I have forgiven you then you will not rest. Your self inflicted punishment to walk the earth as an immortal will continue, for as long as you search for the remaining pieces of silver you believe will bring you redemption.”

  “What if I was to recover every coin, will I then be able to join you?”

  “God be with you, Judas. One day your trials will be over as told to you in many dreams previously.” I watched his white cloaked figure, with arms outstretched toward me, fade into the distance until I could see him no more.

  “You never answered my question, Jesus… the coins?”

  It was too late, he was gone. Franticly, I called for Leah but she was nowhere to be seen. They had abandoned me to walk alone in the desert with the sun beating down. Strangely I felt an intense thirst and began to panic. I want to be out of this dream, I don’t like being alone here!

  “Mr. Ortiz, are yer in there?”

  A heavy knocking on the door awoke me with such a violent start I jumped out of my skin with fright.

  “Mr. Ortiz, will yer be wanting the room till next week?”

  I called to Florence I would pay for an extra week, although unsure of my schedule, prepared to say anything so as to be left alone in peace. With my conscience altered, I thought long and hard about the dream. If Jesus was really there, why did he not guide me in the right direction? If I am mistaken in my spasmodic hunt for the Ripper, then why not inform me?

  Was I seriously deluded to harbor a wish somewhere in future I would meet the love of my life who would give me a child, thus turning me into a better person? From sinner to saint would be hardly likely where I am concerned. I held little hope.

>   Having made myself presentable after a deep sleep, I left the claustrophobic room grateful to step out and welcome the fresh winter air. I was in two minds whether to find Albert, uncertain if I were able to trust him after what had happened? How innocent was he in all this and, was it going to be worth the risk to find out?

  sought a light breakfast in a tea room close to the hospital. My digestive system had been shaken by recent events, so I proceeded with caution. Overeating when under stress often resulted in the severest of stomach cramps, unpleasant and annoying. Not eating regular meals caused me to lose my bearings and, in extremes, temporary memory loss. I chose to have a simple boiled egg with bread and jam, taking no chances. But, what of Albert? I made the decision to confront him and journeyed to Fleet Street as quick as I could. But he was nowhere to be found, not in the inn he always favored or any other. I journeyed to the newspaper office in the hope of finding him, only to be told he was sick in his bed and unable to work. Against my better judgment, I took the short walk to his lodgings, a modest but spacious room in a large residence close to his work.

  The owner of the house, a Mrs. Bridges, let me in and informed me her husband had sent for the doctor only hours before. He had been and gone. Albert was suffering a bout of influenza and confined to bed rest.

  “His temperature has broken, so we can be much relieved,”’ I was told, “Perhaps a visit from a friend will brighten his mood.”

  Albert appeared none too perky, although he was sitting upright in bed with blankets around him. He had a slight shiver and as I expected, not pleased to see me.

  “You. What do you want?”

  “I thought I’d pay you a visit after I received the news that you were unwell.”

  “Liar, you are only here to see if I saved my skin by accusing you. I see you saved yours, as you’re a free man. Let me guess, you have a costly solicitor, who could even get you off a murder charge.”