Ghost of Whitechapel

by Mary Jane Staples

  ‘As far as the press and public are concerned, we’re investigating two unconnected murders,’ said Dobbs. ‘If any reporters follow you about, get Sergeant Swettenham to tread on their feet. Has he got his best boots on?’

  ‘I’m appropriately shod, guv,’ said Sergeant Swettenham.

  ‘Right, off you go, George,’ said Dobbs.

  Inspector George Davis left, taking Sergeant Swettenham with him. Sergeant Ross took a look at the Chief Inspector, whose rugged countenance was not at its best.

  ‘We’ve got a bit of a swine here, guv,’ said Ross.

  ‘Don’t I know it,’ said Dobbs.

  ‘You’re still giving priority to the Flanagan case?’

  ‘If we can solve that, I’ll lay a pound to a penny we’ll solve both,’ said Dobbs.

  ‘I can’t see it myself,’ said Ross. ‘Well, I ask you, guv, if either Pritchard or the pimp did for Flanagan, what would be the motive of one or the other for giving the same treatment to Poppy Simpson?’

  ‘Don’t ask me questions like that,’ said Dobbs. ‘Just take it that I’ve got a feeling about this second murder.’

  ‘Is that instinct, guv, or intuition?’

  ‘As I don’t happen to be a woman, my lad, drop words like those into your wastepaper basket,’ said Dobbs.

  ‘So do we get after Lulu Swann now?’

  ‘No, give her time to get the sleep out of her eyes,’ said Dobbs. ‘Listen, my lad, we’re going to be chased from pillar to post, and crucified if we don’t lay quick hands on the bugger who did for Poppy Simpson. And it’ll be the Government that nails us to the cross.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Ross.

  ‘Well, someone’ll have to pay for what the papers will rake up about the Ripper and his identity. Read that.’ Dobbs passed a photographic copy of a sheet of lined notepaper to Ross, who read its contents.

  ‘Copy of Statement by George Hutchinson concerning the description of the man he saw talking to Mary Jeanette Kelly on the evening of her murder.

  ‘Age about 34 or 35, height 5ft 6 ins. Complexion pale, dark eyes and eyelashes, slight moustache curled up at each end, and hair dark. Very surly looking. Dress: long dark coat, trimmed astrakhan, and a dark jacket under. Collar and cuffs, light waistcoat, dark trousers, dark felt hat turned down in the middle, button boots and gaiters with white buttons. Wore a very thick gold chain, white linen collar, black tie with horseshoe pin, respectable appearance.’

  The statement was signed, Geo. Hutchinson.

  Sergeant Ross looked up.

  ‘Guv, where’d you get this from, and what’s it mean?’

  ‘Never mind where I got it from,’ said Dobbs. ‘What it means is that our lords and masters in high places have got serious objections to the newspapers interesting themselves in the Ripper inquiry, which they will do if we can’t lay his ghost in respect of these present murders.’

  ‘What I’d like to know,’ said Ross, ‘is why our lords and masters have got these objections, and if this description helped the police at the time to find and interview this flash-looking geezer.’

  ‘The description doesn’t mean anything to you?’ said Dobbs.

  ‘It reminds me of certain rumours,’ said Ross.

  ‘Well, let me tell you, Sergeant Ross, that that description, both in regard to looks and clothes, fits the late Duke of Clarence to perfection, particularly as per the hat, the moustache and the white buttons of the gaiters.’

  ‘Christ,’ said Ross. ‘Did the Yard get to interview him?’

  ‘Is that a serious question?’ asked Dobbs. ‘Interview Queen Victoria’s grandson, heir to the throne after his father, the Prince of Wales? Fortunately for this country, and for himself, come to that, he passed away in 1892.’

  ‘Fortunately for himself? Christ,’ said Ross again, ‘was he the Ripper, then?’

  ‘Was it proved?’ said Dobbs. ‘No, it wasn’t. After the murder of Mary Kelly, the last victim, the Duke of Clarence was sent on a visit to India, where he distinguished himself in the slaughter of tigers, boar and deer – he speared the boar to death. It turned his boots gory, but he didn’t mind that. The Ripper investigation faded away. The high and mighty don’t want the newspapers to interest themselves in it again. If we don’t stop them by solving these two murders quickly, my son, we’ll be for the Tower of London and the block.’

  ‘I’ve got a headache, guv,’ said Ross.

  ‘You’re not the only one,’ said Dobbs. ‘Well, grin and bear yours, and let’s keep our appointment with Lulu Swann.’

  Elsewhere, Constable Fred Billings was at the Commercial Street police station, a hive of activity, and Bridget and Daisy Cummings were trying not to believe the news that had flown through every keyhole of every house in the East End.

  ‘Bridget, it just don’t bear thinkin’ about,’ said Daisy for the tenth time.

  ‘It don’t bear thinkin’ about by me personally,’ said Bridget, ‘not seein’ it ’appened about the time I was on me way ’ome.’

  ‘Lord Almighty,’ said Daisy, ‘ain’t you glad Fred went to meet you and safeguarded you?’

  ‘He’s got some uses,’ said Bridget. ‘Daisy, if only I could get a decent-paid job, I’d see to it that we all moved out of Whitechapel.’

  ‘I’d like to live next door to a park,’ said Daisy, ‘I’m a bundle of nerves livin’ ’ere. Bridget, it just ain’t fit for decent people, livin’ on top of the worst slums.’

  ‘We all know it, Daisy,’ said Bridget. ‘When you’re settled in yer laundry job, and Billy’s ’ad promotion to behind the counter of the grocers, we’ll see if we can get a place in Walworth, say.’

  ‘Walworth?’ said Daisy. ‘That’s the other side of the river. Bridget, it’s foreign.’

  ‘That’s where we’ll go, to a foreign place, like Walworth or Lambeth,’ said Bridget.

  ‘I don’t know ’ow we’ll get on with foreigners,’ said Daisy.

  ‘We’ll learn,’ said Bridget. ‘Round ’ere, Daisy, there ain’t any blokes you or me would even look at a first time, never mind a second.’

  ‘There’s Fred,’ said Daisy.

  Bridget muttered something. Since she never muttered, being given to speaking her mind whatever her mood, Daisy asked her if she was out of sorts. Bridget said no, she wasn’t out of sorts except when Constable Fred Billings was mentioned.

  ‘But I think ’e fancies yer, Bridget,’ said Daisy.

  ‘That’s it, now make me spit,’ said Bridget.

  Lulu Swann opened the door to her flat. She was dressed all the way up to a hat and coat.

  ‘Hello, going out, were you, Miss Swann?’ said Sergeant Ross.

  ‘Not till you arrived,’ said Lulu, looking respectable rather than tarty. She came out, closing the door behind her. ‘It ain’t safe to talk to you in there, not with me flatmate around. Nor don’t I want to walk down Shaftesbury Avenue with yer, not with two coppers I don’t. I’ll get noticed. No offence, mind.’

  ‘None taken,’ said the Chief Inspector.

  ‘Downstairs, in the hall, we can talk there,’ said Lulu. ‘There’s not many comings and goings in the mornings. Well, night work makes us gels sleep late. Let’s go down, then.’

  They descended to the draughty hall. The morning was clear of fog or mist, but the cold air was chilly with sharp winter. December was on its way.

  Lulu tucked herself into the corner on one side of the closed door to the building.

  ‘Take your time,’ said the Chief Inspector.

  ‘Kind of yer,’ said Lulu, ‘I never met kind police before, I didn’t know there was any.’ She smiled at Sergeant Ross. ‘I wouldn’t mind walkin’ out with yer in Hyde Park one Sunday,’ she said.

  ‘Unfortunately, Sergeant Ross walks out on Sundays with a nurse,’ said Dobbs.

  ‘A nurse?’ said Lulu. ‘Crikey, he must be ’ard-up, poor bloke.’

  ‘Not all that much,’ said Sergeant Ross. ‘Have you got the information we want?’

 
; ‘Would yer mind if I ’ad me six quid first?’ asked Lulu.

  ‘We’ll pay on receipt of the information, young lady,’ said the Chief Inspector, ‘and we settled for a fiver.’

  ‘Did we? You sure?’ said Lulu.

  ‘I’m sure,’ said Dobbs. ‘I’ll just say that if the information leads us nowhere, we’ll be back to charge you with fraud. We’ll be sorry to, of course, but won’t be able to help it.’

  ‘Crikey, would I cheat yer, mister, would I?’ said Lulu. ‘Listen.’ Her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Yer’ll find Baz Gottfried that some gels call Godfrey at number four, Medway Road, Bow.’

  ‘Medway Road?’ said Dobbs. It was a little way south of Victoria Park.

  ‘That’s it, and I ain’t flamming yer, mister, honest,’ said Lulu. ‘You won’t ’ave to come back and knock me off. Mind, it won’t break me ’eart if you knock Basil off. Where’s me dibs, mister?’

  The Chief Inspector took five pound notes from his wallet and handed them to her.

  ‘Don’t spend any of these just yet,’ he said.

  ‘No, all right,’ said Lulu. She lifted her coat and skirt, and tucked the banknotes into the pocket sewn to her petticoat. ‘’Ere, ’alf a tick, you won’t mention my name, will yer? I begs you won’t, or I’ll ’ave me looks spoiled for good, and me legs broke as well.’

  ‘Trust us, Miss Swann,’ said Sergeant Ross.

  ‘Oh, you’re a real decent bloke, you are,’ said Lulu, ‘and if you’d like it for free sometime, I’d be very obligin’, only not in me flat nor at night. Daytime somewhere. Say Highgate Cemetery, and when they ain’t burying someone.’

  ‘Make a note, Sergeant Ross,’ said Dobbs. ‘Thanks for your help, Miss Swann. By the way, d’you ever think of going back to your family?’

  ‘Not much I don’t,’ said Lulu, ‘me mum ’ud kill me. Well, she ’alf-killed me when she found me with me first bloke. So I left ’ome before she murdered me. ’Ere, what about that poor gel that got done in round Whitechapel last night?’

  ‘I thought you didn’t read newspapers,’ said Dobbs.

  ‘You don’t ’ave to read newspapers to ’ear about a Whitechapel murder,’ said Lulu.

  ‘That crime is under investigation,’ said Ross.

  ‘Well, I ’ope you cop the bugger,’ said Miss Swann. ‘That kind make me forget I’m a lady.’

  They took a growler, a four-wheeled cab, to Medway Street, Bow, the Chief Inspector musing, Sergeant Ross fidgety.

  ‘Is something bothering you, sergeant?’

  ‘I’m having a hard time trying to work out how to connect the murder of Flanagan with the murder of Poppy Simpson,’ said Ross.

  ‘Well, do the sensible thing, let it work itself out,’ said Dobbs.

  ‘I’ve never known any investigation that worked itself out,’ said Ross.

  ‘It’s what they call waiting for things to fall into place,’ said Dobbs.

  ‘Bit of a lottery, I’d say, guv. By the way, I don’t walk out with Nurse Cartright on Sundays.’

  ‘Why not, my lad?’

  ‘On Sundays, if she’s not on duty, she likes to give her feet a rest.’

  ‘I see,’ asked Dobbs. ‘By the way, is it a serious relationship?’

  ‘Not yet,’ said Ross. The cab was approaching Medway Road. ‘Regarding Basil of Bow, how’d you feel about prospects?’

  ‘I’ve a feeling, sunshine, that this time Lulu Swann wasn’t fibbing. So we’ll go straight for it.’

  The four-wheeler drew up outside number four Medway Road, a not unpleasant thoroughfare. The two men alighted, and Sergeant Ross paid the cabbie.

  ‘That’s exact,’ said the cabbie, looking at the silver shilling.

  ‘Good,’ said Ross.

  ‘I ain’t exactly used to it bein’ exact.’

  ‘I know what you mean.’ said Ross.

  ‘Well, so yer should, mister, bein’ a Yard copper, if I ain’t mistook.’

  ‘Try this,’ said Ross, and handed up a threepenny bit.

  ‘Now yer talkin’,’ said the cabbie. ‘So long, guv, and may yer lay all the villains and nobble all the artful dodgers.’

  Off he went. Chief Inspector Dobbs and Sergeant Ross climbed the few steps to the front door of the house, and Dobbs knocked. A little time elapsed before they heard heels clicking on stairs. Seconds later, an attractive, well-dressed woman of about thirty opened the door. She regarded them coolly.

  ‘Yes?’ she said distantly.

  ‘Where’s Basil? asked Dobbs.

  A haughty eyebrow went up.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Where’s Basil?’

  ‘I think you’ve come to the wrong address. This is my house and I live alone. I don’t know any Basil, and I don’t know you, either. Go away.’

  The Chief Inspector shouldered his way past her and contemplated the hanging lace curtains that fronted the stairs.

  ‘This way, I think, my lad,’ he said to Sergeant Ross, and walked to the stairs through the divide in the curtains. He began to ascend. Ross entered the house. The woman ran to the stairs and yelled up at Dobbs.

  ‘Oh, yer bleeder, come down, will yer!’

  That brought a smile from the Chief Inspector.

  ‘This is a friendly visit,’ he said, halting halfway up the stairs and turning.

  ‘Tell me another. You’re interfering coppers, it’s written all over the pair of you.’ The woman’s rageful expression and change of tone and accent didn’t quite go with her stylish coiffure and fashionable dress. ‘And where’s yer search warrant?’

  ‘What do we need a search warrant for, madam?’ asked Ross. ‘There’s no stolen goods here, are there? We’re only looking for Basil.’

  ‘And all we need from him is some information on a friend of his,’ said Dobbs, which was merely an opener.

  ‘I said I didn’t know him, didn’t I?’ countered the woman.

  Dobbs regarded her well-attired handsomeness.

  ‘I’m Chief Inspector Dobbs from Scotland Yard, and this is Sergeant Ross,’ he said.

  ‘Pleasured, I don’t think.’

  ‘I suppose you know the penalty for obstructing police enquiries, do you?’ said Dobbs, looking as if he was cheerfully considering a cell for her.

  ‘What police enquiries?’

  ‘Concerning a friend of Basil’s,’ said Dobbs.

  The woman, looking less hostile, said, ‘Just one of his friends?’

  ‘Just one,’ said Ross, who knew his guv’nor meant Maureen Flanagan.

  ‘Well, hard luck, he’s not here.’

  ‘Take a look, Sergeant Ross,’ said Dobbs.

  ‘Go on, then, take a look,’ said the woman, ‘but you won’t find ’im.’

  ‘He’s out?’ said Dobbs.

  ‘Gone to visit an aunt in the country, if you must know.’

  ‘Well, it’s a fact that we have to know,’ said Dobbs. ‘What’s the name and address of his aunt?’

  ‘I don’t know her name, or her address.’ The woman had reverted to carefully modulated speech. ‘She happens to be Basil’s aunt, not mine.’

  ‘Are you Mrs Basil?’ asked Dobbs. ‘Mrs Basil Gottfried? Or Godfrey?’

  ‘No, I’m not. Baz isn’t the marrying kind. I keep house for him.’

  She’s his mistress, thought the Chief Inspector, and he dresses her in style. That was the way of it with a well-off pimp. Nothing tarty in appearance adorned his private life.

  ‘What’s his business?’ asked Ross.

  ‘You don’t know?’ There was a suggestion of relief in her expression.

  ‘What’s your name?’ asked Dobbs.

  ‘Margaret Donaldson.’

  ‘Well, Miss Donaldson, we don’t know everything, which is why we frequently have to ask questions,’ said the Chief Inspector amiably. ‘Asking gets to be second nature with us.’

  ‘Well, you can ask all day,’ said Margaret Donaldson, alias Maggie Stubbs, ‘but I still couldn’t tell you anythi
ng about Basil’s aunt, and I don’t know what his business is, either. He’s never told me. I just keep house for him.’

  ‘When did he leave on this visit to his aunt?’ asked Ross.

  ‘Four days ago. He was called away suddenly.’

  ‘By his aunt?’ said Dobbs.

  ‘That’s what he said.’

  ‘Four days ago?’ said Dobbs.

  ‘Yes.’

  Dobbs glanced at Ross. Basil had chosen to go absent the morning after the murder of Maureen Flanagan.

  ‘That’s very inconvenient, Miss Donaldson,’ said Dobbs. ‘We’d like very much to speak to this friend of his. He told you, of course, when he’d be back?’

  ‘He said he didn’t know how long he’d be away.’

  ‘Pity,’ said Dobbs. ‘Well, we’ll have to try another source, we can’t wait indefinitely. We’ll find this friend of his through someone else we know. Unless, well, would you know a man called Gus Robbins?’

  That, Sergeant Ross knew, was the name of one of the known pimps listed by Vine Street police station.

  ‘Me? Gus Robbins? Who’s ’e when ’e’s out?’ The woman, flustered, reverted to type.

  ‘Never mind, we’ll find him,’ said Dobbs, coming down from the stairs. ‘Thanks for your help, sorry to have startled you, Miss Donaldson.’

  ‘Sorry to have bothered you as well,’ said Ross.

  ‘Sorry I couldn’t help,’ said the woman.

  ‘Sorry all round, eh?’ said Dobbs. ‘Good morning.’

  He and Ross left.

  ‘You let her off a bit lightly, didn’t you, guv?’ said Ross.

  ‘Wake up, my lad. No point in putting the fear of God into her. Handsome woman, I thought. But there’s no aunt, of course. Basil panicked and did a bunk and now he’s lying low. And he did a bunk either because he murdered Flanagan or because, knowing she’d been done in, he guessed we’d find out she was a part-time pro and that this could lead us to him. Now, according to Lulu Swann, he can be vicious. That reputation would make a suspect of him. Either that or the fact that he’s guilty caused him to panic. His woman denied knowing what his business was, but she knows it all, of course, and she probably knows other pimps, including Gus Robbins. What brought his name up, by the way?’