Ghost of Whitechapel
Page 26
‘Wear and tear, you brainless sod,’ hissed the suspect, red flushing his scar.
‘Well, sir,’ said Davis, ‘the fact is – wait, hold on a tick, there’s someone at the door.’ He moved and opened the door. The waiting Mr Harold Newcombe, general manager of the Stamford Hill stores, stepped in. He glanced at the man seated at the table, and affected surprise.
‘Good Lord, what are you doing here, Mr Vincent?’
‘Damn you, Dobbs, you bloody creep!’ shouted Edward Vincent.
‘Sorry, Mr Newcombe,’ said Dobbs, ‘but would you mind leaving us for a while?’
‘Of course,’ said Mr Newcombe, and left. Inspector Davis closed the door. He turned and saw the suspect glaring at Chief Inspector Dobbs, his scar an angry crimson.
‘Feelin’ a bit upset, are you, sir?’ he said.
‘Damn you too,’ hissed Vincent.
‘I suppose you’re slightly embarrassed,’ said Dobbs. ‘Well, it can’t be helped sometimes. And I’m probably going to make things worse by suggesting you were the man the witness saw ahead of him, that you’d seen the red-haired woman earning a street-walker’s fee in the shop doorway, and that you subsequently made your first killing. Because she was a prostitute, you saw yourself as a second Ripper and used a knife on your other victims. Is that right, Mr Vincent?’
‘Go to hell,’ said Vincent, ‘you can’t prove a thing, you can’t even prove my name’s not Oxberry.’ He seemed in control of himself again, but his scar was still a tell-tale red.
‘Oh, I think you’re Edward Vincent all right,’ said Dobbs. ‘Your former employer, Mr Harold Newcombe, recognized you. And let’s see, you once knew my wife, didn’t you? When she was Miss Daphne Wells?’
‘Now you’re gibbering.’ The words were forced through tight lips.
‘You didn’t come to the wedding,’ said Dobbs. ‘Sorry about that, you missed seeing Daphne looking – well, I’d say radiant. Oh, here’s a photograph of her and her family.’ He placed it on the table. ‘And you’re in it yourself. You were younger then, of course. So was Daphne. But she’s still a lovely woman, and we’ve two lovely kids, a boy and a girl. Recognize yourself, Mr Vincent?’
The scar flamed to a livid purple, the mouth shut rigidly tight, and then ferocious breath escaped. Vincent leapt to his feet, seized the photograph, ripped it to pieces and flung them at Dobbs.
‘You bastard, you stole that woman from me, and may you freeze in hell for it! And may she rot, as she will if I can get my knife at her neck!’
‘Tell us about your knife and the books about the case of Jack the Ripper,’ said Dobbs.
‘I will, believe me I will! I—’ Vincent stopped and pulled at his jacket, his noisy breathing subsiding. It took him some time to regain control of himself, then he regarded the Chief Inspector with cold hatred before turning to Inspector Davis. ‘I can’t stand this fellow Dobbs,’ he said, ‘and would prefer to put a request to you, Inspector. Would you arrange for me to see my solicitor?’
‘Would that be first thing tomorrow, sir?’ asked Davis.
‘Now.’ Temper leapt again. ‘Now, damn you, now!’
‘Have we got him or not, guv?’ asked Sergeant Ross later.
‘I think you can say so, my lad,’ said Dobbs.
‘There’s still a lot of circumstantial evidence,’ said Ross, ‘and his counsel will jump on it.’
‘They can jump all they like,’ said Dobbs, ‘but not on that overcoat, stiff with the blood of his first victim, you can lay to it.’
‘It’ll make you happy, will it, guv, just to get him for the Dalston murder?’
‘I’ll get him for the lot, sunshine,’ said Dobbs. ‘We’ll release Archie Binns and let Fleet Street know of these new and final developments. I say final with confidence, since I’ll show Edward Vincent a photograph of Mrs Dobbs on her wedding day when we interview him tomorrow morning with his solicitor. I’m in the photograph myself this time. He’ll explode, you mark my words, and that’s when we’ll get him for the lot.’
‘I’ll have a quid on you, guv, even if I can only get odds of two to one,’ said Ross.
‘Give Archie Binns five bob to buy himself hot meat pies and mash twice a day for a week,’ said Dobbs, ‘and thank him for being our guest. Then take the rest of the day off. Pop round and see Nurse Cartright at her hospital. Take her a bunch of flowers.’
‘Well, guv—’
‘At my expense. And while you’re doing your stuff, treat her as well to a Scotch joke. A funny one, if you can manage it.’
‘Don’t think I can,’ said Ross, ‘except three Scotsmen once went to church. Just before the collection plate reached them, one fainted and the other two carried him out. Any good, guv?’
‘Not very, and it’ll upset Scotland,’ said Dobbs. ‘Try an Irish one.’
‘I’ll make do with the bunch of flowers,’ said Ross.
The following morning, in the presence of his solicitor, Edward Vincent, after parrying a series of questions with controlled answers of an oblique kind, went suddenly berserk. Chief Inspector Dobbs had thrust a wedding photograph under his nose.
He condemned himself then out of a raging mouth, despite all warnings from his solicitor.
The woman in Dalston had asked for it, plying her filthy trade in public. The Ripper himself would have been delighted to execute her. As for Maureen Flanagan, that Irish tart had had the brazen effrontery to regard him as a friend merely because of one or two conversations he had had with her about the green lushness of Ireland. It had been the easiest thing in the world to follow her out one evening and discover she was a West End streetwalker. When she accepted an invitation to spend a discreet hour with him on the evening of her row with Pritchard, she also accepted an offer of ten pounds to go to bed with him, providing extreme discretion was exercised. He executed her from behind as soon as she removed her coat. She bled disgustingly, and it took him a damned long time to clean everything up, using her own clothes and underwear. He dressed her in clean apparel he found in her wardrobe and took her corpse to Tooley Street sometime after midnight.
Poppy Simpson? Another obscene specimen, well deserving of the knife, well deserving of the Ripper himself.
All this came out of the raging mouth accompanied by froth and spittle, and ended with an attempt to throttle Chief Inspector Dobbs, who brought his knee up into the man’s stomach and laid him low and gasping.
He was then charged with three murders and an attempted murder.
Charlie Dobbs, resurgent with well-being that night, made overtures to Daphne.
‘Heavens, Charlie, what’s brought this on?’
‘Don’t you know, Daffie? All work and no play makes me a dull old codger.’
‘Well, I’m not sure what the Queen would say to that kind of levity within the more sacred realms of marriage, Charlie, but as I don’t intend to ask her, play up and play the game, then.’
Having obtained the key from the landlord on Saturday, Bridget took Daisy and Billy across the river on Sunday to see the house in Pocock Street.
It was in good order, and Daisy liked the condition of the kitchen wallpaper. Billy liked the back yard, much larger than their present one. Bridget liked the fact that all the rooms, three up, three down, were larger. And they all liked the front bay window and the railed gate.
‘We could ’ave an aspidistra in the parlour,’ said Daisy.
‘I could still do me grocery job,’ said Billy. ‘I could get up earlier till I got taken on by a Blackfriars grocer behind the counter.’
‘Er, what about—’ Daisy paused. ‘Well, I mean, what about Fred?’
‘Who?’ asked Bridget darkly.
‘Him that’s our present lodger,’ said Daisy bravely.
‘Constable Fred,’ said Billy.
‘Who’s he?’ asked Bridget.
‘It’s him, like Daisy just mentioned,’ said Billy.
‘Oh, ’im,’ said Bridget.
‘We ought to ask ’im if h
e’d like to move wiv us,’ said Billy.
‘Well, I ain’t askin’ him meself,’ said Bridget, ‘he’s still a copper and it’s against me principles to ask any copper.’
‘Oh, it ain’t against my principles,’ said Daisy.
‘I know what’s goin’ to ’appen,’ said Bridget. ‘You and Billy will sneak ’im in behind me back, like you did before. Oh, well, I can’t wear meself out arguin’ with you, I’ll ’ave to put up with it. And I suppose ’e could be a bit useful, he’s actu’lly not a bad cook, and he can take a turn at doin’ the washin’ and ironing.’
‘Bridget, you can’t ask Fred to do washin’ and ironing,’ protested Daisy.
‘I ain’t goin’ to ask ’im,’ said Bridget, ‘I’m goin’ to tell ’im, and if ’e gets contradict’ry, I’ll down ’im. I’ll put up with ’im being a copper, but not with ’im gettin’ my goat and chuckin’ ’is weight about. I won’t stand for a lot of that. Lord only knows what might ’appen if I let ’im get on top of me.’
Daisy yelled with laughter. Billy grinned all over his face.
‘Bridget,’ he said, ‘wouldn’t Fred ’ave to marry you first?’
It was a pity he said that, for he was having to run for his life seconds later.
THE END
About the Author
Mary Jane Staples was born, bred and educated in Walworth, and is the author of many bestselling novels, including the ever-popular cockney sagas featuring the Adams family.
Also by Mary Jane Staples:
The Adams Books
Down Lambeth Way
Our Emily
King of Camberwell
On Mother Brown’s Doorstep
A Family Affair
Missing Person
Pride of Walworth
Echoes of Yesterday
The Young Ones
The Camberwell Raid
The Last Summer
The Family at War
Fire Over London
Churchill’s People
Bright Day, Dark Night
Tomorrow is Another Day
The Way Ahead
Year of Victory
The Homecoming
Sons and Daughters
Appointment at the Palace
Changing Times
Spreading Wings
Family Fortunes
A Girl Next Door
Ups and Downs
Out of the Shadows
A Sign of the Times
The Soldier’s Girl
Other titles in order of publication
Two for Three Farthings
The Lodger
Rising Summer
The Pearly Queen
Sergeant Joe
The Trap
Escape to London
The Price of Freedom
A Wartime Marriage
Katernia’s Secret
The Summer Day is Done
The Longest Winter
Natasha’s Dream
Nurse Anna’s War
TRANSWORLD PUBLISHERS
61–63 Uxbridge Road, London W5 5SA
A Random House Group Company
www.transworldbooks.co.uk
THE GHOST OF WHITECHAPEL
A CORGI BOOK: 9780552160773
Version 1.0 Epub ISBN 9781446488249
First publication in Great Britain
PRINTING HISTORY
Corgi edition published 1997
Corgi edition reprinted 1997
Copyright © Mary Jane Staples 1997
The right of Mary Jane Staples to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All of the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
Addresses for Random House Group Ltd companies outside the UK can be found at:
www.randomhouse.co.uk
The Random House Group Ltd Reg. No. 954009