That means that over time his weak hand became less weak until it was finally not so weak at all. While it almost never achieved the fluency of his right, it was driven by well-developed musculature and guided by deep muscle memory. He had certainly achieved a fair dexterity. More important, he became used to using it as a solution to certain tactical problems. Thus in diverting to his left hand to cut Mary Jane, he was doing nothing particularly new to himself; it must have felt quite natural, so natural that he didn’t even note that he was doing it.
Excelling at such a sophisticated sport takes a rare gift. Clearly it was given to Druitt. Clearly—it seems to me—he used it not in search of glory but damnation.
WITNESSES AND DEATH
Though it is not widely known, eight witnesses saw four of the five victims with men a short time before their murders. It was rainy, it was dark, they had no reason to stare and note, they themselves were probably abuzz with gin or stout, they were trying to get laid or had just gotten laid, they were worried about the excuse to be given to their better halves, whatever…but still the descriptions are almost remarkably similar. Taken together, the accounts of Elizabeth Darrell, J. Best, John Gardner, William Marshall, Matthew Packer, Constable William Smith, James Brown, Israel Schwartz, Joseph Lawende, and George Hutchinson come up with a composite. They agree that each victim was in the company of a broad-shouldered man in his mid-30s around five feet five inches, with a bowler or some kind of headgear, a heavy or full-length coat and a mustache. That could be three million men in London, particularly when you consider that the average height of a British male in 1888 was about five foot five. But it could also be, quite easily, Monty Druitt, whose height was never described as unusually tall or short and who would thus be around the unremarkable average. Add his late mustache and broad shoulders and athletic mien and the composite, though far from certain, certainly does not exclude him.
There is more, of course. I have been coy about it, but those familiar with the case are fully aware that a short time after the last of the canonical Jack deaths—Mary Jane Kelly’s deconstruction on November 9—he killed himself by drowning himself in the Thames. And all know that after the Mary Kelly atrocity, there were no more murders that bore the Jack signature.
—
It’s easy to make too much of this, but at the same time, it certainly fits with the idea of the remorseful psychotic. In my theory, having, in Mary’s case, gone beyond the threshold of the barbaric into the realm of the truly insane, he swore to himself he would never do the deed again. But as before, the pressure to do so grew and grew in him, until, a month later—he was last seen alive December 3, 1888—he knew it was a case of killing another or himself. He chose himself, packed stones in his pockets and walked into the river. The body was not found until December 31, 1888, much decomposed.
It’s true that most people who commit suicide aren’t murderers. It’s also true that some of them are. Anti-Druittists point out that there was enough woe in his life to manage to set off a fervor for self-destruction; for example, it was on November 30 that he was dismissed from Valentine’s school. That may have been “the reason,” but it might also have been the famous straw whose breakage finally brought down the camel. As well, his commission of the murders may have destabilized him so fiercely that his teaching grew erratic and worrisome. The firing may have been a symptom, not a cause. Clearly his mental state was in his mind in his last days. He left a note to his brother, found in his room at Valentine’s. “Since Friday, I felt that I was going to be like mother, and the best thing for me was to die.”
Friday, of course, was the day of his firing. But the day of Mary Jane Kelly’s death was also Friday.
THE CASE
Any explanation of the four street deaths must include justification for three anomalies: the lack of blood spatter, the lack of blood on the chests of the victims and the lack of blood on Jack, as inferred by his escape through crowded streets. Additionally, it must demonstrate speed and silence and a reasonable explanation as to the delivery of the cuts, particularly to the last third of the neck on the victim’s right-hand side.
—
The only anatomical explanation is that while standing and facing each victim, Jack drove his blade with extreme force and coordination horizontally through the neck, totally sundering both carotid and jugular. In severing, rather than piercing, the carotid, the pressurized blood from the heart did not spurt and spatter because it was not subject to passing through an orifice of smaller diameter. By sundering the jugular, the blood in the lower segment of the vein, connected directly to the heart, drew in air as it retreated downward and in four seconds or less, produced a fatal air embolism. That explains why the deaths were so swift and silent. Meanwhile, the killer rotated around the victim’s body to his left, drawing the knife around while at the same time supporting her as she sagged backward. Upon completion, he laid her down on her back.
Only Montague John Druitt had the athletic ability to make that stroke four times running, using techniques and bolstered by the extreme confidence acquired on the courts of Eton Fives of which he might be easily considered England’s greatest player.
Then there is the matter of the use of his left arm in the murder of Mary Jane Kelly. Fives, being an ambidextrous game, would certainly have taught him supple, strong and precise deployment of that limb, and given the low threshold of precision necessary to make the cut, the game certainly equipped him, alone among the suspects, to use his weak hand to murderous ends.
All five murders represented bold and athletic escapes. No copper ever laid eyes on Jack knowing he was Jack, no whistle was ever blown in response to his presence. All escapes involved climbing, balance, great vision, physical vigor, and great strength. No other suspect comes close to possessing those attributes but Druitt.
The witnesses all put a man of Druitt’s body type, age, middle-class wardrobe proclivities, and facial hair in the presence of four of the five women in the minutes before their deaths.
He was known to be under great mental pressure, both from his awareness of his legacy of insanity and from some grotesque reversal at Valentine’s School. It may also be that he knew the clapping had to stop soon. He was an athlete, growing older. That can be a terrible pain to bear and it can fill one with rage.
The case is entirely circumstantial—but it is remorseless. Men have hung for far less.
* * *
Thanks to Lenne P. Miller, Gary Goldberg, David Fowler, M.D., and David Green. —Stephen Hunter
Copy Murders and Others
ROBIN ODELL
Although Robin Odell (1935– ) has written nearly twenty true crime volumes, his landmark book, Jack the Ripper in Fact and Fiction (1965), published more than a half century ago, still ranks among the most important works in the field. He continued his investigations and analysis of Red Jack in Ripperology: A Study of the World’s First Serial Killer and a Literary Phenomenon (2006), which, despite its hyperbolic subtitle (overlooking, among others, the Countess Elizabeth Báthory, reportedly responsible for the deaths of as many as six hundred fifty girls and young women in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries), won the Gold Medal at the 2007 Independent Publisher Book Awards in the True Crime category and also was nominated for an Edgar. He cowrote with Colin Wilson and J. H. H. Gaute Jack the Ripper: Summing Up and Verdict (1987). His most recent book on the subject is Written and Red: The Jack the Ripper Lectures (2009), covering more than thirty years of lectures. Among his other works are The Murderers’ Who’s Who: Outstanding International Cases from the Literature of Murder in the Last 150 Years, with J. H. H. Gaute (1979), which won a Special Edgar, Landmarks in 20th Century Murder (1995), and Medical Detectives: The Lives & Cases of Britain’s Forensic Five (2013).
After working as a university laboratory technician and completing his National Service, Odell developed an interest in crime writing and became one of the world’s leading authorities on the subject.
“C
opy Murders and Others” was first published in Jack the Ripper in Fact and Fiction (London, George C. Harrap, 1965).
COPY MURDERS AND OTHERS
Robin Odell
The murder of Marie Kelly is generally considered to be the last outrage committed by Jack the Ripper, although for many months after there occurred a number of murders which were thought to be attributable to the Whitechapel killer. A number of these have come to be known as “copy murders,” and were supposed to have been perpetrated by different murderers, each copying the Ripper’s technique.
The first such attempt happened on November 21st, 1888, just thirteen days after the death of Marie Kelly, when a prostitute called Annie Farmer was attacked at a lodging-house in George Street, Whitechapel. The man with whom she was preparing to spend the night tried to cut her throat, but when she screamed he let her go and made off before he could be caught. The police seemed satisfied that the woman’s assailant was not the man they were seeking, for his technique certainly seemed amateurish compared with that of the Ripper.
It was some months later, in June 1889, when the next public scare took place. In that month several portions of a human female body were washed up at various points along the river Thames. It was claimed that one of the last portions to be found was wrapped up in a piece of white cloth of the type that medical students used in connection with a certain type of work. The head was never found, but some marks on some of the parts retrieved established the woman’s identity. She was a prostitute by the name of Elizabeth Jackson, who had lived in a lodging-house in Chelsea. This incident was known as “The Thames Mystery,” and although it bore little relation to the Ripper murders, it was none the less bracketed with them.
In the following month occurred a murder which really led people to believe that Jack the Ripper had taken up the knife again. This killing was stamped with many of the familiar characteristics of the Ripper’s methods. At 12:50 A.M. on Wednesday July 17th, 1889, Police Constable Andrews was patrolling in Castle Alley, Whitechapel, a long, dark, and sinister passage no more than a yard wide at one end. Its black depths frequently housed ruffians with criminal intentions. In fact, so many people had been attacked and robbed there that even the local prostitutes feared to use it at night.
Whilst walking the hundred and eighty yards of the passage’s length the patrolling policeman came across the body of a woman lying in a doorway. His first thought was that the Ripper had struck again, for the woman’s throat was cut and there were gashes across her abdomen.
As in the previous murders, there was the element of luck always on the side of the killer. Police Constable Andrews patrolled the alley every fifteen minutes whilst on his beat, and twenty-five minutes before he discovered the body he had actually eaten his supper at a place nearby.
The police were able to identify the dead woman by the clay pipe which was found underneath the body. She was a local woman, known as “Clay-pipe Alice” on account of her habit of smoking a clay pipe in bed. Her real name was Alice McKenzie, and she lived in Gun Street, Spitalfields. John McCormack, a man with whom “Clay-pipe Alice” had lived, said that she was a respectable woman who earned a living by cleaning for a family in Whitechapel. The police, however, had other ideas as to McKenzie’s background. She was known to several constables as an habitual drunkard, and she had frequently been seen soliciting in the Spitalfields area.
In several respects the circumstances of this woman’s death fitted the familiar pattern of Jack the Ripper’s killings. The type of victim, the area in which the crime had been committed, and the ability to avoid patrolling policemen were all hall-marks of the Ripper. Even the nature of the killing was similar—the cut throat and the abdominal injuries. On this latter question, however, Dr. Bagster Phillips indicated some inconsistencies. McKenzie’s throat had been cut with a short blade—in the other crimes a long-bladed knife had been the weapon used; the injuries to the abdomen were no more than superficial and seemed to have been caused by the thumb and fingernails of a hand—in the other murders the abdominal injuries were extensive and effected with a sharp knife. The doctor summed up that in this case the injuries “were not similar to those in other East End murder cases.” As to the question of any special skill being shown in inflicting the injuries, the doctor was of the opinion that this particular crime showed nothing more than the ability to deprive someone of life speedily.
The night of February 13th, 1891, brought a return of the fear that East Enders had known three years previously. It was a bitterly cold night that emptied Whitechapel’s dingy corners of their huddles of prostitutes and lonely humanity. Police Constable Leeson was patrolling in the neighbourhood of the Mint when he heard the unmistakable shrill of a police whistle. He made off at top speed in the direction that the sound had come from, and he found himself in a place called Swallow Gardens, which was actually a railway arch running from Royal Mint Street to Chambers Street. There Leeson found a colleague, P.C. Thompson, standing with a couple of night-watchmen.
“What’s up?” asked Leeson. “Murder,” replied Thompson hoarsely. “A Jack the Ripper job.” Both constables were inexperienced, and Leeson could see that his colleague was badly shaken. The two men walked to the spot where Thompson had found the body. “The form lying in the roadway was that of a young woman. Her clothing was disarranged, and there could be no doubt that she had been brutally murdered. Apart from the fearful wound in the throat there were other terrible injuries about the lower part of the trunk.” So Leeson later described the murder scene.*1
The woman was still breathing, although speech was impossible and her life was ebbing fast. Leeson recognized her as “Carroty Nell,” a woman known to the police on account of her soliciting activities near Tower Hill. In the gutter near the body was a new crêpe hat, although there was another, older hat pinned to the woman’s shawl. It was obvious that the murder had not long been committed, but neither policemen nor nearby night-watchmen had seen or heard anything.
More experienced police officers soon arrived at the scene, and a murder hunt began at once. Hundreds of policemen and civilians took part in the search, and small parties of men were organized to scour every alley, passage, and archway. Every house in the district was searched the same night, as the police were of the opinion that the murderer’s disappearance into thin air could be accounted for only by his hiding in a nearby house until the coast was clear.
There was something uncanny about the murderer’s quick getaway. In addition to P.C. Thompson, who had been patrolling the area in rubber-soled boots a mere stone’s throw from the murder spot, there had also been a police constable stationed just fifty yards away in Royal Mint Street. This officer had been on duty all night, and he heard nothing until Thompson blew his whistle on finding the body. It is no wonder that the police felt that the murderer was still in the vicinity, but their searches brought no rewards, although a further precaution was taken in cordoning off the docks. The authorities were leaving nothing to chance, and, perhaps remembering the drover theory, they decided to check on the crews of every vessel leaving the docks.
The dead woman was soon properly identified as Frances Coles of Thrawl Street, Spitalfields, where she was in fact known as “Carroty Nell.” Her body was taken to the police station, where it was examined by Dr. Phillips, who by now must have seen some of the worst victims of murder.
Frances Coles was both young and pretty, rare qualities among the women of her class. She was spoken highly of in the places where she had lodged, and was often described as being of a superior type, although her recent behaviour had been anything but high-class.
The police pounced upon the crêpe hat found pinned to Coles’s shawl as an important clue. It appeared that Coles had bought a new hat, which she wore straight away, whilst pinning her old one to her shawl until she reached home. But where had she made her purchase? The Spitalfields district was thoroughly combed for the seller of the hat, and perseverance eventually brought results. A shopkeeper wa
s found, and she identified the hat as one that she had sold to Frances Coles the previous afternoon for five shillings. Apparently Coles had tried earlier in the day to buy the hat by making a down payment, with the promise of paying the rest later. The shopkeeper would not accept this arrangement, and told Coles that she would have to pay the full amount if she wanted the hat.
In the afternoon Coles returned, saying that she had found a friend who would lend her the money. The shopkeeper noticed a man standing about outside while Coles was making her purchase, but she was unable to give a clear description of the man, as he kept his back towards the shop. However, she was able to say that he was thick-set, middle-aged, and fairly well dressed. The woman remembered Coles pinning the old hat to her shawl, and on leaving the shop she was joined by the man and they walked off down the street.
The police were obviously keen to question this man, and were about to embark on a full-scale search for him when another issue presented itself. Earlier on the night of the murder a man asking for Frances Coles had called at her lodgings. It was noticed that his hand was bleeding, and by way of explanation he said that some ruffians had set on him and robbed him of all his money. The man stayed with Coles for about an hour, and he was heard to leave at 1 A.M. Thirty minutes later Frances Coles went out on a mission that ended with her death in the gutter at Swallow Gardens.
In addition to this, it appeared that the man returned to Coles’s lodgings at 3 A.M. On this occasion he was highly excited and was covered with blood. He told the lodging-house deputy that he wanted lodgings for the night, and explained, “I’ve been knocked down and robbed in Ratcliff Highway.” The deputy would not accept this explanation in view of the fact that the man claimed to have been robbed before his first visit. He refused to give him a bed, and advised him to go to London Hospital for treatment.
The Big Book of Jack the Ripper Page 25