by Eric Black
Then, something changed. His thought, I wonder how history will judge this, slowly dissolved and was replaced by a thought foreign for him. As he looked down at the slaughter that used to be the body of President Williams, his thought became, what have I done?
It didn’t make sense as he had killed many people throughout the years but at that moment, he felt sorrow. Then, that sorrow turned to regret and soon became disgust. The horror that he had intended for others was now conveyed upon him.
He looked down at the body of Libby Williams and tears came to his eyes and he retched. He retched until his stomach was empty and yet he still heaved, stomach acids burning the back of his mouth.
He looked down at his hands and saw the blood and the remnant of gore from her intestines. He tried to wipe his hands on the grass but the blood and tissue would not wipe clean. He was frantic but in the midst of those frenzied thoughts, clarity came to him: he recognized the time that had passed since he had abducted Libby. He knew that the sweep of the White House would prove fruitless and the various agencies would span their search to Washington, D.C. and then to the outer cities. It would still be some time before they began searching his current location but if Jack had learned anything from Bagster Phillips it was not to press his luck.
It was time to leave.
He stood up and turned his attention to his next location and time. Only this time, nothing happened. He had done it so often and it had become such a part of who he was that he thought at first that perhaps he was just tired. He tried again and nothing. And then, again. It was not working.
For the first time in many years, he was fearful and not sure what to do. Why can I not go?
He tried twice more and it didn’t work. Then, his survival instinct kicked in and he knew he had to run. He wasn’t sure where he would hide or exactly where he would go but knew he had to leave. To stay longer was to test chance and he didn’t want to face questioning on the murder of the President. He didn’t think that would go too well since he was covered in her blood.
He found his way to a row of houses on a rural road. The house on the end was dark and after further examination, he determined the home was vacant and he gathered the courage to go inside. The back door was easy enough to navigate open and inside he found the home empty with the exception of a few boxes. To his fortune, the boxes contained men’s clothes. They weren’t a perfect fit but they were close enough.
He went to the kitchen and filled the sink full of water, washing the filth from him. When he was clean, he wiped away all traces of blood (he intentionally used some of the clothes to wipe up the blood and mixed those clothes with his own soiled garments) and exited the house with the bloody clothes in tow. He put those bloody clothes into a trash can behind the home and disappeared into the night.
Two hours later, the body of President Libby Williams was discovered. The area and body were examined and marked and the body was removed before the press arrived. But no matter how much they scrubbed, the agents couldn’t remove the blood from the scene.
Her husband found out right away and the rest of the world found out by telegram and radio soon after.
The bloody clothes were found by a nosy neighbor who thought it was suspicious that someone would take trash out in the middle of the night. The owner of the house where the bloody clothes were found was brought in and questioned and soon after vilified. It turned out the owner of the house was a felon (armed robbery) and had only recently been released from prison. He had taken a drive out to the bay where he had camped alone for the night, which gave him no solid alibi.
Jack read the newspaper the next morning and the feeling of regret came over him again. What’s wrong with me? he asked himself the first of many times to follow.
He never saw the man lurking in the shadows.
CHAPTER TWO
London, England – December 1897
Jack was a renowned physician. He cured diseases and performed miracle surgeries that were unheard of in London or anywhere else in the world. He received nobles, royalty and America’s wealthy. The result was outright fame.
Jack was not modest in the least and used this fame to access private engagements, build wealth and quite often, to bed women of noble class. It was rumored he had slept with one of the daughters of the Queen but he would not comment on the anecdote.
Aside from the parties, appearances and sex, Jack’s true passion in life was murder.
He had just returned from such an excursion when he heard a knock on the front door. It was unusual that someone would knock at this late hour but he was not expecting anyone. In his experience, late night calls were rarely well received, even when they involved a woman.
He peered out from a small opening in the drapery and saw a uniformed police officer standing on his front steps. What does this mean? Jack cursed.
He was uneasy but his exterior exuded the confidence of an aristocrat of that time as he opened the door. The officer’s insignia indicated he was from the East End. “Good evening, officer. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“I beg your pardon, sir, at this late hour,” the officer began.
“Not at all. I have full accessibility for an officer of the law. Especially one so far from home.”
“Thank’ee sir,” the officer replied.
“What it is I can do for you this evening?” Jack asked.
“I am from the station in the East End, sir. I have come at the request of Dr. Bagster Phillips. He sent me to fetch you, sir."
His stomach was turning but he maintained his confident exterior. “Did the good Dr. Phillips mention why?”
“He did not, sir. He only mentioned that he required your assistance.”
“Very well. Please, let me gather my cloak and I shall be with you directly. Won’t you come inside as you wait?”
The young officer shivered in the cold and looked up at the sky from which snow fell onto the London streets. He nodded and accepted the refuge, temporary as it was.
Cloak in hand, Jack exited the house with the officer, tossing the cloak across his shoulders as he hit the night air. Outside a carriage awaited emblazoned with a shield of the police. Twenty minutes later, Jack strolled into a police station in the East End to meet with Phillips. His heart pounded with each step.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I apologize for whisking you away in the dead of night,” Phillips said to Jack as he entered the room.
“Not at all.”
“Again, I thank you for your offer of service. I often read about your miracles in the daily.”
“Not miracles at all, really. Merely proper research, keen science and swift medical execution.”
Phillips nodded. “I see. At another time, of course, I would very much enjoy hearing more of your methods. But at this moment, we have a situation most urgent.”
Phillips was uncomfortable with the arrangement. It was not typical to summon one of Jack’s stature and class without an appointment, let alone in the middle of the night. But the situation was not typical and he desperately needed Jack’s assistance.
Jack sensed that Phillips was uneasy and was glad of it. As long as Phillips was not at ease, he would not have the opportunity to grow suspicious of Jack. Jack let the unease set for a moment more but knew he needed to move the evening forward so he finalized the pleasantries.
“Dr. Phillips, you know that I spent twenty years in America?”
Phillips nodded and Jack continued.
“During those twenty years, I saw scenes that would make a gentleman’s stomach turn and make him seem very ungentlemanly.
“The government there drove the native tribes from their homes. I witnessed firsthand the aftermath of native villages burned; the inhabitants slaughtered – men, women, and children. Many of these acts were by men who were supposed to be acting on the behalf of the people but instead took the law into their own hands. I cannot tell you how glad I am to back in a land of laws. I appreciate what you do in suppo
rt of those laws. I will do whatever I can to assist you.”
Phillips smiled. “Thank you. And I hope not to take too much of your evening.”
“What is it I can do for you?”
Phillips looked at Jack seriously. “As you know, many years ago I worked on the Ripper case. We were never able to find the murderer. As you also may know, the case was officially closed in 1892. That is the official closing of the case but not necessarily for me.”
Phillips looked at Jack to see if he was following him. Jack nodded his head in understanding and Phillips continued.
“The Ripper case has been most puzzling. I won’t go into details but he wrote me several letters. Each letter portrayed someone whose enthusiasm for murder was mounting. Then, without explanation the murders stopped. Others have thought for some time that the Ripper perhaps died which is why he stopped killing. I do not believe that.”
Why is he looking at me like that? Does he know who I am? Jack asked himself as he listened to Phillips.
“We never had an official suspect although we questioned many people,” Phillips continued.
“Including Jack Pizer,” Jack interrupted, cautiously joining the conversation.
Phillips smiled. “You know the case well.”
“How could I not? Although I lived in America, the murders were international news.”
“There have been no other murders that resemble the methods of the Ripper since. For over nine years, there has been nothing. Until now.”
Jack raised his eyebrows to convey surprise.
“You may remember at one point we suspected a man named George Chapman.”
Jack nodded that he remembered.
“Chapman matched the description of a male seen with several of the murder victims. That man was described as very tall and broad and Chapman matched this description. The man was also clean shaven. Although Chapman now has a moustache, at the time of the murders he didn’t. We brought in Chapman for questioning but we were never able to quite make our case. Now, Chapman is a suspect in another murder.”
“Really?” Jack asked. “And this is what you wanted to see me about?” He was not sure what to make of the conversation.
“It is. The latest murder victim was not mutilated like the others. And this victim was associated with Chapman – she was his wife. We believe that she was poisoned but so far nothing we have done has been able to prove that.”
Jack thought he knew where this was leading. “So you think that perhaps I have some method of detecting the poison?”
Phillips nodded and smiled. “You should have been an investigator.”
“Perhaps,” Jack said and thought for a moment. He of course he could detect poisons but was wary of showing Phillips his methods. The processes he used had not been invented in 1897. “I shall have to do it at my office. Everything that I need is there. Can you arrange to have the body brought over?”
Phillips agreed that he could. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” Jack replied. “By the way, why do you think this murder is connected to the Ripper murders if the method is not the same?”
“Just call it a hunch.”
“Very well,” Jack replied. “And when should I expect the body to arrive?”
“Will tomorrow morning suffice?” Phillips asked.
Jack agreed that the following morning would be fine.
Phillips thanked Jack for his time and two minutes later, the carriage carried Jack the way he had come.
CHAPTER THREE
London, England – December 1897
The next morning, Jack opened his front door to Phillips. “Good morning, doctor,” Jack offered.
“Good morning, doctor,” Phillips returned. “I hope I do not come at an unexpected hour?”
“Not at all. I have been up for hours. I am quite ready for the purpose which you have come here this morning. Shall we?”
Phillips nodded and Jack trailed him to the carriage. Seated, they journeyed the short trek to Jack’s office.
The previous night’s snow had stopped but the wind had not. The carriage belonged to the police force and was built more for functionality than comfort. The walls of the carriage were not as thick as he was accustomed and Jack shivered and pulled his cloak tighter to his body.
“A day such as this makes one want to hole up in a tavern next a fire with a pint, eh?” Phillips suggested.
“Very much so,” Jack agreed. “Perhaps when we finish you will join me at the Golden Goose as my guest?” The Golden Goose was a gentlemen’s pub nearby.
Phillips nodded appreciatively. “It’s hardly appropriate for you to offer me as your guest. After all, it is I who asked you to attend to the body. But if you wish, I would like to invite you to join me at the Golden Goose as my guest, my indulgence.”
“The Golden Goose has fantastic warmed ale. It would be my pleasure to join you as your guest.”
“It’s settled then. But first, unfortunately we must attend to the matter at hand.”
As they rode, Phillips asked Jack about American baseball. Jack had only begun to speak when they arrived at his office.
“Perhaps we’ll finish this conversation over our pint?” Phillips suggested. Jack agreed and entered his office ahead of Phillips who ordered the body brought in.
Once the body was on the table, Jack asked Phillips if he would mind being left alone with the body. This was often customary for medical cases but this was a murder investigation and Phillips had to decline the request.
“Very well,” Jack said. “Before I begin, you must realize that the methods I use are common in America. I have instruments that you will not recognize. As you know, America is a sundry of cultures. Medical methods employed there are brought in from all over the world. I’m saying this because you may not understand what you see here today.”
Phillips acknowledged Jack’s concerns and asked him if he wouldn’t mind proceeding.
Jack nodded and went to a wooden cabinet in the examination room to pull out a small black bag.
Phillips glanced at Jack’s profile and something from his past came forward. It was only a half-thought, one that he could not quite grasp. He knew it would come to him in time so he let it pass and focused on the task.
From the black bag, Jack pulled out a syringe.
Phillips was unsure of the foreign object. From his perspective, it seemed a long tube with a thin, hard piece of metal protruding from the top of the tube.
“Was she drained of all her blood?” Jack asked.
“Her blood was drained during the autopsy. I have a sample right here,” Phillips answered pulling a small jar from his pocket. The blood inside was coagulated but Jack could make it work.
Jack put the syringe away as he would not need it. In its place he pulled out a cotton-tipped swab and gathered the sample of blood. He paused briefly and admired how the red of the blood was stark against the white cotton. He glanced sideways at Phillips and wondered how his blood would look spilled upon the tile floor.
Putting the thoughts away, he pulled out the equipment he would use to detect the poison. He wiped the blood sample onto a slide and screened for foreign compounds. He found traces of antimony potassium tartrate or emetic tartar, a compound similar to arsenic.
“How many days ago did she die?” Jack asked Phillips.
“She died on Christmas day,” Phillips answered.
“She’s been dead for five days,” Jack observed, “yet her body is well preserved. There was nothing done to the body other than the autopsy?”
Phillips shook his head.
“This woman was murdered by emetic tartar,” Jack said to Phillips.
“You’re sure?” Phillips asked.
Jack showed Phillips his kit and showed him how he read the results of the test. He also reminded Phillips of what he should have seen but had missed. “Unassisted preservation of corpses over a long period of time reflects the presence of the compound.”
Phillips
of course knew the effects of emetic tartar and felt imprudent that he hadn’t seen it first. “Her slow death would have agonizing. She claimed vomiting and diarrhea for many days prior to her admittance to the hospital. Her death was ruled as complications from her exhausted state.”
“She suffered,” Jack agreed, “just the like the Ripper victims. Perhaps Chapman grew bored of slaughtering women and enjoyed watching them die slowly as he watched?”
“If Chapman is the murderer, of course. He’s obviously the lead suspect but we have no evidence.”
“You have a motive. Satisfaction. If Chapman is the Ripper, he killed the women for gratification, just as he killed his wife. She would have suffered as much as the women with their throats slit.”
Phillips looked at Jack. There was something about the way that Jack mentioned the slitting of women’s throats. It was almost as if the thought excited him.
Phillips studied Jack closer and observed that Jack was calm. He noted that Jack had been tranquil the entire time. It’s strange how his temperament never changes. He had no reason to be suspicious of Jack but he was used to investigating crimes and something about Jack generated apprehension.
Phillips decided to push Jack a little further to see if anything he said stood out. “What else do you know of the Ripper murders?”
Jack detected Phillips interest and decided to be coy. “Only what I read in the papers in America. They were ghastly. Several of the American papers showed pictures of the victims. Also, the papers printed letters from the Ripper. Imagine bragging of cutting off body parts before the murder and then doing so. The Ripper is a monster! The fact that he mailed the police one of the body parts shows what a monster he is.”
Phillips agreed. “He is indeed a monster.”
“Well,” Jack said changing the subject, “are we done here?”
Phillips indicated that they were.
“Well, then,” Jack said, “if the officers would take the body back to your station, you and I have an engagement at the Golden Goose.”
Phillips thanked Jack for his time and his valuable information. “You may be asked to attend court to present this evidence if we can prove that Chapman administered the compound.”