“Just trying to placate him, Fred.”
“Well he’ll be eating yours and not bloody mine once we get back there. And don’t forget the bacon and eggs for the return.”
Working the early turn shift were Robert and Del who were busy trying to clear up the scene with stiff brushes and buckets of water as the two detectives rounded the corner to see what was going on at the scene of the crime.
“Oi! What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing again?” barked Abberline at Robert who was scrubbing the roughly cobbled yard whilst Del poured on buckets of cold water to dilute and disperse the blood. Robert didn’t bother looking up as he replied to the hostile tones that had addressed him.
“What does it look like; I’m not having tea with the bloody queen am I?”
“Not having tea with the bloody queen, sir, I think is the answer,” said Abberline quietly and cynically as he stood before the two young constables who, having both now looked up stood to attention. Being local officers they instantly recognising Abberline and Godley. Del looked across at Robert through the corner of his eyes and waited for his foolishly vocal mate to answer.
“I’m sorry, sir, Inspector Chandler’s orders now that the body has gone, sir.”
“You know what that was, son, don’t you? Bloody evidence that us, the detectives, need to be privy to,” replied Godley in an unsympathetic tone. “You newer uniform lads need a bit more savvy drummed into you about scene preservation for evidential purposes. You were doing this before the doctor got here, so he says, washing away vital clues to him and us. What have you got to say, lad?” Godley was now standing directly in front of Robert face to face almost nose to nose looking to intimidate a reply from the boy through his own pent up frustration.
“We stopped when the doctor turned up, Sergeant,” chipped in Del.
“Oh, you do speak as opposed to stand there nonchalantly watching your mate do the scrubbing and take a rollicking, eh?”
“Yes, Sergeant, we was just following Inspector Chandler’s orders to try to discourage the crowds by giving them less to see.”
“Yes, that’s it, sarge, it wasn’t our choice, honest,” added Robert foolishly.
“Sarge, bloody sarge? There’s only two kinds of sarge in the Metropolitan Police, sausarge and sarge and onion on a Sunday roast, and I’m not bloody either of them so you will address me properly!”
“All right, George, it’s obviously not all the lads here’s fault, we need to speak to all the duty officers and sergeants to brief the shifts so that if this happens again to leave the scene as they found it and keep the crowds at a good distance away. I mean look, all the blood stained footprints, we’ve got no idea if any of them belong to the killer now and we don’t even know if she’s been moved before the doc got here by the ghouls charging a fee to see her and the scene. We have got to establish more control of the scene to ever have a hope of catching the bastard. Where is Inspector Chandler, lads?”
Robert replied “Sorry about all this, sir, he’s inside 29 trying to establish witnesses to anything.”
“Right, okay lads, I’m intending to be back in the incident room around an hour from now. Come in for a cup of tea and we’ll have a chat about how you can find out more at a scene, then you can let your mates know, never know, if things get any worse there could be jobs for you in there.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Robert.
“Thank you, sir,” said Del echoing the sentiments of his now sheepish colleague. They put down their brushes, picked up their beat duty helmets and began to make off towards Commercial Street.
Annie Chapman’s body was still in situe having been covered over with some rough hessian sacking by Inspector Chandler who had also been responsible for clearing away and keeping away the gathered crowds with his officers from the early shift. Looking at the body was Abberline and Godley’s next gruesome job before speaking with Chandler. The detectives stood one either side of the lifeless sack covered form and each took hold of an edge of the cover at the head end. Looking at each other and with Abberline giving Godley a nod they both pulled it back at the same time revealing the dull open lifeless eyes of Annie Chapman and the gaping neck wound framed by congealed blood but exposing the entire interior of the throat cavity. The wound cut so deep that even them as laymen could see the severed windpipe, the now vacant severed artery ends and the outline of her spine.
They were both grimacing at the sight of the top part of Chapman’s remains but it was nothing compared to the sight that was about to shock them as they continued to roll the sacking back down beyond the abdomen. Initially the massive abdominal wound was disguised by her dress but as the rough sacking dragged open part of her ripped skirt with it, the horror of her injuries was revealed. A massive crescent shaped cut extended from above her left hip across the bottom of her stomach and finished above her right hip completely opening it up as if to disembowel the whole of her abdominal cavity. The sight and the smell of this hit Abberline and Godley instantly and near enough simultaneously causing both of them to gag and for Godley to pull out a handkerchief to cover his face.
“God almighty, Fred, what sort of monster can do anything like this?”
“I don’t know, George,” replied Abberline with fury developing inside him as a result of the horrifically violent aftermath of the attack which he saw in front of him, “but if find him he’s going to die if not by the gallows then by my hand, old friend.” They surveyed the butchered mess of what was left of ‘Dark’ Annie Chapman and her almost empty stomach cavity and stood for some time surveying the blood sprayed along the fence. Appalled by the lack of dignity that this unfortunate woman had in death Godley covered her over again and stood in silence for a few seconds looking at the sacking with Abberline stood opposite. They looked at their surroundings taking stock of what they had seen and trying impossibly to put some sense to it all.
“All right, George, lets go and find Inspector Chandler and see what he has discovered thus far for us,” said Abberline then walking off through the police lines to enter the rear door of 29 Hanbury Street.
Inspector Chandler was inside number 29, a typical slum East End dwelling taking notes from John Davis who had discovered the body as to time, position and state of dress and location of belongings. It was not uncommon for people such as drunks to be robbed in the street either conscious or unconscious by thieves known as ‘muchers,’ so Chandler was trying to establish if Annie Chapman in death may have been further preyed on by a mucher. He had taken several pages of notes from Davis establishing that he had discovered the scene exactly as it still was barring the cleaning up of the blood. Any mucher may well have been scared off by the sight of the murderous injuries and therefore fled the scene to save being accused of the crime.
Others who had gathered early at the scene were being questioned by other officers from the early shift from The Street as well as by the two new detectives seconded to Abberline. All were within number 29 and all trying to tell their varying accounts over the noise of everyone present talking. They were varying East End types, Henry Holland, James Green, Jim Kent and a local landlady Mrs Handyman all talking with individual officers at once creating a loud chatter. Each conversation was struggling to overcome the constant din and becoming louder as Abberline and Godley entered.
Twenty-nine Hanbury Street was a typical three storey two rooms on each floor Victorian slum terraced property which, once filled on the ground floor with five potential witnesses and four policemen, one of whom was being spoken to by two locals desperate to tell their versions and all trying to elicit information from them, was simply oversubscribed and bursting at its seams. Abberline and Godley stood silent in the doorway for the best part of a minute observing this chaos before individuals quickly noticed them and fell silent, eventually leading to complete silence as Chandler finally spotted the two yard detectives.
Joseph Luniss Chandler was a thirty-eight year old career policeman who had made uniform inspector i
n fifteen years. He had worked most of his time like Abberline in the East End and in fact they had spent time serving together at Commercial Street when Abberline was a uniform inspector and Chandler was a young sergeant. They had a good professional relationship then and neither would see any reason for it to change. On seeing the detectives at the door Chandler broke away from John Davis and made for Abberline with a warm smile and extending his hand to greet him.
“Fred, how the hell are you, you old sot!” This was a sarcastic greeting from Chandler who also wrestled with a drink problem. They shook hands warmly and vigorously.
“Off the sauce and on the case, Joe. What you got for us?”
“The old boy there,” Chandler began pointing to John Davis, “lives on the third floor at the front of the house with his wife and three sons. He was a bit restless and went for a wander in the early hours and found what was left of her.” Abberline surveyed the interior of the property as Chandler spoke noting windows. He was grateful for his old friend’s efforts so far.
“Right, thanks Joe, we’ll go and talk to him. Can you do us a favour, can you give your blokes a brief at your next shift parade about scene preservation, as everyone so far has been a bloody mess. People and coppers walking all around and I’m getting it in the neck from the doctors. We need all the help we can with evidence to catch this bastard.” Abberline addressed this as diplomatically as he could.
Chandler appreciated the delivery and the sentiments of what Abberline said. “Fred, no problem, I’ll pass it around at The Street and do it first thing tomorrow to my lot. I’ll get back into the yard and see what’s going on out there and let you sort out Davis. Good to see you again, mate.”
“Yeah, you too, see you at The Street.” Chandler made his way out as Abberline and Godley approached John Davis.
Davis was a stooped and ageing fifty-three year old carman at Leadenhall Market. He appeared to be a little pensive at being left to these two imposing looking detectives. Abberline wanted to put him at ease. “John, look it’s a bit noisy in here can we go upstairs to your place?”
The nervous and prematurely elderly man stammered as he spoke. “Certainly, Mr Abbbbb..erline, you don’t mind my wii……fe being there do you?”
“Not at all, you lead the way.”
Davis led them up a narrow and rickety wooden stair case that due to its cheap construction creaked on every board. Godley and Abberline noted that the building was surprisingly free of damp or smells for an East End property and that on the whole staircase which ran at the rear of the building there was only one window. Both detectives had noted that all the rooms at the rear did have windows that overlooked the yard. They entered a clean but cramped room which held a double bed, a table and three chairs, a sink and a dilapidated wardrobe. It had one window which overlooked Hanbury Street itself. Mrs Davis sat at the table and immediately got up as the three men entered. Abberline spoke to try to put her at ease immediately and noted she was drinking from a steaming mug, it smelt like fresh tea and he wanted her to enjoy it despite the circumstances.
“Please, don’t stand on ceremony for me and George, Mrs Davis, stay at your seat if you wish and enjoy the rest of your tea,” said Abberline as amiably as he could. She sat back down and Abberline ushered to John Davis to join his wife. He pulled out a chair and offered the third to Abberline who duly took it with Godley settling himself on the edge of the bed.
Abberline began the questioning as Godley pulled his pocket book out from his suit jacket along with a pencil. “So, John, how long have you been here?”
“About tttt..two weeks.”
“Just you and Mrs Davis?”
“Nnnnno, me, Jean and thhhhhhh…three boys, Mr Abberline.”
“How do you know me then, John?”
“You ssss..s.orted me out years ago after I got beat up yyyyy……years ago outside The Tttttt….ten Bells.”
“Ah, I see,” Abberline could not recall him having been to many fights at The Ten Bells. “So what can you tell me?”
“Wwwww……well, I don’t ssss…..sleep good sometimes and I’d been a bit dddd…disturbed through the night so I got up for some air about qqqq…quarter to six. Never heard anything all nnnnn….night but came down into the yyyyy….yard and well, it was hhhhhh…..horrible, Mr Abberline. Blood all up the fffff…fence and her all rrrrrr….ripped up.”
“So you never saw anything or heard anything. Any neighbours say anything to you this morning?”
“No, nnnnn….nothing, I think most of them are tttttt….tarts or pimps so they was out I think.”
Turning to Godley, Abberline remarked “Well that explains a lot I think we’ll find, George.”
“Your wife or boys see or hear anything?”
“Nah, all asleep.”
“Where are the boys now?”
“Out, mmmmm…making a crust, sir, one sells papers, the other two work up chchch…..chimneys.”
Abberline took a moment to consider his train of thought. Godley chipped in during the pause. “John, has that body been moved at all or disturbed between the time you found it to the time the police arrived?”
“Well, I wwwwww…..went up to Commercial Ststst….street nick and at the same time JJJJJJ….Jimmy Green and Jim Kent went looking for a copper. Your other blokes are talking to them, they llllll….live next door at the front of their places too. But from what I remember I don’t reckon it was touched. Who’d want to touch that, I mean.”
Abberline asked a final question. “John, who was charging money to see poor old Annie before the police arrived.”
Davis looked pensive and exchanged glances with his wife before answering, “No, I ccccc…can’t get involved in no gggggg….grassing Mr Abberline. You’ll have to ask sssss….someone else.”
“Did, you know Annie, John?” asked Godley.
“No, nnnn…never seen her before, ever.”
The two detectives got up to leave. “Thanks for your time, Mr and Mrs Davis, if there is anything else don’t hesitate to contact us will you,” said Abberline in closing.
Mrs Davis chipped in. “Catch him soon, Mr Abberline; all of us are really scared, day and night.”
“We’re doing all we can,” replied Abberline and then the two of them left to return to the gruesome scene outside.
“Strange sentiment from her, Fred, do you think she works on the street herself?” said Godley as they reached the yard still filled with police and locals most of whom were milling about for no reason. The body they noted had now gone, taken to the Whitechapel Workhouse Infirmary Mortuary.
“Maybe, George, but maybe she’s just worried for all women, he might not always choose unfortunates.”
The doctor had seen what he needed to see, the photographer had been prior to Annie’s move and the junior detectives had sketched the scene and had the rest of the immediate investigation in hand. It was time for Abberline and Godley to return to their office at The Street and confront the difficult Doctor Phillips. They passed out of the yard of 29 Hanbury Street seeing the photographer packing up with Robert Ford and Del nearby stopping any folk just wandering in.
“Frank,” said Abberline addressing the photographer, “did you get a picture of the arterial spray on the fence?”
“You what, Guv?”
“The blood on the fence, son!”
“No, Guv’nor, sorry run out of plates.”
“Well can’t you get some more?”
“I’ll try, but it ain’t quick, I’ve got to go to The Yard for them.”
“All right, you do that, in the meantime, you,” said Abberline pointing to Robert Ford “do a sketch of them in your pocket book, and take your time I want it accurate. Robert and Del had ended up being kept at the scene for crowd control. Robert looked at Del as if for inspiration but really because he’d sooner his friend shouldered the responsibility this time after the earlier error.
“Don’t look at him!” yelled Godley “Get on with it, lad!” Robert stepped forwa
rd drawing his notebook and pencil whilst Del surreptitiously winked at him and stayed at the yard entrance. He stood back and began cautiously and as accurately as he could to draw.
The photographer took himself off to Scotland Yard for more photographic plates and returned some three hours later to find the scene abandoned by police, the junior detectives thinking all was done. The blood had been washed away innocently by Mrs Davis. He knew there would be hell to play so he told Abberline later that the plates were over exposed and produced no image.
CHAPTER NINE
A week after the fight with the poultry stall holder and the police, Michael Ostrog was still seeking attention for his deep wound. Murphy and Parish had turned up nothing in relation to his wound having been attended anywhere as a result and it had seemed that they were unlikely too. Late on the night of Sunday 8th September he found himself in ‘The Blind Beggar’ public house in Whitechapel Road; the bleeding had stopped following him rudimentarily wrapping his wound in an off cut of a cotton sheet he found in the rubbish. There he met John Pizer at the bar, a thirty-eight year old second generation Polish Jewish immigrant working as a boot finisher. He fancied himself as a medical man having worked briefly as a slaughter man, then a butcher and attending many public post mortems. He felt if he could stitch a few wounds on the side it might make him some extra cash. He was known within the neighbourhood in which he worked as ‘Leather Apron’ due the distinctive apron that he was always seen in. Following discreet enquiries Ostrog had been directed to the pub to seek his help. Pizer noticed the heavy makeshift bandaging Ostrog sported and the pain he appeared to be in and saw the obvious opportunity as he was approached by Ostrog.
“That looks a bit sore that, mate,” he said to Ostrog having made eye contact with him at the bar.
“Yes, and what’s it to you, friend?” came the reply in a heavy European accent that Pizer could not place.
“Well I do a bit of back street surgery and thought you might need some help.”
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