***
Severin Klosowski had settled himself into East End life very quickly having fallen on his feet with a ready made business. He had previously worked in West India Dock Road as a barber and now came across a barber’s shop in Cable Street, E.1 which had closed down the week before he arrived. He rented it immediately and moved in to set up and found all the existing hairdressing equipment still there. This meant a significant financial saving to him and a loss to the typically greedy landlord who cared not for the condition of the premises so didn’t realise that there had been something left there he could have sold for profit. He had a new sign made up and hung outside to try to attract a variety of clientele and not just the Poles or the Jews. Ironically it read ‘George Chapman, Barber.’ A sick irony he would choose the surname that was shared by his East End victim. To him the name meant nothing until he later bothered with a copy of ‘The Star’ and discovered he had chosen the same name as his victim. It would help too in disguising his background and his previous time in the East End. With his limited command of written English he was able to spell it having also now read it.
He found that within days of being open his initial slow start lead to a regular turnover of patrons by the middle of his second week, a factor that was no doubt assisted by his ability to price his services low following his lack of essential capital outlay. The business would help establish him as a respectable member of the local community in time.
***
Godley returned to the office not in a good humour. Those in the incident room could see it in his demeanour and the thunderous look of anger on his face. “Fred, you won’t bloody believe this.”
“Believe what? Surely you must have got him or sent someone to get a message to him?” replied Abberline.
“We didn’t know it but this was actually the letter’s second port of call, The Yard in their wisdom had decided to send a copy to the Central News Agency too, so tomorrow it’s going to be plastered across all the dailies, and we’ll end up with a flock of bloody hoax mail everyday!”
Abberline curled his lips and considered a reply carefully and then spoke in a very calculated tone. A very positive slant regarding this development had struck him.
“Yes, George, you’re right, but what if it motivates this killer, whoever he maybe to try to goad us publicly. What if he decides to communicate to taunt us by letter? What if in his boldness and arrogance he slips up, hints in the letters, consistent post marks, all things that might come back and haunt him. There could be a positive in this.”
Godley looked around the room. Everyone present looked to be carefully considering Abberline’s words and began looking at each other and nodding. He could be more right than anyone may ever know.
“Fred, that is a bloody brilliant thought, bloody brilliant. Do you really think it might smoke him out?”
“Only time will tell, George, only time will tell. I don’t for one minute believe that the decision made at The Yard had that in mind, but we have to be prepared to make the best of a poor situation. Now we need to plan tonight’s plain clothes patrols. Look in lads and listen.” Abberline then proceeded to deliver a briefing on where they would post everyone and what new information had come through from the constables on the beat. Robert and Del had now turned up and listened intently to their nights planned activity.
The Central News Agency at number 5 New Bridge Street had been founded by William Saunders MP. He had established it and made it into a limited liability company whose business was quite literally news and, as a result of the reputation it had developed, was always the first to gain the scoop stories to sell off to the newspaper publishers. Their most famous example was when the CNA received the news of the fall of Khartoum and the death of General Gordon twelve hours before anyone else. It telegraphed important events, parliamentary reports, Stock exchange and market reports, law cases, racing results and other news worthy items to newspapers, exchanges clubs and news rooms. Most communications intended for general publication were forwarded to the Central News Agency by messenger or telegraph. Messenger was how they received the news from Scotland Yard of the potential murderer’s letter when courier arrived there prior to attending Commercial Street Police Station.
The positive relations between the CNA and the Police were as a direct result of links forged by John Moore the Agency’s general manger who had written to police chiefs requesting information on the murders. The police had been happy to oblige hoping that witnesses or persons with information may be encouraged to come forward so they were equally as happy to pass on the text of the letter they had received for the CNA to distribute amongst London’s news community. Each of the papers paid handsomely for it but it was inevitability The Star that paid the most so got to publish it exclusively on the morning of the 25th before anyone else; they would all be forced to publish it in their later editions.
8.p.m and the briefing had finished and the plain clothes boys were about to go out on the ground when Robert could hear a faint scratching from the kennel in the yard of The Street and went over to investigate. As he neared he could hear a faint lonely weak pining from the dog that must be inside the kennel and he began to speak to it as he approached to reassure it.
“It’s ok, doggie, it’s a friend coming to see you, don’t fret, we’ll get you home. As he looked in he was shocked to see that it was Bruiser who he knew was inseparable from Ralph. “Oh Bruiser, mate, what the hell has happened, what are you doing here? Where the hell is Ralph?” As he looked in the old good natured dog lay still with his head on his paws staring up sadly with his eyes craning upwards with an obvious look of distress. Robert could see the now dried out wound on his head. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and rinsed under a tap nearby. He opened the kennel and dog lay still. He gently cleaned the wound reassuring Bruiser as he did so before shutting the door and leaving him there temporarily as he went to make enquiries.
Robert rushed in to the front office where the records of dogs lost would normally be kept and bumped into Taffy Evans as he did so who was about to go off duty, albeit very late. Knowing the old copper had been early shift he asked him if he knew anything about the dog brought in.
“Well, Lad, I do as it happens. I was called down to just off Grove Road by one of the other lads whistling and there was the dog howling like a bastard in the street by an entrance to an alley. Old Mizen was out of the alley itself when I got there with the paperboy pretty lifeless but wrapped in his tunic. I stopped a cab and packed them off to the hospital and stayed at the scene and once all the clearing up was done brought the poor old bugger back to here, pal.”
Robert was confused and concerned “Hang on, the dog is here, but what happened to this boy?”
“I told you, the paperboy, he got taken to the hospital and was dead though, bloody pity, nice young lad him, see him everyday normally in Commercial Street with that old dog.” Taffy for once seemed genuinely a little moved by the incident.
“Ralph, then,” Robert said, stunned and staring into space, “little Ralph, The Star seller,” he said in disbelief.
“Yeah, that’s him, yeah, nice young lad, bloody shame,” said Taffy pulling his tunic on. “Bloody real shame. Sorry mate, got to go, Mrs E got some pie waiting. See you tomorrow, lad.” Evans was gone out of the station office door before Robert could think of what to say.
He wandered sadly back over to the kennel and again could hear Bruiser whimpering. Some old rope was tied to the kennel door’s upper grill so he took it, opened the door and got a brief tail wag from the dog that recognised him equally. He fastened the makeshift lead gently around the dog’s neck who then slowly and stiffly stood up and walked out of the kennel with Robert nuzzling his hand for a bit of affection. Robert bent down and gently took the dog’s head in his hands stroking the sides of his face and spoke gently to him looking him in the eyes.
“Don’t worry, old fella, you can walk with me tonight and come home with me later, but we’ll have to
see Ralph’s mum tomorrow, mate, and she might want you.” The dog responded by wagging it’s tail and lifting one his front paws onto Robert’s hand and whining gently.
Del spotted Robert and met him middle of the yard as Robert made his way from the kennel with Bruiser in tow. “What you doing with him?” Del asked quizzically. Robert crouched down by the dog and stroked him reassuringly and was very distant staring at the dog as he spoke, his mind on revenge for the boy’s death.
“He’s coming with me tonight; he can’t stay in there, poor old sod.”
“Well, where’s Ralph then? It’s his bloody dog,” said Del curiously and with a hint of impatient puzzlement. Robert paused before answering and then stood up and looked directly and coldly into Del’s face.
“Murdered. Now lets get out there, I need to do something decent amongst all this death.”
Back inside The Street in the investigation office Abberline and Godley were now drinking tea with Doctor Llewellyn before all of them headed off home for the night, the detectives wanting to get his view on the murders having gained that of Doctor Phillips. In his broad Welsh accent Llewellyn spoke expounding his theories in a booming almost theatrical manner as he sat back with his steaming mug of tea and pipe burning with finest old shag tobacco.
“Well, Abberline, I see it like this. You’ve now got three of these poor unfortunates who have been ripped up in the same manner and the second two have the same characteristics with the abdominal mutilations. This is quite obviously the work of a madman, a psychopath as we now call them, bent on wanton killing. It would be to me purely co-incidental these murders could be done by more than one person, by that I mean a different person perpetrating each of them. You could possibly, by co-incidence, maybe, have two killers by chance with vastly different motives but the same M.O. But not three. Find one or all of these men and the chances are it will stop, gentlemen.”
Abberline and Godley looked at each other saying nothing with Abberline then standing from his desk, mug of tea in hand, and strolling over to the two black boards now together with scant witness information. He drank from his cup as he perused what was written.
‘Male, 5’2” to 6’, aged 27 through to 50, stocky to medium build, military clothing or smart attire or street ragged clothing, local accent or foreign of some sort seemingly eastern European or some type of colonial lilt, deer stalker hat, peaked working cap, top hat or military working hat, seen with a cane, without a cane and finally believed either to carry a bag, or’ just to complete the vague information Abberline was reading, ‘no bag.’ He stared at the board shaking his head and then turned to speak to Godley and Llewellyn.
“What do you two think of all this information then?”
Godley spoke first “Fred, it’s useless, none of these people around any of these incidents have seen either the same person or probably seen anyone connected with it. They are seeking attention and the desire to get their name in the local paper for bit of notoriety.”
“Detectives,” said the Doctor, “You overlook a very important factor in all these contradictions. Let me ask you, in what condition is the majority of the local populace in the early hours if still on the street?” The two detectives paused, looked at each other then Godley clicked his fingers in true Archimedes type acknowledgement and laughed and then spoke to Abberline.
“Fred, this is all so vague and such a lot of bollocks because most of these so called witnesses are drunk. They don’t know what they have seen. The only ones with any credibility are the few sightings of strangers in the area by policemen.”
“Well fuck me, George,”
“Sooner not, Fred, but thanks all the same,” replied Godley before Abberline could continue which lightened the room as they all laughed at the joke.
“Fellows, we have struck a key point, these testimonies on the whole are bloody useless. We need to dig deeper and further with straight forward enquiries but we also need more than the number of disguised patrols we are using now. Get Spratling to get some more volunteers for that tomorrow, and if he can’t get volunteers then forced men. We have to flood it with lucid people to catch this bastard and take him to the gallows.”
Little did Abberline know how the events of the coming night would not make it easy to get volunteers for the plain clothes patrols. They all drank their tea passing the remaining minutes before heading home reflecting on the nature of the local people.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Del and Robert headed off into Spitalfields and The Ten Bells along Commercial Street one walking either side of the road as they didn’t actually want to be together. On their plain clothes patrols Robert was merely tasked with watching Del’s back from a distance with tonight being no different. Del was yet to be approached by anyone other than pitiful penniless local drunks, most of who weren’t sober enough to get to the pub door, let alone have sex somewhere beyond it. Del was dressed again as an unfortunate whilst Robert sported a Victorian working man’s look with Bruiser in tow on a scrappy piece of rope. Not only could Robert not bear to leave the sad old dog in the kennel but he also he felt that having him with him might help authenticate his cover. It was now close to nine with the evening drawing close and the temperatures holding an autumnal feel; the streets were busy with drunks, prostitutes and policemen dotted around to try to allay public fears and maybe catch the culprit, and there were a few teenage children scurrying about most just playing late with each other but some out to thieve.
Passing Lamb Street, then Hanbury Street the site of the Chapman murder and then Red Lion Court to get to The Ten Bells the picture was almost the same in each of these side streets; the unfortunates selling their wares, stray dogs running around with some of the miscreant children and families on their doorsteps trying to take in the fading light. Robert waited on the opposite side of the road from the pub as he watched Del enter the now over crowded saloon bar with Bruiser sitting and waiting patiently with him, then resigning himself to a laying position on the cold cobbled floor. He took a pipe from his pocket and began to amateurishly light it and draw on it whilst he delayed his own entry to the pub. He stood watching those come and go from the general area and observed passing constables who correctly ignored his presence as they passed by.
He saw two very well dressed gentlemen approach walking north in Commercial Street from the direction of Aldgate which wasn’t particularly out of place as well to do gentlemen often came for excitement or debauched entertainment in the area. What attracted Robert was how different they were from each other. One dressed in a top hat and three quarter length steed jacket with a wing collar shirt and cravat, looking remarkably like Prince Albert Victor. The other gent with him sported a large handlebar type moustache and was slightly portly and much older than the first. He wore a military type tunic, though not of English origin, and an American cavalryman’s type hat. Both had canes but no bags.
Tumblety and Druitt chatted freely about the merits of alcohol and whoring in Whitechapel as they headed towards the doors of the pub each laughing heartily at the other’s observations. Druitt would see a darker side to his colonial associate tonight as drink took its toll, and Tumblety sported no bag as he would try to control his mania and just subtly gather intelligence from locals about the whereabouts of Mary Kelly. As they passed Christ Church and crossed Church Street to reach The Ten Bells, Tumblety glanced a steely look across the road at Robert which the young policeman found unusually piercing. Did this strange man recognise him as a policeman? He certainly hadn’t seen the uniformed stranger before, perhaps he read too much into a chance stare. The two gents disappeared into the pub.
Robert remained outside watching the comings and goings when he felt the dog stand from his laying position and step forward towards the kerb and stop as the lead went taut. He looked up to see a furtive looking character passing the pub paying much attention to those around him dressed in a shabby cleric’s type suit with dirty dark hair and an unkempt beard. The cleric looked across the
road in his suspicious demeanour and saw Robert and the dog stood there. He paid significant attention to Bruiser. As he did so the dog reacted instantly. He began to pull hard on the makeshift lead, barking and snarling at the stranger as if about to want to attack him and ready for the fight, even beginning to rear up on his hind legs and shaking at the lead and collar to get free. Bruiser was going mad with uncharacteristic aggression.
Both Robert and the cleric reacted to this. The cleric ran south in Commercial Street almost immediately as he saw Bruiser react. The two behaviours Robert saw were so bizarre that he forgot about the job in hand with Del and reacted by checking the road was clear to cross and give chase with Bruiser almost pulling him along still barking and now snapping savagely to get to the stranger. As he chased the cleric he could see the man had impairment to his left arm which slowed his own speed of foot. Robert already started to wonder if this could be the man who had given police the slip following the attempted robbery in the market. The cleric had got a bit of a start on Robert and the dog and was approaching the junction with Flower and Dean Street having passed Fashion Street, knocking passers-by out of the way with a shoulder barge or a push as he tried to make good his escape. Robert dodged the human debris in his quarry’s wake as best as he could with the aging dog seemingly with a new lease of life pulling hard at the lead in front of him and jumping or running straight over previously toppled pedestrians. Robert couldn’t believe the irony in the fact that there were no policemen in sight just at the point when he needed them most.
At the junction with Flower and Dean Street a cab was just alighting a passenger who was paying his fare to the driver as the cleric reached them. He punched the passenger in the face, a well to do West London gent, and with his good arm pulled the driver from his seat. He landed heavily on the cobbles of the street as the cleric then jumped onto his perch and grabbed the horses’ reins. He whipped them sharply and with a characteristic snort the horse then lurched forward into the start of a gallop. Robert and Bruiser continued their chase initially closing a little on the cab but within seconds it started to make distance on them. As luck would have it another hansom was coming along Flower and Dean Street towards him apparently empty. He flagged it down with driver asking him “Where to then, guv’nor?” Robert ignored the question and with no identity immediately to hand he pulled the driver from seat almost as roughly as the cleric had done. He and the dog jumped onto the cab bench. Again whipping the reins like his quarry he lurched off in pursuit turning into Commercial Street.
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