Whitechapel

by Bryan Lightbody

  Taking a deep breath he sighed, blowing air out from swollen cheeks and entered the pub. Inside a loud constant drone permeated the air from the many raucous conversations going on and the place was packed out with the working class, off duty soldiers, a smattering of well to do’s and many prostitutes. At first glance he couldn’t see either of the men he had been observing so he made his way to the bar to buy himself a drink. As he stood there waiting to be served at the busy bar an arm stretched around his waist from behind and he felt the proximity of a face by his right ear from the individual’s breath as words were spoken softly into his ear with a refined English accent.

  “My friend thinks you’re a little masculine, but I think you look worthy of a good shag. Are you offering business?” Del turned slowly to face a man who sporting a fine pencil moustache was the man who resembled the Queen’s grandson, Prince Albert Victor. This individual he instantly recognised as one of those he had been following all evening. Where the hell was Robert? Right now he needed to know he was around if he was about to play along with a potential suspect. He would have to accept that Robert must be outside and take the risk of following on this line of enquiry. He took a breath and began to speak imitating as feminine voice as he could to try to nurture this potential lead.

  “Well, actually I am and with only fine gentlemen such as yourself, I don’t do nothing cheap. For you a couple of shillings for whatever you want.” He felt he had carried off the deceit well. His ‘client’s’ response would be the telling result.

  “Well, madam, that sounds good, how about a little wander outside to the privacy of an alleyway off of Wheler Street?” Del swallowed hard at this invitation. But where was the other one in the uniform? He assumed that he must be seeking out his own little bit of ‘cunny’ for the night.

  “Well, you lead the way, sir, as long as your money is good I don’t care where we go.” Druitt offered his arm for Del to take which he did so and they left the pub together under the watchful eye of not the police, but Dr Tumblety.

  ***

  Half an hour had past whilst Robert sat on the quayside with Bruiser thinking about what he had just done, thinking much about Mary and poor murdered Ralph and the justice he now felt he had brought. He hoped the boy would rest easy in his pauper’s grave. As he contemplated those he cared about Del suddenly came into his mind with a shocking realisation of his neglect of his friend’s professional welfare in his hazardous under cover position.

  “Fuck it, Bruiser, we’ve got to run.” He jumped up from the quayside with a rapid movement that startled the dog who barked in surprise and then ran with him. The commandeered hansom had gone the horse wandering off of it’s own accord so he would have to run; Bruiser kept up which was and arduous task for a dog of his age. They made their way out from the dockside and into the busy streets that led up to Aldgate and Whitechapel High Street. The streets were busy with the people of the night drunk and or lusting after sexual pleasures all of whom frequently seemed to stagger into Robert’s way slowing down his progress.

  As he ran along the pavement through the junction of Mansell Street and Braham Street he could see two soldiers a little drunk ahead of him blocking the path. He knew he would have to mind his way round them as their demeanour looked as though they were spoiling for a fight. Unfortunately for Robert they had already discussed his approach and as he made to step off of the path to go around them the one nearest to him put out a foot which caught Robert perfectly across the ankles taking him to the floor. The dog stood its ground in front of them and barked furiously snarling to put them off of any further attack. Robert hit the floor heavily winding him and cutting his brow above his right eye causing blood to trickle down his face. The dog’s reaction was one the soldiers had not expected; they stood still and one of them aggressively addressed Robert.

  “Call your bastard dog off before you both get a kicking.”

  Robert was on his knees wiping his brow with the back of his hand and noting the blood. He did fancy his chances with these two as being sober he would react more quickly.

  “All right, fellows, all right. Bruiser, come here, boy.” He signalled to the dog with his hands and the dog stopped its defence and walked to his side.

  “Right oh, thanks mate, and don’t get on our way again, all right.” Robert nodded his head and let them turn away before lashing out quickly and aggressively. He gave a swift punch to the base of the skull to one putting him down instantly, the soldier dropped like a boxer felled in the ring with a knockout punch, the other turned round to face him.

  He swung out wildly at Robert who ducked away from the punch and struck his assailant in the stomach with a firm jab as he did so, winding the soldier significantly. He staggered back slightly so Robert stepped forward, as did Bruiser and fired a quick succession of punches at his opponents face. He had adopted a fighter’s guard with his fists up but Robert’s combination was too fast and aggressive and two caught him firmly on the jaw knocking him to the floor out cold. The dog began tugging at the soldier’s trouser leg having snapped at it quickly and now shook the leg violently as if holding a small animal his mouth attempting to break its neck.

  “Bruiser, that’s enough,” he had to pull the dog away to re-enforce his command. Pleased with his handy work he again wiped his brow finding more blood and turned to head north to find Del to discover that he was confronted by two City policemen who were over lapping their patrol into his district. One of them spoke as they approached the other holding his truncheon in one hand and tapping the other hand menacingly with it.

  “Right, lad. Stand still, I think you’ll be coming with us for all that.”

  “No, you don’t understand, they attacked me I was just defending myself. They knocked me to the floor, look at my head.”

  “Defending yourself is one thing, knocking them out cold is another. Just keep your hands by your side where I can watch them.”

  “Look, I’m undercover ‘old bill’, here’s my warrant,” he frantically searched his pockets for his police warrant card but in vain. He had lost it during the fight on the quayside. If he could get them to take him to The Street at least it would be in the right direction and they could prove who he was quickly.

  “Look, take me to Commercial Street nick and you can confirm who I am.”

  “Yeah, we’ll do that, lad, as you can be charged there too.” At that moment one of soldiers came around and saw the police with Robert.

  “Look, officer, we don’t want no trouble, it’s my mate’s fault see. Let us go and we’ll say nothing if he doesn’t,” said the soldier pointing at Robert.

  “Well then, you lucky lad, that suit you does it I suppose?” said the policeman without the drawn truncheon.

  “Yes, very much, can I go then please?” asked Robert.

  “No, we still need to verify your copper story at The Street.”

  “Right, then lets go then, please.” The soldier roused his mate and dragged him off down Mansell Street.

  “What’s the hurry then?” said the policeman.

  “I’ll tell you when we get there mate, and then I won’t have to repeat myself, eh?”

  “All right, Mr smart mouth, you lead the way.” The two policemen followed Robert and Bruiser north in Commercial Street.

  ***

  Druitt led Del boy out of the tavern turning right immediately into Wheler Street, a dark and wretched smelling back street which passed under the Broad Street Line. The dark unlit area underneath the railway lines provided a favourite place for the unfortunates to ply their trade.

  “You do have exceptionally fair skin and that’s a lovely eau de toilette you are using,” said Druitt attempting to charm his way round his ‘shag’ for the evening.

  “Why, thank you, kind sir,” Del replied uncomfortably wondering where Robert was and, when to blow his own cover to either put another sex pest off his scent or maybe expose the murderer. He could feel the prospective punter pull his arm against his own body
tighter therefore trapping and tightening his arm in an obvious act of sexual interest. As they walked he could see they were entering the darker and darker recesses of the area under the railway bridge. Del was beginning to feel uncomfortable. Trying to avoid his disguised voice cracking he spoke nervously and uncharacteristically for his cover.

  “Where are you taking me then, mister?”

  “Oh, no need to panic, just for a bit of privacy before we get down to it, are you scared?” he finished his retort with a mischievous smile on his face and an elevated sense of power in his eyes. Del was going to have blow his cover before he would be uncomfortably exposed. He pulled his arm away from Druitt forcefully and stepped back to face him square on.

  “Right, chum; I am Police Constable Lake from Commercial Street Police Station under cover on the murder case. I want you to empty your pockets and take off your hat and coat and lay them on the ground.”

  “You what?” replied an astounded Druitt. “Show me some bloody proof you could be a bloody perverted robber for all I know. I shan’t do it!” he finished his outburst indignantly.

  Del knew he needed help and managed to draw his whistle from under his jacket and blouse, forgetting about the revolver Abberline had given him. However, as he did so he felt his arms pulled behind his back in a strong wrestler’s double arm lock and he was caught completely off guard. The person restraining him spoke with a strange and unfamiliar accent.

  “Well, well, Monty, what do we have here? Some sick bastard trying to rob you, huh?” Tumblety kept his arm lock tight on Del.

  “No, you fucker, I’m a copper investigating the Whitechapel murders undercover. Now let me go or you’ll be fucking sorry!” screamed Del to deter his attacker, struggling in the vice like grip that trapped him.

  “Oh, let’s just knock the little bastard out and leave him here, he can’t hurt both of us, Francis,” said Druitt, not really wanting the conflict that Tumblety appeared to be revelling in.

  “What? And leave the potential little thieving shit-bag to try and roll someone else? No, he needs a lesson.”

  “Let me go and you can go on your way,” said Del now becoming concerned by the fact he couldn’t free himself and facing the potential for a beating.

  “Come on, Monty, just a dig or two in the guts, and then I’ll have a go. If they don’t get taught right and wrong then they’ll only do it again,” Tumblety seemed to speak with glee towards some impending violence.

  “Oh, bloody hell!” Druitt shouted in frustration and swung his cane at Del striking him hard against left cheek. Druitt stood breathing heavily and shaking looking on wide eyed at Del who had turned his face following the blow in pain and now looked forwards again spitting blood as he did so containing some small pieces of chipped tooth. He stared his attacker back in the eyes with complete contempt. Druitt feared the aggression in Del’s eyes and screamed with palpable fear in his voice.

  “Don’t you bloody well look back at me like that you piece of East End dirt! I’m better that you any of you!” He lashed out again with his stick striking his target right on the chin, obviously much less fleshy than the cheek Del could feel a harsh pain travel right up into his head between his eyes. He struggled desperately in once last attempt to break free. He lurched forward taking his assailant slightly off balance and rapidly changed direction charging backwards with all his force sending Tumblety hard into a wall knocking all of his wind out of him causing his arm lock to immediately loosen.

  Free, he rushed forward to engaged Druitt who he sensed was the least up for violence, and with the other one maybe only out of the game for a few seconds he knew it best to deal with the weaker opposition first. Druitt swung his cane at him again but Del was equal to this and he caught hold of it with both hands and pulled it from his attackers grasp. He threw in the air to turn it round to now use it to best effect himself. At that moment he had the most bizarre image crossed his mind; of being in a street fight in women’s garments and how it wasn’t as hard to move around as he may have imagined. Druitt now in mortal fear tried to plead with him.

  “Look, I’m sorry old chap, I’m not a violent man, don’t hit me. It was him who put me up to this!” He yelled pointing at Tumblety.

  “Too fucking late, chum,” said Del menacingly drawing the cane back.

  “You’re a policeman, you can’t hit me!”

  There was a loud crack as Del connected with the side of Druitt’s head and put him down immediately unconscious. He turned swiftly anticipating an encounter with the other so called civilised gent never ever expecting to see what faced him. He was pulling his makeshift weapon back for a strike as he turned and was totally unprepared as his other assailant lunged forward with a large surgical knife in his hand using it in a wild slashing action. It caught him across his left forearm with a cut so deep and sharp into the fleshy part of the arm he never felt it, but within seconds became aware of dampness running along his arm. He swung wildly with the cane but Tumblety well versed in cutlass attack and defence moves from his experiences during the American Civil War ducked neatly avoiding the swing and stabbed Del with speed and accuracy in the lower abdomen.

  Del felt the sharp pain of the strike immediately as it penetrated into his stomach and he dropped the cane to clutch his lower torso. He looked down to see the shining black appearance of moonlit blood flowing all over his hands. He dropped to his knees and looked up at his attacker in total surprise of what had happened. In doing so, he saw the swift shining action of the knife drawn to his left and then swing past his front, out of sight below his chin but biting almost painlessly in his state of high endorphin shock into his throat. The wound it opened up ran from his carotid artery to his jugular vein severing both and his wind pipe in the process. He stared for a few seconds speechlessly despite the fact he tried to shout for help at the last human face he would ever see; he was also the first policeman to see the face of the man who would become known as Jack the Ripper. He fell forwards lifelessly bleeding on the floor with an ever growing pool of blood forming around him.

  Druitt came around and sat up from his momentary unconsciousness to see Tumblety standing over the prostrate figure in a dress surrounded by a pool of blood.

  “My God! What have you done, Francis?

  “Just dealing with a Goddamn thief within the Lord’s justice,” Tumblety said in a flat remorseless manner. He bent down to wipe the blade of his knife on the dress of his unfortunate victim.

  “Are you mad? The Lord’s justice, an eye for a bloody eye? You’re bloody mad, I’m going to have to turn you in, friend or no friend, and he was a bloody copper!” Tumblety looked up at Druitt chillingly and spoke slowly and clearly so that his words would not be misunderstood.

  “Listen to me, Monty, you are an accessory to all this, despite what you may plead to the police, so don’t fuck with me. Be a good British public schoolboy and keep your fucking mouth shut, if you value using it to breathe.”

  “You can’t scare me, Francis, you can’t you know, I will admit being with you but I had no part in the murder you know. You’ll see.” All the time now, Druitt backed away from Tumblety ready to make a run for it knowing his own life was quite obviously in danger. At least he had his stick to defend himself at a distance.

  Tumblety stood up and menacingly advanced toward the now shaking and profusely sweating Druitt. “Let me warn you once and for all, Montague, I will kill you right here and right now if you don’t give me your word that you’ll stay away from the filth. You stiff-assed, public school British are supposed to be good to your word. But, I‘ll know if you go to the cops subsequent to this, trust me, I will know, and you’ll be dead before I’m in one of their stinking cells.” He stared hard at his potential victim. “Trust me. I could be looking at a dead man.”

  Druitt could feel the sweat running down his back and running along the sides of his face and dripping off of his chin. It streaked his necktie and created a dark soaked area plainly visible to his would-be murde
rer who looked calm and collected with the glinting knife in his hand and relishing the fear he could tell he was striking into Druitt. He swallowed hard and spoke in reply to Tumblety’s threat with obvious fear within him.

  “All right, have it your way. I shan’t go to the police, and shan’t tell anyone anything. But don’t ever call for me again, if you see me in the street walk away, as I shall. There are no witnesses only you and I, so this unprovoked act of violence will for ever only be known to us, we who are responsible. Now, to use one of your terms, ‘fuck off’ and leave me alone. I am returning to Blackheath.” Druitt turned on his heel and made in the direction of Bethnal Green Road hearing no footsteps following him. A matter for which he was grateful; he did hear Tumblety call after him, however.

  “Goodbye, Monty, our secret is safe with me, that’s for sure. Remember, whatever happens if I get rumbled you’re a dead man.” The words rang in Druitt’s ears again as he had felt them only seconds before as he kept on walking. He heard no footsteps closing on him as he continued walking; when he had made about a hundred and fifity yards he had to look round. Tumblety was gone, all that remained of the extreme violence of minutes before was the lifeless body of a man, possibly a policeman in a heavily blood soaked dress lying in an ever increasing pool of blood. Moments later he entered the approaching midnight bustle of Bethnal Green Road, with images in his mind that would haunt him until his untimely death.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Abberline and Godley were working late at The Street enjoying a steaming cup of tea each having been postulating about suspects, motives and potential victims, the last item being the only certainty within their discussion.