“Sorry, mate a fair point. But you could have told me.”
They were both beginning to feel a massive amount of pressure weighing on them following the ‘double event’. They walked into Golden Lane which then led them into the main thoroughfare of Old Street where Godley waved down a smart looking cab.
“Gentlemen, where to,” said the driver looking at Godley.
“Commercial Street nick please, driver.” The driver then looked at Abberline, instantly recognising him.
“Mr Abberline, ain’t it?” He said as the police inspector entered the cab.
“Yes, it is. And you might be?”
“John Netley, carriage driver. I am actually just helping a mate me self today. Normally I’m driving a carriage, often for the Royal Mews you know.”
“Really, how do you know me then?”
“Your famous, guv’nor, aren’t ya. You’re the bloke who’s going to catch Jack the Ripper. I could help you know.”
“Oh, yeah,” sighed Abberline cynically, looking at Godley, “How’s that then?”
“Well, I’ve done a bit of training to be a doctor me self, see. I drive a carriage, I could come round with you, driving you like, and then help with the pest mortem and help with motive ideas and things, see.”
“You mean post mortem, don’t you?”
“Well, yeah. I know all about how the body works.”
“I’ll bet you do. Tell you what, when you drop us off, give me your card and we may well think about it,” suggested Abberline.
“Yeah, lovely, I’ll do that, ta.”
Godley and Abberline looked at each other with obvious cynicism and watched the world go by on the rest of their journey while Netley gabbled on about which surgeons he had carried and who was who in the Royal family. After a while they did listen intently just to see if there was any value in his conversation.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Wednesday 9th October 11.a.m; Tumblety was very pleased with himself despite sporting a sling for his damaged arm, he left Cootes Bank in The Strand having secured a £2000 loan for himself all of which he had as cash in a leather brief case. He returned to the Ritz immediately by cab having been absent from there for a week and settled his outstanding bill, much to the satisfaction of the management. An extra bribe ensured they disposed of all traces of his stay. He had kept the cab on outside driven by a man who appeared very keen to please especially when he had asked Tumblety about his profession. Named Netley, he boasted of his own medical prowess and how he had influence with the Royal family, the medical profession an even the police. This man, kept within his employ for a small retainer could be a valuable asset.
An hour later arriving at Batty Street he asked Netley to stop in Commercial Road while he walked down to attend to his business.
Since his return injured to the lodgings he had persistently been eyed with suspicion by Mrs Long and now felt it was time to make good a move to elsewhere with his new funds. He opened the door to be immediately confronted by his irritating land lady.
“Moving out yet, are you, mister?”
“Actually, Mrs Long, I am which will be good news for you and great news for me.”
“Listen, I’ve spoken to my friend Mrs Diemschutz about you. She says I should have called the coppers by now. She says a foreign bleeder like you is probably Jack the Ripper, specially with that blood stained shirt. What you got to say to that then, eh?” He approached her, arm in sling, but still in a menacing fashion which made her cower and swallow hard, lowering her head.
“Well I’ll tell you this. If was Jack the Ripper do you think I’d let you live for over a week since you first pestered me about my laundry, incidentally soiled innocently, eh?” She paused before replying, with his 5’11” frame now towering over her.
“S’pose not, really. Ya gonna pay me ain’t you?” She held her breath as he reached into his pocket. He pulled out some crisp fresh English banknotes for her, guessing a healthy bribe would buy her silence.
“Have you still got my shirt?”
“Nah, couldn’t get it clean again. Chucked it.”
“Will that cover my arrears, Mrs Long?”
“Er, yes, sir, very much.”
“Good,” he then held the handle of his cane up to the side of her face. “Excellent in fact. Now don’t ever threaten me in anyway again. I promise I’d be back for you before you’d find they get to me, you piece of East End crap.”
She sobbed with fear as he collected all his belongings and made his way from the house, throwing her the key and wishing her a ‘good day, mam’. When he was gone it took her some time to regain her composure. The traces of the mysterious lodger would lie heavy on her mind for sometime. She retired to her kitchen and began sorting through a pile of dirty bed clothes, amongst which she knew full well she had thrown the shirt.
***
Regents Park 1.p.m and a prestigious gathering was taking place of police and home office staff and dignitaries. So much pressure was mounting on the establishment action had to be taken to try to employ new methods to help in detection and bring about a swift resolution to the Ripper case. To this end a trial of bloodhounds was taking place being show cased by the Commissioner himself Sir Charles Warren in the hope that should another murder take place they could be brought in to follow off a fresh scent and catch the killer. Barnaby and Burgho had been brought to London by their noted breeder Mr Brough from Scarborough and he stood proudly with them slightly separate from the main crowd where Sir Charles was preparing a scent trail for them to attempt. Superintendent Arnold stood within the crowd along with Major Henry Smith, Henry Matthews the Home Secretary, Dr Robert Anderson the head of the Metropolitan C.I.D and a dozen other police inspectors, sergeants and civil servants. The press too had been allowed to gather on a minimal basis to report the event to bring back some public confidence and highlight the efforts being made in the hunt for Jack the Ripper. Will Bates attended as reporter for The Star being prepared with great enthusiasm for another bumbling police failure. The afternoon’s weather was closing in on a particularly dark and cloudy basis and a mist or light fog was beginning to rise.
The first hour was spent with Sir Charles initially setting simplistic scent trails. Meat to be traced by the dogs, then clothing and then a person, with the dogs being given a scent of their clothing as a lure to commence. Bates looked on cynically watching these somewhat simplistic tests before the entire crowd was offered tea and cake at the open air theatre café within the Queen Mary’s Gardens part of the park within the inner circle. The general socialising and back slapping session of their tests so far was taking sometime and the increasingly bored Bates decided to tackle Superintendent Arnold on the subject.
“Tell me, sir, how do you propose to catch the killer with these dogs then, eh?” He got his note book ready to record the interview.
“Well, Mr Bates, we shall take the dogs to any scene at the earliest possible opportunity and allow them to detect a scent from the victim or the general immediate area of the crime, be it murder or assault and then follow it off accordingly. Sir Charles with his varied career experience in the past and having observed the use of these hounds ensures us that it is the most efficient course of action.”
“I see. And do you believe him?”
“Of course I do! Sir Charles has taken on the duties of Commissioner at one of the most difficult times in London. Fenian terror activity, social unrest in the East End and now the murders, if a man who is tackling all these issues says the dogs are our best hope, then I believe him.”
“But the last Fenian attack was the year before he became Commissioner, can’t credit him with that.”
“On the contrary, Mr Bates, perhaps it’s down to his use of resources that there have been no more attacks.”
“And the formation of a ‘Special Branch’ within the police, eh?”
“There’s no such thing, and if there were I couldn’t comment.”
“What’s going on her
e, Tom?” Sir Charles himself interjected having begun to overhear the increasingly heated conversation.
“Mr Bates here from The Star is de-crying the use of the dogs, sir.”
“Really, in what way then, Mr Bates?”
“Haven’t seen them track at a proper long distance yet, Sir Charles.”
“Right, then, teas gone on long enough, we’ll see to this, I shall conduct the experiment myself.”
Everyone left the confines of the theatre café to find that beyond the Inner Circle of the park encouraged by a drop in the temperature through the afternoon and the proximity of the boating lake the light fog had thickened.
“Right, then,” said Sir Charles, “ladies toilets just over there. I shall go in and rub my jacket well around the basins and towels and then Mr Brough can set the dogs to work on a proper man hunt. Ensure you allow me at least ten minutes before you start and we’ll prove their worth.” At this point the dogs were asleep on the café floor and the muttering amongst the sergeants and inspectors was ‘no change there, the Boss rubbing himself in the ladies bogs.’
Bates keenly watched the Commissioner enter and a few minutes later exit the toilets and make off to the foggy north of the park; the direction of the zoo, probably not a great idea but Sir Charles knew best. As soon as the requisite ten minutes had gone by the dogs, fortunately now awake, were taken into the ladies toilets by Mr Brough and allowed a chance for a good sniff round, both keenly picking up a scent from the affected surfaces. He released the dogs from their leads leaving the building and they began trotting off, Bates observed that they headed in exactly the right direction. A promising start.
Sir Charles got himself to the south edge of the zoo passing both an enclosure for the wolves and one further along it’s perimeter for baboons. Reaching the Outer Circle he turned southbound and arrived at Winfield house where he waited in the porch.
The speed at which the dogs were picking up the track was impressive to all gathered, but all struggled to keep up with their trot across the open ground of Regents Park. By the time they got to the southern edge of the zoo, for a period the track was of no consequence to Barnaby and Burgho who entered into aggressive banter with the wolves who were incensed in their enclosure by the proximity of the dogs. The enraged bloodhounds eventually vented their anger at the wolves by fighting with each other as the wolves fell silent watching and wagging their tales slowly at the spectacle. Mr Brough and some of the sergeants got them separated at some personal cost and they were placed on individual leads to calm down.
They passed the baboon enclosure; the primates in turn erupted into aggression. The males beginning to destroy loose sections of their enclosure ‘furniture’ in a show of strength to the hounds, who reciprocally played up with their owners and having passed the enclosure reached the Outer Circle and lost the scent completely. Some minutes had to pass until both dogs again became animated with a scent and began to follow it. Unfortunately Burgho went north away from Winfield House while Barnaby picked the correct trail to the south.
Burgho eventually found out a courting couple in the bushes near Gloucester Gate, the lady had been wearing exceptionally strong Cologne she had sprayed in the café toilets earlier. Sir Charles having got prematurely bored left Winfield House and headed off back into the depths of the park. Barnaby picking up so keen a scent, and now far from the zoo and his brother, was let from the lead again and suddenly took a sprint off into the mists of the parkland. Losing sight of the animal Mr Brough called repeatedly to the dog to no avail. Having given chase the gathered crowd moved around in silence for quite some time until they all heard what was initially a chilling cry;
“You bastard hound get back, get back….argh!” followed by a brief dog snarl and then only the cry of Sir Charles Warren as the dog bit him once and then circled him howling and snapping waiting to do more. The chuckling Bates turned to Arnold.
“Well, I think we’ll mark that down as eventually successful, despite both of them getting lost in the fog.”
For the time being it was decided to keep them on in London as a police resource for the Ripper case.
***
Simultaneously that afternoon the funeral of Del Lake was taking place on a low key basis at the City of London Cemetery in Aldersbrook Road, Wanstead. Due to the massive need for manpower on the streets of Whitechapel, more officers had been drafted in from the outer districts to cover patrols within the Ripper’s apparent area to allow officers from Commercial Street and the rest of ‘H’ division to attend Lake’s funeral. Suspended from duty as far as everyone knew, it hurt Robert Ford to not be allowed under Superintendent Arnold’s orders to be part of the bearer party for his friend. At least Arnold was elsewhere this afternoon so there was no chance of the increasingly grief stricken Ford of retaliating. He didn’t begrudge the other choices, they were good men, such as Inspector Spratling leading the party, Sergeant Kerby, Taffy Evans, Jonas Mizen, John Thain, Johnny Neil and a new constable called Bobby Spicer, who in truth was taking Ford’s place. Abberline was there with Bill Murphy. Mary was there with Ford to offer her support and as a mark of respect to Del Lake who she knew well from his presence in the area as a local copper. There was about fifty-five to sixty other uniform officers from ‘H’ division in attendance, some who knew Del well, some as a remark of respect and symbol of police solidarity. Chief Inspector Littlechild looked on at the proceedings from a distance, not in distrust of Ford but to see if the low key funeral of a local officer brought anyone significant to his department’s remit out into the open.
It surprised both him and Ford when George Lusk turned up, although commendably on his own without the usual mob in tow and very smartly dressed. All things considered he was a local business leader so he was in truth not an unusual member of the community to attend. Abberline eyed him suspiciously wondering if he was out to regain some face within his mob by showing unity with the police in a ‘common cause’. He would address him later at the wake at ‘The Three Rabbits’ public house in Romford Road, Manor Park. With the difficult circumstances of Del’s death no one had been asked to deliver a eulogy, although Del’s brother would be doing a reading, so only the priest’s words and the formal service would be heard.
For Mary Kelly it was an increasingly all too familiar ritual. She had been to four funerals in the last six weeks, more than she had ever been to in her life; Cathy Eddowes had been buried the day before at the nearby Little Ilford cemetery, Liz Stride had been buried during the previous week, on the 14th September Annie Chapman had also been buried in Manor park and before that at Little Ilford on the 6th September Polly Nicholls had been laid to rest. All of them her friends and as she had highlighted to Robert, but why were they killed?
No church service, the service of remembrance for Lake was held at one of the chapels at the cemetery. The gathered congregation all sat in silence with organ music playing gently in the background as they waited for the service to commence. In the last few minutes before the coffin arrived from the undertakers by horse drawn hearse, the members of Del’s family arrived; two younger sisters, a brother and their mother, a smart and proud woman in her late fifties. They walked down the aisle of the chapel and sat at the front, the sisters sobbing with the brother and mother seemingly composed. Everyone heard the doors open one more time and the organ changed its tune to the funeral march signifying the entrance of the priest and the bearer party. With the change of music everyone had stood up and a chill ran down Robert’s spine and tears began to roll down his cheeks as he turned to see the coffin passing with the sombre faced members of the bearer party slowing marching Del on his final journey. He looked around the gathered congregation to see many different reactions; Mary was crying silently, Abberline was stone faced and unemotional, Bill Murphy gently wiped a tear from his eye, the Lake sisters sobbed and Mrs Lake and the brother still kept their solemn composure. The slow march down to the front of the chapel to then place the coffin on trestles under the direction
of Inspector Spratling, who was carrying Del’s beat duty helmet, seemed to take an eternity until it was finally resting serenely at the front of the congregation. Spratling placed the helmet upon the coffin and the bearer party took their seats at the rear of the chapel marching smartly in step back along the aisle.
The priest, Father James Donald, the priest from Christchurch in Commercial Street who dealt with police spiritual needs in Whitechapel took to the lectern, opened his bible and began to speak.
“Good afternoon, to you all. We are here today to celebrate the life and passing of our dear colleague, friend, son and brother Derek Lake. Let us start by first of all singing hymn number 706 in your books in front of you ‘The Lord is my Shepherd.’” Everyone stood and thumbed through the hymn books laid out in front of them as the organ began the introductory bars of music. Father Donald led the singing at the appropriate note, his voice booming and rich to try to lift everyone as their singing took on initial sombre quality. It took a couple of minutes to sing the hymn through before the congregation then sat again and the priest completed a first reading.
“Dearly beloved the first reading I give to you is from the first letter of St Paul to the Thessalonians; we shall stay with the Lord for ever.
‘We want you to be quite certain, brothers, about those who have died, to make quite sure that you do not grieve about them, like other people who have no hope. We believe that Jesus died and rose again, and that it will be the same for those who have died in Jesus: God will bring them with him. We can tell you this from the Lord’s own teaching, that any of us who are left alive until the Lord’s coming will not have any advantage over those who have died. At the trumpet of God, the voice of the archangel will call out the command and the Lord himself will come down from heaven; those who have died in Christ will be the first to rise, and then those of us who are still alive will be taken up in the clouds, together with them, to meet the Lord in the air. So we shall stay with the Lord for ever. With such thoughts like these you should comfort one another.’ This is the word of the Lord”
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