“Course you can, I shan’t be getting this drunk on Thursday you know,” said Mary in a chirpy manner. A snippet of information that Klosowski would use to his advantage in couple of days time as he hatched a plan to gain this woman’s wealth. It must be considerable based on what the man called Townsend had asked him to do.
***
Abberline had been called back in to The Street from home as a result of the arrest of the American suspect. He had also told the officers who called on him late on that Tuesday night to get Godley in too as he wanted the pair of them present to interview this man. On the journey he sat in a rattling hansom cab. He couldn’t believe they had someone in custody who bore the few consistent hallmarks of the vague descriptions given regarding the Whitechapel murders. He really didn’t care about the homosexual assault allegations, they could be co-incidental, and he would let Bill Thick deal with them, but he would interview this man intently over the Ripper’s crimes and take samples of handwriting from him.
It was a cold November night around eleven o’clock when he arrived outside Commercial Street Police Station his breath visible as he alighted from the cab with an officer on the door of the nick about to leave who held it open for the noted detective. He strolled purposefully to the incident room dumping his top coat, hat and scarf on his desk and made straight for the custody office. Inside he met Bill Thick and Kerby who was the night shift custody sergeant.
“Is George on his way?” he asked of Thick
“Yes, Guv, a cab’s been sent to bring him in.”
“Right, tell me all about this bloke then, Kerby, and get one of your lads to get me a decent cup of tea.” A young constable was despatched to get tea for all those present.
“His name he says is Frank Townsend, a doctor allegedly in the area to do some research on diseases in poorer areas. Reckons it is his first time here in the East End although he did say he’s been in London for a few weeks. He’s fifty so he says, born in New York to an Irish immigrant family, a doctor and he seems a very calm character. He hasn’t been fazed by being here so far. Says he recovering from a broken arm he’s had for at least a month.”
“All right Bill, good stuff we might have to get the divisional surgeon to have a look at that to confirm it, with that in mind does that rule him out of your case?”
“If it’s true, technically yes because two of the alleged assaults were in the last month.”
The young, thin, pasty looking probationary constable walked back in with a tray of steaming cups of tea which the gathered group looked at enthusiastically each taking a cup for themselves.
“Well done, lad,” said Abberline having a small slurp from his cup. “That’s handsome.”
“One for me then?” said Godley entering the office from behind the heavy wooden door leading from the main corridor. The young constable was somewhat disappointed when Godley took the remaining tea from the tray that he had ear marked for himself. Dejectedly he walked back into the depths of the custody office from whence he came to make another for himself.
“Right tell George what you have told me, Bill, while I just go and have a look at him through the cell door spy hole.”
Abberline sipping his tea wandered down the corridor of cells which were unusually quiet as he began to go and take a look at Townsend. His footsteps were obviously heard by some of the evening’s inmates and the noise and shouting began.
“You fucking filth bastards, let me out of here, or I’ll do the lot of you!” came a drunken shout from the first cell on the right accompanied by banging on the cell door. Abberline in his calm style paid it no heed and carried on walking and drinking. As he passed a cell two doors down on the left the wicket was open and he heard a hissing sound coming from it and then some hateful speech.
“Abberline, you slag! I remember you when you were a shit bag DS, you sent me down to Newgate for eight months and I ain’t forgot.” Abberline stopped and bent slightly keeping his distance from the wicket to face his abuser who he recognised instantly from the past in Whitechapel.
“Well, well, Michael Kidney. Nice to see you. Obviously a crap thief still if you’re still being caught,” Abberline slammed the wicket leaving Kidney to pointlessly shout more abuse after him.
He came to cell number eight the ‘accommodation’ as it was sometimes called that Townsend had been given. The wicket was shut so Abberline was able to stand square in front of the door unnoticed and peer through the spy hole above the wicket and look at the suspect. He could see a well dressed medium built man of around fifty with the bushy moustache sat very calmly on the bed of the cell with his hands resting on his lap, his cane in the possession of the custody sergeant. For a man who it seemed unlikely to have been incarcerated before he was remarkably calm. He may well be prepared for an interview, although he would not be expecting an interview regarding the Ripper murders. Abberline returned to the main office deep in thought and spoke to the trio of sergeants.
“Right, George, go and prepare the interview room, make it look nice and comfortable non-confrontational. Kerby get ready to do the custody records when Bill brings him out. Bill, bring him up, offer him a tea and then show him in to us. Will you charge him over your assaults today?”
“Depends what he says, Guv, I’d like to trace this other lad before charging him really. If I can’t we’ll charge in a few days time, giving him a drop of bail to return,” replied Thick.
“Right,” said Abberline, “give me a couple of minutes and bring him through”
Abberline joined Godley in the interview room. They were keen to try to lull the calm looking Townsend into a false sense of relaxation and drop his guard. The desk was pushed to one side with a single chair for Godley to sit at and make a contemporaneous record of the interview, two other chairs were arranged centrally near enough facing each other with only a slight angle to them to take them off true about six feet apart. Abberline was keen to create an air of informality and having no barriers between them to break any sense of advocacy. Godley took a seat behind the desk with sheets of official statement paper in front of him in a pile and two pens with ink pots to hand. There was a rap at the door so Abberline remained standing as he called for the parties outside to enter.
The door was opened from the outside by Thick who showed Townsend into the interview room remaining outside himself. Abberline beckoned him in.
“Good evening, Doctor Townsend please take a seat.” He showed him to the seat facing the door and therefore facing him and Godley. Tumblety, or to them Townsend, was taken by surprise at the high level of courtesy showed to him by these officers and sat in a slow dignified fashion.
“Thank you, gentlemen,” he said calmly taking his seat. Abberline closed the door acknowledging Thick and sat himself down facing him.
“Sorry for the discomfort and inconvenience of being brought here, Doctor, but as I’m sure you appreciate these are routine enquiries. I am Inspector Abberline and this is Sergeant Godley of Scotland Yard, we are investigating the crimes of the man who has branded himself ‘Jack the Ripper’.” Tumblety who had been suspicious of their kind treatment to this point immediately felt himself becoming more defensive.
“I’ve heard of you, Mr Abberline, but I was arrested on an enquiry regarding assault on young men. It seems that you wish to question me on the Ripper killings. With that in mind am I not entitled to legal representation?” Tumblety spoke hoping to put the detectives on the back foot. Abberline was completely unfazed and Godley kept writing with his head down as if the other two didn’t exist.
“Doctor, it is doctor isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he replied arrogantly
“You are quite right, however, if it is deemed prejudicial to the investigation of a serious arrestable offence, which I am sure you would agree five murders are, then I can begin or continue the interview whilst waiting for that representation to arrive. Now do you wish for the presence of a solicitor?” Abberline maintained a relaxed matter-of-fact manner w
hich made Tumblety feel uncomfortable. He could recognise the old detective’s wily skill and experience in such matters.
“Thank you for that legal explanation, Mr Abberline. I won’t require a solicitor at present.”
“Doctor Townsend, can you illuminate me on whether you have been in England since the start of August?”
“I have, yes.”
“And in all that time have you been in London or the greater London area?” Tumblety knew he could lie and say he had been in Liverpool as he knew the city well, but he had no alibi. He knew he would have to try re-kindle a relationship with Druitt to forge a decent alibi regarding his movements in London.
“I have been in your capital since that time, Mr Abberline, and have been for most of August enjoying the sites of the city and the hospitality of the Ritz Hotel. You check with them as to whether or not I have been a guest.”
“Indeed we will, sir, but it wouldn’t stop you frequenting Whitechapel would it?
“No it wouldn’t, Inspector, but I don’t think the proprietor’s of the Ritz would take too kindly to me returning covered in blood would they?”
“Who said anything about returning covered in blood?”
“But you said that you were investigating the Rippers crimes, right?”
“Yes, doesn’t mean I was necessarily accusing you of being him though, does it?” said Abberline watching Townsend shift a little in his seat.
“So, do you have an interest in anatomical specimens?” asked Abberline.
“As a doctor I obviously do.”
“Do you own a collection of any specimens?”
“I do have a few here and there, yes for diagnostic and teaching purposes.”
“Ever been to Paris, Dr Townsend?”
“What’s that got to do with Jack the Ripper?” He said with mock confusion knowing where Abberline maybe going with his questions.
“Just asking because of a story I heard doing the rounds in medical circles.” Abberline spoke nonchalantly.
“Well, I don’t know what this story is but whether I’ve been to Paris or not is none of your business, Inspector, I thought your jurisdiction was in London.”
“London, the rest of England and Wales actually if necessary,” Abberline quipped, he did enjoy the banter of challenging interviews.
“So, were you frequenting the East End on the 6th and 7th of August?”
“I doubt it, I hadn’t long arrived. I was probably enjoying a good Chateau Neuf du Pape and Chateau Briand at the Ritz with some company.”
“Anyone who can confirm that then?” replied Abberline briskly.
“Probably.”
“What about the 31st of August, where were you then?”
“Inspector, I don’t keep a diary in my head.”
“And the 7th September, and the 30th?”
“I may have been in the East End from time to time beginning my research, I just don’t know.”
“Who could confirm your movements?”
“That’s my business right now not yours,” Tumblety was getting fazed.
“Is that so you can prime them first is it?” sniped Abberline.
“HOW DARE YOU!” Tumblety got to his feet.
“Sit down, sir; we are only trying to establish your movements and motivation for being in the East End. Now, what sort of doctor are you?”
“Inspector, this is outrageous. I demand representation or to see a senior officer now.”
“I am the most senior on duty, and you can have a ‘brief’ but it won’t stop the interview. What sort of doctor are you?” Tumblety took a deep breath and answered with knowledge he could support.
“I am a former combat surgeon with the confederate army and I now practice herbal medicine and research its benefits to all. I am quite renowned in the States.” ‘Christ!’ he thought, he had just left himself open. He was renown in New Jersey, New England and New York State but not as Frank Townsend.
“So I could look up your reputation with the embassy then?”
“No, I doubt they’d know me.”
“But they could put me on to someone who does?” asked Abberline. Tumblety had dug a hole for himself and he felt it becoming bottomless.
“They may do, I am only known in a few small towns in each state.”
“So, being a surgeon you would have good anatomical knowledge then?”
“Yes, but any good butcher could do what your Ripper has done.” Abberline took a long pause, he stood up and walked around the back of his chair and then turned to face Townsend leaning on the back of the seat he had vacated.
“You are quite right but why would a butcher take parts of a human body away. A doctor might have a use for them?”
“A butcher or whoever might want to eat them.”
“Yes, I could understand that with a kidney, drawing the comparison with an animal. But what about uteri?” Tumblety had to consider his answer.
“The product of a sick mind of what is being considered in some circles as psychopathic behaviour.”
“Are you the man who calls himself Jack the Ripper?”
“No. Were you hoping I would break down and give you a confession?”
“Not necessarily but it’s worth a try. Some will confess.”
“Do you have any further real questions for me, Inspector?”
“Yes, just bear with us a moment.” Abberline turned to Godley to see him finish some writing. “Well done, George. Doctor would you just sign our contemporaneous record for us?” Tumblety looked at the desk and the statement sheets a little ruffled by the interview and replied.
“Yes, of course if it gets me out.”
“Don’t forget our colleague wishes to speak to you, but it should do.”
Godley passed across the papers to the edge of the desk nearest Tumblety who willing signed each of the five sheets put in front of him. As he signed the third he realised the consequences of his actions and paused half way through.
“What’s the matter then, Doctor?” asked Abberline with knowing victory in his voice. Tumblety didn’t look up but continued, it was too late.
“Nothing, Inspector. Just had a flash in my mind of things to do tomorrow.” He finished signing the papers and sat back in his chair looking at the partially smiling Abberline with contempt.
“Right, me and George will leave you to DS Thick. Thank you, Doctor. Goodnight.” The two of them left the room closing the door behind them, Abberline deliberately containing his glee until the two of them were alone back in the incident room.
“All right, Bill, he’s all yours now,” said Abberline.
“Thanks, Guv. I’ll let you know when we’re done with him. You happy to let me bail him?”
“Yes, provided he puts up surety. If not I want him remanded. He is our best line so far.” Abberline and Godley went back to their office leaving Thick to interview Townsend over his complaint.
Back in the incident room Abberline pulled out a drawer in his desk and grabbed a bottle of malt whiskey from it.
“George, I know you don’t approved but indulge me this once. We have a major break-through.”
“All right, Fred, granted. It’s his writing isn’t it?”
“You’ll have my job yet. He realised when it was too late that we have his hand writing. We need it analysed as soon as, so first thing send someone off with it to The Yard to Anderson’s office to get approval from him for it’s comparison to the ‘Dear Boss’ and ‘from Hell’ letters. He may have just signed his own execution order, my friend.” He poured large tumblers of drink for them both and continued. “Keep this bit low key. Don’t want any undue fuss early on.”
“Fine. This,” said Godley indicating to the glasses “is a rare treat I hope you realise?”
“I do, Dad, I do,” replied Abberline sarcastically. They chinked their glasses together and laughed for the first time in weeks.
***
Wednesday 7th November. With the late night from interviewing the man they
knew as Townsend, Abberline and Godley didn’t arrive back at work until midday. Walking into their office Bill Thick was there to meet them; he didn’t look good. He was asleep slumped over a desk head in his arms folded on the table looking as if he had not been home. Abberline approached him and gently rocked him by the right shoulder an action which caused him to slowly wake up.
“Oh fuck me, Guv’nor, am I pleased to see you,” said an obviously drained Thick. “Been here all night with that fucker in the end.”
“Did he not make the surety then?” asked Godley.
“No, didn’t get that far. After a persistent argument about addresses and absolute denials to being involved in the assaults, turns out he lied about his name. He’s called Francis Tumblety, still an American doctor but he came clean as that was the name I was given and he claims the whole thing is a falsehood to tarnish his name.”
“Bloody hell. Bit of a story then. Is he still in his cell then?” asked Abberline.
“Yeah. He’s been charged over some of the assaults but we kept him here for you to talk to him again and to wait for daytime to secure the surety money. The bank was due to answer at anytime.”
“Which bank?” asked Godley.
“Cootes. Says he’s got deposits and a credit facility with them.”
Abberline looked through the spy hole and seeing that this Dr Tumblety was lying on his bed he signalled to the custody sergeant to open the cell door and he went in. Tumblety sat up to face him.
“So, Dr Tumblety, tell me why we shouldn’t put you on remand right now? Tell me why you should be granted any sort of bail then. You lied to me last night,” said Abberline coldly.
“The only thing that wasn’t true was my name. The rest was right. I should be granted bail because I can afford it, Inspector.”
“Right £1500. Can you afford that then?”
“Yes, just send a messenger to Cootes and they will give you the letter of surety.”
“Right, you stay in here until we have that letter. Once it’s here then we expect you back in nine days to answer enquiries on my investigation and one more issue on Detective Sergeant Thick’s case too. Do you understand?”
Whitechapel Page 33