by Robert House
Despite this, Anderson was still for some reason convinced that Kozminski was the Ripper. It is possible that Kozminski’s behavior, more than anything else, convinced Anderson (and perhaps Swanson) of his guilt. As Swanson said, Kozminski “knew he was identified.”16 It is even possible that the police told Kozminski that he had been positively identified, just to see how he would react. Anderson later described to author Hargrave Lee Adam a similar tactic he once used when he confronted a suspected murderer and informed him that “the murderer had been found.” Anderson informed the suspect that an image of the murderer had been photographed from an impression left on the dead woman’s retina—a bizarre method that was actually thought to have had some merit at the time. But Anderson was lying . . . he merely wanted to see the suspect’s reaction. The man, according to Anderson, “turned deathly pale and trembled in his chair.” “Then,” he exclaimed, “I was morally certain that I had the murderer before me!”17 A similar tactic may have been tried with Kozminski.
Ultimately, the witness identification should be considered just one aspect of a multifaceted “case” against Kozminski. And despite Anderson’s strong belief in Kozminski’s guilt, there was no consensus on the matter within Scotland Yard, because other police officials preferred suspects other than Kozminski. For example, John Littlechild, the ex–chief inspector and a former head of the Special Branch, wrote that Anderson “only thought he knew.”18 This suggests that Littlechild was aware of Anderson’s “theory” but disagreed with it. We should probably conclude that Anderson’s “definitely ascertained fact” was probably more along the lines of a strong belief in Kozminski’s guilt, rather than definite proof of it.
Other aspects of the identification are equally vague. For example, it is not known where the identification took place. The only clue here is Swanson’s statement that Kozminski was identified “at the Seaside Home where he had been sent by us with difficulty.”19 Several researchers have assumed that “the Seaside Home” was a reference to the Police Convalescent Seaside Home in Hove, a “small and ill-adapted” rented building at 51 Clarendon Villas, which opened in March 1890 as a retreat for policemen recovering from illness or disability. But if this was the Seaside Home Swanson was referring to, why did the identification take place there? After all, Hove was more than fifty miles from central London. One theory is that the police wanted to keep the whole affair out of the prying eyes of the press. Yet is this reasonable? Surely, the police could have managed to conduct the identification somewhere in London without alerting the press about it. A more likely explanation is that someone—either the witness or a police official involved in the identification—was staying at “the Seaside Home,” necessitating that the identification take place there.
Of course, Swanson did not say the identification took place at the Police Convalescent Home in Hove; he merely said “the Seaside Home.” “I think this is really a conclusion that’s been jumped to and clung to ever since,” researcher Chris Phillips said, “even though there’s no particularly strong evidence in its favour.”20 In fact, the Police Convalescent Seaside Home at Hove was only one of nearly seventy seaside convalescent homes for men, women, and children, most of which were located on the southern English coastline. Any of these might have been Swanson’s Seaside Home. One possibility, for example, is the Metropolitan Convalescent Institution at Bexhill-on-Sea, a seaside resort town in the county of East Sussex. The Bexhill Seaside Home opened in 1881 and had a hundred beds available for “poor persons over 14 years of age in need of sea air and diet,” convalescing from various infectious diseases and advanced consumption.21 Another possibility, suggested by researcher Andy Aliffe, was the Morley House Seaside Convalescent Home for Working Men, which opened in 1883 in St. Margaret’s Bay, near Dover. As Aliffe pointed out, Morley House reserved a certain number of beds for members of the City of London Police Force, and if the City Police were involved in the witness identification, it seems possible they would have used that location.
Debate over this point is relevant for one reason only: the Police Seaside Home at Hove officially opened on March 17, 1890. Therefore, if the identification took place there, it must have been after that date. Yet if the identification occurred in some other “Seaside Home,” then it may have happened any time, including before March 1890.
This leads us to the last and, in some sense, the most confounding question of all: when did the identification take place? Perhaps the most likely scenario is that the identification was made around the time Kozminski was first admitted to Mile End on July 13, 1890. We might imagine that the workhouse staff informed the police about Kozminski’s admission—after all, as an insane local resident Kozminski was the type of suspect the police were looking for. In this scenario, the police would have taken Kozminski to the Seaside Home (either in Hove or elsewhere) around July 14 or 15, conducted the identification, and then returned him to the workhouse by July 16 when he was discharged. The time line here is fairly reasonable.
It is possible, however, that the identification took place considerably earlier, around the time of the Mary Kelly murder or even before then. As Phillips pointed out, when Melville Macnaghten wrote his famous memorandum in 1894, he seemed to believe that Kozminski had been sent to an asylum or otherwise dealt with as a suspect in March 1889. Yet Macnaghten did not join the police force until after March 1889. As Phillips noted,
That seems to imply that if Aaron came to the police’s attention and was investigated in 1890 or 1891, Macnaghten knew nothing about it at the time, or it was not significant enough for him to remember it when he came to write the memoranda in 1894 (and of course Macnaghten in his memoirs does profess a great interest in the Whitechapel Murders). The alternative is that Aaron Kozminski was suspected earlier on—in late 1888 or early 1889, before Macnaghten joined the force—that Swanson was confused about his dates, and that whatever the “Seaside Home” was, it wasn’t the police one.22
The possibility that Kozminski was identified and kept under surveillance in late 1888 or early 1889 has rarely been considered by Ripperologists, but several sources arguably support such a theory. As we have seen, Detective Robert Sagar, for example, spoke of conducting surveillance on a suspect who “was insane, and after a time his friends thought it advisable to have him removed to a private asylum. After he was removed, there were no more Ripper atrocities.”23 Admittedly, it is not known whether Sagar was referring to Kozminski, but if he considered Kelly to be the last of the “Ripper atrocities,” it would seem that his surveillance began around November or December 1888. Likewise, according to Detective Henry Cox, “It was not until the discovery of the body of Mary Kelly had been made that we seemed to get upon the trail.”24 Cox discussed conducting surveillance on a suspect who lived on the premises of a tailor (or a cap maker), apparently on a largely Jewish street. This again seems to suggest that the City CID was shadowing a suspect shortly after Kelly’s murder, in either November or December 1888. In addition, Cox noted, “It is indeed very strange that as soon as this madman was put under observation, the mysterious crimes ceased, and that very soon he removed from his usual haunts and gave up his nightly prowls. He was never arrested for the reason that not the slightest scrap of evidence could be found to connect him with the crimes.”25
This mirrors Swanson’s statement that “after this identification which suspect knew no other murder of this kind took place in London.”26 Both Cox and Swanson seem to imply that the suspect stopped killing because he knew he was being watched by the police.
“While the Whitechapel murders were being perpetrated his place of business was in a certain street,” Cox said, “and after the last murder I was on duty in this street for nearly three months.”27 If we assume the “last murder” refers to Kelly’s murder, Cox’s surveillance would seem to have ended around February or March 1889—in other words, around the time that Macnaghten claimed that Kozminski “was removed to a lunatic asylum” (that is, March 1889). A hunch tells me th
at there is a crucial piece of the puzzle missing here. One possibility is that Macnaghten simply confused Kozminski’s admission to Colney Hatch with an earlier admission to a private asylum as a voluntary patient. Remember that Sagar claimed that his suspect was admitted to a private asylum. And Cox said of his suspect, “From time to time he became insane, and was forced to spend a portion of his time in an asylum in Surrey.”28 As Chris Phillips pointed out, Cox’s account “seems to suggest the suspect was in and out of an asylum, rather than simply being committed and staying there.”29 March 1889 is interesting for other reasons, because it was also around this time that the Ripper investigations were winding down. By March 15, the plainclothes patrols were entirely phased out, and in a letter to the secretary of state, Monro said, “This duty has now ceased.” Presumably, this included the termination of Cox’s undercover surveillance duties. It was also in March 1889 that Frederick Abberline was moved off the case and that Home Office funding for additional police forces in the East End was not renewed. In sum, it seems likely that something happened around March 1889, but it is not clear what.
In June 1892, Cassell’s Saturday Journal printed an interview with Sir Robert Anderson, in which he claimed that the Ripper murders had been committed by “a maniac revelling in blood.” This was apparently Anderson’s first hint that the police knew Jack the Ripper’s identity, and we must assume that Kozminski was the “maniac” he had in mind. Anderson then added that “his department has a great thirst for information, and the public might often assist him very materially by communicating with him in confidence, for very often a small matter sets his officers in motion.”30 What was Anderson referring to here? Is it possible that the head of the CID had received confidential information that set his officers in motion, ultimately leading to the discovery of Jack the Ripper?
There are at least four references to informants—usually, female relatives—reporting their suspicions to the police. One of these, as we have already seen, was reported in the Echo, during the so-called Batty Street lodger incident, in October 1888:
[The suspect] lived some time ago with a woman, by whom, he has been accused. Her statements are, it is stated, now being inquired into. In the meantime the suspected assassin is “shadowed.” Incriminating evidence of a certain character has already been obtained, and, should implicit credence be placed in the woman already referred to, whose name we will not transpire under any circumstances until after his guilt is prima facie established, a confession of the crimes may be looked for at any moment.31
In fairness, we must treat this and other newspaper reports surrounding the Batty Street incident with caution. It is possible that the reference to a female informant was simply another case of shoddy journalism. Yet Aaron Kozminski almost certainly lived with female relatives, either his sister, Matilda, or his sisters-in-law, Bertha and Betsy Abrahams.
Another such reference was in a rather curious article titled “The Whitechapel Murderer—The Latest Police Theory,” which appeared in the Dublin Express in December 1888:
The Dublin Express London correspondent gives as the latest police theory concerning the Whitechapel murderer that he has fallen under the strong suspicion of his near relatives, who, to avert a terrible family disgrace, may have placed him out of harm’s way in safe keeping. As showing that there is a certain amount of credence attached to this theory, detectives have recently visited all the registered private lunatic asylums and made full inquiries as to the inmates recently admitted.
Curiously, this article was published around the time, according to detective Harry Cox, that the police “seemed to get upon the trail” of the Ripper—that is, after “the discovery of the body of Mary Kelly.” It is interesting that the article states that “to avert a terrible family disgrace,” the suspect’s family may have “placed him out of harm’s way in safe keeping.” Admittedly, this could mean almost anything, but one possibility, which I have already alluded to, is that Kozminski was locked up in his own home. As noted by author David Wright, in the absence of asylum care, lunatics were frequently cared for by family members, and “even ‘occasional’ or ‘threatened’ violence could force families to take pre-emptive action such as restraint or sequestration within the home.”32 It is also interesting that the article says, “Detectives have recently visited all the registered private lunatic asylums and made full inquiries as to the inmates recently admitted.” This is reminiscent of detective Robert Sagar’s statement that the suspect was removed to a private asylum sometime after the end of the murders.
Another interesting article, which appeared on July 29, 1890, in the Galveston (Texas) Daily News, claimed that the Ripper had been “arrested on the strength of information given by his own sister.” The timing of this article is especially intriguing because it appeared only sixteen days after Kozminski’s first admission to Mile End Old Town Workhouse. The article read,
JACK THE RIPPER’S VACATION
A Possible Explanation of the Suspension of Whitechapel Horrors
Halifax, N.S. July 28.
A curious story has got out here that if true explains the long rest which Jack the Ripper has been taking from his diabolical work in the Whitechapel district, London. A lady from this city visiting a distinguished official in London, states in a letter written to friends here that the Ripper has been under arrest in the London metropolis for some time. He is a medical student and was arrested on the strength of information given by his own sister.
The authorities, the letter states, have kept the matter a strict secret in order to work up the case against the prisoner, and they are said to have a very complete chain of evidence.
These statements are vouched for by the writer of the letter who came into possession of the facts accidentally. The person who makes the story public, however, refuses to divulge her name.33
As usual, the article is frustratingly vague, and there are problems to consider. Indeed, if there is any truth at all to the story, it may have been misinterpreted or garbled in translation somewhere along the line. The “distinguished official” who revealed this story to the unnamed “visiting lady” must have been aware he was letting the cat out of the bag, and he may have kept the details intentionally vague because, as the article notes, the authorities were keeping the matter a “strict secret.” Obviously, it was not so much of a secret as to prevent it from being indiscreetly disclosed in what was probably very casual conversation. If Kozminski was identified by a witness (perhaps in July 1890), then several “distinguished officials” at Scotland Yard and the Home Office must have felt that they were very close to solving the case, and they were probably itching to tell somebody about it. One might imagine someone imprudently mentioning the exciting unfolding events in whispered tones at a dinner party.
A final reference to a female informant is perhaps most interesting of all. In 2001, a Ripperologist named Stephen Ryder discovered an intriguing letter in a collection of Anderson’s surviving correspondence at Duke University in Durham, North Carolina. The letter, found in a folder marked “undated correspondence,” read as follows:
2 CAVENDISH SQUARE
W.
My dear Anderson,
I send you this line to ask you to see & hear the bearer, whose name is unknown to me. She has or thinks she has a knowledge of the author of the Whitechapel murders. The author is supposed to be nearly related to her, & she is in great fear lest any suspicion should attach to her & place her & her family in peril.
I have advised her to place the whole story before you, without giving you any names, so that you may form an opinion as to its being worth while to investigate.
Very sincerely yours,
Crawford34
“Crawford” was the Twenty-sixth Earl of Crawford, James Ludovic Lindsay, a friend and a correspondent of Anderson’s who took “a particular interest in the Ripper crimes.” The identity of the woman, who was “supposed to be nearly related” to the Ripper, was not given, nor did Crawford know
it. He wrote the note simply as a letter of introduction that “the bearer” could take to Anderson. Curiously, this is the only letter in Anderson’s surviving correspondence that had anything to do with the Ripper crimes.
A woman “in great fear lest any suspicions should attach to her & place her & her family in peril” would certainly fit if the suspect were Jewish. Indeed, it is not difficult to understand why a Jewish woman at the time would be afraid to go to the police if she truly believed her relative was the killer. Of course, she would fear for her family’s safety, and she would also be aware of the effect a disclosure of the truth might have for the Jewish community in general. Indeed, a Jewish East End woman who suspected a close relative of being Jack the Ripper would be faced with a terrible dilemma. She might want to go to the police but, at the same time, be afraid that her family would fall victim to mob justice, and that the entire Jewish community would be “in peril” of succumbing to the same fate—the target of anger, outrage, and violence.
The possibility that Kozminski was suspected of being the Ripper by members of his own family is supported by Melville Macnaghten’s suggestion that the killer was “found to be so helplessly insane by his relatives, that they, suspecting the worst, had him confined to some lunatic asylum.”35 Such a predicament may have caused heated arguments among the family members. Some of them may have refused to believe that their relative was the killer, while others believed it but wanted to protect him anyway. When confronted with such a horrible dilemma, the family would be at a loss, unsure of what to do. None of the options would have seemed good. Perhaps this is why the woman mentioned in the Earl of Crawford letter went directly to the top of the police hierarchy, in the hopes that Anderson might devise a discreet solution to the problem and protect her family from violent reprisal by East End mob justice. The police, in other words, may have helped the family in having Kozminski committed and then hushed up the whole affair as best they could.