by Paul Roland
The “beat” of Catherine Eddowes was a small one. She was known to a good many of the constables, but, known or not known, she was in the streets late at night, and must have been seen making for Mitre Square. With what object? In pursuance, it is needless to say, of her miserable calling. Had she been followed, and men called to guard the approaches, the murderer would to a certainty have been taken red-handed. The Square, every inch of it, was carefully examined, but not one mark or drop of blood did we discover to indicate by what approach he had made his exit.
By this time a stretcher had arrived, and when we got the body to the mortuary, the first discovery we made was that about one-half of the apron was missing. It had been severed by a clean cut . . . The assassin had evidently wiped his hands with the piece of apron. In Dorset Street, with extraordinary audacity, he washed them at a sink up a close, not more than six yards from the street. I arrived there in time to see the blood-stained water. I wandered round my stationhouses, hoping I might find someone brought in, and finally got to bed at 6 a.m., after a very harassing night, completely defeated.
The revolting details of this murder would shock my readers; but there are certain facts – gruesome enough in all conscience – which have never appeared in print, and which, from a medical and scientific point of view, should certainly be put on record.
When the body was examined by the police surgeon, Mr. Gordon Brown, one kidney was found to be missing, and some days after the murder what purported to be that kidney was posted to the office of the Central News, together with a short note of rather a jocular character unfit for publication. Both kidney and note the manager at once forwarded to me. Unfortunately, as always happens, some clerk or assistant in the office was got at, and the whole affair was public property next morning . . .
I made over the kidney to the police surgeon, instructing him to consult with the most eminent men in the profession, and send me a report without delay. I give the substance of it. The renal artery is about three inches long. Two inches remained in the corpse, one inch was attached to the kidney.
The kidney left in the corpse was in an advanced stage of Bright’s Disease; the kidney sent me was in an exactly similar state. But what was of far more importance, Mr. Sutton . . . one of the greatest authorities living on the kidney and its diseases, said he would pledge his reputation that the kidney submitted to them had been put in spirits within a few hours of its removal from the body – thus effectually disposing of all hoaxes in connection with it. The body of anyone done to death by violence is not taken direct to the dissecting-room, but must await an inquest, never held before the following day at the soonest.
The Ripper certainly had all the luck.’
Interval before the final act
Following the double murder of 30 September, the streets of Whitechapel were uncommonly quiet after dark. Residents complained that after the pubs closed the number of plain-clothes police on the streets and roughs who had been armed with clubs by the Mile End Vigilance Committee outnumbered the inhabitants.
Contrary to public opinion, the police were tireless in their efforts to apprehend the fiend. Almost 100 butchers and slaughtermen were interviewed, as well as dozens of Thames River boatmen. In addition 80,000 handbills appealing for civic-minded individuals to report their suspicions were distributed in the locality.
The newspapers were bombarded with advice from the public on how to catch the killer, which ranged from dressing boxers in women’s clothes to act as bait to employing clairvoyants as psychic bloodhounds. Other readers wrote in with their suspicions regarding their neighbours, lodgers and anyone they might have had a grudge against. One particular report, published in the Star on 1 October, sounded promising, but nothing more was heard of the man at the centre of this allegation.
‘A reporter heard a strange story this morning that may be connected with the murders. A gentleman living not far from the British Museum says: – In the room above mine there is an American lodging. He professes to be a doctor, but does not look like one. In fact, if one judged by his looks, he might be – well, a perfect ruffian. No one knows anything about him. He never does any work, and always seems rather hard up, although he pays his rent regularly. He must wear something over his boots that enables him to walk silently, for no one ever hears him come in. At intervals he disappears for a time.’
Meanwhile, press speculation continued unabated. The Times recorded that:
‘A somewhat important fact has been pointed out, which puts a fresh complexion on the theory of the murders. It appears that cattle boats bringing in live freight to London are in the habit of coming into the Thames on Thursdays or Fridays, and leave for the continent on Sundays or Mondays. It has already been a matter of comment that the recent revolting crimes have been committed at the week’s end, and an opinion has been formed among some of the detectives that the murderer is a drover or butcher employed on one of these boats – of which there are many – and that he periodically appears and disappears with one of the steamers. This theory is held to be of much importance by those engaged in this investigation, who believe that the murderer does not reside either in the locality or even in the country at all. It is thought that he may be either a person employed upon one of these boats or one who is allowed to travel by them, and inquiries have been directed to follow up the theory. It is pointed out that at the inquests on the previous victims the coroners have expressed the opinion that the knowledge of anatomy possessed by a butcher would have been sufficient to enable him to find and cut out the parts of the body which in several cases were abstracted.’
During October the Ripper was conspicuously absent from the capital and life in the East End began to return to normality, although there was much morbid interest in the discovery of a limbless and headless torso found in a cellar of the new Metropolitan Police Headquarters under construction on the Thames Embankment. The location must have been chosen to taunt the police, but even though the scene of the crime was right under their noses, they were never able to solve it. The Whitehall Mystery, as it became known, was not, however, related to the Whitechapel murders, despite rumours to the contrary.
Some attributed the respite in the Ripper killings to the increased police presence, others to the hope that the Ripper had been identified and secretly committed to an asylum or had sought a new killing ground. But the reprieve proved only temporary. On Thursday 8 November 1888 the Ripper returned to Whitechapel to claim what many believe was his final victim.
Fair as a lily
It is a sad fact that the only occasion on which the Ripper’s victims were photographed was in the mortuary. Women of their class and means would not even have had the price of a wedding photograph. It is particularly poignant in the case of Mary Jane Kelly who, according to her friends, was ‘tall and pretty, and as fair as a lily, a very pleasant girl who seemed to be on good terms with everybody’ and ‘one of the most decent and nicest girls you could meet when she was sober’. Unlike the earlier middle-aged victims she was just 25, with a fresh complexion and a fine head of red hair which cascaded down her back. Mary Kelly was the only victim who had her photograph taken at the murder site and it is one which is still disturbing to look upon a century later.
It was said that she had once beguiled a gentleman who had taken her to live with him in France but that it hadn’t worked out and she had returned to London, where she began a volatile relationship with Billingsgate fish market porter Joe Barnett. She and Joe would frequently drink their rent money and be forced to find new lodgings. By autumn 1888 they had found a cramped, squalid, ground-floor room for 4s 6d a week at Miller’s Court, off Dorset Street in Spitalfields, which was to be the scene of the most notorious murder in criminal history.
In the late afternoon of 30 October 1888 Mary and Joe had an argument, possibly over her insistence on having another prostitute staying with them, Lizzie Albrook, who may have been her lesbian lover. Or they may simply have fallen out over money as Joe had rec
ently lost his job and Mary resented having to go back on the streets to support him. Whatever the reason, he left and did not return until Thursday 8 November, the evening of her murder, to offer her money and try to patch things up. She was having none of it and ordered him to leave, which he apparently did shortly before 8pm without further incident. Maria Harvey, a friend of Mary’s, was a witness to this last meeting and described the pair as parting on the best of terms.
A gruesome killing
Some criminologists have tried to make a case for Joe being her killer, but while it is true that obsessive love can so readily turn to hate, the mutilations inflicted on Mary Kelly are inconsistent with the psychological profile of men who kill their former lovers. Some can’t bring themselves to kill the person who rejected them and so turn on a substitute. Others will assuage their anguish with a clean kill – a single fatal blow – and then cover the body or lay it out in peaceful repose in an attempt to atone for, or to deny, their crime. Many will exorcise their rage over rejection by repeated blows or cuts and dispose of the body by fire, dismemberment, submerging it or burial. Nowhere in the history of crime, as far as we know, has a jilted lover or betrayed partner performed a frenzied autopsy on their former beloved and then left their handiwork for all to see, as was done to Mary Kelly. No matter how enraged Barnett might have been (and there is no evidence whatsoever to indicate that he took the break-up badly) he could not have sustained that level of hatred towards his former lover over so many hours and then left her defiled corpse for strangers to stare at.
The body had been mutilated to such an extent that Joe could identify Mary only by the shape of an ear and the colour of her eyes, a detail which has led some Ripperologists to wonder if it was really Mary whose body had been found at the scene. Their scepticism is fuelled by the statement of another witness, Mrs Maxwell, who claimed to have met Mary in the street at 8.30am and an hour later on that Friday morning, but it is almost certain that she was mistaken and that it had been the day before.
Murder in Miller’s Court
Friday 9 November was an important date in the capital. It was the day of the Lord Mayor’s show, when the Mayor would take the oath of office, and then lead a grand procession through the city. It was a public holiday and Mary was intent on seeing the parade. But first she had to earn her rent for that week or she would be turned out once again. She was 29 shillings in arrears and needed to find a punter or two before the landlord sent his rent collector with threats of eviction.
At approximately 2am that Friday morning Mary propositioned labourer George Hutchinson, but when he refused to go with her or to lend her any money she walked away. Hutchinson claims that she talked to another man, who in all likelihood was her murderer, although it is possible that Hutchinson invented the story to divert suspicion from himself. The newspapers were certainly very sceptical regarding the uncanny accuracy of his memory and his capacity to discern small details in a ill-lit street at such an hour.
A correspondent for the Graphic wrote on 17 November 1888:
‘Even if the murders of last Christmas week and of August 7th be excluded as not certainly belonging to the same series, there still remain five butcheries, all apparently perpetrated by one and the same individual. Concerning this individual, all that can be positively affirmed is that he possesses the skill, either of a butcher or of a medical man, in the art of cutting up animals, human or otherwise. It is true that on this last occasion a man has given a very precise description of the supposed murderer. The very exactitude of his description, however, engenders a feeling of scepticism. The witness in question admits that at the time he saw him he did not suspect the person he watched of being the Whitechapel assassin; yet, at two o’clock in the morning, in badly-lighted thoroughfares, he observed more than most of us would observe in broad daylight, with ample time at our disposal. A man who in such a hasty survey notes such points as “a pair of dark ‘spats,’ with light buttons, over button boots,” and “a red stone hanging from his watch-chain,” must possess the eyes of a born detective. Granting, however, that this description is accurate, and not due to the after-effects of a lively imagination, it is evidence that the clue thus given is an important one, inasmuch as it shows that the murderer belongs to a superior class.’
Hutchinson later gave a statement to the police in which he said that he watched Mary and her companion for some time, which accounted for the degree of detail he was able to recall.
‘He then placed his right hand around her shoulders. He also had a kind of a small parcel in his left hand with a kind of strap round it. I stood against the lamp of the Queen’s Head Public House and watched him. They both then came past me and the man hung down his head with his hat over his eyes. I stooped down and looked him in the face. He looked at me stern. They both went into Dorset Street. I followed them. They both stood at the corner of the court for about 3 minutes. He said something to her. She said, ‘alright my dear come along you will be comfortable’. He then placed his arm on her shoulder and gave her a kiss. She said she had lost her handkerchief. He then pulled his handkerchief, a red one, out and gave it to her. They both then went up the court together. I then went to the court to see if I could see them but could not. I stood there for about three quarters of an hour to see if they came out. They did not so I went away.’
Hutchinson described the man as ‘aged about 34 or 35, height 5 ft. 6, complexion pale, dark eyes and eye lashes, slight moustache curled up each end and hair dark, very surly-looking; dress, long dark coat, collar and cuffs trimmed astrakhan and a dark jacket under, light waistcoat, dark trousers, dark felt hat turned down in the middle, button boots and gaiters with white buttons, black tie with horse shoe pin, respectable appearance, walked very sharp, Jewish appearance.’
He added yet more details at a later date: ‘His watch chain had a big seal, with a red stone, hanging from it . . . He had no side whiskers, and his chin was clean shaven . . . I believe that he lives in the neighbourhood, and I fancied that I saw him in Petticoat Lane on Sunday morning, but I was not certain.’
The question remains, however, why Hutchinson felt the need to linger. What was his interest in Mary Kelly? The police clearly accepted his statement at face value as they immediately circulated the description he had given them to all the stations in the city.
Witness reports
Perhaps a more reliable sighting was that made by laundress Sarah Lewis, who saw a man lurking around Miller’s Court at 2.30am, half an hour after Hutchinson claimed to have seen Mary with the man who must have been her murderer. It was the same man who had accosted Lewis and a friend a few days earlier. He was short, aged about 40, pale-faced with a black moustache and wore a short black coat and carried a long black bag.
Lewis was disturbed to see him again as he had an unsettling manner and on the previous occasion had insisted that she and her female friend should accompany him. Eventually she and her friend had run off, so frightened were they of what he might do, although nothing explicit had been said and no threats had been made. Their intuition may have saved their lives, whereas Mary Kelly was too drunk to have heeded hers.
Earlier that evening, around 11.45pm, another prostitute living in Miller’s Court, Mary Ann Cox, had observed Mary Kelly in the company of a man and noted that Kelly was so drunk that her speech was slurred. Mrs Cox later gave a description of the man to the police in which she described him as being ‘about 36 years old, about 5 ft 6 in high, complexion fresh and I believe he had blotches on his face, small side whiskers, and a thick carroty moustache, dressed in shabby dark clothes, dark overcoat and black felt hat’.
Mrs Cox recalled that Mary had a knitted red crossover covering her shoulders and a dark threadbare linsey frock. As they passed each other in the narrow courtyard Mary told her, ‘I am going to have a song.’ After Mrs Cox entered her room she heard Mary softly singing ‘A Violet I Plucked From Mother’s Grave’, which she was still singing some time after 1am when Mrs Cox went back ou
t in the drizzling rain. She returned at 3am, by which time there was no sound from Mary’s room and the light that had shone through the torn curtains was out. For the next few hours Mrs Cox lay on her bed unable to sleep and listening to the rain. She heard nothing until 5.45am when she heard someone leaving, but from which room she could not say. She thought it may have been a policeman making his round, as it was too late for the residents who worked in the market. In retrospect, she may have heard the last exit of Jack the Ripper.
The discovery of Mary Kelly
Mary Kelly’s body was discovered at 10.45am by the rent collector Thomas Bowyer who, having had no answer, had put his hand through a broken window and pushed back the coat which served as a makeshift curtain to peer inside. What he saw that morning haunted him for the rest of his life. When he had recovered himself sufficiently he ran to his employer, landlord John McCarthy, who owned a grocer shop on the corner at 37 Dorset Street.
The Times managed to secure an eye-witness account of the murder scene from McCarthy, who returned to Miller’s Court with Inspector Walter Beck and Detective Walter Dew.
They broke the door down and were confronted with what Dew later described as a sight he would never forget until his dying day.
McCarthy told reporters, ‘The sight I saw was more ghastly even than I had prepared myself for. On the bed lay the body . . . while the table was covered with what seemed to me to be lumps of flesh. The sight we saw I cannot drive away from my mind. It looked more like the work of a devil than of a man. The poor woman’s body was lying on the bed, undressed. She had been completely disembowelled, and her entrails had been taken out and placed on the table. It was those that I had seen when I looked through the window and took to be lumps of flesh. The woman’s nose had been cut off, and her face gashed beyond recognition. Both her breasts too had been cut clean away and placed by the side of her liver and other entrails on the table. I had heard a great deal about the Whitechapel murders, but I declare to God I had never expected to see such a sight as this. The body was, of course, covered with blood, and so was the bed. The whole scene is more than I can describe. I hope I may never see such a sight again.’