Naming Jack the Ripper: The Biggest Forensic Breakthrough Since 1888

Home > Other > Naming Jack the Ripper: The Biggest Forensic Breakthrough Since 1888 > Page 24
Naming Jack the Ripper: The Biggest Forensic Breakthrough Since 1888 Page 24

by Edwards, Russell


  Schizophrenia if untreated can lead to accelerated physical aging, decline in social skills, poor self care, no motivation, and withdrawal from social contact. It also leads to declining mental abilities: memory, attention, intelligence. All of this bears out what we know of Aaron’s time in the asylums, when he seems to have withdrawn, both physically and mentally.

  My own theory, so far unproven, is that his psychosis may have been triggered by untreated diphtheria. Woolf’s daughter Rachel died from diphtheria at the age of three, the year before the killings started. Aaron was probably living with Woolf’s family at the time, and if not was certainly in close contact with them. There is, today, a substantial body of evidence associating schizophrenia with bacterial infections, such as diphtheria. The physical decline Aaron showed during his time in the asylums also correlates with untreated diphtheria. If we ever get the opportunity to exhume his body, we will, Jari believes, be able to test my theory.

  When he died, Aaron Kosminski’s family put a loving headstone on his grave. If they were aware of his earlier killing spree, they must have offered up thanks for his long incarceration and eventual death, safely away from suspicion and from any provocation to carry on murdering.

  Looking hard at his life, I felt satisfied that he was the most likely candidate as the Ripper. We were confident we could isolate the killer’s DNA from the epithelial cells. Now we just needed the last piece of the puzzle: I needed to find the DNA of Aaron Kosminski, to know that those cells were his.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CATCHING THE RIPPER

  When I received news about the isolation of the twelve epithelial cells from the possible semen stains in December 2012, it felt like I’d won the lottery. At the very beginning, I had hoped to find some missing evidence that would solve the case, but when I bought the shawl, the most I thought could be achieved would be to prove that the shawl was genuine, that it had been at the scene of Catherine Eddowes’ murder. I never dared to hope that, as well as her DNA, we would also have his. Yet here we were, in sight of the Holy Grail: the final, scientific identification of Jack the Ripper.

  We now had samples to extract DNA material from and, luckily, it happened on the first attempt that David Miller made. I was relieved because the work on one vial had taken two months, so if that had failed, there was the potential for this to drag on for possibly another four months if he had needed to work on the other two vials. But my greatest feeling was one of huge excitement at what we had. The question was what to do with it? The answer was inevitable: if we had the DNA from the stains on the shawl which I believed were produced by the killer, we needed the DNA of the suspect, Aaron Kosminski, to prove I was right in choosing him.

  It was a daunting prospect: it had been hard enough trying to work on the family tree of Catherine Eddowes in order to locate a living descendant and it was a lucky break that had taken me to Karen Miller, and my great good fortune that she had turned out to be such a generous, helpful person.

  At this stage I did not even realize that I could get DNA from a descendant of a relative of Kosminski’s: I thought it had to come directly from him, because he had no children and therefore no direct descendants. The only option, I thought, was to get it from his remains. I knew where he was buried and so I looked into what would need to be done, and whether there would be anything left of him from which to extract a sample. Yes, I was told: at the very least, his teeth would be in his grave, and would be a good source of DNA. To proceed I needed to get permission to exhume his body and I spent much of December 2012 trying to do it.

  I approached the United Synagogue, which is responsible for the upkeep of eleven Jewish cemeteries, including East Ham Cemetery where the remains of Aaron Kosminski lie. As I knew from my research that it was the United Synagogue who had arranged his burial in March 1919, I contacted Melvyn Hartog, their Head of Burials. Again, I was aware that I was dealing with an extremely delicate situation and in approaching Melvyn I made sure that I did not come across as some morbid ‘geek’ or – worse – a potential violator of the grave, and that my intentions were clear and scientific.

  Melvyn was very interested in what I had to say and knew a great deal about the Jack the Ripper story: after all, having the body of a major Ripper suspect under your immediate authority is bound to spike curiosity. He told me to send my proposal in writing, with a full explanation of how I had been working on the shawl and its significance to the case. Melvyn then passed the matter over to his superiors for consideration.

  While I was waiting for the reply I began looking into exhumation companies, so that everything would be ready to go if I got permission. I found one company whose headquarters were based along a stretch of road that I had often driven along in the past twenty years because the scenery is so beautiful. The fact that this exhumation company was there, in a place I loved, made me feel as if fate was on my side, as if it was meant to be. Simon Bray, the owner of the company, advised me on how I should approach the situation. It came with a caveat: he warned me that the Jewish community would not take the idea of an exhumation lightly, owing to the religious strictures concerning burials. I had not really thought about any fundamental opposition to an exhumation on purely religious grounds.

  Whilst waiting for the reply from Melvyn Hartog, Simon Bray made some suggestions: if the United Synagogue said no to a full exhumation, then we could go down the DNA extraction route. This means that the grave would be opened up, and as Kosminski was buried in a coffin nearly a hundred years ago, his coffin would have long decayed, leaving the body exposed. There would be no need to move the body to take a few teeth from the skull. DNA samples could be extracted from the pulp in those teeth and then they could be replaced. The body could be covered over and that would be the end of it. But there would only be one shot at this and as all the activity would have to take place at the graveside, it would require the forensic team, protective tent and all the paraphernalia needed to preserve the scene and acquire the samples with no contamination.

  If the United Synagogue refused this idea, then the only other option would be to apply for a Ministry of Justice Licence to get legal permission to exhume the body. If this application was successful it would automatically bypass any refusal from the synagogue elders and they would have no choice but to cooperate. There was one problem: to apply for the Ministry of Justice Licence required the signature of a living relative of the deceased.

  Just before Christmas 2012, the decision came through and, as I feared, the directors of the United Synagogue gave a resounding ‘no’. I completely understand their decision: it would be a breach of their burial laws, which forbid the removal of corpses from a grave. They also vetoed the idea of uncovering the body to extract DNA samples from the teeth.

  I now faced getting the Ministry of Justice Licence plan up and running. I needed a descendant and I needed their signature. Contacting the families of the Ripper victims seemed complicated and fraught with enough problems: it would be even more sensitive to approach the descendants of Aaron Kosminski. I anticipated that these people would be more reluctant to help than relatives of innocent victims.

  I wondered if Alan McCormack at the Black Museum could help me with details of the Kosminski family, but when I rang the museum I discovered he had retired. His successor, Paul Bickley, agreed to look for any information the museum might have about the Kosminski family tree.

  While mulling it over with Jari he told me something vital: if we could get a sample of DNA from a descendant of Kosminski’s sisters, it would be enough to match with the DNA from the shawl. In other words, I needed to find a descendant in order to apply for exhumation, but if I could find a descendant down the female line her mitochondrial DNA would be enough to make the match, without digging up the body. Aaron Kosminski had the same mtDNA as all his siblings, and his sisters would have passed it on to their children, and it would have survived down the female line. I knew it would be hard to find, but it seemed a lot easier than applying
for a licence to overrule the United Synagogue, which I instinctively did not want to do. I really did not want to transgress the burial rules of their religion.

  So I began a different kind of digging. I subscribed to numerous genealogy websites and began work in earnest, focusing specifically on Aaron Kosminski’s sister, Matilda, who had the rather distinctive surname of Lubnowski, and sometimes used Lubnowski-Cohen. After what seemed like an eternity of dead ends, I found a link. The information came from the genealogical research of one of Matilda’s many descendants and it proved invaluable. Suddenly, my efforts at establishing a decent family tree were bearing fruit rapidly. I managed to find a marriage certificate for one of Matilda’s daughters, which took me on a trail which, by coincidence, led me to Hove, East Sussex, only a few minutes’ walk from the Police Convalescent Seaside Home.

  I hoped this descendant would be able and willing to help, but I managed my expectations because I knew what a difficult thing I was asking for. Several attempts to make telephone contact failed when the calls went on to an answering machine, so I prepared a handwritten note and delivered it in person, knocking at the door on the off chance I would get a reply. There was no answer, so I pushed the letter through the letter box. There was no response to the letter either and I knew that, once again, I had hit a dead end. If this person already knew they were related to Aaron Kosminski, then they clearly did not want to be drawn into an association with the Ripper story. It was very frustrating: my best lead yet to find a female descendant, and my best chance of having this exhumation order signed if I had to go down that route, had come to nothing. In the meantime, Simon Bray from the exhumation company was calling, fired up to begin work and looking for good news: there was none to give him.

  When I went on a family holiday to Egypt I took with me a book, Jack the Ripper and the Case for Scotland Yard’s Prime Suspect, written by Robert House, an American writer who has long been fascinated by the Ripper case. The book argued the case for Kosminski as the Ripper and brought together much of what we know about his background and life, plus more that Robert House had painstakingly researched. It was an extremely thorough and responsible study, charting the history of Jewish settlement in London and the dangerous anti-Semitism in Eastern Europe at the time that led to so many Jews feeling compelled to leave their homeland. The book put the fate of the Kosminski family and therefore Aaron himself into context.

  I went through the book, looking for any nuggets of information that might generate new leads in my search for a living descendant – after all, this was the first serious study dedicated solely to Kosminski, and House’s research was impeccable and had unearthed much new material. In the end I could find very little information regarding the descendants of the Kosminski family that I had not already found out for myself. But when I read the acknowledgements I saw that the author wrote: ‘my deepest thanks to the descendants of Woolf Abrahams, Isaac Abrahams and Matilda and Morris Lubnowski-Cohen.’ Clearly the author had tracked down these people: it gave me renewed hope that I would be able to do the same.

  I had a family tree, I even had names – and now with the help of a number of professional genealogists, I eventually had contact details for descendants who might be prepared to help me. There were some relatives in America, descended from Aaron’s older sister Helena (Annie) Singer, and I was prepared to follow up this lead – perhaps, being American, the crimes would seem more distant and they’d be more willing to get involved – but first I had a few more British options to explore. I started with another female descendant of Matilda. I had no idea how receptive she would be to my call.

  The first couple of phone calls I made went straight to voicemail, and I felt a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach: was this going to be a repeat of my Hove experience? But the third time I got through, and explained who I was, and what I needed. As the conversation progressed, I felt she understood that I was not simply expounding a wild theory. She knew she was a descendant of the Kosminski family: it was apparently common knowledge in her family.

  I arranged to meet her in the East End of London – it seemed appropriate. I am not naming her here, nor giving any personal information about her, because she does not want to be exposed to the cranks and weirdos who attach themselves to anybody whose name becomes public property today, through social media. I have promised to protect her identity, and I always will, so I am going to refer to her simply as M (and, no, that’s not one of her real initials).

  I was very nervous as I approached her, but I was as lucky with M as I was with Karen, Catherine Eddowes’ descendant. I could not have hoped for two friendlier, kinder women. It is, understandably, much tougher for M. Although she knew she was descended from the sister of one of the suspects, I was now telling her that I wanted her help to prove he was the suspect.

  She courteously and politely took me through all the arguments against her ancestor being the Ripper, as if, subconsciously perhaps, she wanted to prove it was not him. I was familiar with all the arguments, and able to refute them, but I understood why she wanted to make certain that I knew what I was talking about. She was fascinated by all the scientific work we had done on the shawl. Eventually I asked her the main question, the reason I was there: would she be happy to provide a sample of DNA?

  I was very nervous as I asked. I didn’t want to sound presumptuous and I did not want to be intrusive: but I needed her sample.

  Eventually I broached the subject, and told her I had two swabs with me if she was willing to help. She said she was happy to.

  I was so grateful. I phoned Jari there and then, because I knew he would be as excited as I was. I put M on to the phone to talk to him, and they had a chat about the work he was doing with the shawl samples.

  It was one of those amazing days in this saga, a day when everything went right. Afterwards I took M and a friend of hers to Brick Lane for a curry at my favourite curry house, and then took her on my own Ripper tour: she had never actually traced the Ripper route before, and she did not know that Matilda and all her extended family had lived in what was now Greenfield Road. As we walked along, side by side, I hugged to myself the incredible knowledge that I was in the company of a descendant of his sister and, what’s more, she was willing to help me.

  The next morning I jumped into my car and drove the familiar route to Jari’s lab in Liverpool. There was no way I was going to entrust this precious DNA sample to the post. With the DNA from a direct descendant of Matilda Lubnowski, the Ministry of Justice Licence could take a back seat. We had what we needed to move forward: samples from the semen stains on the shawl and samples from a Kosminski family member down the female line. Everything was set for the final part of the story.

  When Jari delivered the semen samples from the shawl to David Miller in Leeds, there were three vials of material, which went straight into David’s freezer at his lab. He worked on one vial, and within a couple of months he had found the twelve epithelial cells which told us we would be able to get the Ripper’s DNA.

  So when it was time to work on the Ripper’s DNA, Jari asked David for the remaining two vials back.

  That’s when we made a nightmare discovery. David’s laboratory had moved, and his students were charged with packing up his freezers and unpacking them on to the new site. Somewhere in transit our vials had been lost. They had searched for them, thoroughly, but it was no good: they had gone.

  Jari explained to me that in a lab like David’s everything is marked with a standard code system and, of course, our samples were not part of the normal routine of this lab. They were marked with symbols which did not match the lab system, which is probably why they were discarded during the move. It’s normal procedure in research and diagnostic labs to save space: if they do not recognize it, they do not know what it is, it cannot be used and it needs to go. David unpacked the freezers himself, with aid, to look for the vials, but no luck. I appreciate it was not his oversight.

  I was on holiday, staying in a caravan
on Anglesey, when Jari rang me with the calamitous news. The weather was bad, my mobile phone signal was rubbish, I was hanging out of the caravan window in the rain trying to make out what he said.

  At first, I thought I had misheard him. I made him repeat it to me. Slowly it sank in: we had lost our raw material. It was catastrophic, and at first I was completely numb, too overwhelmed to really take it on board.

  I had come so far, wandered blindly up cul de sacs, struggled to keep going against the odds. Finally, we had reached a really good place, only a short step from the most important development in the Ripper story since 1888. And now . . .

  I was, to use a cliché, gutted. And another cliché: sick as a parrot. Devastated. I felt my stomach dropping away in sheer misery. We were, I thought, back at the drawing board as far as the Ripper part of the equation went. We could start again: Jari could take more samples from the semen stain on the shawl, but then David would have to process them again. We were lucky the first time when he found the epithelial cells, but there could have been a lot more trial and error repeating the whole process. I took the shawl back to Jari and he took more samples. It was dispiriting to have been so near and now so far. I was psychologically preparing myself for another long wait.

  I was travelling by tube to meet an estate agent, Jeremy Tarn, in Commercial Road. Jeremy’s company, a prestigious one, has been in Whitechapel since 1955, and I have been dealing with him for several years as I have been determined to buy a property in the area (which I have now, finally, done). I was changing trains, but the one I was about to board was held up, and the whole tube line was temporarily at a standstill. I decided it would be quicker to walk than wait. I walked down a back road by some arches, the arches filled with stall holders selling all sorts of exotic foodstuffs. It is an area where strangers don’t feel welcome, and I attracted some uncomfortable stares. But I knew I was heading in the right direction. I had turned into Berner Street and was just passing the site where Elizabeth Stride was murdered – and Israel Schwartz saw the killer – when Jari’s text pinged on to my phone screen, telling me that this latest sample was viable.

 

‹ Prev