Ripper

by David L. Golemon

  “I have closed and secured the scene. Only our people know about it, sir. I don’t know how long we can keep others out of it.” He leaned in closer to Abberline, trying to talk below a whisper so the stranger sitting at the table couldn’t hear. “Two victims, a shavetail prostitute and one of our own boys in blue. The heads were completely removed, unlike the other murders, but the proximity to the hunting grounds of…,” he looked around to make sure no one was listening. His eyes locked on Robert Louis Stevenson and then back to Abberline, “you know who? I thought it best—”

  The waiter brought their drinks and placed one each before the three men. Abberline ignored his while Washington and also Stevenson took the double scotch and drained the two glasses. “Chief Inspector, I do not know how long we can keep the area secured. You must come now.”

  Abberline opened his eyes and took in his young colleague. It seemed he was having a hard time swallowing, but he stood nonetheless. He braced himself against the table for the briefest of moments and then waved the waiter over and asked that the drinks and the untouched meal be placed on his account.

  “Mr. Stevenson, I think you better come with us. I don’t think the government is too happy about you having certain information.”

  “I’m not brave enough to take on the queen herself,” the writer said as he stood along with Washington and Abberline.

  “Don’t worry about that, sir, because after tonight the queen may have to do some explaining herself … if that’s what she chooses to do after we stop this Ambrose … tonight is the last night of the Ripper,” Abberline said as he slammed his hand down on the white tablecloth. “It ends here, tonight.”

  More than just a few of the off-duty policemen saw the famous chief inspector Frederick Abberline stumble as they moved past their tables, and most nodded as they understood the man’s possible drunkenness after what he had been through with the Ripper case. After all, who more deserved to hoist a few now and again than the chief inspector? Most understood that Abberline had been witness to one of the most horrific murder sprees in modern times. What most didn’t know however was the small fact that not only had the murders started again, they were about to spread across the seas to a place where few were afraid of the dark—the Ripper was returning home.

  * * *

  The carriage and the twin black horses pulling it raced through the streets of London cutting dangerously close to the fog-shrouded corners where the gas lamps could not penetrate. Abberline sat beside Robert Louis Stevenson with Washington sitting across from them. The chief inspector held on to the right-hand strap and swayed with the carriage without saying a word. Stevenson tried his best to still his shaking hands.

  “Perhaps I better tell the driver to slow a bit in this wretched fog, Inspector,” Washington said through clenched teeth as the carriage took another corner on its two right-side wheels.

  “Sergeant Anderson knows what he’s doing,” Abberline said as he stared at nothing. Suddenly he pulled the window down and leaned his head out into the humid night, not noticing as his bowler hat nearly went flying from the carriage and into the white night. He held on to his hat and then shouted out, “Sergeant, faster man!” As Abberline sat back into his seat he looked into the younger Washington’s surprised face. Then he took a quick glance at Stevenson who seemed to be deep in either thought or prayer, Abberline didn’t know which.

  Suddenly the horses screamed and the carriage slid to a halt, throwing Abberline forward and forcing Washington to catch the chief inspector as the carriage wheels finally came to a sliding stop. Stevenson was still holding his strap and seemed to be muttering to himself.

  They heard Sergeant Anderson cursing at someone unseen at the same time they heard footsteps approaching the carriage door. As Abberline straightened and then nodded his thanks to Washington for saving him a nasty headache, the door opened. As the inspector sat back into his seat he saw a familiar face, only this time the man was dressed in his scarlet army uniform complete with gold braid. Abberline’s jaw set and then he angrily stepped from the carriage, pushing the man out of his way.

  “You bloody bastard, you told me this nightmare was ended,” he hissed as he leaned into the face of the tall but strong Colonel Albert Stanley of Her Majesty’s Black Watch. “Now we have not just one, but two. One of my men was butchered tonight alongside another woman by the man you said was no more of a threat!”

  For the first time in five meetings with Stanley the man’s face was not one of arrogant disassociation, but one of fear. The colonel looked around and then said, “My apologies Chief Inspector for the intercept. Whitechapel will have to wait.”

  “Hey, what the bloody hell is going on here,” Inspector Washington said as he exited the coach and angrily approached the colonel and Abberline. Suddenly the small but impressive Sergeant Anderson stepped swiftly in front of the younger inspector and just shook his head. The black cap was lowered toward the eyes, but Washington was still able to see the man meant business. Abberline held up his right hand to stay his man.

  “Inspector Washington, this is Colonel Stanley of Her Majesty’s Black Watch. I believe he has something to add to the night’s doings.”

  Washington stopped but kept staring at the Sergeant, who stood his ground in between the young policeman and the colonel.

  “We have business elsewhere Chief Inspector, and you of all men deserve to be a part of what has to be done.”

  “Then I can expect your cooperation in protecting a material witness who may be able to identify the man known as the Ripper?”

  “I am not following you Chief Inspector,” Stanley said in frustration at the delay.

  “Mr. Stevenson?” Abberline called out.

  At that moment, Robert Louis Stevenson leaned out of the carriage and then locked eyes with Colonel Stanley.

  “That’s the man who has followed me for three years, off and on through Europe and America.”

  “I see you have finally caught up on your homework Chief Inspector?” Stanley looked from Stevenson and to Abberline as the fog swirled. “You may do with him as you wish. I have my orders, and nothing in them mentions Mr. Stevenson here.”

  “Then I have your word as a gentleman that no harm will befall my witness by you or any member of your unit?”

  “Damn you sir, we must go, and go now!” Stanley said as he turned away.

  At that moment a wagon with twenty armed soldiers came around the corner and stopped mere feet from the three men.

  “May we use your coach?” Stanley said as he stopped and then gestured to the men to step in. “This official nightmare ends tonight.”

  “Against Her Majesty’s orders, Colonel?” Abberline asked, not moving toward the open coach door and the worried-looking Stevenson inside.

  “On the contrary, Chief Inspector, the queen has signed this man’s death warrant and has authorized his elimination. That means that this man, this writer, is witness to nothing. How could he be if the Ripper, or Jekyll and Hyde if you prefer, never existed. Now, do you want to assist in the Ripper’s destruction, or do you wish to stay here and listen to more children’s stories by the great Robert Louis Stevenson?” Stanley asked as he held the coach door open, not even sparing a glance at the famous writer.

  Abberline turned and entered, followed by Washington and then the sergeant major.

  The colonel looked at Sergeant Anderson on the coach’s bench who was trying hard not to look upon the strange scene. “The east end docks, Sergeant, and speed is the order of the day.” He raised a hand at the wagon of soldiers for them to follow. “And personally, Chief Inspector, I would have chosen to remain in the dark,” Stanley mumbled as he too entered the coach. “You should have known that if Mr. Stevenson has relayed his tale correctly, because the man we are going after has perfected the art of killing.”

  The cobblestone roadways leading into the East End of London were the worst in the old city. The roads surrounded the rundown and mostly abandoned warehouses and d
ocking facilities lining the Thames River. The trip across the city had nearly cost them the wagon full of soldiers and it was that thought alone that sent chills down Colonel Stanley’s backside, even on the moist and hot night. If they didn’t have the squad of soldiers at their disposal Stanley knew he would be nowhere near the docks on this July night.

  “Can I presume you gentleman to be armed?” Stanley asked loudly above the sound of the horses’ hooves on cobblestone as the black coach streaked through the foggy streets.

  “Inspector Washington is armed. I am not so equipped at the moment,” Abberline said eyeing the Colonel.

  “Sergeant Anderson, will you remedy that please?”

  The sergeant major produced a loaded Webley pistol and handed it over to Abberline butt first. The chief inspector looked from Stanley to the offered weapon and then reached for it. “I would prefer to take this man alive,” he said looking back at the uniformed colonel.

  “That will not be happening. Her Majesty has ordered this thing to end tonight.” Stanley looked from Abberline to his young detective and then saved his most threatening look for Robert Louis Stevenson. “And it will end here, now.”

  “What is going on here, Chief?” Washington said as he pulled his own pistol out and checked the loads. “What if we find the Ripper and he accedes to surrender himself?”

  Stanley smirked and then looked out of the open window. “He will not acquiesce to giving himself up. And any attempt to apprehend him will have dire consequences, young inspector. My men have been instructed to shoot on sight. You have the same orders. And yes, you may presume that order came directly from the queen. If you do not understand the order, we will stop and let you out of the coach this moment. As a matter of fact, I think we should leave Mr. Stevenson here with a couple of my men for safety reasons.”

  Abberline saw the look that was afforded Stevenson and then he knew exactly what else was to happen tonight other than the stopping of the Ripper. Not only was Robert Louis Stevenson to be silenced, but also Washington and him. They would never make it out of this alive. All traces of the Ripper and his financial backers would be covered.

  At that moment the coach came to a bumping halt and Stanley never hesitated as he opened the door and stepped into the fog.

  “Chief Inspector?” Washington said as he looked at his boss.

  “I’m sorry Washington, but I have to be in on this ending. I have to.”

  Washington watched stunned as Abberline with pistol in hand stepped from the coach. His eyes then went to the sergeant major that sat across from him and held the door open. “Do as he says laddie. Show no quarter, because the Ripper will show none to you. Shoot anyone you come across that isn’t the chief inspector or a man wearing the red uniform,” he said, and then added, “And then after this night you can say you did God’s work.”

  A shocked and frightened Washington finally moved out of the coach and joined the gathering men. As for Robert Louis Stevenson, he sat motionless in the coach. Before Colonel Stanley knew what was happening Chief Inspector Abberline quickly turned and closed the coach door and then looked into the eyes of the writer. “This is over for you. I thank you for your assistance. I understand you are a very wealthy man Mr. Stevenson. May I make a suggestion that you spend that wealth and leave the country. Leave immediately and never come back. Sergeant, take Mr. Stevenson back to his hotel, and then take him to the train station.” He looked back at Stevenson. “Take the train to Scotland, leave the country from there. Do you understand, Mr. Stevenson?”

  Robert Louis Stevenson nodded his head in understanding. “Good luck, Chief Inspector.”

  “I doubt if luck will have anything to do with this night’s work.” Abberline slapped the side of the coach and the sergeant whipped the horses away from the warehouse.

  “I wanted that man to remain here,” Colonel Stanley said as he stopped and turned to face Abberline.

  “I know you did, but Her Majesty’s letter said nothing about eliminating material witnesses.”

  “You judge me too harshly, Chief Inspector.”

  “I don’t judge at all, Colonel. I investigate, I discover who the rat is, and I suspect that the rats are not only inside the warehouse, but out here in this damnable fog also.”

  Stanley smiled and then bowed his head and removed his black cap at the same moment. “Shall we see this business concluded?”

  Abberline watched Stanley and his approach to the large, rundown building. He took Inspector Washington by the coat sleeve and stopped him.

  “Stay close to me old boy. I don’t want any accidents to befall us.”

  “You mean like a well-intentioned but stray bullet reaching out and finding us?”

  “I knew there was a reason they made you inspector, Washington old boy. Now, as the colonel said, let’s finish this business.”

  The warehouse was large and they could see lights streaming from several of the windows that looked out onto the street.

  “You men have your orders. Shoot anyone on sight. He has a large man in his employ working as his assistant—he will not be allowed to live. He may have several more men inside, but we cannot be sure. Have no mercy upon these people. They are enemies of the Empire.” Stanley pulled out his own revolver that was attached by a cord to his polished holster. “Gentlemen, his workshop is located on the river side, but be careful as we move through the building; we don’t know what to expect. Now, let’s move.”

  As the men started to move off, Abberline realized that Colonel Stanley had been to this particular warehouse before.

  Two of the soldiers of the Black Watch approached the double sliding doors of the warehouse and used a large pry bar to tear off the hasp and lock that secured the building.

  “Colonel, you have been here before,” Abberline said as the lock and hasp clattered to the roadway, making all of the twenty-three men cringe as the fog failed to cover the noise.

  Stanley noticed that the statement from the chief inspector was not put into the form of a question.

  “Yes, Chief inspector, I was here for the first time five months ago.”

  “The day we found Mary Kelly in her room?” Abberline asked, his anger growing. “You knew who the Ripper was then?”

  “Yes,” came the curt answer. “And I suspect I will burn in hell along with a lot of other people for knowing just that, sir.” He finally turned and faced Abberline as the twin doors opened to the foggy night. “And I will be happy for it just to get a chance at killing this monster. No matter what you think of me, know that I was never in favor of what you are about to see.” Colonel Stanley followed his men inside the massive warehouse.

  “Inspector Washington?” Abberline called out.

  “Sir?”

  “Keep your pistol at the ready to defend yourself. If I fall, return to headquarters and start screaming your bloody head off about Colonel Stanley and the Black Watch’s involvement in this. The notoriety may protect you to some degree.”

  “I will do just that Chief Inspector.”

  Both men held their gaze a little longer, and then with Colonel Stanley waiting at the door, Abberline and Washington entered the lair of the man that had become the inspiration for one of the most horrific fictional characters ever—Dr. Jekyll, and his alter ego Mr. Hyde, who it seems became the very real—Jack the Ripper.

  * * *

  Abberline immediately felt the heat inside of the building and knew it not to be all natural. He was stunned to realize that the building was actually being heated, or better still, he thought, humidified. He looked at the men as they spread out on the lower floors of the warehouse with their Lee-Metford ten-shot repeating rifles at the ready. He saw that several of the men carried heavy fire, American-made Winchester Model 1887 single-barrel shotguns. He saw that Colonel Stanley and a few of his men were standing near several tables that stretched a hundred feet in length. As he and Washington approached he saw that the ridged tops of these tables were filled with dirt.


  “They’re gone,” Stanley said as he grabbed a handful of the dirt and then let it sift through his fingers. Then he angrily slapped at the thick, rich soil. “They’ve all been removed. They cannot have acted so quickly after the murder … unless they knew they were leaving tonight!”

  Abberline watched Stanley as he moved off to join the rest of his men. As Washington started to follow, the chief inspector reached out and took him by the arm.

  “Look at this,” he said, reaching for something he had spied in the dark earth inside the table Stanley had been standing at.

  “What is it?” Washington asked.

  Abberline held up the long, thin stalk of a plant that had been partially hidden in the soil. He held it to his nose and sniffed. “I don’t know, but it does have a familiar smell to it.” He held the stalk out so the inspector could also smell the strange, yet familiar aroma of the plant.

  “Yes, but like you I cannot place it.”

  Abberline let the stalk fall back into the moist earth and then turned and examined the immediate area around them. There were bags of pig and cow dung and fifty barrels of fresh water. There were gardening tools and other instruments he did recognize upon an adjoining table. Then he looked up into the high rafters of the warehouse and saw the massive skylights that came nowhere near the age of the building itself. The answer dawned on him.

  “A greenhouse.”

  “Sir?” Washington asked.

  “This whole building is nothing but a massive greenhouse.”

  Suddenly a shout and then several curses were heard from a far corner of the warehouse. Both men turned and ran in the direction of the frightened and angry voices. When they arrived at the scene they were stunned, as were the red-clad soldiers at the sight they were witnessing.

  “Oh, God,” Washington said when he saw what stopped the soldiers dead in their tracks.

  As Colonel Stanley hurried over he saw two of his men, soldiers that had seen more than their share of military action, bent over double as they vomited up their evening meals.