Edward walked on, trying not to react.
“You keep walking, or I might decide to cut you. We own these streets.”
Edward stopped. And turned to look at the boy. He was around seventeen; his blonde hair matted and sat on his head in a nondescript clump. His face was filthy and covered with spots, and his ratty eyes darted as he stood in the centre of the street, chest out and shoulders back, his three friends standing behind him and not looking quite as confident as their leader.
Edward walked towards the boy, who showed a flicker of surprise.
“We got a brave one ere’ lads”
Edward came to a stop around a foot in front of the boy, looking him up and down. Adrenaline surged through him, as he fought to keep his composure. “Maybe you boys should walk away, you wouldn’t want to start something you can’t finish,” Edward said.
“You want me to cut you?” the boy said pulling out a small knife. Edward looked at it, then to the boy, and laughed. He saw a flash of uncertainty and fear go through the boy’s face before it was swamped by his bravado.
Edward reached into his pocket and pulled out his own knife which was much larger and sharper.
The boy was afraid, but not enough to back down in front of his friends. “Who do you think you are? Ill fuckin’ cut you, mark my words.” He said, the confidence draining from him.
Edward smiled, leaning close. Underneath the filth and alcohol, he could smell the fear.
“I’m the Whitechapel killer,” he whispered. “And unless you want to be next, I suggest you move along.”
The boy opened his mouth as if to say something then closed it again as if forgetting how to speak. After a few seconds, he put away his knife. “You ain’t worth my time anyway.”
He mumbled, as he turned and walked away, swiftly followed by his friends who looked more than a little confused. Edward heard the church at Spitalfields chime for two in the morning and was surprised at how much time had passed since he had set out earlier that evening. A bitter disappointment overcame him that he would not complete his work that night, which was quickly followed by an overwhelming desire to drink, something which had become more and more dominant in his life of late. He started to head towards the Ten Bells and then paused. In his current mood, he did not want to risk running into Mary and decided instead to drink in the Britannia, which was just a few minutes away on Commercial Street.
The sky was beginning to lighten and the first rays of the new day were pushing away the night by the time he started to stagger home. He needed to urinate and knew it would not wait until he made it home. He looked at the homes around him and knew these were shared, sometimes with up to ten different lodgings housed inside each of the three-floor buildings. Ahead of him, the door to Twenty Nine Hanbury Street opened and a man exited, walking past him, eyes down as he hurried up the street. Edward grabbed the door before it had time to close and slipped inside. He moved down the short corridor and opened the back door, intending to use the outhouse. As he stepped out he froze, his heart racing as he almost knocked the woman down who was on the other side of the door.
“Watch it love!” she said to him, stepping back in anger. Her expression then changed as she flashed him a smile. “You almost knocked me down then my love,” she whispered.
She was a whore. Edward could tell and was of no doubt the man he saw exit the house just moments before had been a customer.
“Do you want the business then?” she asked.
“Here?” Edward replied as his inner monologue questioned the decision
Too risky. It’s almost daylight and look at all these windows. Somebody is bound to see you.
“I come here all the time. As long as we keep quiet, it will be fine.” She encouraged, taking a step closer to him as he stood in the doorway.
Don’t do it, you’ll get us caught. The whore’s blood will spill another day
With a nod of the head, he stepped into the yard, allowing the door to close behind him.
“That’s it. Come on love. Come to Annie. Up against the fence will do it.” she said.
Windows overlooked the yard from the house itself and the houses next door and across the street. The chances of being disturbed were high, and yet he was unable to stop himself. The whore was leaning against the fence, waiting for him.
“Let me just pull this up. You get the old fella ready,” she said as she grabbed her skirts.
“Wait,” he whispered to her in the dark.
“What is it love?” she asked.
“Are you sure you want to do this Mary?”
“Who the bleedin’ ell is Mary?” she asked, a confused look etched onto her round face.
“For an extra tuppence, it’s yours,” he snarled.
“Whatever suits you love. Come on then. Come to Mary.”
He approached as she hitched up her skirts. He could smell her, unwashed and filthy and imagined he could feel his skin recoil in disgust.
“Come on then, get it out. Give him to Mary to look after,” She panted, reaching for his crotch.
“What’s wrong with it? It’s not getting ‘ard!” she looked at him and froze, realising too late the danger she was in.
“No, Murder,” she said as his fingers latched onto her windpipe and shoved her back, her head slamming against the fence. He squeezed, watching her eyes, first filled with fear, then with glassy and expressionless disinterest. He lowered her to the floor, astounded that they had not yet been disturbed. The sky was now a light grey in colour, the cover of darkness almost gone. He went through her pockets taking out her belongings and arranging them at her feet in the same way he would prepare instruments for the doctors in the hospital. This time, though, it was his work and his patient. He was the surgeon. He took her hand and with some effort removed the two brass rings on her fingers, before slipping them into his pocket.
What are you doing? There is not the time for this.
He ignored the voice in his head, and took his knife from his pocket, believing God would protect him until he completed his work.
Later.
Abberline crouched by the body, his nose wrinkling as he looked at the mess.
“Godley, come here,” he said over his shoulder.
“Yes, sir?”
“He’s left this one a right mess. All these people watching isn’t helping.”
“I know sir. They don’t miss a trick round here. Some of them are charging to let people in to view the body from the upstairs windows.”
“Animals,” Abberline muttered
“What do you make of that sir?” Godley asked, pointing to the feet of the body where her belongings had been carefully arranged. Abberline frowned, standing from his crouched position.
“I’m not sure. I’m sure it meant something to him, the killer I mean.”
Godley looked at the body, absently rubbing the edges of his moustache.
“He really cut her up didn’t he boss. You think it’s the same fella who did the other one?
“That’s the one thing I’m certain of. This was done by the same… hand.”
Abberline crouched by the body again,
“What is it, boss?” Godley said.
“Rings. He took her rings. You can see the marks where they were.” Abberline stood and flicked a sour glare at the windows and those who looked down on the scene.
“The public will have a field day with this,” Godley said, shaking his head.
“I get the impression that’s what he wants. Our killer is a showman.”
“What do you mean, Sir?”
“Just look at her, Godley. The way he’s positioned the innards over her shoulder, how he’s left this one open and exposed. The first one was covered up. This entire scene has been set up to be noticed. He likes the attention.”
“I don’t know about that, but he certainly took a risk, sir. A witness from inside says he was out here sitting on the back step fixing a boot at around quarter to five. He didn’t see a thing.”
“Quarter to five? That means that our killer did this in almost full daylight.”
“A risk, especially as you say, with all these windows overlooking the yard.”
“I count twenty windows where someone could have seen our killer not to mention footfall from the building. Whores are known to use this yard to do their business.’
‘Surely that’s good sir.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It means he’s sloppy.’
‘It means he’s dangerous, Godley.’ Abberline looked at the faces pressed to the windows surrounding the yard. ‘Get statements from everyone Godley, and I mean everyone. Don’t be afraid to lean on them if you have to.”
“What about the press?”
“No point keeping it back with all these witnesses looking at the scene. Prepare a statement.”
“Yes, sir.”
“But Godley?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Don’t mention the rings. Hold that back. You can tell them the rest. I want something only he had I will know if we get someone for this.”
“Yes sir,” said Godley, before heading back into the house. Abberline looked at the body, his eyes drifting to the entrails which lay in a soggy heap by the woman’s head. Edward watched from the upper window of the next door house, looking down from above at his handiwork. He listened to the excited chatter of the people around him. There was a nervous tension in the air, and with each speculative statement about the kind of monster that could be responsible, he found that he grew more and more satisfied with his night's work.
She was as he had left her, however, he noticed that she looked altogether more glorious in daylight. He regarded his work, the way the stomach cavity lay open and exposed, the whore's stomach piled up next to her face. He couldn’t wait until they found out he had taken some away with him, some of the insides of the whore which he had fed to a few mangy street dogs on his way home. He wondered what Abberline would make of that. He had enjoyed this one more than the first. The risk of how easily he could have been caught was worth it if only for the pure thrill it had given him. He recalled how her flesh tore, how steam rose from the body cavity in the cool early morning air. Amid the chaos that surrounded him, he was at peace.
And what about the next one, how will you shock the people more than this?
It was a good question and one that deserved some thought. Perhaps he could deliver some to the police, send them a part of the next whore. Maybe he could even do two or even three in a single night although he wasn’t sure if he was ready to take such a risk, not yet at least. And then, of course, there was Abberline. Edward looked at the inspector, who was now in deep conversation with a doctor. Edward recognised him from the hospital but didn’t know his name.
He was suddenly too warm and uncomfortable and wanted some fresh air and
A drink?
He was concerned that he was becoming dependent on alcohol, and needed to keep that aspect in control. His father had been a heavy drinker, and Edward wondered if that particular trait had been passed on to him. He shoved his way through the crowd, his prime place at the window swallowed by someone else the second he had moved. Edward went outside and leaned on the wall, feeling giddy and light-headed.
He saw the officer who was speaking to Abberline in the yard approach him.
“Are you alright sir?”
Edward nodded. “Yes, it’s just... it was a horrific sight.”
“Indeed, it is, sir. Then again you made the decision to pay to see it.’
Edward swallowed his rage. ‘I was curious. As you can see I’m not alone in that regard.’
‘My name is Detective inspector Godley, and I wonder if you might answer a few questions?”
“I am unsure how I can help, but of course, I will assist in any way I can.”
“May I ask what time you arrived here at the scene?”
“Oh, it was perhaps twenty minutes ago.”
“Did you see anything unusual on your way here, Mr….”
“Miller, Edward Miller. And no, I’m sorry, I did not see anything at all untoward. There was already quite a crowd when I arrived.”
Godley spoke again, but Edward didn’t hear him, he was looking over the detective's shoulder to where Abberline stood watching.
“Mr. Miller?”
“I’m sorry detective, could you say that again?”
Godley opened his mouth to speak again when Abberline spoke first. “Detective Godley, could I have a word please?”
Godley glanced to Abberline, nodded acknowledgement, then turned back to Miller. “Wait here Mr. Miller, I’ll be back in just a moment.”
Godley jogged over the inspector, leaving Edward alone with his thoughts. He wanted to run but knew that would mean the game was up. Like it or not he would have to play this out. He could see Abberline watching him as he spoke to Godley, those cold eyes always calculating, always working things out.
Careful with this one, he’s not like the others
Edward was afraid of Abberline. He wanted to tear out those calculating eyes and be left alone to do his work. He watched them now in conversation, sure Abberline was asking why the same man had shown up at consecutive crime scenes. Edward waited for Godley to return.
“Apologies, Mr. Miller. The inspector has asked me to collect statements from all who were present. I wonder if you would be so kind as to come to the station this afternoon and answer a few questions.”
Miller nodded, feeling Abberline’s gaze burning into the back of his skull. “I’m not sure how much I can tell you, however, I will assist in any way I can.”
“Excellent Mr. Miller. We appreciate your cooperation.”
Godley nodded then returned to the inspector as Miller made his way home, unsure how the situation had just unfolded and how it was going to end.
Hapgood looked at Miller, who was coughing again. He wiped the blood from his mouth and stuffed the handkerchief in his pocket.
“They had you? They actually had you there at the scene of the crime?” Hapgood said. “Surely you didn’t go.”
“How could I not? To not attend would be the same as admitting guilt. Of course, the fool Godley did not concern me, he was as gullible and stupid as the rest, but Abberline… he was different.”
“You sound almost respectful of him.”
“Of course. He was my nemesis. How is the good inspector these days I hope he is keeping well?”
“Last time he and I spoke, he was well,” Hapgood said.
Miller nodded, his expression hard to read. “I often wish the inspector and I could sit and discuss the way our paths had become entwined. It would make for an interesting conversation, would it not? In some ways, I looked up to him, even back then. I saw Abberline as the man I could have been had circumstances been different. Perhaps one day, he will read your book, Hapgood.”
“Forgive me, but I fail to see any similarities between you.”
“Of course not, for you are just an ordinary man. The inspector and I are two of a kind. His good to my evil, the light to my darkness. You are a writer, Are you not Hapgood? In all great fables is there not a protagonist for both good and evil?”
“I understand that, but understand that this is not a work of fiction.”
“Of course, it isn’t, however, the rules are the same. In any great story, there is an opposing force of good and evil. You need to look no further than the bible to see such an example.”
“The bible?” repeated Hapgood. “Are you a religious man Mr. Miller?”
Miller considered for a moment. “The answer is not as simple as yes or no. If you are asking if I believe in heaven and hell, then I would say no. If you are asking if there is a higher power beyond that which we know which would fit with the notion of God, then yes. Without his help, I would have surely been stopped.”
“Are you saying that your…work was completed with the help of God?”
Miller smiled, leaning forward so that
his face was half cast in shadow.
“Of course, it was, Hapgood. All the evidence points to the fact.”
“Would you care to elaborate?”
“Look back on all that we have discussed so far. I was a reckless man out to shock the public, I struck in near daylight with little to no caution. If the will of God was that I should stop then why did he not allow one of the whores to escape, or ensure that someone would catch me in the act? No Hapgood, to me it is clear. I was protected by a higher power. “
“Or you were simply lucky.”
“Are they not the same thing? Is luck not the will of God?”
“Based on the things you have said so far there was no such belief after the murder at Hanbury Street when the police were closing in on you.”
“And yet here I am.”
“Here you are,” Hapgood repeated.
Miller grinned and made himself comfortable. “If you are ready, I shall tell you about my visit to the police station that afternoon and all that came after.”
Hapgood stretched and prepared new paper. “I am as ready as I will be.”
“Then I shall proceed.”
Miller closed his eyes and rolled back the years, pulling the memories from the place he kept them. “I remember the police station smelled of wood and polish. That was the one time I think I saw Abberline anything other than confident when I walked in to give my statement. Soon enough, the fragile sense of peace would be broken and our game would soon begin. First, though, I spoke to Godley at the front desk...
END OF PART THREE
In Part Four: The cat and mouse game between Miller and Hapgood continues and Abberline’s suspicions begin to deepen as Miller falls further towards his dark destiny.
I Was Jack The Ripper (Part 3) Page 3