Friday, 14 September 1888
London
Charles Warren had sat down with his wife Fanny for a somewhat rushed lunch.
‘Do you really have to go in to work this afternoon, Charles?’ she asked. ‘I mean, surely it can all wait until Monday. Or even tomorrow?’
Warren shook his head.
‘I wish it could, Fanny, but I’m afraid it can’t. There’ve now been three very similar killings in London, and I simply have to go in to the office to review what’s happened and find out what progress has been made in identifying the perpetrator of these horrific crimes.’
As soon as he’d finished his meal, Warren left his house in a cab to travel to Scotland Yard, and once he’d skimmed through his correspondence and read those reports which dealt with the two most recent killings, he summoned Detective Inspector Abberline and demanded an up-to-date progress report.
Unfortunately, the inspector had very little to tell him which Warren hadn’t already gleaned from the written statements he had just seen. The reality was that despite the three brutal murders, the police still had no idea of the identity of the killer, because as far as Abberline had been able to discover, he had left no clues of any sort at any of the murder sites, and nor did they have the slightest clue as to the man’s motive. Or at least, no clue that seemed to make sense. The only definite common factor linking the three victims was that they had all been ‘unfortunates’, and that hardly offered much in the way of motive.
So unless the so-called ‘Fiend of Whitechapel’ was simply a lunatic who, for some twisted reason of his own, had decided to clear the streets of the district of prostitutes – and the three murders had certainly achieved that, at least to some extent – then there had to be some other reason for the murders. And the only reason that Abberline had been able to come up with didn’t really make sense, even to him.
The Inspector was still convinced that they were dealing with an intelligent and organized man who had some very clear purpose in mind, and that was the view that he had just expressed to the commissioner.
‘These certainly aren’t crimes of passion, in my opinion,’ he continued. ‘Although the killer is targeting prostitutes, it’s clear to me that he has no sexual interest in them. I think he has chosen them as his victims just because women are obviously easier targets than men, and of all the classes of women in Whitechapel, the ones he’s most likely to find wandering the streets by themselves in the early hours of the morning will be prostitutes.’
‘Are you saying the killer is picking on prostitutes just because they’re convenient?’ Warren demanded.
‘If you like to put it that way, sir, yes. They tend to walk the streets by themselves, or occasionally as a couple but, because of the nature of their work, they will inevitably at some point find themselves alone with a man in some secluded spot. And when they’re engaged in the act itself, they’re obviously at their most vulnerable because they’re offering their unclothed bodies to a stranger. So as long as this man doesn’t appear to be either deranged or murderous when he first approaches these women, they’ll probably be quite happy to go off with him, with the tragic consequences that we’ve already seen.’
Warren sat in thought for a few moments before he replied.
‘What you say does make sense, Abberline. I can see how the killer is able to lure these women to quiet spots where he can carry out his ghastly crimes, and why they would be prepared to accompany him. But do you think he’s working to some kind of plan, or is he just wandering the streets in a random fashion, looking for a suitable victim?’
Abberline paused for a moment before he replied, wondering if he should even suggest the idea that he and Chandler had come up with to the commissioner. Then he shrugged and decided he would: what had he got to lose?
‘I don’t think these attacks are random, sir. As I said before, I think this killer is an intelligent man, and I’m sure he’s got some very specific reason for doing this. It’s almost as if he’s trying to send a message to somebody.’
Abberline’s conclusion, suggested so casually, almost as an afterthought, was so inspired and accurate – the idea that the killings were virtually incidental to the murderer’s real intention – that it took Warren’s breath away, and he struggled for a few moments to recover his composure.
‘Are you feeling all right, sir?’ Abberline asked.
Warren nodded.
‘Of course I am. Why do you ask?’
‘You just look a little pale, sir, that’s all.’
‘I’m fine. Can you justify that statement? What message – as you put it – can this man possibly be trying to send? And to whom?’
‘I have no idea. I’m just trying to explain things the way I see them.’
‘Well, don’t,’ Warren snapped. ‘I’m only interested in the facts of this case, not in your interpretation of them. So unless I’m very much mistaken, you have no clues to go on. You have no eyewitnesses to any of the killings, no sightings of the killer arriving at or leaving the scenes, apart from this Long woman, who saw the back view of a man talking to the last victim – a man who might not necessarily have been the person who killed Chapman. In short, you still have no idea at all who the murderer of Chapman might be, only that he is possibly or probably the same man who slaughtered Tabram over a month ago and then Nichols three weeks after that.’
Abberline nodded. He couldn’t dispute anything Warren had just said because it was entirely accurate. The reality was that they still had absolutely no idea of the identity of the killer, and no obvious way of finding out.
Warren was silent for a few moments, trying to decide what to say and how to say it. Then he nodded and looked up at Abberline.
‘I have a feeling,’ he said, ‘that this man hasn’t finished in Whitechapel just yet. I think that there’ll be at least one more murder.’
Abberline looked surprised. Having chastised him just minutes earlier for discussing his personal feelings and suppositions about the murders, it seemed a little unfair that the commissioner was now doing precisely the same thing. But he supposed that different rules applied when you were actually running the Metropolitan Police force, rather than simply being employed as a detective inspector within that force. On the other hand, what Warren had just said matched his own views on the subject.
‘I think we need to be seen to be taking the initiative in this matter,’ Warren said. ‘I will make sure that there’s an increased police presence in Whitechapel in the hours of darkness until further notice. And later on, I might order extra officers to cover specific parts of the East End of London.’
‘Which areas, sir?’ Abberline asked, clearly puzzled. ‘Do you mean you have some idea where he might strike next?’
‘Of course not,’ Warren snapped. ‘I was just thinking that, if we made certain areas too dangerous for him to operate in, because of the sheer number of officers on patrol, we might be able to drive him to a part of the city where people would be more likely to see and apprehend him.’
To Abberline, that sounded a weak argument at best. In view of the high population density throughout the East End, he doubted if Warren’s plan would achieve anything at all, because there were just too many people there. How could anybody spot a potential murderer in the crowded streets, even if the police officers operated after midnight, when the crowds thinned dramatically? And the initiative clearly lay with the killer. He could decide when, where and how to approach his next victim, and as far as Abberline could see, there was nothing they could do about that.
Even if they drafted in dozens of extra officers, all the killer had to do was move to an area where there were fewer police. Or he could simply wait until the extra officers were withdrawn: clearly, a massive police presence on the streets of Whitechapel could only be sustained for a fairly short time, if only for reasons of cost.
‘We’ll do nothing for the moment,’ Warren said, ‘apart from starting the extra patrols in Whitechapel and Spitalfi
elds, and obviously you’ll be following up on any clues that do come to light. But be prepared to act quickly if I do decide to mount an operation in certain areas.’
Abberline nodded, still puzzled by what Warren had said.
‘Anything else?’ the commissioner asked.
For a moment, Abberline hesitated, wondering whether he should tell his superior about his plan to have male constables wearing female clothes walking about the streets in Whitechapel in the early hours of the morning, and then decided that that probably wasn’t a very good idea. He couldn’t see Warren agreeing with it, and in any case Abberline had only the faintest hope that it might produce any results. He’d keep that part of his strategy secret for the moment.
‘No, sir,’ Abberline murmured, and then took his leave.
After the detective inspector had left, Warren locked his office door, opened the document case he had brought with him from his home, and took out the notes he’d been sent by ‘Michael’ and the map of Whitechapel which he had been working on. The more he had studied the documents, the more convinced he had become that he knew what the man intended to do next. What he didn’t know was when or exactly where the next murder would take place.
He also had no idea of the personal circumstances of the adversary he was facing. He didn’t know if ‘Michael’ was prepared for a prolonged campaign of murder in London, or if he was intending to escalate the timescale in an attempt to force Warren to hand over the menorah. But the dates of the first two killings had been on the seventh and then on the 31st of August, a gap of twenty-four days, which suggested that ‘Michael’ was in no particular hurry.
On the other hand, it was of course possible that he had delayed carrying out the second and third attacks simply because Warren had left London for his annual leave. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more that seemed to him to be the most likely explanation. And perhaps he had then decided to resume his campaign to provide maximum embarrassment for the commissioner immediately after his return.
Or the reason might be much simpler. Maybe he hadn’t been able to find a suitable victim in the right place at the right time, but that was probably the least likely explanation of all, in view of the number of prostitutes who wandered the streets of Whitechapel and Spitalfields every night.
The fact that it had taken him over three weeks to carry out the killings of Martha Tabram and Mary Ann Nichols, but only a further eight days to add Annie Chapman to his list of victims meant that Warren really had no idea when the next murder might take place.
And, as far as he could see, there was nothing that he could do to prevent the next killing from occurring. He would just have to wait until ‘Michael’ struck again, and then try to identify the most likely location for the next murder. And afterwards he would deploy all the additional police officers he could spare to cover that area for as long as it took. Then, perhaps, his men might get lucky and catch ‘Michael’ in the act.
It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was all he had.
Wednesday, 19 September 1888
Whitechapel, London
The reticence, or wish to avoid sensationalism, on the part of Dr Phillips at the inquest into the death of Annie Chapman could not be allowed to endure. For perfectly obvious reasons, the police – at the very least – needed to know exactly what the killer had done to the body. They knew that several of her organs were missing, because that information was already common knowledge, but clearly they needed the details of the mutilation. And so, five days later, on 19 September 1888, Phillips was recalled by the coroner. He was told he had to provide all the further evidence in his possession about the post-mortem mutilations, evidence which he had omitted to deliver on the first day of the inquest.
But before he began speaking, Phillips consulted the coroner, Wynne Baxter, and together they decided that the court should be cleared of women and children, because of the evidence he was about to give. And after the press had heard all the details of the mutilations, they would voluntarily decide to omit that portion of the evidence from their reports on the inquest, deeming it unfit for publication.
Phillips took the stand and, in a clear and dispassionate tone of voice, he described what else had been done to Chapman’s body by the killer.
‘After the victim’s abdomen had been cut open,’ he stated, ‘her intestines were partially removed from the abdominal cavity and positioned by the killer on her shoulder. Then her uterus, most of her bladder, and the upper section of her vagina were entirely removed from the body.’
‘Before you describe these mutilations any further, Dr Phillips,’ Wynne Baxter interrupted, ‘can you please give us your professional opinion as to the degree of medical knowledge evidenced by the murderer. Were these organs removed with care by somebody who knew exactly what they were doing, or did the killer just rip open the woman’s abdomen and cut out her internal organs at random?’
The doctor paused for a few moments before he replied.
‘Before I give my opinion on that specific question, sir, I would like to emphasize the circumstances in which these mutilations must have taken place. The killer would have been working in almost complete darkness, and performing his actions by feel alone on a fresh and fully dressed corpse, and had quite obviously been in danger of discovery at any moment. He would therefore have been working as fast as possible, and it is probable that these mutilations must have taken him no more than a few minutes to perform.
‘Because of all these factors, it is my considered opinion, as I said previously, that the perpetrator must have possessed considerable anatomical knowledge because none of the adjacent structures had been damaged during this dissection and the removal of these organs. No trace of these parts could be found, and the incisions were cleanly cut, avoiding the rectum, and dividing the vagina low enough to avoid injury to the cervix uteri. Obviously this was the work of an expert – of one, at least, who had such knowledge of anatomical pathological examinations as to be enabled to secure the pelvic organs with one sweep of a knife.’
This statement induced an immediate buzz of excited conversation in the public gallery of the coroner’s court, and the newspaper reporters present immediately began taking copious notes.
When the murmuring had died down, the next question to be asked by the coroner was entirely predictable, and the answer perhaps even more sensational than what had gone before.
‘Are you suggesting, Dr Phillips, that the perpetrator of this hideous crime was a doctor?’
‘That, sir, I cannot say,’ Phillips replied. ‘But whoever it was, he clearly possessed both extensive anatomical knowledge and considerable surgical skill. I myself could not have performed all the injuries I saw on the woman, and affect them, even without a struggle, in under a quarter of an hour. If I’d done it in a deliberate way, such as would fall to the duties of the surgeon, it would probably have taken me the best part of an hour. The whole inference seems to me that the operation was performed to enable the perpetrator to obtain possession of these parts of the body.’
This apparent confirmation that the Whitechapel murderer was very probably a doctor, confirmation supplied by no less a personage than Dr George Bagster Phillips, the divisional police surgeon and a very experienced medical man, caused an immediate uproar in the court, which the coroner took some minutes to silence.
These statements made by Phillips immediately served to confirm some of the rumours which had already been circulating around Whitechapel. The killer was probably a doctor, and he had now begun taking souvenirs – body parts – from the ravaged corpses of his victims.
‘Finally, doctor, could you provide any information about the weapon used in the attack?’
‘It is difficult to be specific,’ Phillips replied, ‘because all I have to assist me in answering this question are the cut marks left on the corpse. But in my opinion, the instrument used was probably similar to the knives employed by surgeons in post-mortem examinations. This would be the correct weap
on for the killer’s purposes, possessing a long and sharp blade which is also very rigid. Two other possibilities are a slaughterman’s knife, which serves much the same function as a post-mortem knife, or possibly the kind of knife used by the porters at Billingsgate and other markets to clean fish.’
The additional information now having been obtained by the coroner, the inquest was formally closed.
‘A word with you, Dr Phillips, if I may.’
Phillips turned to look at the questioner as he walked out of the building and recognized him immediately.
‘Detective Inspector Abberline, isn’t it?’ he asked.
‘Yes. It’s just a small matter I wanted to raise with you, but there’s a minor discrepancy between your estimated time of the death of the last victim, Annie Chapman, and the evidence of some of the other witnesses.’
Phillips looked slightly put out by the suggestion that any part of his evidence should be questioned, no matter how obliquely.
‘Which witnesses?’ he demanded.
‘One woman actually saw a person she later identified as the victim talking to a man in the street at half past five in the morning, one hour after your estimated time of death of 4.30. A neighbour heard noises coming from the area where the body was later found a few minutes after that, and the son of the woman who rents the house actually sat down in the yard, almost exactly where the body was found, at about a quarter to five. So my question to you, Dr Phillips, is this: could you have been mistaken in your estimate? Could the body have cooled down more rapidly than normal in the open air, especially in view of the dreadful mutilations which had laid open her abdomen?’
The Ripper Secret Page 23