The Ripper Secret

by The Ripper Secret (retail) (epub)

  All of these missives required the allocation of police resources to investigate them. And, perhaps predictably, not one of them yielded any new or useful information, or got the Metropolitan Police any closer to identifying the murderer.

  As was his established habit, Alexei Pedachenko purchased copies of all the London papers every day, in order to keep abreast of the latest developments in the hunt for Jack the Ripper by the Metropolitan Police, or at least as up to date as the information in the newspapers allowed him to be. He’d read the first ‘Dear Boss’ letter with considerable amusement, and was quickly convinced that it was the work of some hack journalist writing for a newspaper, a man who was desperate to keep the story of the murders alive so that the circulation figures would continue to rise.

  When he read about the second communication in the papers published on 4 October, he felt a moment’s disquiet, especially when he read the information about the postmark. It was almost as if he had been observed at his work, because the writer seemed so very well informed. But then he relaxed again. If anybody had seen him, he would certainly have known about it. And he did know that the Sunday editions of the papers had carried most of the important details about the two killings, and so it would not have been that difficult for the writer – who, after all, was almost certainly a reporter for one of those papers – to put together a convincing message.

  And that report about the ‘Jack the Ripper’ letters, Pedachenko decided, was probably a good enough cue for him to send a communication of his own. But it wouldn’t be a letter, and it wouldn’t be addressed to Scotland Yard.

  Saturday, 20 October 1888

  Whitechapel, London

  The new chairman of the Mile End Vigilance Committee was a man named George Lusk, a builder who lived at 1 Alderney Road, Mile End. On the evening of Tuesday, 16 October he received an extremely disagreeable object through the post. It was a small parcel wrapped in brown paper and the contents unnerved him, to say the least, and he was unsure what to do about it. In the end, he did nothing, at least not that day.

  But late the following evening, he attended the regular meeting of the Vigilance Committee, and immediately attracted attention.

  Joseph Aarons, the treasurer, approached Lusk almost as soon as he walked through the door, because the chairman appeared to be in a state of considerable excitement.

  ‘George?’ Aarons asked. ‘You look as if you’ve seen a ghost, or the devil. What’s happened to you?’

  For a moment or two Lusk seemed lost for words. Then he shook his head and tried to explain.

  ‘I suppose you will laugh at what I’m going to tell you,’ Lusk said, ‘but you must know that I had a little parcel come to me on Tuesday evening, and to my surprise it contains half a kidney and a letter from Jack the Ripper.’

  The chairman’s statement stunned all the committee members, but then Aarons emitted in a short laugh.

  ‘That must be some kind of a joke, George,’ Aarons said, shaking his head. ‘It’s probably just somebody trying to frighten you.’

  But Lusk was clearly perturbed by what had happened, and fiercely rebuffed the treasurer’s attempt to laugh the matter off.

  ‘It is no laughing matter to me,’ he retorted.

  ‘Well I can see that this episode is concerning you,’ Aarons said, ‘so I think the best course of action is that I will call on you at your home early tomorrow morning with some other members of the committee so that we can examine the object.’

  ‘That will be satisfactory to me,’ Lusk replied. ‘I will be glad to see the back of the thing.’

  * * *

  The following morning at about half past nine Aarons, accompanied by the secretary, a man named Harris, and Reeves and Lawton, two other members, arrived at Lusk’s house in Alderney Road.

  ‘Good morning to you,’ Aarons said cheerfully when Lusk opened the door to them and ushered them inside.

  The chairman led the way to his study, and sat down at his desk.

  ‘Here it is,’ he said, ‘the revolting thing.’

  He opened a desk drawer and produced a small cardboard box, about three and a half inches square, and handed it to Aarons.

  ‘Throw it away,’ he instructed them. ‘I hate the sight of it.’

  The treasurer lifted the lid of the box and peered at the object which lay inside it. Almost immediately, he recoiled, as did the other committee members who had crowded round him. Inside the box was half of a kidney which had been cut longitudinally. Completely unsurprisingly, it reeked.

  ‘Oh my God,’ Aarons said, his voice subdued. ‘I can see exactly why this disturbed you so much, George. It’s revolting.’

  ‘And that’s not all,’ Lusk said, sounding almost pleased at the impact the object had had on Aarons, who he had always thought was too cheerful by half. ‘He sent me a letter as well.’

  Lusk again reached into the drawer of his desk and extracted a small piece of paper, which he also handed to Aarons.

  The treasurer read it silently, then handed the page to Harris to study. The letter was smeared with red marks, very possibly blood, and was written in a spiky and apparently illiterate hand.

  Joseph Aarons shuddered involuntarily, and for some minutes he stared at the cardboard box, studying the object it contained.

  ‘I’m not a doctor, but I don’t think this is a kidney from an animal,’ he said finally, ‘so I suggest that we should take it to Dr Frederick Wiles. He has a surgery at 56 Mile End Road and I think he is the nearest doctor to this premises.’

  ‘Yes, take it, take it,’ George Lusk said, clearly glad to be rid of the object.

  Aarons replaced the lid on the box, tucked the letter into the pocket of his jacket, and the four men took their leave.

  They walked briskly to the doctor’s surgery, but when they reached the address, Wiles was out.

  ‘I don’t know how long the doctor will be,’ his assistant, a man named Reed, told them. ‘If it is an urgent matter, perhaps I can help.’

  ‘In truth, Mr Reed,’ Aarons replied, ‘I didn’t know if it is urgent or not. It concerns a package our colleague received from somebody purporting to be the notorious killer Jack the Ripper. The package, which I have here, appears to contain part of a human kidney.’

  ‘Good Lord,’ Reed said, his interest clearly aroused. ‘If I can examine it, I might be able to determine its origin for you.’

  Aarons nodded assent, and passed him the cardboard box.

  For a few minutes, Reed looked at, and then poked and prodded the object, then sat back and looked up at Aarons.

  ‘I think this is probably human,’ he said, ‘and it looks to me as if it has been preserved in spirits of wine or some similar medium. But to be certain I think we should take it and show it to Dr Thomas Horrocks Openshaw at the London Hospital. He is the Curator of the Pathological Museum, and he will be able to confirm or refute my suspicions.’

  The small party of men, its number now increased by one, walked briskly to the London Hospital and quickly gained entrance to see Dr Openshaw.

  Aarons again explained how the organ had come to be in his possession, and the doctor almost immediately began examining it under a microscope. It didn’t take him long to come to a decision.

  ‘This is definitely a section of a human kidney,’ he said, ‘taken from the left side of the body and, despite the smell which I think is partially the result of the preserving liquid in which it must have been placed, I believe it is fairly fresh, probably removed from the body within about the last three weeks.’

  That was good enough for Joseph Aarons.

  ‘Thank you, doctor,’ he said. ‘We will immediately hand this over to the police.’

  The closest police station was the one at Leman Street, and shortly after leaving the London Hospital, Aarons handed over the object to a surprised Inspector Abberline, who was at the station.

  ‘It came from where?’ Abberline asked.

  ‘It was sent to my colleague Mr Geor
ge Lusk, who is—’

  Abberline nodded and then interrupted.

  ‘I know of Mr Lusk,’ he said. ‘I believe he’s now the chairman of the Mile End Vigilance Committee.’

  ‘Exactly so,’ Aarons confirmed. ‘There was a letter in the box as well as the kidney,’ he added, reached into his pocket and handed over the single sheet of paper to the detective.

  As soon as the men had left, Abberline examined the organ for himself, his face crinkling with disgust at the foul smell it was emitting, then called one of the sergeants over to him.

  ‘This might be almost the first useful clue we’ve found,’ he said. ‘This could be a part of the kidney that was taken from the woman who was killed in Mitre Square. Instruct a constable to take it at once to the City Police, because that murder was in their jurisdiction. But tell them we’d like a full report on it as soon as they can.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  At that stage, Abberline had no idea whether or not the section of kidney in the box had been removed from Jack the Ripper’s victim, or if it was some kind of an elaborate hoax, possibly being perpetrated by a medical student or some other individual with access to human body parts. But Joseph Aarons had already had the kidney examined by a specialist, and it seemed clear that it was a section of the left kidney, which was a good sign. The autopsy on the Mitre Square victim – a woman he now knew had been named Catharine Eddowes – had shown that it was her left kidney that had been cut out and taken away.

  Within the hour, Major Henry Smith, the Acting Commissioner of the City of London Police, had taken possession of the cardboard box and its grisly contents, and had summoned the City Police surgeon, Dr Gordon Brown, to perform an examination on the section of kidney.

  It didn’t take long for Brown to report his findings to Major Smith, findings which – perhaps to everyone’s surprise – provided fairly compelling evidence that the kidney had indeed been cut out of Catharine Eddowes’s abdomen by Jack the Ripper.

  ‘The first thing I checked,’ Brown began, providing the Acting Commissioner with a verbal report whilst his detailed findings were being typed, ‘was the gross appearance of the organ, and I saw immediately that about one inch of the renal artery was still attached to the kidney. When I carried out the post-mortem on the body of the victim, I noted that about two inches of the artery remained inside the corpse. The renal artery is normally about three inches in length, so that was a good match. I also confirmed that the kidney I was given had come from the left side of the body, and again it was that organ which had been removed from Eddowes. Finally, as a part of the post-mortem I also considered the state of the body, and the kidney which remained in the corpse showed signs of chronic nephritis – a condition commonly known as Bright’s Disease – and this was also evident on the organ sent to this man Lusk through the post.’

  ‘So are you saying that this kidney was removed from the body of Catharine Eddowes?’ Major Smith demanded.

  Brown shook his head.

  ‘That I cannot say for certain, but it is certainly a very strong possibility, perhaps even a probability. And there is one other piece of evidence, circumstantial evidence, granted, but important for all that, which would seem to confirm it.’

  ‘And what’s that?’ Smith asked eagerly.

  ‘I took the liberty of asking a colleague of mine, a man named Sutton, who’s a very senior surgeon at the London Hospital and one of the most eminent authorities in the country on the kidney and its diseases, to have a look at the organ as well. He agreed with my findings – the diseased condition of the organ and the length of the renal artery that was still attached to it – but he also confirmed my suspicion about one other indicator. And that was the way that it had been treated, presumably by the man who removed it.’

  ‘I don’t follow that, doctor.’

  ‘You obviously saw the state of the kidney when it was delivered to you, and the way that it smelt.’

  It was a statement, not a question, but the expression of disgust which crossed Major Smith’s face was confirmation that he had examined it.

  ‘Bearing in mind how long ago the murder took place, for the kidney to be in that condition meant that an attempt must have been made to preserve it, and both Sutton and I agree that the medium used was probably spirits of wine. We are also quite certain that it must have been removed from the body very soon after death had occurred, and placed in this preserving fluid only a matter of hours after that.’

  Major Smith didn’t look convinced.

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘The moment a person dies, all of the organs in the body begin to decay, some of them a lot faster than others. The section of kidney that you provided showed almost no signs of such decay, which means it had to have been removed from the body soon after death. It couldn’t, for example, have been removed from a person who had died a few days earlier, by somebody working for an undertaker. Obtaining access to a fresh corpse is not an easy thing to achieve.’

  ‘But what about a medical student? Couldn’t some student have removed a section of kidney from a corpse being used for dissection?’

  ‘Certainly,’ Dr Brown agreed, ‘but it would have been very different to this organ. All cadavers available for dissection are invariably preserved in formalin, not in spirits of wine, and the conditions of the organs in such bodies are quite unmistakable to any doctor. The one thing which I’m absolutely certain is that this could not be the result of a prank being perpetrated by a medical student. In short, and in my opinion, the most likely, and perhaps even the only, way in which this could have been achieved was for the kidney to be removed from a murder victim by the killer. And that would certainly suggest that the murderer was Jack the Ripper and that his victim was Catharine Eddowes.’

  While Inspector Abberline was waiting for the results of the examination ordered by Major Smith, he carefully examined the package in which the kidney had been sent.

  ‘There’s only one stamp on it,’ he said, ‘and that’s a two penny stamp. There’s a partial and indistinct postmark, but the only letters of that which I can read are “OND”.’

  ‘Not difficult to work that out,’ Chandler said. ‘That must be a part of the word “LONDON”, and that might mean that it was posted in the Eastern district, which is the same district as the delivery address. I don’t know if you knew that, Fred, but it’s normal for items of mail that travel through more than one district to be stamped by the offices in each of those districts. It doesn’t prove that that was where it was posted, but it’s certainly indicative.’

  Abberline nodded.

  ‘I didn’t know that, Joseph, so thanks. As you say, it’s not proof, but even if we knew for certain that it was posted in that district, and even if we could identify the office from which it was sent, it wouldn’t help very much. The chances of any postal clerk remembering who handed over the package are probably non-existent.’

  The two detectives turned their attention from the box to the letter which had accompanied the organ.

  ‘I’ll tell you one thing, Joseph,’ Abberline said. ‘Whoever wrote this letter was definitely not the author of the “Dear Boss” letter and postcard.’

  ‘I had my suspicions about that letter right from the start,’ Chandler growled. ‘There were no spelling mistakes in it, and it read to me like the work of an educated man who was trying to appear semi-literate. I still think we were right, and that the author was some journalist with too much time on his hands. The only thing that letter provided was an appropriate name for the killer. And the information on the postcard could have been read by anybody in the first editions of the Sunday papers. I think it was definitely a hoax.’

  ‘You’re almost certainly right,’ Abberline agreed. ‘But this is very different. I know that no matter what Major Smith and the City of London police surgeon discover about the kidney, there’s no way we’ll ever be able to definitely prove that it came from the body of Catharine Eddowes, but my gut feel
ing is that it probably did. And I can’t think of any way that somebody other than the killer, other than Jack the Ripper, could have got possession of the organ, and could then have sent it to Lusk. That means that this letter in front of us’ – he tapped the piece of paper to emphasize what he was saying – ‘was almost certainly written by the Ripper himself.’

  The two men looked at the blood-smeared piece of paper, and at the clumsy writing on it.

  ‘Now that,’ Chandler said, ‘really does look as if it was sent by somebody with a very limited command of the English language.’

  ‘Actually, Joseph, I’m not so sure about that. Remember that we are also reasonably certain that the writing found by Constable Long in Goulston Street had to been written by the murderer, simply because of the bloodstained cloth that was found in the same place. And that writing, at least according to Long, was correctly spelt – apart from the one word “Juwes”, and I think we now know why that was – and written by an educated hand. I have a suspicion that this letter was written by the same person, but probably using his left hand to disguise his writing.’

  ‘But this letter is full of mistakes,’ Chandler objected, pointing down at the page, at the text which was now so familiar to them:

  From hell

  Mr Lusk

  Sor

  I send you half the Kidne I took from one women prasarved it for you tother piece I fried and ate it was very nise I may send you the bloody knif that took it out if you only wate a whil longer

  Signed

  Catch me when

  you can

  Mishter Lusk

  ‘Actually,’ Abberline responded, ‘it isn’t. It just looks as if it is. I’ve studied it. The letter contains fifty-six words and only nine of them are incorrectly spelt, and there’s one plural – “women” – that should be the singular “woman”. Most of the long words, like “bloody”, “longer” and “signed” are correctly spelt, and at least one word – “fried” – which I would have expected to be misspelt if the writer really is illiterate, is actually correctly spelt. And there are two other obvious anomalies which suggest that this is the work of an educated man. Although he has deliberately misspelt “knife” and “while” by missing off the last letter of both words, he has included the silent “k” in the first word and the silent “h” in the second. That is the work of a person who definitely knows how both words should be spelt.’