by Sam Gafford
“Really?” Abberline strolled over to the body. “Then why did you rush through your testimony? Almost as if you were simply reading what was on a sheet of paper?”
“Well, the time . . . the time was getting late and I knew that the coroner wanted to get my testimony in today.”
Slowly, Abberline pulled the sheet down. “With no comments from you? I know your testimony, Doctor, you have an opinion about everything.”
“And not always the correct opinion,” Arthur added.
“Quite true, Mr. Machen, thank you for reminding me,” Abberline said.
Llewellyn scowled as Abberline pulled the sheet further down.
“As I said, time was short. I kept my testimony to the facts of the case.”
“I found it quite strange,” Arthur said, “that the coroner did not even ask you one question. None at all.”
“Obviously he did not need to ask me a question. My testimony was very clear.”
“It was NOT clear, Dr. Llewellyn!” Abberline shouted, slamming his hand on the slab to our surprise. Even Llewellyn seemed amazed and disturbed.
“Was the killer right- or left-handed? Was she strangled before her throat was cut? What is the purpose of the abdominal cuts? Did a doctor do this?”
I was stunned at his last question. Why would he think that a doctor had done this horrible deed?
Llewellyn sat there, aghast. His mouth moved, but no sound emerged. “You astound me, sir,” he finally said; “no doctor could do such a thing. This was nothing less than butchery. Look for your killer in the stockyards or the slaughterhouse.”
“Right . . . or . . . left . . . handed?” Abberline said.
Sighing, Llewellyn said, “Left, I think. Judging by the—the injuries to her abdomen.”
“Was she dead then? When he cut her?”
Abberline was looking at the body. There was a Y incision on her, but I could still see the cuts on her stomach. Cleaned and dried, they looked like mouths.
“Yes,” Llewellyn stammered, “I think she was dead by then.”
“Then answer me this, Doctor,” Abberline said tautly. “Why? Why did the killer do this?”
There was silence. Llewellyn’s head bent down and he said softly, “I don’t know.”
“And that,” Abberline said, “is the crux of this case.
“This was no murder for profit. Nothing was gained by this poor woman’s death and especially by the mutilation. Until I understand why she was killed in this way, I will never be able to lay my hands on this monster.”
Abberline slowly draped the sheet back over the body. This time, he covered her face, but he didn’t turn away from her.
“I want that autopsy report, Dr. Llewellyn. You will have it in my office by the end of this day. Is that understood?”
There was no answer from Llewellyn, so Abberline moved over and stood over him.
“Let me make this clear to you, Doctor. I do not believe that you performed that autopsy. I believe that someone has told you what to say and that same someone has told you very specifically what not to say. I will know the truth.”
“This is preposterous!” Dr. Llewellyn protested. “I will not stand for this! I am highly respected in this community.”
“Not as highly as you might think,” Arthur said.
“You watch your tongue, sir!” Llewellyn stood up and pointed his finger at Arthur. “I am the physician in charge here!”
Abberline pushed Llewellyn back down into the chair so forcefully that he nearly fell backwards. Abberline thrust his face inches away from Llewellyn’s. “You have given testimony in an inquest, Doctor, and God help you if I find that you have lied or withheld information.”
“I have done no such thing! How dare you make these accusations?”
“Did the killer take anything from her?”
Llewellyn went white. “Wh-what do you mean?”
“Did he take any of her internal organs?”
I nearly fainted. Why would the killer do such a thing? For what purpose?
“Who told you that?” Llewellyn whispered.
Abberline backed away. “There are rumours on the street, Doctor. Rumours are sometimes our best clues. Often they point to a truth that someone wants hidden.”
Llewellyn stood up. “I don’t know who is telling you such lies. Nothing of the sort happened.”
“That’s good,” Abberline said as he wiped his hands on his handkerchief. “Because if it were, then you would be guilty of withholding information from an inquest and I would arrest you right now no matter who you know or who knows you. You’d better find that autopsy report quickly, Dr. Llewellyn, and make sure it’s correct. I just might have another doctor verify your reports.”
“You wouldn’t dare!”
“You’d be surprised what I would dare, Doctor, don’t test me. Come along, Godley, let’s leave the doctor to find his paperwork.”
As we left the morgue, I saw Llewellyn watching Arthur apprehensively. No doubt he was still wondering if we would tell about his unexpected royal guest yesterday. After this exchange, I decided that I liked this Abberline immensely. I felt that he was a good, honest man who would stop at nothing to root out this murderer. I would come to know Frederick Abberline very well in the coming months and in the years thereafter. The Ripper case consumed him and, I have no doubt, haunted him to his grave as it has done for so many of us. Years later, the Ripper was still able to exact his bloody due.
When we got outside, I was wondering if Arthur was going to say anything to Abberline about Llewellyn’s guests yesterday. I had the sense that it was important but didn’t know why. I waited, but Arthur didn’t mention it. Instead, Abberline talked about the case as we walked down the street.
“I tell you, Arthur, I have a bad feeling about this. I’ve never seen a murder like this before in all my years in the East End—and I’ve seen plenty!”
“The viciousness of it is astonishing,” Arthur replied.
“It goes beyond any explanation I can think of. Show me a murder for money, hate, or love and I will find the culprit. There is none of that here.”
“You don’t think this is a crime of hate?” I asked.
Abberline looked at me and shook his head. “This goes beyond hate, Albert. This murder had a purpose . . . I just don’t know it yet. Oh, Arthur, was there something you wanted to tell me?”
Arthur thought for a moment but finally said, “No, not just yet, Fred, but I may drop by and see you later. I need to think about things a bit.”
Even though he looked confused, Abberline nodded and let the matter drop. “Well, Godley and I have to get back. There are some witness statements I need to go over and I want to be there when Llewellyn brings his report in. See you later then.”
We said goodbye to Abberline and Godley, and I waited until they had walked out of sight before turning to Arthur. “Why didn’t you say anything to him?”
“About what, Albert? About my seeing the sign of death on Nichols or about seeing Sir William Gull at the morgue?”
“Well, either. Don’t you trust Abberline?”
We began to walk back down the street, which was full of all sorts of people coming and going. Sadly, most of them were not tradesmen but the poor and unfortunate. They were loud and often angry with one another.
“I would trust Fred with my life, Albert. There is no finer policeman in all London.”
“Then I don’t understand. Why didn’t you tell him?”
“Because I don’t know what I know right now. We saw Sir William Gull, that is true, and we know that it was he who performed the autopsy on Nichols; but I was not sure if it was best to tell Fred about that.”
“Why not? It was exactly the thing that he himself had deduced.”
“Because I know Fred and I know that the first thing he would do is rush to Gull’s house and confront him. To do so would ruin him. Sir William Gull is very powerful and well known. Should he desire, he could crush Fred and his c
areer with one word. Gull would do it too. He is known for being cold and heartless.
“In 1876, he was called in to consult on the case of a man who was violently ill. Gull deduced that the man, Charles Bravo by name, had been poisoned. He then, very matter-of-factly, told the man to his face, ‘There is nothing I can do for you, you are half dead already,’ and walked out the door.
“I have heard of another story where Gull walked in on a family mourning a recently deceased, cut out the corpse’s heart, dropped it in his pocket, and walked back out without saying a word.
“He is not a man to be trifled with.”
I was stunned. “Are you serious? He really did those things?”
Arthur nodded. “And more. Like all who rise to high positions, there are those who create stories about themselves, but I believe these tales to be true. We cannot take him lightly.”
“But—but he is an old man. Surely he cannot do much?”
Laughing, Arthur said, “Men do not get less dangerous with age, Albert, certainly not men who have gotten used to wielding power. If anything, they become more dangerous.”
We walked a little more and I noticed that Arthur was keenly observing the crowd, as if he were looking for something. Probably the elusive Mary Kelly.
“But why didn’t you say anything to Abberline about seeing Nichols the night before her murder?”
Arthur chuckled. “Because Fred is a policeman. He does not believe in anything that he cannot grab, tie up, or throw into a gaol. Make no mistake, Albert, he is a good man and very smart, but his feet are firmly grounded in this world. And that, I fear, is why he will not be able to solve this case.”
“I don’t understand.”
“This case is not normal, Albert, so normal motivations do not apply. This case may reach beyond this world and Fred is not capable of going there.”
I shook my head. “I still don’t understand. What ‘world’ are you talking about? Do you mean to say that a ghost killed that poor woman?”
“No, not exactly. Maybe our concept of what a ghost is needs to be expanded. ‘There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio.’”
“Yes, I think you’ve said that to me before, but I still don’t understand what you mean. How can there be other worlds? Surely there is only this and the afterlife? Heaven and hell?”
“No, not at all. Heaven and hell are Christian concepts, Albert; there is much more than simply that. What we believe to be reality may merely be what we have all agreed is reality. Perhaps the madman is simply the one who does not agree and sees beyond what passes for our reality.”
As we walked by a particularly large and solemn church, I heard the clock in the bell tower strike three, and I realized to my horror that the afternoon was nearly spent. I had to get back to the Ringers before I missed Edwards and failed Wendell.
“Arthur, I hate to leave you like this, but I have to go.”
“What?” Arthur said, genuinely confused. “Whatever for?”
“I have an errand I have to finish . . . for Wendell.”
I had not meant to mention Wendell’s name, but it had slipped out and I instantly regretted it. I could tell that Arthur’s curiosity had been piqued.
“For Wendell? Here? In the East End? Whatever could he want you to do here?”
“Ah . . . he has sent me to make connexion with someone who may have something that Wendell wants to buy. I’d tell you more, but I really must be going before I miss this gentleman. I hope you understand.”
“Of course, of course. I’ll catch up with you later, perhaps?”
“Yes,” I said, already stepping away, “at your party tomorrow at least.”
His face soured. “Oh, yes, that. I am glad that you’re coming, Albert, truly I am. I just have less and less tolerance for making small talk with small minds who think they’re terribly important. You will make the evening much more bearable for me.”
“Good! I shall see you then if not before. Goodbye!”
Arthur waved and I took off at a half-trot back to the Ringers. I was worried that I had missed Edwards and would have to go back to Wendell and tell him I had failed. I pushed through the crowd, which seemed to get thicker the closer I got, and finally reached the Ringers. Running inside, I looked for Edwards and panicked when I did not see him immediately; but he was there, sitting in his booth, blocked by people coming and going. He saw me and motioned for me to come over.
“You’re late, little man. I was about to leave,” Edwards said.
“I’m sorry. I got here as soon as I could. Do you have anything for me?”
“For you? No. For Wendell? Maybe. I have made some enquiries and found that your robbery was likely committed by a small-time thief named Jacob Cohen. I have not spoken to him, so I can’t say who he was working for. The man hasn’t the brain of a fig, so he couldn’t have thought up this robbery on his own. He lives in a small hovel off of Commercial Street. Here’s the address.”
Edwards pushed a small piece of paper towards me. There was a street name and number written in a crude pencil and nothing else.
“This Cohen is more than a bit of a fool. I have no doubt that, were you to wave some silver under his nose, he would tell you everything you need to know.”
“Is he at this address now?”
“To the best of my knowledge, yes. I had heard that he took to his room yesterday with several bottles of gin and has not been seen since. You may have to sober him up before you get any answers.”
I stood up. “Thank you for your help. What do I owe you?”
Edwards glared at me as if he had never been so insulted. “You insignificant ass! Did I ask you for money? If you had not been sent by Wendell I never would have talked to you at all! Get out of here now before I change my mind and twist you in two!”
I could hear the voices of several others laughing as I practically ran out of the door. The East End was still a world beyond my grasp.
The address that Edwards had given me was a small street off of Charing Cross Road. It took a little time to get there, so it was getting late when I finally found the place. It was a tenement house that must have held about a dozen rooms. Although not as bad as some I had seen in the East End, it was not the nicest of places. I went to the number Edwards had given me and knocked on the door. I thought I could hear movement inside the room and a muffled voice. No doubt Cohen was insensate with drink. He probably would not be of any use, but I had to try. I was on my guard, though, as I remembered my encounter from the previous morning and had no intention of losing ground again.
“Cohen,” I said loudly and firmly, “open up. I know you’re in there! I need to talk to you. It’s about the bookstore job you did yesterday.”
Suddenly the door swung open and I was pulled inside.
A madman’s face met my own, and I felt a knife at my throat. “Who the bloody hell are you?” he said. “What do you want with me?”
I had only seen him for a moment, but that voice confirmed it for me. I was facing the man who had robbed Wendell and Robert’s store. But he was clearly frightened and very panicky.
“Calm down,” I said, “I mean you no harm. I’ve come to make a deal with you.”
Cohen eased up somewhat, but he was still edgy. He went to the door and looked outside. “Were you followed? Anyone with you?”
Confused, I answered, “No, no one. I’m by myself.”
“Well, in that case . . .” He turned suddenly and struck me full in the face. I fell back hard onto a table, and Cohen pressed his attack with a kick to my head. I tried to fight it, but I could feel myself blacking out for the second time in as many days.
Cohen pressed his face close to mine. “No hard feelings, mate. I’ve had one too many bad deals lately with folks who try to kill me later.”
As I passed out, I kept thinking that I would be completely at this brute’s mercy and that, should I die here, no one would ever know.
Chapter 15
The monster Lo
ndon laughed at me.
—Abraham Cowley
For a time, I drifted in a grey numbness. Neither feeling or thinking, I moved along as shadowy figures floated by. Some mumbled softly while others were frighteningly silent. I saw Sir William Gull move past me. He alternated between his fancy suit and a doctor’s smock that was covered with blood. He glared at me with an almost palpable hate that dripped from his eyes. Robert and Wendell stood off to the side, talking to each other. It looked as if Wendell wanted to say something to me, but before he could speak Robert pulled him off to the side. Wendell’s face was contorted with fear as he faded into the mist. Arthur came up to me but didn’t say a word. He merely pointed off to his left and hung his head low. I looked to where he was pointing but couldn’t see anything at first. Gradually, the mist cleared and I could see Ann standing there. She was smiling and held her hands out to me. I called her name and ran towards her, but the closer I came the farther away she drifted. I heard a horrible voice laughing and suddenly Ann began screaming and bloody cuts started appearing all over her body. I tried as hard as I could to reach her, but I couldn’t get to her and watched as she was slashed and cut to pieces like a child’s rag doll.
Screaming, I awoke on Cohen’s floor.
For a moment I couldn’t remember where I was, but then it all came flooding back to me. My head was pounding as if it were being used for a drum, and my vision was doubled.
“Ah, the mystery guest awakes, eh?”
It was not Cohen’s voice. This voice was deeper, rougher, and had an air of danger about it. I blinked my eyes to clear them, and eventually the room came into sharper focus. What few pieces of furniture there were in Cohen’s room had been turned over and smashed. A bureau was ripped open and the contents were thrown all over the floor. Several of the drawers were lying close to me. Whoever this was, he was in the process of searching the room.
He came towards me and kneeled down into my face. He was an ugly man. Bent and hard. His nose had been broken and there were not many teeth left in his mouth. His face was pockmarked with scars and there was a piece missing out of the top of his left ear. I knew instantly that this man would kill me without a second’s hesitation.