Whitechapel

by Sam Gafford

  It was down to two nephews, who were looking much the worse for wear, and the Gaffer, who looked as if he were just getting started. I was attempting to get to my feet, thinking it would be best if I got away as quickly as possible, when four patrolmen came running down the street in answer to the whistle alert. “Quick!” I shouted. “He’s in there!”

  Rounding the corner, they quickly sized up the situation and leapt into the fray. It took all four of them, steadily raining blows with their billy clubs, to bring the Gaffer to his knees. Even then, he kept trying to get up as blood from his reopened scalp wound covered his face. With a loud grunt, one of the officers leaned back and put his entire strength into one blow against the Gaffer’s head that finally put him down with a loud thud.

  Exhausted, they stood around the unconscious man, barely holding each other up. I went over to the first P.C. who had attacked Gaffer and was still lying against the wall. I could see that he was still breathing, but he had a huge bruise on his head that was already turning an ugly shade of black and blue. I was about to try and sneak away when I felt a hand upon my shoulder.

  “All right, then, what do you know about this?” It was the P.C. who had finally managed to put the Gaffer to ground, and I could see that he wasn’t interested in any lighthearted answers. Behind him two of the patrolmen were rolling a handcuffed Gaffer into a wagon while the other officer was talking to Ah Sing.

  My mind ran wild. Should I tell the truth, as much as I could, or just lie? “Nothing, Officer,” I began. “I was just passing by.”

  “Right,” he said and motioned to my hands. When I looked down, I realised that they were still covered with Cohen’s blood.

  He grabbed me by the collar and hauled me to my feet. “I don’t have time for this. You’re coming along to the station and we’ll sort it all out there.”

  Before I knew it I was thrown into a closed van, where I sat with the unconscious body of the Gaffer at my feet. Through the window I could see that Cohen’s body was being loaded onto a coroner’s cart. I had no idea where I was or where I was going. As we rolled onward, the sun began to rise. I had come a long way from Cornwall.

  Monday, September 3, 1888

  The next few hours passed in a blur. We pulled into a courtyard where a heavy metal gate clanged shut behind us. When the cart came to a stop, the door opened slowly. I could see several patrolmen standing with clubs ready, waiting to see if the Gaffer had woken up yet. There were a couple of the P.C.s from Ah Sing’s there as well. They relaxed when they saw that the Gaffer was still out and proceeded to drag him away. As for me, I was taken out and marched through the hallways to a small back room with endless files and boxes and told not to move until someone came for me.

  While I waited, I looked about the room. It was probably just a little larger than your average closet. I assumed that it was primarily used as a file room or a broom closet but not meant for human occupation. It made my hole back at The Brothers’ seem warm and inviting by comparison. The gas light was weak and there were no windows. I squinted and tried to read some of the labels on the file boxes, but most of them meant nothing to me. There was a table in front of me that I suppose was used for someone to sit at and read through the paperwork. I sat in the single chair in the room and waited. I could feel the events of the evening pour over me: the party at Arthur’s, the séance, the fight at Ah Sing’s, and Cohen’s death. Before too long, I felt myself falling asleep.

  I jumped up with a start when the door banged open and someone in plainclothes entered the room. “Albert?” I heard a familiar voice say.

  Trying to focus in the dim light, I could just make out that it was Arthur’s friend, Inspector Abberline, talking to me.

  “You’re the one they brought in about the row at Ah Sing’s?”

  I was so overjoyed I thought I might cry.

  I jumped up and was about to shake the inspector’s hand when I looked down and saw Cohen’s dried blood on my own hands. I noticed the inspector observing this detail.

  “Inspector! I am so glad to see you!” I blurted.

  “I imagine you are. Albert, what is going on here? I must confess I would not have taken you for an opium eater.”

  I slunk back down in to my chair while Abberline brought in another chair and closed the door.

  “I’m not, sir. In truth, I had only gone there to look for someone.”

  “Your, ah, dead friend?”

  “Yes, I needed to find him.”

  Abberline nodded. Then he went to the door and brought in another chair from the hall. He sat down across the table from me and looked me straight in the eye. I had a feeling that this was a very savvy man who could be simultaneously sympathetic and unyielding.

  “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

  “I—I—” And then I remembered my promise to my employer, Wendell. “I don’t think I can.”

  Abberline’s face grew tight.

  “Listen to me, Albert. I don’t think you understand the seriousness of this situation. You were involved in a brawl in an opium den that has left two Chinamen dead, not to mention your unnamed friend, a bobby in the hospital clinging to life, and several other constables suffering numerous wounds and injuries.”

  “Not done by me, Inspector!”

  He lifted his hand to stop me. “I didn’t think they were, but things look bad for you, Albert. You were found over a dead body—one that you’ve just confessed to me that you knew and went to Ah Sing’s on purpose to find. Men have been hanged on less evidence. I could have you bound over very easily, Albert, and your life would be over.”

  My head sank low. I knew that Wendell would not want me to suffer for his sake, but I had made a promise.

  “Albert, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what happened.”

  Sighing, I realised that I truly had no choice. “Inspector, what I am about to tell you is a secret that I was sworn to keep. I have to know that it will stay with you until I am released from my promise.”

  Abberline sat back and started at me for several moments. He was taking my measure and using all the skills that his years as a policeman in Whitechapel had given him.

  “All right, Albert. As much as it is within my power, I will keep your secret.”

  I leaned forward and told him about the theft at The Brothers’ and my charge from Wendell to recover the diary. I did not, however, disclose who the diarist was, deciding to keep that information for myself as long as I could. I told Abberline about going to Edwards, my first encounter with Cohen and then the Gaffer, and, finally, of my last attempt to find Cohen and the book.

  “He had agreed to lead me to the book’s hiding place,” I said, “for enough money to enable him to get out of London. But before we could leave, we were attacked by the Gaffer, who stabbed Cohen in the back like the cowardly dog he is. After that, I dragged Cohen out while Ah Sing’s nephews fought the Gaffer. It was just outside that Cohen died.”

  “Did he tell you where the book was?”

  “No, he just said that he had hidden it somewhere as ‘safe as the Bank of England.’”

  “Well, I doubt if that is exactly where he hid it. Do you have any clue?”

  “He mentioned something that I could barely make out. Something about ‘the Tishers.’”

  “Hmm.” Abberline said to himself. “Knowing the Gaffer, I’m inclined to believe you, Albert. Did the Gaffer or Cohen ever say who he was working for?”

  I tried to remember anything that could be of help. “The Gaffer referred to him as ‘S,’ and Cohen only said that he was a close friend of the man who wrote the diary.”

  “The man you have failed to identify?”

  My eyes fell from his and I felt stupid to think that I could have gotten away with hiding that information.

  “That’s all right, Albert, I am going to assume that you have a very good reason for holding onto that name. That tells me that it’s important and that I don’t need to know right now. But if there com
es a time when I ask you directly, I will want you to answer, understood?”

  I nodded.

  Abberline tapped his knuckles on the table lightly as he thought.

  “Albert, did anyone see what happened in Ah Sing’s? By which I mean did anyone with their wits about them see the Gaffer stab Cohen?”

  Suddenly I remembered Ronson. I couldn’t believe I had forgotten him in all the frenzy.

  “Yes, there was! A private investigator my other employer hired. He was in the room and distracted the Gaffer long enough for us to get away.”

  “Good! That’s just what I need. What is his name?”

  I was about to reply when there was a sudden loud voice coming from the outside hallway.

  “I swear to God, Sergeant, if you do not get out of my way, I will put you in the hospital myself!”

  With a shock, I realised that it was Ronson’s voice.

  “That’s him!” I said to Abberline. “Ronson.”

  A wave of anger flowed over the inspector’s face, and he moved to get out of his chair when the door burst open.

  “Abberline! What the hell is going on here? That is my suspect!” Ronson bellowed. His clothes were torn and ripped and his face was mottled with bruises. His neatly combed hair was in disarray, and it looked as if he had lost some of his teeth.

  His anger was astounding.

  Abberline jumped up and immediately got into Ronson’s face. “That is enough, Ronson! You are no longer a member of this force and you have no more rights here than any other citizen.”

  “Don’t try and get all high and mighty with me, Abberline. I was working these streets when you were still a green beat-cop! Now this is my suspect and I’m taking him with me.”

  Ronson moved to grab me, but Abberline quickly put himself between us and placed a firm hand on my shoulder.

  “This man is an important witness to a crime. He’s not going anywhere.”

  I thought that Ronson’s head might explode.

  “The hell he isn’t! I didn’t keep this mutt from being stabbed by the Gaffer only to lose him now!”

  “Stabbed, you say?”

  “Damn right! If I hadn’t pulled the Gaffer off, he’d have done Besame the same way he did Cohen.”

  Abberline smirked. He looked to make sure that Sergeant Godley was in the doorway, listening.

  “So you’re saying that it was the Gaffer who stabbed Cohen?”

  “What? Yes, of course it was! Everyone there saw him. I followed Besame because I knew he was going to lead me to Cohen. Then before I could grab the two of them, that stupid ape jumps up and stabs Cohen in the back!”

  Abberline clapped his hands and turned to me. “Well, that’s good enough for me! I guess you’re in the clear, Albert. You heard all that, Sergeant Godley?”

  “Loud and clear, Inspector.”

  “What the hell are you talking about, Abberline? What does all this mean?”

  Abberline smiled broadly. “What it means, Ronson, is that you’ve just succeeded in clearing Mr. Besame from any wrongdoing in this case. He’s free to go home.”

  I was about to stand up when Ronson surged forward again. “You mean he’s free to come with me! He’s a suspect in a theft I’m investigating and I’m tired of playing games with him.”

  Ronson lunged at me and grabbed my shirt. “You’re going to tell me what the hell you did with that damned book!”

  To my shock and surprise, Abberline reached around Ronson’s neck and threw him against the wall of the file boxes. He landed with a loud crash and fell to the floor, where a seemingly endless series of boxes fell on top of him. Unhurt, Ronson was too stunned to speak.

  Abberline walked forward and put his foot squarely on Ronson’s broad chest.

  “Now you listen to me, Ronson. Mr. Besame is not a suspect in anything, do you hear me? If I find that Mr. Besame has ‘disappeared’ or ‘cannot be located,’ I will come down on you twice as hard as the Gaffer did. I know your methods. I know how you conducted your ‘interrogations,’ and I also know why you were kicked off the force. Heaven help you, Ronson, if you so much as give me a hint of a reason I will toss you into the darkest pit of Aldgate, where you will become a dim and forgotten memory.”

  I could see the hate in Ronson’s eyes as he fixed them squarely on me. I had made an enemy and he would not forgive so lightly.

  Hating every second, Ronson nodded his head sharply.

  Stepping back, Abberline released his hold on the fallen man. He got up slowly, never once breaking his gaze from me.

  “Remember,” Abberline said, “Mr. Besame is under my protection. You know what that means.”

  Stretching to his full height, Ronson attempted to regain some of his lost dignity.

  “You would do well to remember, Abberline, that I still have many friends on this force and many others in higher positions. I will not forget this.”

  “Nor will I,” Abberline responded, “Sergeant Godley, show this ‘investigator’ out.”

  Godley ushered Ronson out the door, and I could hear them tramping down the outside hallway. Turning to me, Abberline’s face was surprisingly kind. “Are you all right, Albert?”

  I suddenly realised that I hadn’t breathed for several minutes and quickly rasped out an exhale. “I think so. I wasn’t sure what was going to happen.”

  Abberline nodded. “You do know what is going to happen now, don’t you?”

  I looked confused.

  “He’s going to run to your employers and make his case for you being the thief. If he’s convincing enough, they will call a constable and you will be arrested. I think that, in your own best interest, you should go to your employers first and make your own case.”

  “That would probably be a wise thing to do. I wonder if I might be able to wash up first, though? Blood on my hands doesn’t necessarily make me very trustworthy.”

  Laughing, Abberline said, “Of course! Sorry, I should have thought of that earlier. Come along, I’ll let you use the detectives’ washroom.”

  Abberline led me to a very fine water-closest that was clearly only available to high-ranking members of the force. I was able to wash my hands and face and made myself as presentable as possible. I jumped when there was a knock on the door. Abberline entered carrying a clean shirt.

  “I thought you could use this. Every good detective keeps several spare sets of clothes here at the station. You never know what you’re going to fall in or have dumped on you.”

  I thanked him and finished dressing. My body ached all over. Every muscle hurt and every joint creaked as if they were rusty hinges. I realised that I had been up for over twenty-four hours, and it was actually getting close to the time when I should be at work anyway. I wouldn’t have time to get home first, and I wondered if Mrs. Hutchins and Ann would even be worried over my absence.

  When I left the room, Abberline was waiting for me. I followed him downstairs and out one of the side doors. There was a police cab waiting, and Abberline quickly climbed inside.

  “Inspector,” I asked humbly, “I wonder if I might ask a further favour? Might someone be able to bring a message to my landlady? She will likely be worried when she finds that I had not returned last night.”

  Abberline smiled. “I don’t see why not. Godley, fetch one of the lads, will you?”

  The ever-present Godley returned with a young boy whose function, I assumed, was the running of errands. I wrote out a short note to Mrs. Hutchins:

  Mrs. Hutchins,

  Unavoidably detained in service of my employer whom I am going to see now. Am fine and you do not need to worry. Will be home soon. Please share this with Ann.

  Best,

  Albert Besame

  I gave the note and the address to the boy, who ran off at a fast pace. Sgt. Godley climbed into the cart and we were on our way to The Brothers’ and the latest chapter in this strange affair.

  *

  As we rode on, the atmosphere within the cart was quiet and cautio
us. I decided to take a risk and ask about the second most important thing on my mind.

  “So, Inspector, have there been any developments in finding the murderer of Polly Nichols?”

  Abberline sighed, and I could see a weariness spreading over his body. It told me more than his words ever could. The hunt for Polly’s killer was not going well.

  “Very little progress, Albert, I wish I could say otherwise.”

  The inspector seemed disinclined to offer anything further, so I was about to let the matter drop when he suddenly punched the wall of the coach in frustration.

  “It’s the damnable savagery of it that’s the problem. I’ve seen things in the East End, Albert, that you could never imagine. Both the Sergeant and I have witnessed far too many things in our lives. But this—this was something beyond anything we had ever seen before.”

  Godley nodded grimly but said nothing. He obviously didn’t want to interrupt his superior.

  “Give me something I can understand, something I can comprehend. Murder for profit, for theft, because of love, hate, or fear. These I know—but this is something altogether different.”

  “Are there no suspects at all?” I asked.

  Abberline shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Apparently, there were no suspects and it seemed as if he doubted every having any.

  “Normally, in cases such as this, we look towards the family and close friends first. Nichols had no immediate family that wished her dead, and even the husband she deserted had no desire to harm her. As to her friends, well, like any East End ‘unfortunate,’ they are a mixed breed. Many in the East End are barely above the level of animals and could quite easily kill for a scrap of bread or a warm bed for the night. But we’ve found nothing special in that area either. No known enemies. No one that, in particular, wished her ill. I wouldn’t say that she was beloved, but we cannot find anyone who actually hated her.”

  “So, in cases where it’s not the family or friends, what do you do?”

  Both Abberline and Godley sighed and held up their hands. “There is little you can do. If it was a sudden crime of either passion or profit,” Abberline explained, “it would have been over suddenly. Kill her quick and take off. But not this one. He took his time with her. It’s not an easy thing to gut a person like that. It takes time and, especially in this case, knowledge.”