by kindels
"Okay, sergeant, you have my full attention. I'm assuming that this other document is not part of the report on the death of Laura Kane." Holland placed the photocopied papers on his desk. He had an idea where his sergeant was coming from now, but he wanted Wright to confirm it himself.
"Correct, sir. Those pages are copied from a book, and constitute all that is known about the findings of the doctor who carried out the post-mortem examination of a woman named Martha Tabram, who died on exactly the same date as Laura Kane, in Whitechapel in 1888. Most contemporaries of the day dismissed her as a victim, but later theorists now seem to accept that the woman was in all probability the first true victim of Jack the Ripper. The original autopsy report was lost years ago it seems, but those are the salient points of the examination carried out by a Doctor Timothy Killeen. As you can see, there are some bloody disturbing similarities present between the two cases."
"Similarities? Bloody hell man, I think you're deliberately understating the facts aren't you, to get me to point out the obvious?"
"Go on sir, please. Tell me what you think," Wright urged his boss.
"What you've shown me here is a comparison between two murder cases over a hundred years apart where it appears that the second killer, our killer, has adopted not only the same method of despatching his victims, but has done so on exactly the same date, and using precisely the same number of wounds as the original killer. He's inflicted the wounds, as far as is possible, in exactly the same areas of the body as the original Ripper and left his victim in the street to be found by whoever may have come along and blundered upon the poor woman. You appear to be suggesting we have a copycat killer on the loose, one who appears to be recreating the murders of Jack the Ripper?"
"Exactly sir, and that's not all. The second murder sort of confirms my theory because Marla Hayes was also killed on the anniversary of the Ripper's second murder. Polly Nichols was murdered on the same date and in the same way as Marla."
"Bloody hell, sergeant. Thank God that you're an aficionado of old murder cases. I'm sure that someone would eventually have made the connection between the dates and the Ripper killings, but at least we've caught on to the copycat theory sooner rather than later, thanks to you. Not only that, but I hope you realise just what else your discovery has given us."
"You tell me if you're thinking the same as me, Boss."
"The killer has given himself away hasn't he? Well, almost."
"That's what I thought sir. He's almost telegraphing his intentions to us isn't he?"
"He damn well is sergeant. If he sticks to the Ripper scenario that means he'll strike again on the same date as the Ripper struck when he killed his third victim. We'll be bloody well ready for the bastard this time, sergeant, by God we will."
Wright hesitated for a second before replying to Holland's last comment. Then, taking a deep breathe threw the proverbial spanner into the works.
"Well sir, it's not going to be quite that simple. Just how much do you know about the Jack the Ripper murders, if you don't mind me asking?"
"Not as much as you Carl, that's obvious. I know that he killed a number of prostitutes in the Whitechapel area of London in 1888. He was a bloodthirsty, vicious bastard who was never identified and caught, despite the police flooding the streets with officers, and the biggest manhunt that Britain had ever seen up to that point in history. I also seem to remember reading that he removed parts of some of the women's bodies, a kidney in one case I believe, and that his last murder was of a woman called Mary Kelly, that name I do know, and it was the most horrendous killing of the lot. The poor girl was butchered, from what I've read about it in the past. Now, what's your point here? Why isn't it as simple as I think to predict his next move?"
"Sir, if the killer sticks to the pattern established by the original Ripper, we're going to have a problem. You see, the next victim, Annie Chapman was killed on the eight of September, just two days away, and then, on the 30th September 1888, Jack the Ripper struck again, but this time it was what was called 'the double event'. You see sir, he killed twice that night. Both Elizabeth Stride and Catherine Eddowes were killed within an hour of one another. Stride was killed in the Metropolitan Police's manor, and Eddowes was just over the boundary in what was the territory of the City of London Police, which led to some confusion in the following days, with different forces involved for the first time in the series of killings. Our problem will be that the killer is going to be trying to kill twice on that night."
"Shit, sergeant. How the bloody hell are we going to get enough men to cover the whole of the red-light district? In the first place, we have a potential murder about to take place in two days time, followed by two more on one night less than three weeks hence. We'd need men on every street corner and even then we don't know what the bastard looks like or how he lures the girls to their deaths. So far no-one's seen or heard a damn thing. Our men could easily walk straight past the bastard and not realise who he is and if he has a way of getting the girls to go with him without a struggle he could just as easily take them off the street to kill them and we still wouldn't be any the wiser until the bodies turn up."
"It's not just that sir. If he sees loads of uniforms on the street he'll know we're on to his game and he might just go to ground."
"Ah, now that's where I think you're wrong my friend. He won't go to ground, not this one. He's got a timetable to adhere to. If he doesn't stick to the original Ripper's dates and times the plan gets screwed up doesn't it? No, he'll do it, or try to, and he's so bloody confident that he can carry out his plan he obviously doesn't care if we know he's copying the original Ripper killings. He obviously thinks he can kill with impunity, carry off his own 'double event' and get away with it. He must know we'll work out what he's up to, and yet he's going to go ahead with it, you mark my words. He's a confident, cocksure bastard, and he must have worked out a way to do it and still keep out of our hands."
"That's a bloody scary scenario, Boss. To be that confident, he must think we're absolutely incapable of catching him."
"Or just too stupid to do so, when he's virtually telling us when he's going to strike again. The bloody question we have to answer sergeant and we have to do it in the next two days, is where is he going to strike, and then, in a couple of weeks time, how is he going to get from one murder scene to the other without being covered in blood and being seen by someone on the streets?"
"There's no guarantee he'll stick to the red-light district is there sir? He could strike anywhere if he knows we're likely to be patrolling the area."
"You're right of course, sergeant. That's how he's going to try and throw us off the scent. He's probably counting on the fact that we'll work out his copycat scenario, and that we'll flood the red-light district with uniforms to try to get our hands on him, and while we're doing that the murderous sod is going to strike somewhere else in the town."
The two men looked at one another. What had at first appeared like a breakthrough had turned into a nightmare of epic proportions. There was no way that the police could patrol or keep watch on every street in the town. By counting on the fact that the police would work out his Ripper strategy, the killer was playing a very clever game with the forces of law enforcement. Mike Holland knew he had some hard choices to make. Should he use the men at his disposal to cover the red-light district, even though his instincts told him that the killer was second-guessing his intentions? Should he try and blanket the rest of the town with as many men as he could muster? Even then it would be an inadequate number of uniforms for the size of a town like Brighton, even if they cancelled all leave and for that, he'd need help from above. It was time to call his own boss, Detective Chief Superintendent Andy Wallace. He wouldn't like what Holland had to report, but what the hell? If anyone could give him the manpower he needed to try and catch the bastard who even now was probably planning his next killings, it was the Chief.
Ordering Carl Wright to pick up the reports that lay on his desk, Mike
Holland rose from his chair and turned to his sergeant.
"Better bring those with you. We're going to see the Chief Super. It's time we stepped this inquiry up a gear. I will not let that bastard get the better of me sergeant. I'll be damned if I do."
As he followed the inspector out of his office and up the two flights of stairs that led to the floor where Chief Superintendent Wallace's office was located, Carl Wright thought to himself that the original detectives who led the hunt for Jack the Ripper probably said precisely the self-same things as they hunted for the Whitechapel Murderer, and he couldn't help but think of the futility of that particular inquiry. He hoped that he and Holland might be blessed with better luck, but somehow, he couldn't bring himself to be too optimistic.
Chapter 17
The Office of Giles Morris
The offices of Knight, Morris and Campbell, solicitors and attorneys at law are situated on a narrow street, reminiscent of a Victorian Terrace, not far from the law courts in Guildford. Although Victorian in appearance, the whole street is a fairly modern appendage to the town, having been created soon after the second world war in a post-war building boom that had seen Guildford grow into a much larger town than it had been prior to the outbreak of hostilities. The planners had decided to their credit to give the new building project a feeling of permanence and history and in so doing had added to the charm and overall feeling of wealth that pervaded that particular part of town. It was no surprise therefore, that over the years most of the houses that lay along the narrow streets were gradually acquired by various solicitors, doctors and stock brokers, anxious to impress their clients with a show of architectural refinement.
The Cavendish family solicitors had been in situ on Cambridge Terrace since nineteen fifty eight and were one of the longest established businesses on the street. The original partners were long gone and only one of the current heads of the firm bore the name of any of its founders. Giles Morris was sixty eight, and retained a mind as sharp as many men half his age and it was into his office that Tom Reid was shown by an attractive blond secretary as he continued his search for the truth surrounding young Jack's legacy. At first it was hard for Tom to make out the face of the man who sat behind the large oak desk that dominated the chambers of the elder statesman of the firm. Bright sunshine streamed through the large window situated behind the sitting man and the rays were sufficiently strong to cause Tom to squint against the glare, and for a few seconds, Morris appeared as little more than an apparition, framed by a bright sun-driven aura of light. As his eyes adjusted to the light, Tom was eventually able to discern the features of the man who may or may not be able to hep him in his search for information.
Despite his age, Giles Morris had a full head of hair, dark brown with barely a hint of grey evident in his rather opulent sideburns and at the temples. His brown eyes appeared as alert as a thirty year old, and his hands bore no trace of the mottling or liver spots often associated with the aging process. In short, Morris was a man whose physical appearance appeared to defy the years and that in itself gave Tom Reid cause for optimism. If anyone at the firm could help him, he felt certain that Giles Morris would be the man.
"Mr. Reid, do please come in and sit down," Morris said in a deep gravel-like voice, and gestured Tom towards a luxurious and very expensive leather armchair as he walked slowly across the room, his footsteps silent as he trod the rich, deep-pile carpet that adorned office floor. The chair creaked with reassurance as Tom sat.
"Thanks for seeing me at short notice, Mr. Morris."
"Oh, please, let's not be too formal eh? Please call me Giles. I'm too old for all that old-fashioned stuff and nonsense, and it's Tom isn't it? Is it alright if I call you Tom?"
"Well, yes of course, er& Giles. I must say I was surprised to find out that you were personally handling the family affairs. I thought David Chandler was in charge of the Cavendish family portfolio."
"Ah, yes, you won't have heard I suppose as your branch of the family hasn't had any need of our services for a number of years, but David left the firm a couple of years ago. Gave it all up to go and live on a sun-drenched island somewhere in the Indian Ocean. Never married of course, just made loads of money and now has the chance to live it up a bit. Lucky beggar I say! Anyway, when he went I sort of took over most of the lesser used briefs he'd held for a number of years, the ones that, like your family affairs, were to all intents and purposes, dormant files."
"By dormant, I suppose you mean those with not much active work to be done on behalf of the clients."
"Well, yes of course, but in the case of the Cavendish family, it quickly became a case of no work at all to do."
"But how could that be, Giles? Surely the business interests of Mark Cavendish would still have required some occasional work?"
"I'm sorry Tom, but I would have thought you'd know?"
"Know? Know what Giles? I don't understand what you're getting at."
Oh dear, this is rather embarrassing. I shouldn't be the one to have to tell you this really. You're his cousin after all. I'd have thought he'd have told you himself."
"Told me what himself? I've not heard from him since soon after Robert's funeral. Please come out with it, Giles. You're leading me around in circles without telling me anything at the moment."
"Well, you're obviously completely unaware that Mark Cavendish sold all of his interests in Global Programming two years ago and severed all ties with his business associates before leaving the country. The last contact we, as his solicitors had from him, informed us that he was relocating to a villa on the island of Malta."
"Malta?"
"Yes, somewhere overlooking the harbour at Valetta I believe."
"Did he give you a forwarding address, or perhaps a telephone number he could be reached at?"
"Nothing at all I'm afraid, Tom. Mark Cavendish was very precise in saying that he wanted to completely sever his ties with the United Kingdom. We have no way of contacting him, and no way of knowing if he's still in Malta. For all we know, he could have moved on by now, and be living anywhere in the world."
"But surely, if he's in Malta, there must be way of tracking him down."
"There most probably would be, if someone really wanted to find him. Of course, we were just his solicitors and we acted solely on his instructions. If a client decides to leave the country and not leave a forwarding address then there's nothing we can do about that, and it certainly isn't within our remit to go chasing after them or tracing their whereabouts unless it's necessary for legal reasons."
"Yes, of course. I wasn't suggesting that you should. I was just thinking aloud."
Giles Morris could see that Tom was quite disturbed by his cousin's disappearing act and thought long and hard before divulging his next piece of information. In the end, loyalty to the family as a whole overcame any reluctance Morris might have felt when he said,
"The odd thing is, Tom, that you're not the first person who's come here seeking information about Mark in recent weeks."
"What?"
Tom Reid was flabbergasted by the solicitor's statement. It was surely too much of a coincidence that another person might be searching for Mark as well as Tom unless that person had something to do with the family, and that logically led him to think of his son.
"Before you say anything Tom, I can assure you it wasn't your son. In fact it wasn't a man at all. The young woman who came in search of Mark was, so she said, acting on behalf of a client who was owed money by Mark, from his days at Global Programming. Apparently he'd promised her client a large royalty in payment for a game design that Mark eventually patented and released under his company's name. He never paid up, so she said."
"So this woman was a&"
"A private detective, yes," said Morris. "At least, that was what she told me when she sat right there in the same chair you're sitting in now."
"You sound as if you had reason to doubt her veracity."
"Well, let's just say that I thought h
er a little too young to be conducting such an investigation. Her credentials as she presented them to me appeared impeccable and I gave her nothing more than the information that Mark had left the country and was last heard of in Malta. It was only after she'd gone that I began to have a few doubts about her, and I picked up the business card she'd left me and telephoned the number on it."
"Are you telling me the company didn't exist?"
"Oh, it existed alright and the name on the card was quite genuine, but the real Helen Symes, which was the name she used, is in fact fifty years of age and one of the company's best detectives. At the time that the impostor visited me the real Symes was pursuing an inquiry into a small scale company fraud in the Midlands and was nowhere near Guildford. So you see, the young faker took me in completely. I suppose they're right when they say there's no fool like an old fool. She was young, pretty and appeared wholly credible when she sat in that chair. Great legs, I recall. I should have checked into her credentials sooner rather than later."
"I'm sure it wasn't your fault Giles. After all, why would you have suspected that there was anything odd about someone trying to trace Mark? And the story she gave you was completely plausible, after all."
"Well, yes, you're correct, and I wasn't to know you'd be coming here today asking the same sort of questions, was I?"
"Precisely. Please, don't you worry about it, Giles. I'm sure the woman was, as you say, interested in getting money from Mark, perhaps on her own account, or maybe for someone else, but I doubt it had anything to do with Jack, or his disappearance."
Tom Reid was disappointed with the outcome of his visit to the firm of Knight, Morris and Campbell, and left the office of Giles Morris no wiser as to the whereabouts of his son, or to the contents of whatever documents Robert had bequeathed to Jack. The chance that Mark Cavendish may have had some inkling to the workings of his brother's mind had been a small one at best, but the fact that Robert's brother, and Tom's cousin had disappeared from the country without leaving any means of contacting him had pretty much closed that avenue of investigation.
