CHAPTER Ten
Broken Letters
Scotland Yard received several other letters over the next few days. Holmes, Inspector Greg, Inspector Smith, and Dr. Watson sat down, going over each one with keen eyes.
The first letter accompanied a mysterious cardboard box. The box contained a half of a human kidney, which later was discovered by the medical records of the coroner to be that of Catherine Eddowes. The letter was dubbed the “from hell” letter and read:
From hell.
Mr. Holmes
Sor
I send you half the kidne I took from one woman and prasarved it for you tother piece I fried and ate it was very nise. I may send you the bloddy knif that took it out if you only wate a whil longer.
Signed
Catch me when you can Mishter Holmes
The appalling spelling set it apart from the other letter they had received—either the sender was not literate or wanted to be perceived that way. But, Holmes thought, why would the writing style change so drastically from the first letter? Is the murderer just toying with us?
The next letter was intended for the two men, Israel Schwartz and Joseph Lawende, who gave descriptions of the Ripper and were in the immediate vicinity of the killings around the time they happened. This letter was sent to the daily newspaper, which printed it as follows:
You though your-self very clever I reckon when you informed the police. But you made a mistake if you though I dident see you. Now I known you know me and I see your little game, and I mean to finish you and send your ears to your wife if you show this to the police or help them if you do I will finish you. It no use your trying to get out of my way. Because I have you when you don’t expect it and I keep my word as you soon see and rip you up.
Yours truly Jack the Ripper
Still, another letter:
Beware I shall be at work on the 1st and 2nd inst. (this means 1st and 2nd of the month of October) in the Minories at 12 midnight and I give the authorities a good chance but there is never a policeman near when I am at work.
Yours Jack the Ripper
Another letter was sent to the coroner and referred to the kidney sent with the letter from hell.
Old box you was rite it was the left kidney I was goin to hoperate agin close to you ospitle just as I was going to fror mi nife along of er bloomin throte them cusses of coppers spoilt the game but I guess I wil be on the jobn soon and will send you another but of innerds.
Jack the Ripper
O have you seen the delve with his mikerscope and scalpel a-lookin at a kidney with a slide cocked up.
Even a poem was sent. The police were not sure if it was a hoax.
Eight little whores, with no hope of heaven.
Gladstone may save one, then there’ll be seven,
Seven little whores beggin for a shilling.
One stays in Henage Court, then there’s a killin.
Six little whores, glad to be alive.
One sidles up to Jack, then there are five.
Four and whore rhyme alright.
So do three and me.
I’ll set the town alight
Ere there are two.
Two little whores, shivering with fright.
See a cosy doorway in the middle of the night.
Jack’s knife flashes then there’s but one.
And the last one’s the ripest for Jack’s idea of fun.
If the letters and poem were authentic, Holmes had no doubt the Ripper was merely toying with them; it was unlikely they would catch him on the epistles alone. Besides, the handwriting and style of the letters varied so greatly that it was unlikely many of them were authentic. What really preyed on Holmes’ mind was why the villain was trying to frame Holmes as the murderer. Holmes was sure that the Ripper was proud of his “work,” as he must have seen it, and would want recognition for himself—so why pin it on another?
Holmes was mulling this over as he strolled home in the twilight. When he arrived, he was surprised to see lights blazing in every window; Mrs. Parker was waiting for him on the front stoop, wringing her hands. A few strands of her usually perfectly-coiffed hair had come loose from its bun, and her apron was mussed.
“Mrs. Parker!” Holmes exclaimed. “Whatever is the matter?”
Mrs. Parker jumped to her feet. “Oh, Mr. Holmes!” she cried. “Someone has been in the house—they must have slipped through the back door; you know we always leave it unlocked. I came home early from evening mass, and I noticed the door ajar; I thought it was odd, but went inside.”
“Continue, please,” said Holmes. “Did you see the intruder? Have you reported this to the police?”
“No, no, I didn’t see him,” said Mrs. Parker. “And I haven’t moved from this front step, I wanted to wait for you!”
Holmes nodded, and she went on with her story. “As soon as I stepped into the kitchen, I heard muffled noises coming from your study. I thought perhaps you had come home early, and I called out for you—but the noises stopped, and then I heard footsteps pounding toward the front door. I froze for a moment in fright, and heard the front door fly open; when I finally worked up the courage to walk down the hall, whoever was here had escaped.”
“And then what did you do?” asked Holmes.
“I shut and locked the back door immediately, as well as the front; and then I went through each room of the house to see what the fellow had been after. At first I thought it was a robber, but I thought it odd that the robber would take your best cufflinks and leave your mother’s diamond ring; it also appears he took a few handkerchiefs and books from your study. And—sir, this is most upsetting—he left a note on your desk.”
At that, Holmes rushed past Mrs. Parker to his study. His eyes swept the room, noticing its disarray, and he strode to his desk. The note was laid neatly in the center, and the spidery handwriting on it read “Catch me if you can…JTR.”
Mrs. Parker had followed him inside, and the pallor of her face worried him—she looked as if she might faint. “Has the killer been in our house, sir? How I will get through the days here alone I can’t imagine!”
Holmes took Mrs. Parker’s elbow and led her back to the kitchen; he started a pot of tea. “You are quite safe,” he said. “It does appear the murderer has been here, yes—but you have little if anything in common with his victims. I know you have had a shock, but I would never allow harm to come to you. I will have an officer stroll by the house several times a day, and I will drop by more often as well.”
Mrs. Parker nodded, and seemed to calm as she sipped her tea. “Thank you, sir—I appreciate your kindness. What a day!”
Later that night, Holmes held the note and the postcard in front of a candle as if they would reveal their secrets if only he stared at them long enough. He had confirmed Mrs. Parker’s suspicions—his cuff links and several of his monogrammed handkerchiefs had been taken, as well as a few slim volumes of poetry. If any of these were left at the scene of the crime…
Finally, he admitted to himself that he should share the information with Inspector Grant—Holmes would never be able to solve the case if he was arrested as the murderer. And he knew, given his own propensity for odd and even erratic behavior, that London society might even believe he had done the crimes.
Nevertheless, something told Holmes to wait—whether it was pride or his natural secretiveness, he did not know. All he did know was that he felt locked in a secret struggle with this murderer, and he refused to admit his fears to another.
CHAPTER Eleven
Outside Insides
On November 9, at about 10:45 A.M., John McCarthy, owner of Miller’s Court, sent Thomas Bowyer to collect past rent from one of his tenants. He knocked at the door several times and noticed that the door was not locked. He pushed it open, calling the tenant’s name, but no response came from within. He stepped into the room and saw a horrific sight: a dead body lying on the bed in a huge pool of blood. Mr. Bowyer turned and ran to tell his boss. The police were no
tified immediately.
The first policeman to arrive had to be helped out of the room. He became violently ill and was too shaken to stand on his own. The rest of the officers arrived shortly and squeezed into the tiny room; Holmes was among them.
His eyes scanned the room methodically; he saw that the woman’s clothing was neatly folded on a chair. Her shoes were paired neatly in front of the fireplace. She had on only her underclothes. That is, what was left of them after all the shredding the knife had done.
The dead woman, Holmes learned from a neighbor, was Mary Jane Kelly, twenty-five years of age. She was about five feet seven inches tall, stout, with blonde hair, blue eyes, and a fair complexion. She was somewhat younger than the other victims and had been killed in a residence rather than on the street, but Holmes still had the feeling this was Jack’s work—the state of the body, viciously mutilated, attested to that.
Holmes had already explored the room the best he could to see if there was anything of a personal nature in the room. He was also quite pleased at all the untouched surfaces in the room, and took his time dusting the table, chairs, and other objects for fingerprints.
At the end of his explorations he found, lying partway under the victim’s body, the thumb section of a glove. A doctor’s glove? He turned it over to a detective, thinking to himself that this was one more clue that the murderer was in the medical profession.
Holmes decided to use this time to visit the neighbors and see if he could find out anything about the poor woman’s last hours. This should make the investigation go a little faster, since most of the witnesses were in one rooming house.
Holmes stopped a uniformed policeman. “You can be of immense help to this investigation,” he said, handing the man his notebook. “Please come along with me and take notes as I interview possible witnesses—that way, I can focus on my questions and the answers. Write down your own impressions, too—there could be one hundred men watching an interview and each would observe something different.”
Within a few hours, Holmes found out that Mary Jane was a nice, quiet woman who was well-liked by others. Though she could become boisterous when drinking, for the most part she never caused any trouble and got along well with everyone.
Lizzie Albrook, a neighbor, told of her last interactions with Mary Jane. “We were together last night at the bar. We had quite a long talk about life. She told me not to end up as she had. She was sad that her life was what it was, and she wished she could go to Ireland to live with family. She had to resort to her kind of life so she wouldn’t starve,” Lizzie said. “We parted when a man appeared at her side. I couldn’t tell you anything about him though, because I had someone myself.”
“Thank you, Miss Albrook. If you think of anything else, please let us know,” Holmes said as he passed her his card.
Mary Ann Cox was another neighbor who readily answered the questions put to her. She offered Holmes and his assistant a cup of tea, which they refused.
“When did you last see the victim?” Holmes asked.
“It was last night. I was walking home and she was walking in front of me with a man. They went into her room and I wished them goodnight.”
“How did she act?”
“She looked intoxicated, to be honest, but she did bid me goodnight. I thought it was strange she started singing in her room, but alcohol makes us all do funny things. I went out about 1:00 A.M. and she was still singing. I came back about 3:00 A.M. and the singing had stopped, and the lights of her room were out.”
“Can you describe the man she was with?” Holmes asked.
“He looked to be about thirty-six years old and stood about five feet five inches tall. He had a red moustache and small side-whiskers. His face looked a little red to me. He had on dark clothing with a dark overcoat and a black hat.”
“Did he appear drunk? And had you seen him before?”
“I could not tell if he was drunk, sir. But I did not sleep that night with all of the murder talk going around, and I thought I heard him leave around 6 A.M. As for recognizing him, Mary Jane had frequent visitors—I didn’t pay much attention to anyone’s faces.”
Mary Ann’s niece happened to be home that night as well. “I saw Mary Jane and her caller from my door,” the niece said. “He was a nice-looking fellow—like he was rich, you know—and he had on a cape and a top hat. He was carrying a bag, too—a Gladstone bag.”
“Do you remember anything else?”
The niece shuddered. “Aunt Mary Ann said she heard someone scream ‘murder!’ late in the night—I didn’t hear it myself, and I’m glad of it!”
“I heard no such thing,” interrupted Mary Ann. “My niece is an excitable young woman—this situation has unsettled her nerves, I dare say.”
Holmes thanked them for their somewhat contradicting reports and returned to the room where the murder had occurred. He was glad to see that the coroner’s office had carried the body away and he was doubly happy to see the face of his old friend walking toward him.
“Watson, I am so glad you are here. This young man has been so kind as to help me jot down my interviews, but I am sure you will take over his job now,” Holmes said.
“Of course, I will be pleased to do it,” Dr. Watson answered as he took the notebook from the young officer, who seemed happy to depart.
“Have you found anything promising in today’s work?”
“Not much. I’m just deciphering the conflicting information from the witnesses. Do people ever really open their eyes?” Holmes laughed. “I suppose if they did, then Scotland Yard and detectives like myself wouldn’t be necessary.”
“One would assume people would be more observant at a time like this, at least,” Dr. Watson replied. “Their lives may depend on it.”
The men walked down the hall to the next room, where they encountered a woman.
“Excuse me, but did you know the victim?” Dr. Watson asked.
“Yes sir.”
“How?”
“Well, I do laundry here for the tenants and happened to spend the night last night. I went to Mary Jane’s room to pick up some clothes. We were friends, so we had a little drink together,” the woman told them. “The last time I saw Mary Jane alive was when she left about half past seven on her way to the corner bar.”
“Was she intoxicated when you parted ways?”
“No,” the woman answered simply. “I must say, I’m so shocked to hear about this—Mary Jane was a good, kind girl. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to hurt her!”
Julia Venturney was another neighbor who had known Mary about four months.
“Tell us anything you know about her,” Holmes urged. “Not just about the last time you saw her, but about how she lived.”
Well,” started Julia, “She lived with Joe Barnett—at least for a while. He was angry, quite angry, at how Mary earned her living—when she started taking to the streets regularly, Joe moved out. He said he’d come back when she stopped living that kind of life.”
“Were they still together?” asked Holmes. “As a couple, I mean.”
“As far as I know,” answered Julia. “He came to visit her almost every night, and he brought her money when he could—but he just refused to live with her. She told me more than once how it hurt her, but she didn’t know any other way to get by.”
“Did you hear any strange noises last night?” Holmes asked.
“Nothing out of the ordinary—no screams or struggles, if that’s what you mean.”
“I am ready to take a break,” Holmes told Dr. Watson as they walked away from Julia. “I have been at this for a long time and need a hearty meal to see me through the rest of the day.”
The men walked down the stairs and out into the bright sunshine. There were still many people standing around watching the house. As they neared the sidewalk Holmes saw a short, stocky man who looked familiar to him.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Plan in Review
“Mr. Hamilton,” Holmes said
to the man in the suit, inclining his head slightly to acknowledge the presence of his friend.
“Hello Detective,” Donald Hamilton said to him.
“I am not used to seeing you dressed in everyday attire. What brought you here today?”
“Well, I was not working today and I heard of the new murder. I wanted to see where it took place. I guess I am playing amateur detective in trying to solve these cases. I see the dead, but rarely the site of the killings,” Hamilton told them.
“Have you noticed anything suspicious?” Holmes asked.
“No, not really. I have seen several men standing around, but most of them are probably old clients, friends, or merely spectators drawn by the tragedy.”
“Well, if you see anything out of the ordinary, please let me know. You know where I am most hours of the day,” Holmes said. “Both Dr. Watson and I have burned more than our share of midnight oil in the past few weeks.”
“He could be a big help to you,” Dr. Watson told his friend as they left the boarding house. “Do you trust him?”
“As much as I trust anyone right now, my friend—which is to say, ‘no.’ But that does not mean he cannot be my ears inside the coroner’s office.”
“You are a master of getting information out of people without them fully realizing they are giving it,” said Dr. Watson. “It’s a skill I have always admired.”
The men took Dr. Watson’s carriage to their favorite pub in the heart of London. They ordered a good lunch and talked about the case. There was a staggering amount of information to review and more witnesses to interrogate. Holmes still needed to review the list of suspects, and the witness’ contradicting statements about the possible perpetrator’s appearance were frustrating. Most of the witnesses had said he was short with a mustache, but some said he was well-dressed, and others said he was not. Some reported he had been carrying a bag or other object, and some said he had not been carrying anything. Even worse, Holmes knew that the descriptions could be completely useless—the man (or men) described might have been clients, rather than the killer.
Jack The Ripper: Newly Discovered Adventures of Sherlock Holmes Page 6
