by Robert House
We had many people under observation while the murders were being perpetrated, but it was not until the discovery of the body of Mary Kelly had been made that we seemed to get upon the trail. Certain investigations made by several of our cleverest detectives made it apparent to us that a man living in the East End of London was not unlikely to have been connected with the crimes. . . .
The murderer was a misogynist, who at some time or another had been wronged by a woman. And the fact that his victims were of the lowest class proves, I think, that he was not, as has been stated, an educated man who had suddenly gone mad. He belonged to their own class.
Had he been wronged by a woman occupying a higher stage in society the murders would in all probability have taken place in the West End, the victims have been members of the fashionable demi-monde.
The man we suspected was about five feet six inches in height, with short, black, curly hair, and he had a habit of taking late walks abroad. He occupied several shops in the East End, but from time to time he became insane, and was forced to spend a portion of his time in an asylum in Surrey.
While the Whitechapel murders were being perpetrated his place of business was in a certain street, and after the last murder I was on duty in this street for nearly three months.
There were several other officers with me, and I think there can be no harm in stating that the opinion of most of them was that the man they were watching had something to do with the crimes. You can imagine that never once did we allow him to quit our sight. The least slip and another brutal crime might have been perpetrated under our very noses. It was not easy to forget that already one of them had taken place at the very moment when one of our smartest colleagues was passing the top of the dimly lit street.
The Jews in the street soon became aware of our presence. It was impossible to hide ourselves. They became suddenly alarmed, panic stricken, and I can tell you that at nights we ran a considerable risk. We carried our lives in our hands so to speak, and at last we had to partly take the alarmed inhabitants into our confidence, and so throw them off the scent. We told them we were factory inspectors looking for tailors and capmakers who employed boys and girls under age, and pointing out the evils accruing from the sweaters’ system asked them to co-operate with us in destroying it.
They readily promised to do so, although we knew well that they had no intention of helping us. Every man was as bad as another. Day after day we used to sit and chat with them, drinking their coffee, smoking their excellent cigarettes, and partaking of Kosher rum. Before many weeks had passed we were quite friendly with them, and knew that we could carry out our observations unmolested. I am sure they never once suspected that we were police detectives on the trail of the mysterious murderer; otherwise they would not have discussed the crimes with us as openly as they did.
We had the use of a house opposite the shop of the man we suspected, and, disguised, of course, we frequently stopped across in the role of customers.
Every newspaper loudly demanded that we should arouse from our slumber, and the public had lashed themselves into a state of fury and fear. The terror soon spread to the provinces too. Whenever a small crime was committed it was asserted that the Ripper had shifted his ground, and warning letters were received by many a terror stricken woman. The latter were of course the work of cruel practical jokers. The fact, by the way, that the murderer never shifted his ground rather inclines to the belief that he was a mad, poverty stricken inhabitant of some slum in the East End.
Cox then described an evening of shadowing the suspect as he walked around the streets. The article concludes,
In the end, he brought me, tired, weary, and nerve-strung, back to the street he had left where he disappeared into his own house.
Next morning I beheld him busy as usual. It is indeed very strange that as soon as this madman was put under observation, the mysterious crimes ceased, and that very soon he removed from his usual haunts and gave up his nightly prowls. He was never arrested for the reason that not the slightest scrap of evidence could be found to connect him with the crimes12
Many of the details here obviously fit with what is known about Kozminski. Cox’s suspect lived in the East End, belonged to the lower class, and “from time to time he became insane, and was forced to spend a portion of his time in an asylum.” But even more intriguing is that Cox said the suspect “occupied several shops in the East End,” and that the detectives were apparently watching a workshop on a largely Jewish street. Moreover, Cox clearly implied that it was a tailor’s workshop, because otherwise their cover story would not make any sense. In fact, it is likely that the detectives chose the “factory inspectors” cover story because of the close scrutiny that sweaters were under at the time, both by factory inspectors and by social researchers. In fact, in October 1888, one of Charles Booth’s researchers, a man named Henry J. Bowsher, had been doing follow-up surveys on tailors on Yalford Street and Plumber’s Row, both of which were adjacent to Greenfield Street, just one street to the west and the east, respectively13
It was also in October 1888 that the police were conducting inquiries into the Batty Street laundry incident, in which the police were carrying out surveillance on a suspect who was “living on the premises” of a ladies’ tailor’s workshop, “within a radius of a few hundred yards from the scene of the Berner-street tragedy.”14 Now we have Cox saying that the suspect under City Police surveillance “occupied several shops in the East End.” Likewise, George Sims referred to Kozminski as “the sole occupant of certain premises in Whitechapel after night-fall.” All three statements may suggest that Kozminski was living “on the premises” of his brother Isaac’s tailoring workshop at 74 Greenfield Street during the Ripper murders. This theory fits Swanson’s statement, “On suspect’s return to his brother’s house in Whitechapel he was watched by police [City CID] by day & night.”15 Moreover, as Cox said, “We had the use of a house opposite the shop of the man we suspected, and, disguised, of course, we frequently stopped across in the role of customers.” As we have seen, the house directly opposite from Isaac’s shop was 16 Greenfield Street, where Kozminski’s sister, Matilda, lived with her husband, Morris Lubnowski-Cohen. Is it possible that Kozminski’s sister and her husband cooperated with the police, allowing undercover detectives to use their house for their surveillance? If this is true, then it seems likely that Morris and Matilda suspected that Kozminski was the murderer. Such a conjecture is well within the realm of possibility, especially since we know that Kozminski threatened to attack Matilda with a knife at one point. The motivation behind the attack is unknown.
The theory that Kozminski lived in the workshop behind his brother’s house is indeed an intriguing one. Such an arrangement would not have been uncommon, because the East End was notoriously overcrowded, and “greeners” often lived in the shops where they worked. It would also make sense, because by 1888, Kozminski was probably exhibiting signs of delusional insanity, and his siblings may have considered him to be dangerous. As we have seen, those saddled with the responsibility of caring for insane and potentially dangerous family members often resorted to locking their mentally disturbed relatives in rooms or otherwise isolating them from the family. Whereas Woolf and Morris both probably lived in rather cramped quarters, Isaac had a large separate workshop in his backyard, where Kozminski could be kept away from the children. The arrangement might also fit with Robert Anderson’s statement (or theory) that the Ripper lived in a place where he “could go and come and get rid of his blood-stains in secret.”16 Presumably, the workshop was accessible via a hallway leading directly from the front door of the house to the backyard, through which Kozminski could come and go without disturbing his family in the house.
Yet as usual, there are some problems with Cox’s account. One problem, as noted in Evans and Rumbelow’s Jack the Ripper: Scotland Yard Investigates, was that Kozminski “had not worked for years, which does not tie in with either Cox or Sagar’s accounts.”17 The statemen
t about Kozminski’s unemployment comes from Edmund King Houchin’s medical certification of Kozminski in February 1891, when Jacob Cohen claimed that Kozminski “has not attempted any kind of work for years.”18 Of course, February 1891 was more than two years after the murder of Mary Kelly, and thus we cannot deduce from Cohen’s 1891 statement whether Kozminski was employed in 1888. Evans and Rumbelow’s issue here seems to be based on the assumption that the surveillance of Kozminski took place a couple of years after the Ripper murders, most likely in either 1890 or 1891. Yet if Sagar and Cox were indeed referring to Kozminski, it seems that their surveillance took place much earlier than this, perhaps even as early as 1888. Cox, for example, said, “After the last murder I was on duty in this street for nearly three months.” Cox also said, “It was not until the discovery of the body of Mary Kelly had been made that we seemed to get upon the trail” and, “as soon as this madman was put under observation, the mysterious crimes ceased.” This implies that the City Police surveillance took place immediately after Kelly’s murder. This, of course, would seem to contradict the possibility that Kozminski was the subject of the Batty Street laundry inquiries, which took place in October. Of course, Cox may have misremembered when the surveillance actually began. Or, Kozminski may have been under surveillance both before and after the Kelly murder. If Kozminski did initially come to the attention of the police in October 1888, he would have been only one name on a long list of suspects. And as we have seen, the Echo declared on October 20 that “the man is, indeed, himself aware that he is being watched; so much so, that, as far as observation has gone at present, he has scarcely ventured out of doors.”19
There are many questions here but few answers. The problems with the Cox and Sagar accounts must remain unresolved for the time being. As Cox concluded, “[The suspect] was never arrested for the reason that not the slightest scrap of evidence could be found to connect him with the crimes.” This obviously fits with Anderson’s suggestion that the police did not have legal proof sufficient to convict Kozminski. If Cox’s suspect was indeed Kozminski, then he gave the only known physical description of him, apart from a few brief notes about his weight in the asylum records. “The man we suspected was about five feet six inches in height, with short, black, curly hair.”20 Of course, this does not tell us much about the suspect’s appearance, but in height, at least, the man generally matched the witness statements given by Joseph Lawende, Israel Schwartz, and Elizabeth Long.
21
The Identification, the Witness, and the Informant
“We are coming now rather into the region of guesswork,” said Dr. Mortimer.
“Say, rather, into the region where we balance probabilities and choose the most likely. It is the scientific use of the imagination, but we always have some material basis on which to start our speculations.”
—Sherlock Holmes in The Hound of the Baskervilles, Arthur Conan Doyle, 1902
The identification of Aaron Kozminski by a witness is, on the face of it, one of the strongest pieces of evidence against him. Yet it is also a highly debated topic, and the circumstances of the incident are still largely unknown. When and where did the identification take place? Who was the witness? And what exactly happened? It is impossible to answer these questions with certainty. Again, we must try our best to interpret the sources.
According to Robert Anderson, Kozminski was identified by “the only person who had ever had a good view of the murderer.”1 Is it possible to determine who this person was? Swanson’s statements clearly indicate that the witness was a Jewish man, so it must have been either Israel Schwartz or one of the three men (Joseph Lawende, Joseph Levy, and Henry Harris) who witnessed a man and a woman standing near the entrance of Church Passage on Duke Street. Yet Harris’s testimony was hardly mentioned in the Kate Eddowes inquest at all, and Levy claimed, “I cannot give any description of either of them.”2 Therefore, we are left with Lawende and Schwartz as the two best possibilities.
Arguably, either of these men might have been the witness, but Lawende seems to be the more likely candidate. Melville Macnaghten did not explicitly mention the identification, but he did say that Kozminski “in appearance strongly resembled the individual seen by the City P.C. near Mitre Square.”3 As author Phillip Sugden has suggested, we might infer from this that Macnaghten was confused, and in saying “City P.C.” he actually meant “City Police witness.”4 This suggests that the witness was Lawende, a City Police witness who testified at the inquest for a murder that took place in City Police jurisdiction. This might also explain why it was the City CID, as opposed to the Metropolitan CID, that conducted surveillance on a suspect who lived in Metropolitan Police territory. In addition, as noted by Stewart Evans, “Use of the City detectives for such observations would, of course, have been preferred as they would have been far less likely to have been recognised by the locals than the local CID.”5
According to Anderson, “The only person who had ever had a good view of the murderer at once identified him”—in other words, the witness identified the suspect almost immediately after seeing him.6 This does not mean that the witness was certain of his identification, although we may infer that that is what Anderson meant. Likewise, Donald Swanson told us that the suspect “had been identified,” twice reiterating that the suspect “knew he was identified.”7 Again, this does not say much about the witness’s degree of certainty as to his identification. Indeed, other sources suggest that the identification was somewhat shaky. For one thing, Macnaghten merely claimed that Kozminski “strongly resembled the individual seen by the City P.C. [sic] near Mitre Square.”8 Likewise, George Sims (whose source was almost certainly Macnaghten) said that Kozminski “was the height and build of the man” seen by the witness on the night of the Mitre Square murder.9 (Sims does not actually name Kozminski, but we may assume that is who he is referring to.)
Indeed, it is difficult to imagine how the identification could have been anything but inconclusive at best. After all, in 1888 when Lawende was asked whether he would recognize the man again, he answered, “I doubt it.”10 He had only had a brief glimpse of the suspect, and as Levy noted, “The place was badly lighted.”11 Despite this, Lawende described the man he saw in considerable detail—“age 30, height 5 ft. 7 or 8 in., complexion fair, moustache fair, medium build; dress, pepper-and-salt colour loose jacket, grey cloth cap with peak of same material, reddish neckerchief tied in knot; appearance of a sailor”—and the police tried to keep his description out of the papers. This may suggest that Lawende got a better look at the man than he claimed, and it is clear that the police considered him an important witness, because they “sequestrated” him and “imposed a pledge on him of secrecy.”12
Still, if we take Lawende’s “I doubt it” at face value, as we probably should, it seems unlikely that he would have been able to positively identify Kozminski with any degree of certainty. Moreover, Lawende was aware that his identification was the linchpin of the whole case. As Swanson wrote, the witness refused to testify “because the suspect was also a Jew and also because his evidence would convict the suspect and witness would be the means of murderer being hanged which he did not wish to be left on his mind.”13 The police were clearly desperate for any evidence that might lead to a conviction, and Swanson and Anderson may have put pressure on Lawende to testify. Yet if Lawende had only a dim recollection of the man he saw that night and was unsure of his identification, he would have almost certainly declined to swear to it. Lawende may have said that Kozminski generally matched his vague recollection of the man—in height and build, for example—but that he was not sure about it. This, of course, would not have been good enough.
Both Anderson and Swanson would have been well aware of the power that a positive witness identification would have in court. Even today, eyewitness testimony is still among the most compelling evidence to juries. As University of California–Irvine professor Dr. Elizabeth Loftus remarked, there is “nothing more convincing [to a jury] than a
live human being who takes the stand, points a finger at the defendant, and says ‘That’s the one!’ ”14 Unfortunately, numerous studies have shown witness identifications to be notoriously inaccurate. According to the Benjamin N. Cardozo School of Law’s Innocence Project, “Eyewitness misidentification is the single greatest cause of wrongful convictions nationwide, playing a role in more than 75% of convictions overturned through DNA testing.”15 Studies have shown, for example, that a person’s recollection of events deteriorates significantly after even a short time. I tested this one afternoon when I was sitting with my friend John in a restaurant. The waitress came over to our table several times, first to take our drink order, then to deliver the drinks and take our lunch order, then to deliver the food, and then again to ask whether everything was okay. John looked at her several times as she stood next to the table, in a fairly well-lit environment. Toward the end of our lunch, I asked John if he thought he could identify the woman in a police line-up. He thought for a moment and replied, “Maybe, but I doubt it.” The mind seems to forget such things almost immediately.
Of course, this does not mean the witness identification of Aaron Kozminski should be discounted. After all, both Swanson and Anderson said that Kozminski was identified, and if we take them at their word, the witness refused to testify only because he discovered the suspect was “a fellow Jew.” As we have seen, this statement was harshly attacked in the Jewish Chronicle after the publication of Anderson’s book. Still, as a Jew himself, Lawende must have been acutely aware that a positive identification of a Jewish Ripper suspect might lead to riots against the Jews in the East End. If he was in any way uncertain of his identification, it is easy to see why he might have refused to testify. It is perhaps unlikely that he would have explicitly said that he wouldn’t testify because the suspect was Jewish. Instead, he probably said something like, “He looks like the man but I can’t be sure of it. Moreover, if I testify, this man will be hanged, and all hell will break loose in the East End.” Anderson and Swanson may have glossed over the subtle distinctions in such a statement when briefly summarizing the incident years later.
