by S A Falconi
With the suspense of intrusion gone, Genevieve was able to fully process what she saw as she walked back to the Hanbury House. To do such things to any woman, but a woman as innocent and chaste as Florence was diabolical. Although the papers didn’t justify the brutality done unto Florence, they were absolutely correct that the East Side Ripper was no mortal man. He was a beast, a mongrel.
Crossing 20th Street, Genevieve could see the glow of the Hanbury House’s windows in the dying twilight. She didn’t know how she would be able to work tonight, not after what she’d seen. She would need at least a few drinks to numb her senses. As she walked alongside the brick edifice of Pott’s Slaughterhouse, she heard the rapid crunching of footsteps behind her. She turned abruptly, reaching beneath her skirts to grab her snubnosed revolver from her thigh holster. She saw nothing except for a few businessmen a block away though. She returned her pistol to her holster and continued down Hanbury Avenue.
She hadn’t taken more than a few steps when she heard the footsteps behind her again, seemingly faster and closer than the time before. She spun around, again grabbing her revolver. Not a soul was in sight though. She looked about frantically, certain someone was hiding somewhere nearby. But she saw nothing.
Just as she was about to return the revolver to her thigh and hurry back to the Hanbury House, she saw a bulky shadow looming in the shadows of the buildings across the avenue. Genevieve froze instantly as if immobility would keep her safe. As soon as she stopped though, the stalking figure stopped and seemingly disappeared into the surrounding shadows. Her heart raced at this point and her eyes fixated on the spot she last saw the figure. She wanted to move, to run back to the Hanbury House, but her body seemed to be frozen. He was blocking her way. She could dart back up Hanbury Avenue, but the police precinct was several blocks away and certainly the figure could catch her in that time. Her only chance was to make a break for the Hanbury House.
Revolver clasped in her hand, she inched her way down the walkway. There it was – the hulking figure emerged once again from across the avenue. But just as she halted and aimed her pistol, so also did the shadow stop and disappear into the surrounding darkness.
Genevieve’s heart thundered in her chest and she panted frantically. She was trapped, stalked by a viscious beast that wanted to slaughter her for the mere enjoyment of the act. She couldn’t just stay there though. She had to do something. To run. To find help. Something.
But then the mass of the snubnosed revolver in her hand seemed to grow and she realized there was only one way of escape. Rather than aiming the pistol in the general direction of her predator though, she pointed it toward the heavens before pulling the trigger.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The gunshots tore through the streets and within a matter of seconds, doorways began to burst open and people spilled into the street to see what the ruckus was about.
As if by instinct, Genevieve bellowed, “Help! Help! It’s the Ripper! The Ripper!”
The stalking figure emerged from the shadows and bolted up the length of the avenue.
“There!” Genevieve added, pointing her revolver in the direction of her predator. “The Ripper! The Ripper!”
At first, the bystanders were dumb with confusion. They saw nothing except for a screaming lunatic across the street. And then one of the patrons of the Hanbury House saw him, the stalking figure racing up the avenue away from them.
“There he is!” the man yelled, drawing his revolver and firing haphazardly into the darkness several times.
The cluster of bystanders, empowered by the presence of each other, transformed into a raving mob and tore down the street in pursuit of the supposed Ripper.
Genevieve hurried across the street toward the Hanbury House where Donaghue was waiting for her in the doorway.
“Pete, thank God!” she called, throwing her arms around him as she wept. “I thought I was dead, Pete. I swear, I thought I was dead.”
Donaghue soothed her as best as he could, all the while searching the darkened street for the Ripper.
“Did you see what he looked like?” Donaghue muttered.
Between sobs, Genevieve replied, “He’s a brute of a man, Pete. At least six foot high I’d guess.”
“His face,” Donaghue pressed, “did you see his face?”
Genevieve’s head shook. “It was too dark, but his body was enormous.”
“It’s okay,” Donaghue whispered. “It’s gonna be okay.” He guided her to a nearby chair and retrieved a bottle of whiskey and a glass from the bar. “Drink this,” he said, handing her a glass full of spirit.
She gulped the liquor quickly, hoping the intoxication would be swift to calm her nerves.
“It was him, Pete, I swear to God it was the Ripper.”
“I don’t doubt it was, Snowdrop. I’m just glad he didn’t get you.”
Several minutes passed before Genevieve regained her composure enough to ask, “Where’s Ed?”
Donaghue looked at her gravely. “I honestly don’t know,” he replied. “He left in a hurry shortly after you and I haven’t seen him since.”
Genevieve’s jaw slowly drooped and her eyes grew wide.
“What?” Donaghue added.
“The figure,” she muttered. “I knew it looked familiar.”
“Who?” Donaghue probed, “Who did it look like?”
Genevieve shook her head disbelievingly. There was no way it could be true. Certainly her senses had deceived her. Shock and adrenaline clouded her vision and judgement – that was the only logical explanation for what she thought she saw.
“The figure looked like him,” Genevieve finally answered. “It looked like Ed.”
~
Donaghue had been preparing the Hanbury House for business. Although Maclellan had made sure earlier that the bar was stocked and cleaned and the cash register ready for transactions, he left in a hurry shortly after Snowdrop with urgent business to attend to. Donaghue didn’t think much about it as he and several of the girls made sure bedrooms and wash rooms were spotless and ready for business. But with Snowdrop’s encounter, Donaghue couldn’t help but wonder if Ed was somehow involved.
After finally calming Genevieve, Donaghue asked if she was able to discover anything at the coroner’s office. Her account was brief, but it told Donaghue everything he needed to know. Florence’s womb had indeed been removed, another connection to Molly’s murder. How long had it been since Donaghue had last seen Florence? No more than a few days prior, he thought. Had she had the procedure done before or was it performed after her abduction? Was she even abducted or did she have the procedure done willingly?
Genevieve continued to interrupt Donaghue’s train of thought however with her frantic speculation regarding her encounter on Hanbury Avenue.
“Do you think the Ripper really could be Ed?” she asked Donaghue.
“I don’t know, Snowdrop. If there’s one thing law enforcement has taught me, it’s that anyone is capable of anything. He certainly left in a hurry and he sure as hell hasn’t returned.”
Snowdrop shook her head. “I can’t believe it… I just can’t. I mean, I know Ed’s reputation isn’t great, but heinous murder? It doesn’t seem possible.”
On the contrary, Donaghue thought, heinous murder was among the things of which Ed Maclellan was capable. Donaghue recalled one instance when Ed had him systematically hack someone up because he was trying to cheat one of Maclellan’s blackmarket businesses. Another time, Ed had Donaghue hogtie a man and toss him into the depths of Clear Creek. Heinous murder was most certainly something of which Ed was capable. But had he slaughtered Molly and Florence and taken their wombs? It just didn’t seem to fit Ed’s way of doing things. Besides, what motive could Ed possibly have in murdering Molly and Florence? Neither Ed nor Donaghue had seen Molly in years and Florence wasn’t some threat to business. She worked for Ed. The more Donaghue considered it, the more he believed that Ed was innocent.
Despite that, Genevieve’s
testimony did provide one small clue as to the identity of the Ripper. He was a large man, easily identifiable if he slipped up. And Donaghue knew it wasn’t a matter of if he slipped up, but when.
Donaghue saw the entryway open and Kraus entered. Following him was Ed. Genevieve couldn’t help but gasp, her body shuddering as she began to wimper.
“Relax,” Donaghue whispered to her as he stood to greet the two. “Don’t show him we suspect anything.”
Genevieve nodded and did her best to squelch her emotions.
“What’d you find?” Donaghue asked as he shook Kraus’ hand.
“Plenty,” Kraus replied. “But first a drink.”
Donaghue followed Kraus to the bar and sat on the stool next to him. Kraus poured himself a shot of whiskey and tossed the liquid down his throat before reaching into his jacket pocket and producing a folded piece of paper. He placed the note on the bar and slid it to Donaghue. Donaghue took the paper and unfolded it slowly seeing a list of five names scribbled in pencil.
“What’s this?” he inquired.
“Three are former medical students,” Kraus replied, “Expelled for various disciplinary issues.”
Donaghue’s brow furrowed. “Not just any disciplinary issues I’m assuming?”
“No,” Kraus answered. “The first – Reynold Parsons – was expelled for inappropriate behaviors with cadavers. The second – Walter Blackburn – expelled for robbing graves so he could practice his surgery skills. The third – Kenneth Larson…” Kraus paused and sighed.
“What?”
“Kenneth Larson – found stealing preserved organs.”
An expression of perplexity came to Donaghue. “Why?” he inquired.
Kraus sighed again. “He was… eating them.”
“My God…” Donaghue mumbled.
“My reaction exactly. As for the two doctors, both were dismissed for sexual misconduct with female patients.”
Donaghue refolded the list and placed it in his jacket pocket. “We’ll find these freaks first thing tomorrow morning. For now, we need to consider what we know and see how it all falls together.”
“Were you able to get your hands on the autopsy report for our second victim?” Kraus asked.
“I wasn’t…” Donaghue muttered, motioning to Genevieve, “but she was.”
Kraus glanced over his shoulder at Snowdrop. Although her emotion was relatively hidden, Kraus still could see that she’d been weeping not too long ago.
“Geez,” Kraus said, “she alright?”
“I don’t know… She saw the body.”
Kraus shook his head as he poured himself another drink. “That’s not something a woman should see.”
“Agreed.”
“What did she find?”
“Brutal slashing of the throat.”
“The womb?” Kraus interjected.
Donaghue nodded. “Gone.”
“My God,” Kraus uttered. “I think I know why he takes the wombs…”
“What do you mean?” Donaghue asked. “Why?”
Kraus didn’t answer for several moments. He gulped, building the courage to speak. “They’re trophies,” he whispered. “This monster keeps them as trophies.”
Donaghue had cases before, killers and rapists alike, where keepsakes were kept as a sort of reminder of the victim. One cut a lock of hair from each of his victims and kept the hair tied neatly in a cigar box in his desk drawer. Another kept a piece of his victims’ undergarments. One man, the most disturbed Donaghue had ever seen, chopped his unfaithful wife’s head off and kept it in a lock box in the cellar. Donaghue couldn’t imagine someone more demented than the latter, but clearly, the East Side Ripper was beyond any form of sane imagination. He truly was a monster, the Devil incarnate.
For several moments, Donaghue considered telling Kraus what happened to Genevieve on her way back to the Hanbury House. Just as he was about to say it though, the entryway burst open to reveal three police officers. The first two were ordinary beat officers. The third was none other than Detective Abernathe.
“Donaghue,” Abernathe grumbled.
Donaghue slid off the bar stool. “What the hell do you want?” he asked.
“We’re looking for Ed Maclellan,” Abernathe replied as he approached the bar. “He here?”
Donaghue was momentarily shocked to hear Ed’s name. My God, he thought, they’re here to arrest him. Donaghue glanced over at Snowdrop whose own shock blatantly smothered her expression.
Before either could say anything though, Kraus remarked, “You got eyes don’t you?”
The slightest crack of a smile emerged on Abernathe’s face. Glancing at Donaghue, he asked, “You got crackpot psychologists speaking for you now?”
Donaghue lunged at Abernathe, seizing him by the collar with his right hand. “What’d you say you swindler?” he growled.
“Hey!” the other two officers ordered, yanking Donaghue away from the detective. “You wanna come in too for assaulting an officer of the law?”
Donaghue resisted the urge to lunge again. Instead, he glared at the full length of Abernathe’s form, retorting, “Officer of the law? He ain’t nothing more than a pig with a badge.”
Abernathe quickly rebutted, “Your badge… Detective.”
The urge to drive his fist into Abernathe’s face was overwhelming, but Donaghue’s confusion was still too much to overcome.
“What do you want with Maclellan?” Donaghue asked.
“Not that it’s any of your damn business,” Abernathe hissed, “but we’re here to arrest him. So either tell us where he is or get the hell out of our way.”
Just as Donaghue was about to respond, a thunderous shattering of glass sounded from the backroom. All heads turned towards the source of the ruckus, the hulking form of Ed Maclellan skirting the corner toward the back exit.
“Stop!” Abernathe squealed. “Police!”
The two officers tore after Maclellan in his wake while Abernathe headed back through the front door, presumably to strike Maclellan at the building’s flank. Donaghue soon followed Abernathe, nearly on his coattails. They could hear commotion in the back stables, several gates slammed and provoked colts grunted and neighed. Then that eerily decipherable detonation rang through the alleyway, that thunderous crash that could only be produced by a revolver. Donaghue galloped, flying passed Abernathe.
“Stay out of it, Donaghue!” Abernathe ordered.
Donaghue wasn’t about to listen to Abernathe though. A single shot fired meant only one thing – the receiver of such a shot was deader than a doornail. Donaghue rounded the corner and the sight abruptly brought a sense of relief to him.
“Get off me you bastards!” Maclellan roared, belly down on the filthy alleyway with both officers laying across his back as they apprehended him.
Abernathe, gasping for breath, finally reached the scene and ran up to Maclellan. “You’re under arrest, Edward Maclellan.”
“For what?” Maclellan demanded as the two officers strained to lift him from the ground.
“For what else?” Abernathe snickered. “The East Side Ripper murders. On your feet before we put your ass in the ground.”
“What?” Maclellan barked. “I didn’t kill either of those girls!” Maclellan snarled and spat at the detective. “You got nothing on me. I did nothing!”
“Tell that to the executioner you wretched bastard. Get him out of here.”
As the two officers hauled Maclellan away, Maclellan roared over his shoulder, “Find the real bastard, Pete! These bastards won’t find him, so you gotta find him!”
“Shut up!” one of the officers ordered, slamming his baton into Maclellan’s gut.
While the others hauled Maclellan away, Abernathe remained with Donaghue.
“I’m gonna warn you once, Donaghue,” Abernathe threatened, “stay away from my investigation. You understand me? Stay away or I’ll find a way to rope you into the charges along with Maclellan.”
Donaghue glowered
at Abernathe disbelievingly. “Why would Maclellan kill two of his own girls?”
Abernathe stopped momentarily. “It doesn’t matter, Donaghue. We got a witness that puts him at each of the murders as well as the murder weapon in his possession. You’re lucky, Donaghue. This whole time I was praying it was you.” Abernathe turned and continued into the darkness of the alley.
VII.
There wasn’t much sleep to be had for T.G. Billing, not with the East Side Ripper at large. If there wasn’t a murder to report, there certainly were developments in the investigation, or lack thereof, on which to report. He’d established himself as the city’s premier journalist, ‘the conscience of the people’ as he’d so boastfully self-proclaimed. And there wasn’t a soul who’d dare deny it, at least not one whose voice had any bearing. He’d monopolized the press just as Rockefeller had monopolized petroleum.
With the stress of the previous evening, the arrest of the prime suspect Ed Maclellan, Billing granted himself a late morning. He waddled into the offices of The East Side Herald at eight o’clock, preparing himself for another tedious day.
Billing’s office, although separate from the other reporters’ work stations, was nestled into the front corner of the main floor. It seemed people were always stopping by to visit him – politicians, government officials, businessmen. Billing requested the front office during the Donaghue scandal because the persistent traffic was disturbing his fellow writers. That was the excuse his smug lips uttered at least. Everyone knew he just wanted to be in plain sight though. If Billing had it his way, he probably would’ve replaced the brick wall separating his office from the street with an enormous window so that all passersby could lay their eyes on the greatest reporter in the west. They didn’t dare utter such words in his earshot though. In this business, an endorsement from Billing was as good as an endorsement from the president.
