Murder in Whitechapel (The Judas Reflections) (21 page)

Being the gentleman that I was, I handed him the cap that had fallen off in the struggle. He said nothing in response, and full of righteous indignation, walked away. I gallantly handed the money to Mary, who was taking solace with Daisy, her eyes tearful.

“You’re a good ‘un all right, ‘owe do I ever repay ‘yer fer this?” Mary asked.

“By staying off the streets; you know it’s not safe. There is money on your person now, so what need is there for you to be out?”

“We ‘ave to keep working, sir. There’s never enough to survive, you wouldn’t know that being a gentleman an’ all. I expect you’ve got a nice ‘ouse and a lot of coffers. We ‘ain’t got nuthin ‘ere, nuthin’.”

Daisy told it in no uncertain terms, conditions were abominable and every penny counted. These girls existed moment by moment and I had failed to understand. Their life as prostitutes was the only life they knew, no choice but to live with one foot out of the workhouse the only way they knew how, by selling their bodies. There was nothing I could do to save their lost souls except ask for divine intervention and forgiveness. In spite of public opinion I did not
and
never will see their sexual immorality a reason for condemnation from God.

“Will he honor his debt?” I asked Mary, “he doesn’t seem the reliable sort.”

“Nah, Joe won’t give me the rest owes me. His dock wages will all be gone in the ale ‘ouse. I know ‘im, ‘e can’t stay out.”

“Ere, ‘ow come such an ‘andsome, strong, well bred gentleman like you is with the likes of us? I ‘ope yer not a copper or that Ripper bloke!” Daisy remarked laughing loudly. Her almond eyes and dusky complexion not of English origin.

“My dear girl, I can assure you I am not Jack the Ripper! I work alone in a private capacity, searching for the very man you suspect me of being.”

“I ‘ope yer find him, even though I don’t ‘ave a clue what ‘yer going on about, private an’ all that. Good luck, fine sir, I’m on me way, gotta work tonight.”

With a swish of her long black skirt and a hug for Mary, she was gone, back into the dark deadly shadows.

“Where yer off to, Emmanuel? Somewhere posh, a fancy restaurant?” Mary asked, either she had sobered up from the confrontation or was less inebriated than I thought.

“My only aim is to continue to walk the streets in the hope of finding him, he
must
be out there. Mary, I think he is planning to kill again.”

“Maybe you’ve assumed wrong and ‘e’s ‘ad enough. Stopped, I mean.”

“We shall see. Now, would it be an imposition to ask if I can have the pleasure to walk you home, fine lady?”

“Oh, yes, good sir. You can ‘ave the pleasure!”

Mary put her arm through mine as we walked towards the direction of her home. We talked of mundane things, her need to buy new shoes and my east-end food experiences. It was a most enjoyable walk as we laughed about dumplings that turned to concrete in my stomach. It surprised me to discover she had a good level of intelligence. She knew how to read and could pen a short letter. To make an impression, she spelt out a long word and in return, I gave her a compliment for the correct spelling. She proceeded to laugh and giggle like a young child. But our discussion deepened as we took a detour and walked toward Mile End. I had forgotten my purpose just for a time and enjoying the company of an entertaining young lady who had become very excited at a display in a shop window. It was a milliner shop selling fine hats for ladies. “Look at that red bonnet,” she exclaimed. “I’ve always wanted a red one, can’t afford one though.”

“Tomorrow when it opens I will call for you and we will return. I will buy you the bonnet, as a gift for being such good company.”

Mary jumped up and down with excitement, like a child at Christmas.

“What a gentlemen you are!” said she.

Our journey took us further than the Mile End Road, where I became unsure. Fearing I lost my bearings, I asked her to take me back. Mary knew the way well enough. She guided me to a small park and a bench to sit and talk.

It was cold and dark indeed, without forethought I put my arms around Mary’s shivering body to protect her from the biting wind. She listened intently as I told of my time in America and other exotic places. Her face lit up with wonder when I told her of the mountains of North Constantinople and vast expanse of deserts in Egypt. She was entranced as I told of steamship journeys I had taken and foreign spices I had imported. We came from two different worlds, each arriving in different places. I want to believe I resided in God’s good grace, and, in spite of my curse saved from a life far more painful than I endure now. Mary told me when she left her life in Wales a long time ago, she found herself in the fashionable area of London’s Knightsbridge. She lived with a woman who procured her for what she called ‘a better class of customer,’ even taking Mary to Paris, where her prostitution began in earnest. After a falling out with the woman, she came to Whitechapel, where rents were cheap and customers plentiful. I attempted to ask about her family but she became irritated and half in jest ordered me to ‘shut my face.’ I sensed family ties were broken and beyond repair.

“’Ow come a bloke like you isn’t married off? I’d expect all those fancy ladies would be ‘anging around like bees to ‘oney!”

I gave an excuse, I was fussy and particular. A woman who managed to steal my heart was to be very special, yet to be found.

“I bet yer she’s out there somewhere, you’ll see me old mate!”

I wished I had Mary’s optimism for my future, that I would have what I yearn for. I sunk into solace for a few moments.

“Do yer think I’d do all right in America? I’ve been ’earing that there’s these ships leaving all the time filled with people wantin’ a new life. I could clean ‘ouses over there and raise me baby proper.”

“Maybe a new life will be the answer. But you will need funds. Not only for your passage but for your arrival, you cannot be penniless.”

A look of disappointment came upon her, in a moment of dreams and wishes she forgot the practicalities. Money was needed, I could help. I had enough friends and acquaintances in America to secure legitimate employment for Mary, but first I needed to think, so I refrained from speaking out. If I were to change my mind she would be most let down and I would be the good for nothing scoundrel.

“It’s gettin’ late an’ I need me beauty sleep if I’m to get up tomorrow morning an’ go with you to get me bonnet.”

Mary was right; a quick glance at my watch told me it was well past midnight. We walked back to Whitechapel, arm in arm and joked most of the way. Arriving at her door, I felt a sense of achievement. I had kept her off the streets for a time- a moment less of danger. “Be sure to lock yourself in,” said I.

“Don’t fuss. I’m a big girl an’ I can take care of meself. I’ll see yer tomorra.”

“Sleep well, Mary Jane, and lock that door!” I hoped she would heed my warning.

Being with Mary had taken me off track, instead of doing what I set out to do I socialized. I spent the remaining night hours wandering streets becoming ever so more familiar with the passage of time. There was a deathly silence broken only by the occasional cough from a passerby, or the faint click of a woman’s heels in the distance. I feared I might be unfortunate to once more bump into a constable who would ask me prying questions. I was alone and frustrated.
Where was he?

By dawn, I was exasperated, time to call it a day and proceed to my lodgings. I had made a pledge to Mary and could not let her down, a few hours of sleep would do the trick. I turned my exorbitantly priced key quietly in the door and tiptoed up the stairs so as not to disturb anyone. It was of little consequence the mattress was lumpy, sleep became heavy and dreamless… until, to my surprise, it was past ten am when I awoke. I assumed that in all likelihood Mary would still be sleeping. So I took my time, enjoying a leisurely breakfast, a fine haircut in one of the numerous barber shops and stopping by the telegraph office to see if there had been any communications. By the time I reached Thirteen Miller’s Court, it was a hive of activity. Crowds of people by the entrance, vying to see what happened were being pushed roughly back by the constables. I moved slowly forwards. “Mr. Ortiz, what are you doing here?” It was Inspector Drew, whom I met briefly the evening of my arrest

“I was passing and wondered about the commotion. What on earth has happened?”

He beckoned for the constable to let me pass and took me directly to Mary’s door. “In you go,” he said, which surprised me. Why was he letting a civilian enter what I imagined would be a crime scene?

What awaited me was something I could never have thought up in my deepest, darkest nightmares. It was a scene of utter carnage. A naked body lay lifeless on the bed, drenched in blood, the face hacked to pieces, unrecognizable with the stomach cut open. Its contents emptied out and both breasts cut off, one ghoulishly placed under the head. What appeared to be large pieces of skin were left on the table and I saw the other breast lying by the right foot. The entire body had been stabbed, and the throat severely cut. Blood was everywhere, on the floor, the walls and dripping from the table. “Mary…” I whispered. “Is this Mary Jane Kelly?”

“Yes, it is her,” said Inspector Drew, “we are searching for the man who lived with her, a Mr. Joseph Barnett. They were seen arguing last night outside The Bell.”

“I saw them and I intervened. I understood they were no longer together and Mary was angry about monies owed,” I replied.

Shaken by the horror of the most vicious and hellish act of murder I had ever witnessed. Sweet Mary, no more than twenty five years of age, dreaming of better times, butchered beyond recognition.

“Are you alright, sir? You seem very pale.” The Inspector could not mistake my shock.

“I was with Mary until midnight last evening. I was going to take her to Mile End to purchase a bonnet today. We had become friends, you see. I was attempting to help her, she wanted to leave England and go to America.”

“Where did you go after you left her?”

“I walked the streets for a long time after I dropped her at home. I urged her to lock the door and then I made my way back to my lodgings at dawn. I heard or saw nothing unusual in that time.”

“Mary left her lodgings around two am. She was back out on the streets.”

Foolish, foolish girl!
I had warned her to stay at home and secure herself inside. Obviously the temptation to earn, or beg, extra money far outweighed any risks she may have had to endure. I pondered on the night before. Were we watched by the killer as we walked back through Whitechapel? Conceivably hiding in a darkened corner waiting for the opportunity to strike once I was out of the way? When Mary make the fateful decision to leave her dwelling the possibility he followed her was highly feasible. Then… the other side of the coin. Perhaps Mary found herself in the wrong place at the right time for Jack, who, by chance spotted her and seized the moment. There had been no signs of a forced entry. I could only conclude the careless girl had invited him in.

“This is the worst one yet,” I was informed, “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

Questions raged furiously in my mind, anger at boiling point and determination to catch the monster who committed such an evil crime increased ten fold. I became concerned I had gotten myself in hot water again. The police may consider bringing me in for more questioning on my whereabouts, after I honestly owned up to being with Mary on her last evening.

“We may need a statement from you, Mr. Ortiz, as you are indeed a witness. Are you still residing in Whitechapel?”

I assured the Inspector by giving the address of the boarding house, he urged me to be very careful with my investigation. However, he was unable to stop himself from indulging in sarcasm.

“This Ripper fellow is extremely dangerous, just looking at this scene tells you what he is capable of. I do not understand exactly what it is you do, but playing cops and robbers as a child may do, does not make a detective, sir.”

Outside Mary’s lodgings the crowd had increased and there stood Daisy, her eyes streaming with tears. “Why ‘er? She was a good soul an’ she ‘elped me when I and’t a penny to me name. Mary took me in she did, fed me and everything.” I did my best to console her, but it was to no avail. She became hysterical with shock.

“The evil bastard, I’ll kill ‘im meself if I get me ‘ands on ’im, I swear to God I will!”

People stood quietly watching, nodding their heads. Most of them were in the same state of shock and any complacency that had come about with a lull in the murders was gone now. He had struck again,-this time with a vengeance.

There would be no walking to Mile End to buy the red bonnet with her arm through mine. She was gone and he was still out there. I
had
to stop him!

I thought about her family, she had refused to speak of them, and I knew so little of her life before she had become a prostitute, only what little she chose to tell me. What of the unborn child she was carrying? Was the child’s life better stopped in the womb than be subjected to a life of extreme poverty and prostitution? Only God knew the answer. I was desolate and without answers.

“We will be in touch, Mr. Ortiz. Thank you for your cooperation,” said the Inspector.

My thoughts centered on Chief Inspector Swanson, the man would now have an increased weight on his shoulders. I imagined what was going through his troubled mind, that he and Scotland Yard were failing in their responsibility to catch the Ripper. The world’s press would make a meal of this one, its front pages asking once more the pertinent question,

“Why is he still at large?”

Without hesitation, I took a carriage to Bond Street. The urge to remove myself from what I had seen loomed uppermost in my mind. I needed to be somewhere clean and bright, where I could block out the sight of so much blood and gore. I
needed
Roderick.

He was alone in the office, unaware of what had happened as it was far too recent to go to print.

He was please and relieved to see me and listened as I poured out anger and frustration, bluntly describing the horrible state of Mary’s body.