Naming Jack the Ripper: The Biggest Forensic Breakthrough Since 1888 (21 page)

For standard forensic cases, the genomic DNA is used, as in most cases the DNA is fresh and has not had time to become fragmented, or broken. When looking at DNA which is old and therefore
fragmented, the amount of the genomic DNA available is often so low that it cannot be reliably analysed. However, all human cells still have something called mitochondrial DNA. Mitochondrial DNA
(mtDNA) is present in the mitochondria, small structures in cells that generate energy for the cell to use as food. Unlike genomic DNA which is created from
both
parents, mtDNA is passed
down the generations exclusively through the female line,
via the mother’s ovum, because the mitochondria in sperm is destroyed during fertilization. Thus the mtDNA of
a female will be passed completely intact down the line of direct female descendants for many, many generations.

Forensic laboratories occasionally use mtDNA comparison to identify human remains, and especially to identify older unidentified skeletal remains, and it is so consistent that it has been
employed on ancient, often extinct, animal remains to establish evolutionary links into the present day. Statistically, mtDNA is not as powerful as genomic DNA because it is only a small strand,
but it still gives a high probability for human identification. The advantage of mtDNA is that it is much more abundant than the genomic DNA. In each human cell we have one copy of genomic DNA but
in the same cell we can have
a thousand
copies of mtDNA, which means that even if the genomic DNA has degraded, there should still be enough mtDNA which can be analysed.

Jari explained that further tests on the suspected bloodstains required a different and more effective method of extraction than swabbing, to ensure that the original DNA material could be
pulled from the very depths of the stains. He used his own in-house technique which we called ‘vacuuming’ – this is not the scientific word, but a description that helped me
understand the process. Jari’s method used a modified sterile pipette filled with a liquid ‘buffer’ which is injected into the material for testing. The ‘buffer’
dissolves material trapped in the weave of the fabric without damaging any cells and the pipette sucks it out rapidly. The process of injection and suction takes place in a flash. On an item like
the shawl, this would be much more suitable than swabbing, which picks up all sorts of surface contamination such as dust or, worse, dead
skin cells from any number of
sources – just think how many hands the shawl had passed through in its life.

This vacuuming method ensured that specimens collected would not contain just superficial contamination, but would suck out material like dried cells and biological debris from cells that had
been trapped in the shawl for a considerable time. Eventually, Jari was able to confirm that the stains on the shawl contained human genetic material as they gave positive signals for both human
genomic and mitochondrial DNA.

Jari had also discovered during the different-light analysis that the large stain in the middle of the shawl, the one with the secondary oblong shape in the middle, showed evidence of different
bodily fluids owing to the way the stain fluoresced. The results clearly suggested to him that residue – such as faeces or intestinal fluid – from split body parts was present, and this
was why he had been grinning so widely when I got back to the lab. At this stage it was impossible to deduce which specific body parts they were from because it was not possible to differentiate
DNA from the liver, from, say, lung tissue. Tissue-type can be determined using so-called ‘gene expression profiling’ but given the age of the samples involved with the shawl, Jari
thought that this would not be possible to do as RNA (ribonucleic acid) would be needed, and RNA is known to degrade even more readily than DNA.

The traces of split body parts were a clear reminder of what Jack the Ripper did to mutilate Catherine’s body. What was also interesting was that the stain that indicated different fluids
appeared to be replicated at the other end of the shawl, suggesting that the shawl had been folded over the object that left those marks. This was incredible stuff, and I was particularly thrilled
by the words, ‘This would be very difficult to forge.’ Even Jari’s sangfroid was momentarily overcome.

Great progress had been made. To summarize, we had now confirmed that there was human blood on the shawl, possibly semen and, most excitingly, evidence of split body
parts. Remember, Catherine Eddowes had had her uterus and left kidney removed. I felt we were close to establishing a proper, scientific link between the events in Mitre Square and what appeared on
the shawl, which at the time of its retrieval must have been in quite a mess. There was, of course, so much more to be done, but things seemed to be moving in the right direction.

CHAPTER NINE

FINDING DNA

W
hile I was waiting for Jari to do more testing, I set off on another leg of the research: I decided to find out about the shawl itself. After all,
it was no good finding it had human blood and semen on it, if it then turned out not to be old enough to date back to the time of Jack the Ripper. I was sure it was at least that old, but I needed
to prove it.

Not long into my research I made another, massive discovery, a leap forward that I had not expected.

Considering where it was found, it seemed logical to assume that the shawl had been made in Spitalfields, which was known as a centre for the silk-weaving trade around the eighteenth century,
when the Huguenot silk weavers colonized the area, and built the beautiful town houses that have now been preserved. From the late 1600s onwards the area to the east of the City of London, where
open fields provided perfect conditions for growing mulberry trees (for silkworms) and the laying out of tenter grounds (for drying and stretching cloth), silk weaving was the major occupation in
what is now the East End. The Huguenot houses can be identified by the long windows in their attic spaces, designed to capture as much
light as possible for the delicate
weaving process. Throughout the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, Spitalfields silk was highly prized thanks to the skill of the craftsmen, and the area itself built up into a very prosperous
neighbourhood.

A mixture of the industrial revolution, when new mechanized weaving technology replaced the traditional looms, and changes in the laws regarding the importation of silks from abroad signalled
the end of Spitalfields silk’s halcyon days. The Huguenots gradually left the area for the suburbs and Home Counties and the district gradually fell into a deep decline and, as we’ve
seen, by the 1880s was known for its poverty, crime and vice. Those weavers who remained lived in considerably less salubrious surroundings than their predecessors and ultimately the East End
translated their traditions into the general ‘rag trade’. This line of work was eventually picked up by the eastern European Jewish immigrants and, later still, by settlers from
Bangladesh.

Even to my unpractised eye, the shawl seemed to be of high-quality fabric, so I felt it was a remnant of the glory days of the silk weaving trade. By this time in my Ripper quest I had become a
tenacious and more experienced researcher, and so I set out on my own silk road, and in the course of one afternoon I sent a blizzard of emails which, with results coming in over the next few
weeks, changed my direction entirely.

My first contact was with the Huguenot Library in London who directed me to a number of publications relating to such silks and pattern-books where I might be able to find something similar to
the design on the shawl. Searching online I discovered that Spitalfields silk designs were very distinctive, featuring a much more ‘open’ floral pattern, in contrast to the tightly
packed Michaelmas daisies on the shawl. I could not
see anything that even vaguely looked like my shawl.

I contacted the textiles department of the Victoria and Albert Museum, but even though I was passed from one expert to another, I ended up, after some weeks, with no definitive information from
them.

I received some information from Christie’s and Sotheby’s, the big auction houses, when I sent them photographs of the shawl. The Director of the Textiles Department at
Christie’s dated it at around 1800 to 1820, and said it could have come from Spitalfields or Macclesfield, another centre for silk weaving, although it was not a typical pattern. She added,
‘It could equally be continental.’ The Sotheby’s expert thought the shawl could be later in the nineteenth century, and possibly French. They were working without handling and
looking at the shawl, so I was not expecting them to be able to give me more than this.

But in the meantime I had struck gold. I discovered a website devoted to English and French antique textiles run by a lady called Diane Thalmann, a noted expert on shawls, who lives in
Switzerland. Having sent her photographs of the shawl, she said: ‘I am fairly sure this shawl is early 1800s. However, it is not really familiar to me, and not English. I’m sure you
realize that, as it is in pieces, it has no value. What a terrible shame! It would only be suitable for use for documentation or crafts. The quality of silk, as far as I can see, is typical of silk
circa 1810 to 1830, but more I can’t say.’

It was that phrase ‘not English’ that inspired me to make a great mental leap, especially as it was backed up by the Christie’s expert saying it could be continental. It had
been staring me in the face since I had hit on the relationship between the last three murders and the dates of Michaelmas.
What if this shawl did not belong to Catherine
Eddowes at all? What if it had been left at the scene of the crime by the Ripper himself?

It suddenly made so much sense. Catherine was very poor, and the day before her death she and her partner John had pawned a pair of his boots, no doubt very worn, for enough money to buy
themselves some food. Surely, if she’d had an expensive silk shawl, they would have pawned that for considerably more money? And where would she, with her history of poverty and privation,
have acquired an expensive shawl?

I also realized that, for the Michaelmas daisies to have real significance, they had to be connected to the Ripper. Perhaps he had left the shawl at the scene of the crime as an obscure clue to
the police as to when he would strike again. Perhaps he had intended to take it away with him, but was using it in his disturbed mental state because of its Michaelmas symbolism. Whatever he meant
by leaving it there, it suddenly seemed blindingly obvious that it was nothing to do with Catherine and was entirely to do with him. He had taken the shawl with him on the night of 29 September,
with the intention of killing, and he signalled that he would kill again, on the Michaelmas date that was (if he was Aaron Kosminski, as I strongly believed) part of his own background and the
culture of his homeland, not this new Michaelmas he had had to learn in England.

Kosminski’s family were certainly not wealthy, but they were not semi-destitute, as Catherine was. And in the escape from Poland the shawl could easily have been brought along among his
possessions.

I was bowled over by the realization, but there was a lot
more work to be done. I emailed Diane back immediately.

‘One last thing, could the shawl have originated in Poland or Russia?’

I knew, from the research I had done into Aaron Kosminski, (which we will get to in due course) that he had lived in Poland when it was under Russian rule (hence the need for the Jews to flee)
and also possibly in Germany – we know some of his family moved to these countries, and we’re unclear at that stage of his life who, among his siblings, he had lived with.

Her prompt reply said: ‘I honestly can’t say, but it is possible. I don’t usually have a problem identifying shawls from Western Europe, but this is a bit of a mystery to me
– yes, it could be either. Russia of course had a culture of high fashion at the beginning of the 1800s especially.’

I hit the internet. One of the greatest manufacturers of textiles in Eastern Europe throughout the nineteenth century was based at Pavlovsky Posad, sixty-eight kilometres from Moscow, a fact
that I very quickly uncovered. The town of Pavlovsky Posad was founded in 1845 on the site of a number of villages, namely Pavlovo, Dubrovo, Zaharovo and Melenki. From the very beginning the
textile industry was its main business, particularly because the original village of Pavlovo had the Pavlovo Posad factory which produced shawls and handkerchiefs. It had been founded in 1795 by
Ivan Labsin, a farmer who set up a small workshop to produce silk shawls. Although demand for silk shawls has dwindled over the decades, this factory still operates, mainly making woollen shawls,
scarves and kerchiefs, and Russian Orthodox women use the colourful, floral shawls to cover their heads in church.

Patterns of daisies were one of the popular flower motifs in
the production of shawls and scarves at Pavlovsky Posad. The choice of daisies was not surprising, since the
religious make-up of the region was Eastern Orthodox Christian, which celebrates Michaelmas as a major feast. Although it was by no means the only possible manufacturer of the shawl, Pavlovsky
Posad was a good example of the eastern European silk manufacturing tradition, and my gut instinct took over again, telling me I had found the place where the shawl was made. I was now totally
convinced that I was heading full speed in the right direction.

I was very excited, and again the only person I could share my breakthrough with was Jari. I sent him a message there and then, with a link to the website: