City of Darkness

Chapter THIRTEEN

10: 55 AM





“I want Abrams.”

“That,” Eatwell said, “is entirely out of the question.”

“If he’s been cast off the case because he’s Jewish, I must tell you how unfair—“

“Listen to me, Welles, and don’t make me regret my decision to give you this assignment. You keep your head in that notebook, and your focus serves you on some levels, I’ll be the first to concede. But you often manage to miss the larger point. This case isn’t about a single maniac, it’s about the whole of London. What will become of this city if the panic goes any higher, if people begin to lose confidence in the Yard? And most specifically, the inevitable violence that will follow if the public decides a Jew is responsible.” Eatwell looked steadily at Trevor over the top of his glasses. “You’re not getting Abrams. For his sake as much as anyone’s.”

Trevor sighed. “Davy Mabrey, the young bobby who found the body – “

“Fine, fine, take him. The parade of witnesses will shortly commence and, even though the chances of someone saying something helpful are small, I want you to record every testimony. I won’t have the papers saying we let something slip through. They’re already starting to doubt us, Welles, and that’s the one thing that cannot happen. I’ve had a visit from a Mister Lusk of the Whitechapel Vigilance Committee just this morning informing me of his concerns. A group of local tradesmen afraid that the blood running in the streets might be bad for business.”

“The observations of the public can be relevant, Sir, if we –“

“Relevant?” Eatwell snapped. “Of course they’re relevant, and that’s why you’ll interview every lout we drag off the streets. But the group Lusk heads is a vigilance committee, Welles. ‘Vigilance’ as in ‘vigilante.’ We can’t have the citizens taking the law into their own hands, or London will be no better than one of those savage outposts in the American West. And that’s why we - Ah, here’s the doctor now.”

Phillips entered the room, less steady on his feet than ever. Up all night just like me, Trevor thought, only he’s thirty years older. This case will kill him before it’s over. The doctor nodded curtly and took the chair beside Trevor.

“I was able to construct a most definite time line,” Phillips said, shortcutting any pleasantries, if indeed any were to be offered. “Elizabeth Stride died first, just as we thought. Apparently put up a bit of a fight, I’d say, due to her bruising, which was not post-mortem. Nothing under her nails or in her hands, Welles, so save your breath. A single gash across the throat, about five inches long, left to right. Not nearly as deep as what we saw on Chapman or even Nichols. Enough to sever the carotid artery but not a cut to the spine like the first two women.”

Eatwell frowned. “A different killer? A copycat?”

“I think not. Same narrow blade, same left to right motion, so likely the same man as the others. But this time something stopped him. The fact she fought back, perhaps, or he could have heard steps approaching. Either way, she was still warm when I arrived. So we must assume that he was interrupted before he could do his usual tricks of draining blood and dissecting organs.”

“Approximate time of death?” Trevor asked, pencil poised above his notebook.

“Between 12:45 and 1:15.”

“That’s quite precise,” Eatwell said.

“Mabrey made the first call at one,” Trevor said.

Phillips nodded. “The bobby finds her at one, she’s still warm at 1:45 when I arrive. Meaning she couldn’t have been dead more than an hour, which would take us back to 12:45. So what we lack in clues we gain with a very tight time line.”

Trevor scribbled in his notebook, excitement building. “And at about that same time, another aspect of the story was unfolding,” he said. “Catherine Eddowes, the second victim, was being released from the Bishopsgate police station. She had been brought in about four hours earlier for public drunkenness. Some sort of nonsense about imitating the sound of a fire engine, raising a big ruckus and then refusing to give the arresting officer her name. But apparently they knew her on sight at Bishopsgate, as she’d been in before on various charges. She slept if off in a cell and they released her at –“ Trevor reconfirmed his notes – “12:55.”

“Damn tight,” said Eatwell.

Trevor nodded, barely able to contain himself. They were finally getting somewhere. Warm bodies and police records were far more substantial than the paltry evidence collected from Chapman and Nichols.

“So here we have it,” he said out loud, struggling to keep his voice professional and neutral. “Catherine Eddowes is walking out of the police station just as Elizabeth Stride is being killed. But our killer is interrupted in his task. So he hides and watches, possibly was still watching when Mabrey arrived on the scene.”

“Indeed,” said Phillips. “Stride killed just before one, found by Mabrey at one. Takes thirty to forty-five minutes for the three of us to all arrive at the murder scene, during which time our killer slips away and encounters Eddowes on her way home from the jailhouse.”

“He knows we are close by, but he also knows we are distracted,” Trevor said. “Time of death on Eddowes, doctor?”

“1:30-1:45. Warm when I examined her at two.”

“Dear God,” Trevor said, not caring that these facts were a slap in the face to Eatwell. “Do you see what this means? He truly was right there. We didn’t see him, but he saw us.”

“Yes, so again, there’s no time to drain blood or risk moving a body. But he did have time enough to slash up the poor woman.” Phillips looked down at his notes. “Clotted blood, indicating she fell when her throat was cut and died on the spot. The mutilations were post-mortem - thank whatever God we still have to thank. Abdomen sliced, intestines removed, cuts to the groin as if he planned to flay her, rather like a fish. Pancreas cut but not removed. One kidney taken out – miraculously neat job, considering the conditions and the darkness – and apparently removed from the scene. Cuts to the womb and of course the complete….the complete desecration of her face, which we all observed.”

“Done within minutes,” Trevor said bitterly. “While half of Scotland Yard is within shouting distance of the crime. How he taunts us.”