Authors: Bryan Lightbody
“Gentlemen. Whatever needs to be done to protect Brother Tumblety, but most importantly the Movement, will be done. Assistant Commissioner you will go today and speak to Abberline personally and take the bag and have it disposed of. And you, Royal Physician–in-Ordinary, will ensure that the name of the Royal family through your connection, and fellow masons within the medical profession does not bring us into disrepute over this debacle. Do I make myself clear?”
Neither of them spoke, feeling their standing had been fiercely attacked. As the Duke looked at them each in turn they nodded in acknowledgment of his directions and authority. “Now then, another large malt, gentlemen?” They dare not defy him in any way again and agreed to another drink.
***
Early afternoon and Abberline, Godley, Robert Ford and most of the Whitechapel murder team were all present in the incident room in Commercial Street Police Station as Sir Robert Anderson arrived there in person to execute the Duke’s wishes. Everyone looked up as the door burst open without a knock and he briskly and angrily marched in. Robert Ford’s blood ran cold as he heard this man now standing in the room speak. He had not seen his face before and initially did not know who he was until the apparent drama of the visit unfolded; but the voice was unmistakably the same as the one he heard from the masked gunman on the canal bank.
“Now, all of you listen up, you especially, Abberline. I am Assistant Commissioner Dr Robert Anderson for those of you who don’t know me, head of the detective branches of this force. We will have no more of this subversive nonsense regarding these murders here and you have all been told to desist from pursuing the case against Dr Tumblety. I want anything else you are in possession of surrendered now, or so help me I will have anyone guilty of retaining this information tried for sedition!” There was silence across the room for some seconds until Abberline stood up from his desk and spoke. He cared nothing of the consequences; obsessed with seeing justice done he spoke his mind and the feelings of his team to counter this unexpected high ranking visit and outburst.
“So, Assistant Commissioner, why is that, sir? Hmm? One of my men has been blinded following a burglary here and seizure of valuable evidence against an obviously guilty man. A man who had it not been for the destruction of written evidence in a Limehouse Canal and the attempted murder of another of my officer’s would be convicted by any court in the land. So tell us all, what the hell is so important that you come down here in person and shout the odds.”
Anderson was now red faced with rage with the impertinence of a mere detective inspector standing up to him. It took him several seconds embarrassingly to compose himself to launch a retaliatory tirade.
“You common little man! How dare you challenge the integrity of the upper echelons of the police service. With our superior knowledge of the workings of the force we know where the truth lies and it lies obviously with the man Klosowski or Chapman as we all know he is also known. His guilt is most evident, he attempts to kill a constable and kills two innocent people to escape so don’t tell me an innocent American doctor is guilty.”
“Oh really?” replied Abberline folding his arms and now prepared for a head to head confrontation, “so tell me why his handwriting matched that of some of the Jack the Ripper correspondence.”
“Abberline, that is science of pure charlatans. Comparing writing, such nonsense, many of us write in the same way.”
“And what about the arts bag and specimen jars. Somewhat damning evidence, considering the parts missing from some of the victims.”
“Abberline, he is doctor. Why shouldn’t he have anatomical specimens?”
“Or is it because he is perhaps a freemason, and you are obliged to protect your own in your so called charitable and benevolent order?”
With this barbed and difficult to refute comment Anderson flew into an even greater rage and now shouted at the top of voice.
“Abberline GET OUT! How bloody dare you make such an unfounded accusation. I’ll deal with you outside in a moment.” Abberline for some seconds stood firm. There was silence across the office with all the other officers stunned by the confrontation. Then calmly and slowly Abberline walked out of the office keeping eye contact with the enraged Assistant Commissioner all the way past him. He stood out in corridor some feet away from the office door.
“Now the rest of you hear this. Find the real murderer and don’t dare consider there to be any basis in the slanderous comments of your Inspector. Anyone I hear of repeating such comments or being involved in any case or pursuance of a case against Dr Tumblety will have me to answer to. That will not be a pleasant experience. Do I make myself clear?” The room remained silent and with no verbal response from any of them as Anderson wheeled and left the room shutting the door behind him. Everyone remained quiet looking around the room at each other in a somewhat dazed condition. They all listened out for a further outburst from the corridor but heard nothing.
Anderson confronted Abberline in the corridor and spoke quietly and menacingly to him face to face with only a few inches between them having squared right up to the defiant inspector.
“Don’t expect much more of a career, Abberline. I can’t take you off this case because the press like you and the public like you and there is already too much dissent amongst them for me to cause anymore by removing the so called trusted, sympathetic local man. Cross me again publicly like that or pursue Tumblety and you will have nothing, and I mean
nothing.”
They stared hard at each other for several seconds neither seemingly prepared to give up. Taffy Evans appeared along the corridor unnoticed by Abberline and Anderson. He felt unsure as to whether to try to pass and coughed to gain their attention. This action made Anderson feel uncomfortable; it forced him to give up the confrontation and leave. Abberline for once actually felt disturbed with Anderson’s parting words thinking not only of his police career with the threat but perhaps it’s greater meaning to his personal life.
That same day following a directive from Abberline, Inspector Walter Andrews arrived in New York having travelled directly from France with the young Detective Constable Arthur Bentham. They were met beyond the immigration control by Detective Hickey sent on the directions of department head Thomas Byrne. The New York Police Department still had the man they thought was Tumblety under observation following the request from Abberline, a request that as yet had not been over-ridden. Both English officers were familiar with Tumblety having followed him in France and seen him during the investigations when he was still in London in custody on the night of Mary Kelly’s murder. They were both more than happy to take over much of the surveillance on the Ripper suspect freeing the NYPD officers to return to their duties.
Hickey shook hands with Andrews and Bentham as they met.
“It’s an honour to meet you, gentlemen, real Scotland Yard detectives. I look forward to assisting in your enquiry in any way I can.”
“That’s very flattering of you, Detective Hickey. We’re very pleased to meet you too,” replied Andrews returning the vigorous handshake.
“Call me Hicks. I’m your official liaison so anything you want or need then please ask.”
“We will thank you, Hicks. First thing we’d like to do is to take a ride past the lodgings I understand you have traced him to,” requested an enthusiastic Andrews, keen to start to watch their quarry as soon as possible.
“Sure. It’s East Tenth Street. A pleasant enough carriage ride, so you’ll get to see a fair bit of the city. My colleague Detective Crowle is running the current surveillance. Tumbelty or Townsend hasn’t been out since he got here apparently.”
The relationship between Andrews and Bentham with the NYPD was to become positive and very cordial despite the disastrous results that would soon emerge. They walked out of the dockside buildings into the winter sunlight to a plain enclosed carriage that belonged to the NYPD and was used for detective duties. They climbed aboard having passed their minimal luggage up to the driver who stacked it on the roof of the carriage and tied it down. They made themselves comfortable out of the sharp sea breeze within the carriage as the driver secured his load and then within half a minute or so they heard the crack of a riding crop and the carriage lurched off across the bumpy New York dockside cobbles.
The officers observing 79 East Tenth Street had not seen ‘Mr Townsend’ since his arrival in the city and his lodgings for very good reason. They were very comfortably furnished and the hospitality offered by Mrs McNamara was second to none. He had the use of four rooms, excluding a kitchen which was no disadvantage as the landlady was more that willing to cook, albeit for a fee. With his new found wealth, being cooked for and having a supply of quality alcohol on hand for a fee was the life of luxury for Bill Weston. His rooms consisted of a large lounge furnished with a leather sofa and armchair, a mahogany writing bureau, a glass topped coffee table, a large mirror with an ornately carved wooden frame above a large tiled Victorian fire place. The walls sported a picture rail with beige plain painted plaster above it and ornately patterned red and beige wallpaper below it. He had a large bathroom well appointed with a free standing Victorian iron bath, a large wash basin on a pedal stool with an oversize mirror above it, a toilet and a wooden cabinet that held personal toiletries. He also had two bedrooms. One with a large, soft double bed covered with a traditional Ida down above sheets and blankets, a wooden dressing table, a wooden chest of drawers and a wardrobe. The other bedroom had two double beds with furniture not dissimilar to the first, a room where as he got to grips with his new lifestyle he could accommodate guests, although he’d also use his own room for that purpose with female callers.
Having never enjoyed such luxurious surroundings with the service provided by the landlady, Weston had decided to stay in and eat, drink and bathe. All things that he had been unable to do freely and wantonly. He would start his day in the large and comfortable deep iron bath, the room filled with steam from the hot water he lazily wallowed in. A generous breakfast of pancakes and syrup with sausages would follow and leave him replete until around 1.p.m when he would enjoy a cooked lunch with a good bottle or two of beer. A read and sleep during the afternoon lead up to a sumptuous evening meal with more alcohol, wine and port, all this more than happily supplied by Mrs McNamara at a price. She found the tastes from her lodger the same as his usual lifestyle, but due to her short-sightedness it was only his voice that seemed to have a different sound to it.
The English detectives took a slow drive past with Hickey looking the property up and down; it was very different to London premises. The front door was reached by a steep set of steps going up known locally as a ‘stoop’ which was not a regular feature in London with its considerable height. It was a pleasant looking three storey premises that was obviously well maintained and certainly didn’t look to be the kind of place where their quarry would have plied his work. The carriage rattled and bumped over the cobbled street as it passed number 79 and the English detectives were cautious not to be seen to crane their necks looking back as they passed it arousing suspicion from the occupant or neighbours. They pulled up around the corner out of sight at the first junction they met where the driver brought the carriage to a halt by the right kerb.
Inspector Andrews alighted from the carriage and walked back to the junction and peered carefully around the building line having removed his very distinctive English wide brimmed trilby hat. There were residential properties on both sides of the street. The street itself seemed to be fairly sparsely populated by either pedestrians or horse drawn traffic. Men in the street would therefore ‘stick out’ so any following of Tumblety, masquerading as he believed as Frank Townsend, would have to be done by officers exiting the premises from where the surveillance was being conducted from cautiously. He sighed and walked back to Hickey and Bentham who were informally talking by the carriage. He put his hat back on as he approached and they turned to face him.
“Hicks, where are your men that are keeping watch?” asked Andrews.
“We’ve got two guys opposite in number 80, and one guy in the house in the next street that backs on to it,” replied Hickey.
“And how co-operative are the local residents with that, can they be trusted to not try and tell the occupants of number 79?”
“Well, yeah. We told them all that we were watching a suspect in the Jack the Ripper murders in London and to keep their Goddamn mouths shut, or get implicated in aiding and abetting a felon.” Andrews was a little concerned by Hicks apparently gung ho response; he didn’t like the threat to people and he didn’t like people to know that someone had been pursued here. If it hit the press then Tumblety would probably try to run again or at the very least be cautious in his movements. Andrews rubbed his chin and for several seconds stared into space saying nothing. As he gathered his thoughts to form a plan of action he looked up and spoke.
“All right. Say nothing to anyone else about the true nature of the investigation. Not even in your department. The less people know the better to keep it potentially out of the press. Don’t threaten anyone it only serves to alienate. We’ll try to spin a new cover story about the surveillance in the meantime and I’ll need to keep on a couple of your blokes until more of mine arrive…” Hicks interrupted.
“What’s ‘a bloke’?” he asked somewhat bemused by the term.
“A man. I have five more men imminently arriving then I won’t need any of your fellows for the surveillance.”
“But you won’t have any jurisdiction to arrest, Mr Andrews.”
Hickey had a good point. They would have no official power of police arrest in New York, unless they got sworn in, but could detain someone as a private citizen. He thought long and hard on this matter and was quiet for sometime as he considered options. He had wanted to keep the NYPD’s involvement to a minimum, which now seemed impractical in the best interests of the investigation.