City of Darkness (City of Mystery) (18 page)

Only a woman as old and used up as
this one would call the gap-toothed Elizabeth Stride a girl, Davy thought.  Of
course, on the streets, he supposed beauty and youth were relative.  Trevor
rose, pushed back his chair, and went to the door to call a new witness for
himself, a fact that deflated Davy a bit.  He’d appeared to be listening in at
first, but evidently Trevor had decided the woman’s testimony wasn’t relevant
after all. 

“I thank you for coming in” Davy
said.  “You’ve been a big help.”

“My pleasure, dearie.  If you ever
need some warmth or comfort you can usually find me on Elm Street,” she said
with a smile.

Dear God, was their no retirement age
for this particular profession, Davy wondered, opening the door for her to
leave.  He looked out in the hall and saw one final witness, this one lying on
the bench, snoring.  But before he would bring the person in, he decided he had
better take full notes of the description the last witness had given.  As he
turned back toward his desk, Trevor signaled him over to his own desk so he
could listen to what the person he was interviewing had to say.

“I think it’s Mad Maudy who’s been
murdering them poor girls in the East End,” the young woman seated at Trevor’s
desk was sobbing.  With a quite dramatic flair, she pulled a handkerchief out
of her bodice and vigorously blew her nose before stuffing it back in.  “She’s
as mean as a drunken sailor.”

“Who is this Mad Maudy?”

“Why everyone’s heard of Maudy,” the
girl said, surprised.  In another place and time she might have been quite
pretty and her diction suggested she may have once known better times.  But her
face was marred by pox scars and the riotous orange of her hair rinse did
nothing to flatter her pale coloring.  “Maudy Minford, a midwife in the East
End.  More like a butcher though.  Killed as many girls as she’s helped.”

“Killed?”

“She isn’t…very good at her work.”

“There are any number of midwifes in
the area.  A few doctors are available too,” Trevor said.  “Why would the girls
keep going to someone with such a bad record?”

The girl fingered her dangling ear
hoops, but said nothing.  Trevor sighed.

“Where can we find her?”

“Ask anyone in the East End.  They’ll
point you in her way.  You can’t miss her, she’s as ugly and as foul as a
stablehand.  But she’s always there, Sir, always seems to be around the spot
where the girls get offed.  I saw her in the alley last night when they were
taking poor Cathy out.  And she was there when they carted off Dark Annie too. 
Always there, just looking.”

“Don’t worry,” Trevor said.  “We’ll
talk with this Mad Maudy.”

“Thank you, Sir,” the woman said,
standing to leave.  “She took my sister, you know Sir.”

“Took her?”

“Took her home, Sir.  To the angels.”

The girl left and Trevor sat back,
rumpling his hair.  “Good God, what a day.  Are there any more people outside,
Davy?”

“Only one, Sir.”

“Finish it up and then we’ll discuss
the reports over a beer at the Boar’s Head.”

“Very good,” answered Davy promptly,
although he was surprised.  A beer already?  But a quick look down at his
pocket watch showed that it was well past eight.  His first afternoon in plain clothes
had gone fast.

The person on the bench outside was
hard to rouse.  It took Davy a minute to ascertain if the lump was male or
female, but he finally decided that the hat which had fallen to one side indicated
another woman.

“Excuse me Ma’am, are you here to
make a statement?” asked Davy, shaking her shoulder.  “Ma’am?”

“Ma’am?” the woman slowly sat up and
threw back her shabby cloak to reveal bare shoulders and a ruby gown.  “Oh
Davy, don’t be so formal.  Don’t you recognize me?  It’s Frilly. Frilly
Withers.”  She struggled to a sitting position, the gown dipping more
precariously than ever and her breath strong with the smell of

 whiskey. 

“Here, girl,” said Davy, for her face
was indeed familiar from his days of patrolling the East End.  “Hold ‘round my
waist and try to get to your feet.”  She lurched against him, giggling and
pawing and he felt his face go red again as he fervently prayed that none of
the other officers would happened own the hall and witness his predicament.

“Right this way, Frilly,” he said,
kicking open the Interrogation Room door. “Here, have a seat.”

She plopped herself down with scarcely
a glance at Trevor, reached into her bag to retrieve a pint bottle, half full,
and took a gulp.  She then offered Davy a drink, but he violently shook his
head.

“Why are you drinking so early in the
evening, Frilly?”

“It’s dark as midnight out there,”
she answered. “He struck down two last night and you go and ask me that?  If
that demon gets ahold of me I don’t want to know about it.”

“Why are you here?”

“Aren’t you coppers supposed to pay
for information?” she asked with a sly grin.  “Come on Davy, it be right good
information I bring.”

“I’m sorry, but we can’t pay you.”

“A quid.  Only a quid, Davy.  It’s
definitely worth a quid,” she asked again, leaning across the desk so that her
breasts nearly slipped from her gown.  “I don’t much want to work tonight, you
know what I mean.  Just a quid for my supper.”  Davy glanced at Trevor.

“If it’s important, maybe a quid,” Trevor
said.  The Yard didn’t make a habit of paying informants but it bothered him to
think of this girl on the streets in her condition.  Perhaps a little money
would buy her the chance to sleep it off in safety. 

“Oh, it’s important, alright.  I
danced beside the Devil himself.  Last night, I seen the Ripper with Catherine
Eddowes, only thirty minutes before he carved her up.”  Frilly paused and
reached into her bag once more for another taste of the flask.

“Here’s a pound, Frilly,” interrupted
Trevor, putting the note in her hand.  “What else can you tell us?”

“Why thank you Guv!  See Davy, I told
you it was good information. I saw old Cathy Eddowes, late last night.”

“How late?” Trevor interrupted.

“Church just struck one bell.”

“And where was she?”

“Coming down Market Street.”

Trevor nodded slowly. The time was
right and the part of town was right, not far from the jail where Eddowes had
been released at 12:45. 

Frilly smiled with satisfaction at
his reaction and continued. “She was in the company of a man about thirty years
old.  Medium tall, medium build, with a mustache, but formally dressed, a
gentleman.”

“What was he wearing?”

“He wore a dark cape and…and…”

“And what?”

“A red neckerchief.  Yes, a red
neckerchief, loose around his collar.”

“Was he carrying anything?”

“Yes, he had something in his left
hand, tucked under his cape, but I couldn’t see what.  But the man made me go
all queer, you know, as if my senses knew he was a bad ‘un. You get the
instinct after you’ve been on the streets for awhile.  I got cold chills up and
down me backside, as I passed them.”

“Anything else?  Did you hear him say
anything?”

“No, he seemed to be whispering to
Cathy and she was giggling, pleased as punch.”  The woman stopped and raised
her eyebrows reflectively.  “Guess the old gal never did develop the instinct,
did she?”

“I guess not,” Trevor said.  “Use
that money to get some food in you, Frilly, and a warm place to sleep tonight.”

“Thanks again, Guv’ner.  Davy, if you
come over to Market Street, look me up.  It’s been a long time, you know,” she
said with a wink as she left the room.

“Detective Welles,” Davy said,
springing to his feet the second the door was closed.  “Earlier another person
gave a very similar description of a man seen with Elizabeth Stride.”

“Let me read the statement.”

Davy handed him the report.  “See,
Sir?  A dark man, medium, well-dressed, a moustache and a full cape or coat.  Full
enough to hide something – something like a doctor’s bag, Sir?  Seen once with
Eddowes and once with Stride and that’s  unlikely chance, wouldn’t you say?”

“I think we have a real lead here,
Davy.  And the red neckerchief relates back to something I earlier found, a red
fiber under Anne Chapman’s fingernail.  Well, we certainly have no lack of suspects,
do we?  Midwives and foreigners and dark men in capes.”

Davy nodded.  “I have sheets of notes
here.  Everyone in London seemed to see Liz or Catherine last night with a man
or two or three.   Given the professional calling of the ladies they didn’t seem
to lack for men about.”

“You seem to know a few of the ladies
yourself, Mabrey.”

Davy flushed.  “The East End was my
beat, Sir, has been for months – “

Trevor laughed and stood up, stretching. 
 “Relax, boy.  I don’t think there’s a man on the force who’s prepared to cast
that particular stone at your head.  Now get your hat and coat. I’d like to
have a pint and look over each other’s notes to bring us up to date.  Damn it.”

For in putting on his own coat,
Trevor had dropped a pack of tobacco to the floor.  As he bent over to collect
it he noticed something lying under the door, a gray envelope with ‘DETECTIVE’
neatly printed on the outside.  Trevor tore open the seal and pulled out a
single sheet of writing paper.  Aloud he read:

DETECITVE WELLES, I SAW YOU THERE

I CROUCHED AND WATCHED FROM MY LAIR

I WITNESSED YOU SICKEN AT THE SIGHT

OF POOR OLD CATHY, IN THE ALLEY LAST
NIGHT

YOUR BOBBIES, HOW THEY SEARCHED FOR
ME

BUT IN THE DARK THEY COULD NOT SEE

I DID NOT BLINK AS THEY DREW NEAR

I SAT AND CHEWED ON CATHERINE’S EAR

I SEND THIS NOTE, TO LET YOU KNOW

I’LL RETURN TO STRIKE A BLOW

AT SOME OLD WHORE STILL WALKING ROUND

HER TIME FOR LIVING, I WILL COUNT
DOWN

I’LL LAY HER OPEN, SEE HER SPOUT

WHO KNOWS WHAT ORGANS I SHALL TAKE
OUT

SO REST DETECTIVE, I WILL SAY
GOODNIGHT

BUT I WILL RETURN FOR MORE DELIGHT

JACK THE RIPPER

“You think it’s real, Sir?” Davy
asked.  “You think he’s been here, in Scotland Yard?”

“Probably not,” Trevor said, although
the note in his hands was trembling slightly.  “Most of these things are
hoaxes.”

“Hope so, Sir.  I mean, how many
people could even know you’re head of the case now?  It’s only been a few
hours.  Hasn’t been in the papers, has it, Sir?  But yet Jack called you out by
name.”

“Yes,” Trevor said shortly.  “Yes, he
certainly did.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

11:29 PM

A human kidney is a beautiful
thing.   It has an almost pearlized pink sheen, especially when it has been as
carefully cleaned and trimmed as the one he now holds in his hand.  It has a
womanly shape, a graceful undulation, and he regrets that he must sacrifice
such perfection to this jar of alcohol before him.   But he has waited as long
as he dares.  This kidney is – he pauses to do the math – forty-six hours
departed from its owner and although he knows the alcohol will dull its glow
and begin to nibble at the sharp outline of the severed veins, he also knows
that if he wishes to keep this memento at all, he must take steps to preserve
it. 

He opens the jar, drops the kidney inside,
and watches it descend through the clear liquid to the glass bottom.  He puts
the jar on his table before his candle, cocks his head, and stares with
absorption.  

Blood is the great equalizer. 

The world sets the royal above the
common, the male above female, white above black, Christian above Jew, the
first born above his younger brother -  and yet in the end the blood is all the
same.  Forget ashes.  Forget dust.  We begin in blood and end in blood, a fact
the vast majority of society strives steadily to ignore.

Despite what the papers say, he knows
he is not a beast.  He believes in God.  Actually, he believes in two gods. The
god of order, of law, the god of the mind and of science.  The one he worships
as he eats his breakfast, as he listens to violins, as he walks the morning streets
looking at the girls in their soft blue dresses.  The girls he knows he is
supposed to want, the ones he sometimes does. 

But he is no hypocrite.  No, still
not quite a hypocrite despite the steady and methodical manner in which his life
has attempted to make him one.  He acknowledges this god of daylight and also
the deeper, angrier god, the leveling god of sex and death, the one that watches
over this kidney, the one who roams the streets at night and who cries out into
the darkness like a wounded wolf.