David Golemon: Ripper

Chief Inspector Abberline looked from the clay tablet into the eyes of Stevenson.

“That signature on the warning is Alexander the Great of Macedonia.”

“Now I have heard of him.”

Robert Louis Stevenson rolled his eyes. “When he found he couldn’t defeat the many armies of India, Alexander started heading south, looking for an escape route off the subcontinent. He left a rear guard of one thousand of his best men. For six hundred miles these men fought a running battle with a force of men that could not be killed. One would attack many. Tales of men in the attacks taking seven, eight arrows and still fighting. This tale is straight from the mouth and signature of Alexander the Great. You see, Ambrose discovered the facts behind the legend and the truth behind not just the magic of what happened to the Greeks, but the real chemical science behind the slaughter. There are many more tales of these … these Berserkers. It happened several more times, far more recently in India against the Raj, the uprisings, the slaughters of British soldiers by inferior forces of the Sikh and others. There always seems to be magic coming to the aid of the lesser armies inside of India. Why I … I—”

“I believe your tale, Mr. Stevenson,” Abberline said directly.

“But, I thought—”

“The man in the picture is named Colonel Albert Stanley. He is Black Watch, the Queen’s own. If this man Ambrose is who you say he is, he has powerful friends in the highest of places, Mr. Stevenson, far more influential men and women than I’m sure your address book could help but fall short of. This Colonel Stanley is in the Ripper case up to his eyes, and I smelled a rat long before you stepped into this room tonight. He’s protecting someone, and this someone is possibly this Professor Lawrence Ambrose you met in America.” Abberline quickly brought out his notepad and scribbled the names down.

“It had to be more than just that picture that convinced you Chief Inspector. What was it?” Stevenson asked as he finally relaxed for the first time since entering the restaurant.

“It’s not the evidence you brought Mr. Stevenson, but the terror in your eyes. For a man who wrote the most popular horror story since Frankenstein, you show an immense amount of fear when you mention this man’s name, this Ambrose. I see and feel the fear coming off of you. That is why I believe you Mr. Stevenson.”

The chief inspector turned away from Robert Louis Stevenson just as one of his men, Harold Washington, a veteran of the Ripper horrors, walked toward the table at a brisk pace, fast enough that Abberline’s heart sank. He quickly raised his hand at the waiter for more drinks.

Washington was a young man who looked as though he had also lost his zeal for police work since the murders had begun in Whitechapel. If only the lad knew the real truth as he himself had just learned, he would have gone running into the night on his way to resign. Even with not knowing the truth of Mr. Stevenson’s story, Abberline could see the young man’s anger and his feelings of helplessness in his written reports on other crimes in the area. The boy was like him, he just couldn’t do it any longer. With the Ripper investigation officially ended for at least Abberline and his department, he knew his career would end on that failure. The Ripper had escaped justice and the inspector knew it was because of interference from the palace. And now here was an independent witness, one that not even the queen could silence if he chose to go to the newspapers.

“Washington old boy, may I introduce Mr. Robert Louis Stevenson, I believe you may know of his work?”

“No, Chief Inspector, I do not know of him, and if you don’t mind I’ll also have what you just ordered from the bar.”

Abberline tried not to show his surprise at the boy’s request as he knew the young man was not a drinker. Washington drowned his worry and sorrow every night with the help of a young wife, not like the chief inspector, with libation.

“By all means, Washington, please have a seat and explain why a young man such as you would need a drink at this late hour, and whilst he is on duty.”

Washington tossed his hat on the table and then sat, practically ignoring Abberline’s disapproval and the way Stevenson looked at him. “I have just come from Whitechapel.”

Abberline closed his eyes, fearing what the boy was about to say.

“That is over with. It’s been five months since Mary Kelly departed this world for a better one,” Abberline said as he raised his napkin and covered his lower face so the patrons couldn’t see the mask he had become adept at placing over his emotions when it came to Whitechapel.

“I have closed and secured the scene. Only our people know about it, sir. I don’t know how long we can keep others out of it.” He leaned in closer to Abberline, trying to talk below a whisper so the stranger sitting at the table couldn’t hear. “Two victims, a shavetail prostitute and one of our own boys in blue. The heads were completely removed, unlike the other murders, but the proximity to the hunting grounds of…,” he looked around to make sure no one was listening. His eyes locked on Robert Louis Stevenson and then back to Abberline, “you know who? I thought it best—”

The waiter brought their drinks and placed one each before the three men. Abberline ignored his while Washington and also Stevenson took the double scotch and drained the two glasses. “Chief Inspector, I do not know how long we can keep the area secured. You must come now.”

Abberline opened his eyes and took in his young colleague. It seemed he was having a hard time swallowing, but he stood nonetheless. He braced himself against the table for the briefest of moments and then waved the waiter over and asked that the drinks and the untouched meal be placed on his account.

“Mr. Stevenson, I think you better come with us. I don’t think the government is too happy about you having certain information.”

“I’m not brave enough to take on the queen herself,” the writer said as he stood along with Washington and Abberline.

“Don’t worry about that, sir, because after tonight the queen may have to do some explaining herself … if that’s what she chooses to do after we stop this Ambrose … tonight is the last night of the Ripper,” Abberline said as he slammed his hand down on the white tablecloth. “It ends here, tonight.”

More than just a few of the off-duty policemen saw the famous chief inspector Frederick Abberline stumble as they moved past their tables, and most nodded as they understood the man’s possible drunkenness after what he had been through with the Ripper case. After all, who more deserved to hoist a few now and again than the chief inspector? Most understood that Abberline had been witness to one of the most horrific murder sprees in modern times. What most didn’t know however was the small fact that not only had the murders started again, they were about to spread across the seas to a place where few were afraid of the dark — the Ripper was returning home.

The carriage and the twin black horses pulling it raced through the streets of London cutting dangerously close to the fog-shrouded corners where the gas lamps could not penetrate. Abberline sat beside Robert Louis Stevenson with Washington sitting across from them. The chief inspector held on to the right-hand strap and swayed with the carriage without saying a word. Stevenson tried his best to still his shaking hands.

“Perhaps I better tell the driver to slow a bit in this wretched fog, Inspector,” Washington said through clenched teeth as the carriage took another corner on its two right-side wheels.

“Sergeant Anderson knows what he’s doing,” Abberline said as he stared at nothing. Suddenly he pulled the window down and leaned his head out into the humid night, not noticing as his bowler hat nearly went flying from the carriage and into the white night. He held on to his hat and then shouted out, “Sergeant, faster man!” As Abberline sat back into his seat he looked into the younger Washington’s surprised face. Then he took a quick glance at Stevenson who seemed to be deep in either thought or prayer, Abberline didn’t know which.