A Leap in Time Chapter 8

Bobby made the trek to the medical school in a few hours. Although it was in London, it was more on the outskirts, and getting through the busy city was time consuming. He first went to the dean's office. Once Bobby explained his reasons for wanting to check the records, the dean, at first offended at the thought of one of his alumni being the object of the Ripper investigation, offered his full support, and showed him to the records office.

Bobby took out his list of suspects and settled in, expecting a long day. He decided he really did miss the computer, and Eames' expertise at it.

Bobby's list of suspects included:

Aaron Kosminski, supposedly insane, hated prostitutes, possible homicidal tendencies.

The Duke of Clarence, Prince Albert Victor who suffered from a form of mental illness, probably syphilis of the brain.

Montague John Druit, suspected by his own family of being the Ripper.

William Grainger, a drunk who had previously attacked prostitutes.

Francis Tumblety, arrested for indecent assault.

William Bury, who murdered his own wife with mutilations similar to the Ripper's.

Joseph Barnett, the lover of the fifth victim.

Walter Sickert, who could describe the victims' injuries in detail and had taken more than a usual interest in the case.

Sir William Gull, suspected of the murders as a cover up to protect the Duke of Clarence and seen in Whitechapel the nights of the murders.

Bobby spent the entire morning looking through the records. At last, Bobby began to get a little excited. Three of them had a medical background, two of them were actually doctors. He decided to check further into their backgrounds during the time they attended the school, and fully intended to interview them as soon as possible upon returning to Whitechapel. And if any of these looked promising, maybe Eames would hold off for awhile on her plan of "catching him in the act." Bobby really was totally against that.

Then, just for the hell of it, on a hunch, Bobby decided to look up Hammond's name.

It was there.

Although Bobby had half expected it to be there, it was actually quite a shock to see it there in black and white.

Just to be sure, Bobby went and spoke to Dean Withers, who had been there for over thirty years.

"Do you remember a student here, about fourteen years ago, a James Hammond?"

The dean thought. "Hammond… Hammond… the name sounds familiar, but I can't seem to place him…"

"He was tall," Bobby said, trying to jog his memory. "Maybe an inch or so shorter than me? Maybe there was some trouble?"

Finally Dean Withers remembered. "Oh right, James Hammond. He was one of a small group of students asked to leave, many years ago, for academic reasons."

"Academic reasons?" Bobby repeated. "What exactly would those 'academic reasons' be?"

Dean Withers looked uncomfortable. Bobby waited.

"Well," the dean started. "Of course we provided cadavers for the students, to learn all the aspects of the human body, and to practice surgeries. But this group wanted more, resorted to grave robbing to 'practice' more. They started to do more than just practice surgeries."

"What did they do?" Bobby asked.

Again Withers looked uncomfortable, and visibly upset. "Let's just say they did things that no human being should be capable of. And Hammond, he was the worst of the lot. As I told you, they were all asked quietly to leave."

"Why quietly?"

Withers sighed. "One of them, his father was well-to-do and influential. He insisted it be kept quiet, that they weren't to be expelled, they would just leave on their own. He claimed it would protect the reputation of the school"

"One more thing," Bobby said. "Did he ever carve initials on the cadavers?"

The dean stared at him.

"Yes…"

"The initials J R?"

"Yes, for James Richard Hammond. They called him J.R.—"

"Thank you," Bobby said, shaking Dean Withers' hand. You've been very helpful."

Bobby hurried back to Whitechapel, as fast as the horse and hackney cab would take him. He urged the cabby to go even faster. For the first and only time in his life Bobby wished he'd learned to ride a horse.

"Be much faster," he muttered.

On the ride back a million thoughts rushed through his mind—Hammond's initial reluctance to have them help on the case, the lack of consequences for Hammond's men for sleeping and drinking on the job, the fact the Ripper seemed to know exactly when and where the police were posted, and Hammond's obvious satisfaction when Bobby had been injured. Bobby was even sure that Hammond was the one who had shot him.

Another thought came to him, and it scared the hell out of him. What if Hammond got Alex alone? She didn't know… again he pushed the cabby ever faster.

Arriving back at the police station Bobby jumped down from the cab, and practically flew inside the door. He stopped short. Hammond was standing there, about fifteen feet away, with his gun leveled at Bobby's chest. A second later he felt the cold hard steel of another gun, this one shoved in the back of his head, right against the base of his skull.

Even colder was the voice of Thomas Harris from behind.

"Get down!" he said savagely.

Bobby resisted momentarily, and Harris shoved the gun even harder into Bobby's head.

"Get down!" he repeated, cocking the hammer.

With guns aimed at his chest and head, Bobby reluctantly complied, sinking to his knees.

Hammond kept a safe distance, his gun unwavering.

"Get his gun," Hammond instructed Harris.

Thomas Harris took Bobby's gun, jerked Bobby's injured arm out of the sling and removed his jacket, patting down both the jacket and Bobby. He then shoved Bobby face first onto the floor. Bobby was seething, just waiting for his opportunity. It never came. Before Bobby had a chance to make any kind of move, Hammond came up and placed his heavy booted foot on Bobby's neck.

"You move one inch and I'll crush your neck," Hammond said smoothly, as Harris took Bobby's arm and extended it behind him, twisting it slowly and painfully. Bobby grimaced, not daring to move with Hammond's foot on his neck and his gun pointed at his head.

Suddenly Harris twisted his arm forcefully, completely. Bobby cried out as his arm was twisted right out of the socket, badly dislocating his shoulder.

"Cuff him," Hammond ordered.

Harris gladly cuffed Bobby, forcing both his arms behind his back, purposely jerking his newly injured arm violently, and causing Bobby to cry out again in pain. Together they jerked him to his feet.

Hammond looked him straight in the eye, and announced "Robert Goren, I'm arresting you for the murders of Mary Ann Nichols, Annie Chapman, and Elizabeth Stride, with more possible charges to be applied at a later time."

Bobby looked at him incredulously.

"You fucking bastard!'' he started, but was cut short by a blow to the stomach, knocking the wind out of him.

"Get him to the back," he told Harris, as the two of them drug Bobby, gasping for breath, into the back and into a cell, accompanied by both men.

Once Bobby could get a breath, he attempted get the truth out about Hammond.

"He's the one who's the kil—"

Hammond hit him again in the gut. As Bobby tried once more to get his breath Hammond forced him to his knees, and put a chokehold on his throat.

"Gag him," Hammond ordered. "I want it so tight he can't utter a sound."

"Yes, sir!" Harris said. He was an expert at shutting up prisoners. From his pocket he took out an old bloody rag, used previously on another prisoner, and between them forced it into Bobby's mouth, leaving just enough room for him to breathe. It was secured with another filthy rag.

"It stays on till he's dead."

"Dead?" Harris asked, surprised.

"Didn't you hear me, you stupid shit?" Hammond demanded. "I told you, he's Jack the Ripper. He cannot be allowed to escape. You've got a little more than twenty-four hours. You can do whatever you want to him, I don't care, but at the end of those twenty-four hours I want him dead. Shot while trying to escape. Even if he's already dead, put a bullet in his back."

Harris doubted that Bobby was really Jack the Ripper, but he didn't care. He'd just been given permission, no, orders, to seriously hurt this prisoner. Being the sadist that he was, Harris felt like he'd died and gone to heaven.

Then Hammond, to throw some more emotional baggage on Bobby, told him, "While you're in here, enjoying the company of Harris here, I'll be enjoying the company of your lady friend at the appointed place—"

Before the words were even out of Hammond's mouth, Bobby was on his feet charging him with everything he had. He slammed into Hammond as hard as he could, hoping to injure him severely. They both crashed to the floor, Bobby hurting his injured arm even more, and Hammond hitting his head on the floor hard, dazing him. Bobby tried to head butt him, but instead was kicked viciously in the face by Harris, bloodying his mouth and nose, breaking the nose. He was knocked off Hammond onto the floor.

Harris stood over the defenseless Bobby, his dislocated arm useless, his wrists locked behind his back. Harris took out his billy club, grinning. He beat Bobby unconscious.

TBC