RIPPER'S LONDON Chapter 2
10/09/1888: Names
As the sunlight shone off the stone streets, two uniformed men on either side of the street put out the lamps individually. It was their job every morning. There was a murderer on the streets and they were a little fearful of what they could possibly come across. Whitechapel had never been a quiet place. Everyday they didn't come across a murdered body was a good day.
Tony was woken up early in the morning by the heavy knocking on his house's door. He threw his robe on and closed it tightly before answering the door. "Open up, Tony!" It was Gordon's voice on the other side of the door. Tony only managed to open the door before his partner burst through. "Look at this… Courtesy of the Gazette. Seems your friend and father have taken it upon themselves to… Here, look at this," Gordon turned the pages of The Gazette and handed it to him.
Tony took the paper and read it. The calligraphic headline caught his eye as he was sure that the readers would take note. 'Leather Apron'. "That Bastard," Tony dropped the paper. The press knew less than they did but were out to connect the murders and made sure to mention that the police had nothing to go on.
The media were the ones who coined the phrase 'Leather Apron.' Tony wondered why they had to give the Whitechapel Murderer some sort of poetic name. It was almost romantic in a sick twisted sort of way. It was impossible to tell who came up with the name first… It kind of just appeared and stuck around.
"That's not all… Mentions us. We're famous you and I," Gordon smiled. Of course that could have dire consequences and they both knew it.
"I'm going to kill him," Tony said with annoyance. People weren't sure whether it was the fact that Tony's father owned a newspaper or not, but Tony's displeasure directed at the press was widely known. The public had someone known they could direct their anger and frustration at. Being angry at 'Leather Apron' was a given… But until the killer was caught, there was nobody to hate. Tony dropped the paper on the table.
Suspect John Pizer… Commercial Street Police Station
"We got him!" The cry tore through the station like wildfire. It didn't need any explanation. The whole station was a buzz with talk. "Leather Apron, right here. John Pizer's his name. We searched his house… Found a bloody knife in his shed," Peterson said with pride.
They forcibly shoved John Pizer into the room that was used for interrogating suspects. A group of people followed them taking the suspect in. Momentarily the rest of the H-division of the Metropolitan Police was figuratively in shutdown mode. Hardly anybody noticed the grey haired, blue eyed man observing the chaos that had occurred. The man lowered his head as he sat down on a chair in the corner.
Everyone wanted in on the interrogation. Cracking the 'Leather Apron' would be a real feather in the cap and a sudden climb on the Promotion ladder. They were almost to the point of drawing straws to see who got first go. Peterson got first crack since he was the man who had brought in the cuffed John Pizer.
"Something doesn't add up," Tony responded as he took out the notebook and retrieved the notes from all the testimonies that they documented.
"Looks like you really need to clean your desk," Gordon commented.
"Here it is," Tony said as he pulled a folder out from a stack of paper. He quickly flicked through the pages that he had transcribed from his notes. "Well, he's definitely foreign," there was a disappointed sigh. "Right… The fence separating 29 and 27 Hanbury Street is approximately five foot in height as shown here… Now… Annie Chapman was about five foot tall as well. Thus making her invisible to 27's Cardosh or Cardoche. At 5 30 precisely, Elizabeth Long sees an unidentified man talking with Annie Chapman. She hears them speaking but doesn't think anything of it," Tony explained as he dropped the notebook on the desk.
"Well it fits then," Gordon said in return.
PC McGee walked up to them as they stood near the main desk. "Just the man I'm looking for," Tony told the young PC.
McGee swallowed as he thought of the possibilities of what reasons Tony could have for needing him. "Yes?" McGee asked. Being one of the younger people in H-Division came along with being treated like someone just out of school.
"Hang around… We might need you for something," Tony looked at the man sitting in the corner with his arms folded. "Keep an eye out on that guy to," he discreetly pointed to the man in the corner.
"I need to speak with someone," A man in an expensive suit placed his top hat onto the main desk. He took the white gloves off and placed them next to his hat. "My name is Samuel Montagu," he shook hands with Tony. "As you are well aware… I am owner of Montague Clothing Shops. I'm here on official business," he adjusted his coat-tail jacket and waited for a response.
"How can we help you?" Gordon asked.
"My employees and I have gathered a sum of money together and we are offering a one hundred pound reward for the capture of 'Leather Apron'," Samuel answered.
McGee was the one who spoke up first. "You offer a reward of that much and everyone with only a couple of pennies to their name will be naming anybody as the murderer," he interjected. They could see the implications that such a monetary reward could bring.
"Why would you… A prominent businessman be taking such steps for the murder of prostitutes?" Tony asked him. It seemed to be out of the ordinary. There were motives behind every action.
"Think about the future… Think about years down the track. If the murderer of these whores is left unsolved, eventually they will be wiped out or pack their bags and move somewhere else… If that happens, who would the next set of victims be?" Samuel asked in such a solemn tone. "Unlike many people in Whitechapel… I look to the future. I think I'm able to foresee what could possibly be," he told them. Samuel always classed him self as a visionary.
"Thought you'd run off to the Gazette and offer the reward there," Gordon commented.
"I'm going to see how the interrogation is going," Tony said as he walked down the hall. The last thing he wanted was to hear about the newspaper.
"The offer will be open to anyone… From Police to street workers. I'm on my way to see Mister DiNozzo now. Keep up the good work, men," Samuel put on the white gloves and the hat.
"Thanks," Gordon responded as he watched the man leave.
The Whitechapel Vigilance Committee
George Lusk wasn't a tall man. Nor did he look like a man who could fight. But that wasn't his way. George was able to work a crowd and bend them to his way of thinking and that seemed more dangerous than any physical altercation could be. The small thin beard on restricted his facial expressions.
"Now… It's obvious that the Police have lost control over Whitechapel," Lusk took his turn to speak. "Their control has been slippin' from their unsteady hands for quite some time. Yes… I agree that we need a group who can police what they can't or won't. It's up to us, the people to make the streets safe for the working class again. At the moment, there's no guarantee that the streets are safe for our women or children… At least not until this 'Leather Apron' is caught or killed," Lusk waited for the others to nod their heads in full agreement.
More people started muttering to each other. In this point of time, Lusk didn't care if they were actually for or against. That was of little or no consequence right now. The point was to stir the pot of raw emotion. Hatred and anger equaled action whereas the Whitechapel police were bound by laws, rules and protocol that drew them into what he saw as inaction.
"A group of people is needed that is filled with the general population to protect the general population from any threat. It's totally understandable that there is fear among you lot that's preventing someone from taking charge of the Whitechapel Vigilance Committee… It'd be a great responsibility… The leader would be in the forefront. If things go to hell, the leader would be held accountable. He is the soul person responsible for the conduct of the committee," Lusk thought about changing his mind at the last minute. He almost had talked him self out of what he planned to do. "The rest of London's eyes are fixated on Whitechapel… I come here to throw my hat in and offer my services as President of the Whitechapel Vigilance Committee," Lusk sat back down and patiently waited for the decision to be made. Everything was out of his hands and into theirs.
George Lusk didn't have to wait long… They were eager to bypass all this talk to elect someone who can act without letting the thought of retribution dictate the actions. An elderly man stood up eventually. "I myself would have happily accepted the Presidency if not of my advanced age. We have come to the conclusion that the best course of action is the only one that has presented itself. Mister George Lusk… You are now appointed Chairman of the Whitechapel Vigilance Committee. But be warned Mister Lusk, we will not tolerate misconduct," the man told him.
"I know… You won't regret this decision," Lusk gave the slightest of polite nods as he gracefully accepted the appointment. "Even though I'm sure you surely regret it coming to this," they shook hands to seal the deal.
Police Station
"Well?" Peterson was asked by somebody as soon as he left the room. "Did he confess? Did he do it?"
Peterson tucked the notes under his arm before responding. "No… Not yet. It's just a matter of time… Said that the bloody knife was used to kill a neighbor's dog… Likely story if you want my opinion. We're going to send the knife to Doctor Mallard to see what he can get from it. Though I'm certain that this is the weapon used in the murder," Peterson said triumphantly. Singlehandedly he put an end to the London terror.
"How about the knife's length?" Tony asked him.
"It's close to the length stated," Peterson answered.
"Well let's just see…," Tony checked through his pockets. "Where's my notebook?" He asked. It was nowhere to be found.
"Think you left it on your desk," Gordon answered.
Tony nodded as he walked towards his desk and searched the desk. "I told you, you needed to clean it," Gordon said as he smiled in jest.
"Shut up," Tony snapped as he began searching beneath everything. Raw Information was what Tony referred untouched information as. It was info taken straight from the crime scene and not yet interpreted. As it goes through channels and rewrites, the notes and evidence get tainted with personal opinion and omissions. "Where is it?" Tony ran his fingers through his hair before looking under the desk.
"It should be here," Gordon answered as he began looking through the mess of papers. "I specifically saw you put it down," he added. There wasn't anything that looked like a notebook anywhere.
"It's gone," Tony swiped his hair again. "Someone's taken it," he said accusingly. "Everybody stop! Just stop what you're doing!" Tony shouted until everyone in the station came to a stand still. There was silence. "I had a notebook on this desk. I demand to know who has it and I want it back," he said to the other people.
"What's that Anthony DiNozzo Junior?" Someone with an accented voice asked. It was something that really rubbed Tony up the wrong way. Being called Anthony was bad enough but adding Junior to the end of his name was down right insulting. It was only one more reminder of who his father was.
"I just want my notebook with my notes back," Tony said as he walked through the crowd of people. "I want that book back in my hands in half an hour. I will ask no questions and just put it down as some kind of joke," Tony said seriously. Perhaps it was some sort of game someone was playing.
It looked as if his orders were getting him nowhere. No one owned up to the missing notebook. Maybe later it'd mysteriously turn up on the desk by tomorrow. At least he had transcribed the important things. So maybe it wasn't too much of a loss. But then again it was a matter of principle