3.
If there were any concerns on the safety of ladies at the late
night, it was not shown by the ladies who had their own concerns for their
family survival. They took to the street as usual although the pickings were
rather picking given the patrol by the vigilante groups in addition to the
walking bobbies. Ever the first to volunteer for these tasks was one named
Bernard Cairnwell. He was a widower; as claimed by him although no lady will
take up to him for his look was foul like his breath and he has a nasty temper
which accounted for his missing teeth. He had joined the vigilante group named
the “Protector of the Streets’. They pay him in coins and a drink after the
night patrol which was fine by his requirements. They were standing the four
figures huddling by the corner with the street light over their heads when they
saw the carriage passed by them. They could not make out the figures in the
carriage but their eyes were alert. The carriage stopped ahead and then the
wolf whistles went out to the lonely lady standing there waiting for her first
coin. She saw the carriage stopped and then calls. She was wary whether to
approach it. She was after all not dressed to ride on those carriages.
“Hey you, the gentleman called you.” The rider on the top there
called her. “Are you selling?”
“I am not. I mean I am but not to you. You can find someone
else.” The lady replied. She had heard of those who picked up the ladies on
carriages. They come back bruised.
“They do you harm than good.”
The lady backed away. It would had been a simple turn away but
then vigilante mob had arrived. One of the vigilantes named Burns had grabbed
the rider by the pants leg and pulled him off the seat. Another one grabbed the
horses to calm them down. Meanwhile Bernard had climbed into the carriage. He
faced then was two young men dressed for the evening.
“Get off our carriage now or we have you flogged.” The threat
was an insult to the brawler who then grabbed the nearest young man and slammed
the head to the side of the carriage before pulling him off the carriage. He
then reached for the second man who was kicking away with the legs like a lady
in distress. He reached in and grabbed the groin before squeezing it hard. The
young man screamed out and then was dragged out.
“Them fillies took to our street and harassed our ladies. I say
we trounced them good and then sent them home with their head between the
legs.” The beatings soon begin with the punches and kicks at the two helpless
young men. The call for help soon attracted the bobbies who came to the rescue
with the truncheon waving. Bernard called out to his mates to run, but he could
not help but grabbed the watch from one of the young men. He fled the scene
escaping into the alleys. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him. It was
his one other qualities; he could really run fast.
“Ouch!” Bernard bumped into the figure who was leaving the
alley. He took no chance then and swung his left fist in reflex. He impacted on
the hard muscles and then felt his body lifted by the other. He was thrown to
the side like a sack of potatoes. He tried to get up but his body ached.
“Move, Igor. We are done here.”
Bernard could make out the movement of two men and then he
slipped into darkness. When he woke up next, he wished he had died. The bobbies
at the station took turns on him with their billy jacks or truncheons. His body
ached from the hits and it was happening form over three hours. He was still in
his clothes but his personal contents were emptied. It was the watch that got
him the worst beatings.
“Yes, that is him. I recognise him.” Bernard heard the
accusations and from then it was the pain. He woke up some hours later when
they poured cold water over his face. He could hardly open his eyes but he
could make out the Inspector standing there with the bowler hat in the hands.
“Bernard Cairnhill, you are either a stupid bastard or one idiot
to be caught there.” Inspector Niles then told the beaten man. “You are to be
charged with the murder of Florence Gates who was sliced by you with the blade.
We will also charge you with the other murders soon.”
Murder? It can’t be. Bernard cringed his body and then muttered
some words that did not come out as one from his swollen lips.
“Spare your plea with the Magistrate. As it stands now, you are
a dead man.” Inspector Niles smiled. “Your name is all over London.”
The name Bernard Cairnhill did hit the streets but the ones that
could not read knew that the man was innocent.
“Bad Bernard was a ruffian but he isn’t no killer.” The pals of
his owned up to his innocence.
“Bernard Cairnhill won’t hurt a rat if he ever sees one.” That
was dismissed as a madman ranting.
“Bernard Cairnhill deserved to die.” That was the saying of the
affluent.
“Bernard Cairnhill dead body or alive, it does not matter. We
will want him for specimen.” That came from the Medical Faculty.
In the Mathematics Faculty Doctor Moriarty lowered the morning
papers. He was intrigued by the capture, and the manner which the man was seen
by the public. He looked to the other figure seated across him.
“Colonel Sebastian, does it interest you at all the persecution
of one named Bernard Cairnhill?” The Doctor studied the man seated across him.
He trusted the Colonel with his life which was valuable then. The Colonel was
dressed in the casual suit well pressed and had his legs crossed. The six
footers height Colonel played rugby at the Academy and was an avid game hunter.
He was posted to the Dark Continent prior to his retirement. He came back to
London raring for better sports. He saw the hunt for deserters rewarding
especially when he dragged them in dead. He later found out that society have a
need of him; the man to kill for money. His price was high but the task gets
done. He was a loner until he met the Doctor who impressed him with the
planning and execution.
“If we have you in Africa, we would have removed the other stake
holders.” Colonel Sebastian though highly of the Doctor. To his remark, the
Doctor had replied these words.
“Why fight at the borders when you could rule like a King here?”
Colonel Sebastian then resolved to be with the Doctor and his
killings were more discriminatory.
“Do you want him killed?” The Colonel asked the Doctor. “I could
do it anytime.”
“No, I actually want him alive. He can tell who the Ripper is?”
“I am unsure of your words, Doctor.”
“Bernard Cairnhill is a factor in the equation. He was at the
crime scene prior to the discovery of the body. He was unconscious then. He was
also beaten up, well not as bad after he arrived at the Station. All of those
data tell me he may hold the final equation to the identity or leading to the
identity of the Ripper.”
“So, I will break him out of the Station.” Colonel Sebastian
offered the solution fast and direct; Osram Razor, the answer to the solution
is direct approach.
“And you will do so but we need to make it looked like his
friends broke him out. He can then be taken care and made into one of the
Enforcers. His reputation now will augur for his future action.” Doctor
Moriarty explained the plan.
“Formed the barricade.” Sergeant Yorke called out his voice
hoarse. He had the call then from the constable that the rough boys were at it
on the rich homes. They are creating havoc there to bring what they say is
justice for the people. The Stations nearby had mobilised their strength to
fortified the streets there. It was not a simple ‘rough the turf’ move but a
full riot was building up.
“I say formed up. Your mothers have given you a good fed before
and so have the Queen. So, sharpen up or it will be my boot on your balls.”
Sergeant Yorke reminded his men. They had their fun with the suspect named
Bernard Cairnhill and it was time to get back to normal tasks.
“I say Sergeant. Who is minding your larder?” Sergeant Yorke
heard the call. He had left Constable Dell and Colin on guard duty there. After
all, if some one turns up to make the report, there will be a constable to take
the report.
“Bloody sods. Leave my …” It dawned on the Sergeant then. He
knew then that he had taken the bait. Meanwhile at Station, Constable Dell and
Colin were bundled into the sacks and then thrown into the cells. Bernard
Cairnhill was dragged out screaming for his life before he was sedated and then
bundled into the wagon. He was to wake up to a bosom lady who will tend to his
wounds.
“Igor was the name he heard.” Doctor Moriarty got the name three
days after. He was pleased with it and the affluent had one more reason to fear
the lowly class people. They have not slept for two nights until the Army
turned up to remove the barricades.
“Hello, son. Did we make you work for your pennies?”
“Mom, please go home. We have orders to shoot ye all.”
“They fed you food and you forgotten your mom’s milk. Bloody
waste of my time to wait for your appreciation.”
So, it was but the affluent could then walked once more with
their dogs while holding brollies.
4.
Meanwhile at the Morgue, Inspector Steven Niles was perusing the
report on the last victim; Susan Green, aged around early twenties of
Whitechapel. Her body was cut almost similar to the last four victims including
Maisie Duncan; the incision from the neck to the vagina, and the removal of the
innards. The part that was not disclosed was the missing body parts; the liver,
kidneys and heart. Those were removed with surgical precision.
“Tell me, Surgeon Frasier….” Inspector Niles was snapped there
by the one he was addressing then.
“It’s John and you need not bring up my uncle’s name to ask me
questions. He is creating the image of a new profession called criminal
profiling. It’s an absurd notion, that we can study a criminal from the clues
and assumed psychological qualities.” The surgeon in the forties age group
looked up with the deep sunken eyes and protruding cheek bones and the thin
sideburn that demarked his facial look well. He was related to Thomas Bond, who
was reputed then to be the pioneer in criminal profiling. The man was given the
credit during the Ripper’ original investigation.
“It’s a new methodology.” Inspector Niles defended the approach.
“How goes your dissection?”
‘Yes, the body parts were removed. Unlike the Ripper case, done
by my senior colleague, Thomas Reeds it was placed next to the body like
offerings at the shrine. The innards were removed there as a process of
accessing the body parts. We are not looking at the Ripper but the murderer is
ripping off their body parts.”
“Thank you, and that was most informative.” Inspector Niles
replaced the folder on the table. “Why was it not told to the papers?”
“Either you are an imbecile or you may not make it past
Inspector. It was the instruction from the Surgeon General who got it from the
Chief Commissioner and God knows who else was before that. It could be the
Queen herself. Or the Germans to the Russians. Everyone wants to cover
something up while we uncover it here.”
“Once again, thank you, and ….”
“Quit patronising me and ask your questions. I got a number of
bodies to dispose off courtesy of your colleagues who had left them here.” The
Surgeon went back to the sawing the leg off the body on the stone slab. He
looked more like a butcher than a surgeon.
“I can read your mind, and I am not a butcher. I don’t sell the
pieces I removed.”
“And …. yes, thank you, I will be on my way.” Inspector Niles
then took leave of the Morgue. He met Inspector Weston on the way out. They
exchanged pleasantries but did not speak on other matters. Inspector Weston met
the Surgeon. The Inspector glared at the Surgeon who then offered the folder
but he remembered the other Inspector had read the contents.
“Niles? He is a pervert.
He is also a misanthrope. He ought to be caged. Like the savage they
discovered in Africa. And I hear he may be a lost Lord’s son. Such a hypocrite.”
Weston then left and he took the fast carriage to house of one named Doctor
Moriarty.
“One of my conditions of employing you that I don’t have to see
you on every information you gather.” Doctor Moriarty reached for the sandwich
on the small table. He was particular on the meal he was take. He had his meat
lean with thin layer of fats on the side cut with precision by his Butler. The
mustard light on the sides and a thin slice of tomato with the lettuce. And a
sprinkle of pepper there. And the drink was the tall glass of lemonade, warm
and stirred with a spoonful of honey.
“I am sorry, Doctor. Inspector Niles was at the Morgue. He is a
…”
“He is competent. And he is not of mine. That is one result I
cannot accept. I need to introduced in a new factor.” Doctor Moriarty placed
the bitten sandwich on the plate. “It’s the mathematical approach. I cannot
accept poor results.”
“I don’t understand, Doctor. I am …”
“I will be brutally honest. You are incompetent.” Doctor
Moriarty looked at the Inspector. “And for that, you will lose your place in
the world of equation of mine.”
Inspector Weston choked on the phlegm that was building in his
throat. His hands reached for his neck where the thin wire was cutting into his
flesh and stifling his breathing. He reached back to the person strangling him
but his effort was futile. His body stiffened and then his eyes rolled up with
the tongue rolling out.
“Thank you, Wong. If I was an artist, I will be inspired by the
silent dead expression. The muscles on the face will contract in stages from
the eyes lids to the lips and then the cheeks hollowed.” Doctor Moriarty
reached for the sandwich. “It can be calculated with some fine mathematics
formula.”
“Mine is much simpler.” The killer cum butler lowered the dead
Inspector who was one head taller. The butler was a gift from a mutual
acquittance, Emperor Fu Manchu whom he met and have the understanding to work
together for the fulfilment of their aspirations. It was the words of the
later, and the Doctor needed a butler.
“I believe your approach is called Occam’s razor.” The direct
approach is the best approach. “Please do not leave any trace in the carpet.”
“Sir, there is a letter from one named Inspector Weston.” The
Butler announced then.
“Yes, he is new. And you will allowed him into the house but
only through the back door. And please do not serve him black tea. He likes
them with milk.”
The Doctor likes to have his data known and then there will be
no mistakes in his calculation of the results. There are deviations in the
outcome for his data subjects may change its conditions like Inspector Niles.
The same can’t be said for the Chief Commissioner.
“Where is Bernard Cairnhill?” The elderly huge frame figure in
the official uniform was heaving in deep with every breath. “I am due to meet
the Mayor in an hour. It might bloody well be the Queen and my reply will be
the same; I don’t know. So, who knows of the whereabout of Bernard Cairnhill?”
The seated officers there with an average of twenty years of
enforcement service cringed below their collars. They have no clue at all. Then
the knock on the door sounded.
“Chief Commissioner, there is a Lord Matthew Millard here to
attend the meeting.” The Lord was admitted in and then given the opportunity to
speak.
“I represent a section of the Government that worked on issues
of national importance. The Queen does not want the matter to be discussed openly
like the previous one which we have yet to resolve. The Queen have asked me to
formed a special team with the authorization to act with extreme measures. They
are assigned from the Services Section. I will personally supervise the officer
on the field. You will all respond to my queries quick and pro bono. Am I
clear?”
It was all the clearance Mycroft needed then as the assigned
officer. He met Lord Millard later outside of the Station. They were seated at
the café having their tea.
“I say, Mycroft Holmes sounded ….”
“Peculiar, Lord? You may have associated me with one named
Sherlock Holmes. He is my brother but we do fall far apart from the apple
tree.”
“Yes, Sherlock. Marvellous chap. Never met him but his
reputation supersedes him.” Lord Millard took to sip at his tea. “He is a
detective of sorts. Heard he is out of London and on some overseas trip.”
“Yes, is he? I don’t keep track of him. A dabble fool into the
dangerous world of crime. I do say he may get himself killed one day but I
won’t mourn him a day. No, Sir. He is the rotten apple in the basket.”
“Poor regard for the …. other sheep, I presume.”
“Absolutely, he is a fiend from the underworld. He never ought
to be release then.”
“I find an amusement in your words on your brother. You do envy
him?” Lord Millard looked at Mycroft.
“Absolutely, if the word I could find fits the bill. We do hate
each other but he is family.” Mycroft smiled. Inside him, he disliked Lord
Millard but he was to perform the task that required him to know the Lord and
God knows, he will deal with the Lord himself who may the devil in disguise.
