Whitechapel Conspiracy

“He introduced them. Poor Eddy was quite a good painter. Sight, you see. No hearing needed. Stephen loved him.” He shrugged. “In love with him, maybe. Anyway, when he heard he was dead, God knows what he thought, but it finished him. Guilt, maybe, maybe not. Perhaps just grief. It doesn’t affect the story.”

“So who killed the women?” Tellman asked.

Remus shook his head a little. “I don’t know. My guess is Sir William Gull. He was the royal physician.”

“And Netley drove the coach going around Whitechapel, looking for them, so Gull could carve them up?” Tellman found himself shaking with an inner cold the warmth of the tavern could do nothing to help. The nightmare was inside him.

Again Remus nodded. “In the coach. That was why there was never that much blood, and why he was never caught in the act.”

Tellman pushed away the last of his beer. The thought of eating or drinking made him sick.

“We just need the last pieces,” Remus went on, his glass also untouched now. “I need to know more about Gull.”

“He’s dead,” Tellman pointed out.

“I know.” Remus leaned forward. The noise around them was increasing, and it was getting harder to hear. “But that doesn’t alter the truth. And I need to have every fact possible. All the speculation in the world won’t do any good without the facts that can’t be argued away.” He watched Tellman intently. “And you could get access to things I can’t. They know who I am, and they won’t tell me any more. I don’t have an excuse.” He nodded. “But you could. You could say it was to do with a case, and they’d talk to you.”

“What are you going to do?” Tellman questioned. “What else do you need? And why? What will you do with it all when you have it, if you ever do? There’s no good going to the police. Gull is dead, Abberline and Warren are both retired. Are you after the coachman?”

“I’m after the truth wherever it goes,” Remus said grimly. A large man hesitated near them, and Remus waited until he was gone before he continued. “What I really want is the man behind it, the one who sent them out to do these things. He may not have been within five miles of Whitechapel, but he is the heart and mind of the Ripper. The others were just the hands.”

Tellman had to ask. The sounds of ordinary life were all around them, talking, laughter, the clink of glasses, the shuffling of feet, the splash of beer. It seemed so sane, so commonplace, that such things as they were speaking of were surely impossible. And yet stop any one of these men in here and mention the horror of four years ago, and a sudden silence would fall, the blood would drain from faces and eyes would go cold and frightened. Even now it would be as if someone had opened an inner door onto a darkness of the soul.

“Do you know who that is?” Tellman’s voice was rough. He needed to drink to calm the dryness, but the thought choked him.

“I think so,” Remus answered. “But I’m not telling you, so there’s no point in asking. That’s what I’m going after. You find out about Gull and Netley. Don’t go near Sickert.” There was sharp warning in his face. “I’ll give you two days. Meet me back here then.”

Tellman agreed. He had no choice, regardless of what Wetron or anyone else might do. Remus was right; if what he supposed were true, then it was a far bigger issue than any individual crime, bigger even than solving the most terrible murders London had ever seen.

But he could not forget Pitt, and his original reason for asking.

“How much of this did Adinett know?”

Remus shook his head. “I’m not sure. Some of it, that’s certain. He knew about them taking Annie Crook from Cleveland Street to Guy’s, and taking Eddy away too.”

“And Martin Fetters? Where does he fit in? What did he know?”

“Who’s Martin Fetters?” Remus looked momentarily confused.

“The man Adinett murdered!” Tellman said sharply.

“Oh!” Remus’s face cleared. “I’ve no idea. If it had been the other way around, and Fetters had killed Adinett, I would say Fetters was one of them.”

Tellman stood up. Whatever he was going to do, it must be quickly. If Wetron caught him even once more, he might be dismissed. If he trusted Wetron, or anyone apart from Pitt, he would tell what he knew and be given time, almost certainly help as well. But he had no idea how far the Inner Circle stretched or whose loyalty lay where. He must do this alone.

He left the public house and walked out into the thinning rain.

If Sir William Gull had been the man who had carried out those fearful deeds, then Tellman needed to learn for himself everything about him that he could. His mind was crowded with thoughts and imaginings as he walked towards the main street and the nearest omnibus stop. He was happy to travel slowly. He needed time to absorb the story that Remus had told him and think what to do next.