Sergeant William Thick hammered on the door of the Princess Alice public house located on the corner of Wentworth Street and Commercial Street. In the cold light of an April morning the building looked almost attractive, a great contrast to its appearance in the evening when it was often full to bursting and smokily hellish with the noisy and the drunk. It was here, Sergeant Thick recalled, that last autumn he arrested John Pizer who was thought by some to be one of the main suspects in the Whitechapel murders. Pizer, a bootmaker and also known as “Leather Apron,” had been accused of threatening prostitutes by holding a knife to their necks and as a result many of the locals reckoned he was definitely the Ripper. His arrest one night at the Princess Alice probably saved him from being lynched by an irate mob. Eventually he had been released without charge when it became clear that he had unimpeachable alibis for at least two of the murders.
In reply to the police sergeant’s loud knocking the pub’s front door opened slightly and a gruff voice from inside shouted: ‘We’re shut – bugger off!’
‘Well you can damn well open up, Arthur Ferrar and let me in.’
‘Oh, Mr Thick I didn’t realise it were you. Come on in, you’re most welcome as usual.
‘I should think so,’ said the detective sergeant entering the pub and removing his brown bowler hat. He looked for a clean table to lay it down on but eventually decided it would be better to keep hold of it.
‘So what can I do you for? You ain’t after Pizer again are yer?’ laughed the burly, aproned landlord busily drying a pint beer glass.
‘No, I haven’t had the pleasure of dealing with that scoundrel recently,’ said the Sergeant.
‘I ‘aven’t clapped eyes on ‘im since you arrested ‘im last year, ‘e must ‘ave taken ‘is custom elsewhere – thank gawd.’
‘Hopefully he’s left the East End completely, Arthur, good riddance to bad rubbish, eh?’
‘Yer can say that again, Sergeant Thick. ‘Ere, would you like a little tot of whisky to warm you up on this cold morning?’
‘Very tempting, Arthur, but you know I never drink when I’m on duty. Save it for the next time I call in here one evening.’
‘I certainly will, Mr Thick. ‘Ere, they don’t call you Upright Johnny for no reason do they?’ said the landlord quickly tipping back a mouthful of whisky himself and having a little chuckle at his use of Bill Thick’s nickname which was well known in the East End where the police detective was considered to be totally incorruptible as well as being the scourge of the area’s criminal class. ‘So what is it I can do for yer, Mr Thick?’
‘I’m here to ask about a local thief and general toe-rag called Blackwell who drinks here.’
‘Oh, ‘im – ‘e comes in here when ‘e’s managed to filch some ready money from somewheres.’
‘A few weeks ago he came in here and proceeded to spend a lot on drinks for himself and his missus – do you remember that?’
‘I do; ‘e an’ ‘is wife ‘ardly ever left the place. Drunk as lords every night for a week – spent a fortune on themselves and other like-minded sots. Mind you I wasn’t complaining though, that’s the truth.’
‘Do you remember him handing over two sovereigns to pay for it all?’
‘I do, gawd knows where he got ‘em from, but in my line o’ business yer can’t ask such questions otherwise I’d soon go bankrupt.’ The landlord gave a belly laugh and almost dropped the glass he was drying.
‘Have you still got the two sovereigns here?’
‘What? Nah, don’t be daft, Sergeant. I don’t get to see many thick uns an’ certainly can’t afford to keep ‘em as souvenirs like.’
‘Did you look to see that they were genuine?’
‘Course I did, I wasn’t born yesterday. I’d never trust a lyin’ rogue like Blackwell on any day o’ the week.’
‘You didn’t notice anything odd about them?’
‘Nah, Sergeant Thick, they were completely kosher as far as I could tell. Why do you ask?
‘There have been some counterfeit sovereigns turning up all around the East End for the last few months that’s all. One more thing, did you notice Blackwell being spoken to by a well-dressed toff with grey hair a few weeks ago? He probably gave Blackwell the sovereigns.’
Ferrar scratched his head. ‘Can’t say as I did notice, Mr Thick. We don’t ‘ave many toffs coming in ‘ere. Get ‘em on occasions but they’re usually young uns on the lookout for local jam tarts, if yer gets me meaning.’
‘What about two other blokes Blackwell was drinking with in here one evening; they were also given money by the toff.’
‘No, I’m sorry Sergeant. As yer know we’re always crowded in ‘ere at night an’ I don’t remember everyone who comes in. Besides Blackwell is the type to talk to anyone, usually tryin’ to persuade others to buy ‘im drinks like.’
‘All right, Arthur, just keep your eyes open and if you remember anything give one of the local Bobbies a message to pass on to me.’
‘I will certainly do that, Sergeant,’ said the landlord escorting the policeman to the front door. ‘An’ don’t forget that whisky on the ‘ouse,’ he shouted as the burly detective walked back down Commercial Street heading for Leman Street police station. The landlord watched him for a while and then went back inside the pub and carried on cleaning his beer glasses.
‘That’s disappointing, Bill. Is this Ferrar bloke reliable?’ said Detective Inspector Reid when the sergeant had returned to Leman Street.
‘Yes, I think so, Sir. As reliable as any Whitechapel pub landlord is ever likely to be,’ replied Sergeant Thick.
‘Hm, that’s not saying much.’
‘I think we can believe him though, Sir.’
‘All right, Bill. Why don’t you see if you can squeeze anything else out of Blackwell? Meanwhile I’ll take another look at the list of undertakers in the area around Cleveland Street and we’ll decide which ones we’ll visit first. I thought we’d go to one or two ourselves and send uniformed men to the rest. It’s a big shot in the dark really as we don’t quite know what we’re looking for. Nothing came from visiting those taxidermy places so I don’t imagine that poking about in funeral parlours is going to be any different, but I suppose it needs doing.’
‘Right, Sir.’
Reid scratched his head as he watched his sergeant leave his office. He picked up a file from his desk and took out a sheet of paper. On it were the names and addresses of undertakers around the capital. It would make sense, he supposed, to begin by singling out those around the Cleveland Street area. If there is a connection between the out of bounds molly house and the recent murders then starting with those relatively nearby would seems to be the best strategy. He was just about to circle the funeral establishment he should visit first when Sergeant Thick came running back into his office.
‘Blackwell’s dead, Inspector!’
‘What?’
‘I just went down to the cells, Sir, and found him lying on the floor – dead as a doornail.’
‘What the hell…what has he died from?’
‘Not sure, Sir… best if you come and see for yourself.’
Edmund Reid knelt down beside the body of Bill Blackwell. The dead man lay on his back, his wide-open eyes stared up at the ceiling of the cell. Sergeant Thick, along with three on-duty uniformed officers, looked on, surprise was written on all their faces.
‘Looks like whatever he died from came on him suddenly,’ said Reid feeling around the criminal’s neck to ensure there was definitely no pulse evident. ‘Hold on, what’s this?’ Reid carefully pulled an inch long narrow piece of shiny metal from the dead man’s neck.’
‘What an Earth is that?’ said a shocked sounding Sergeant Thick.
‘I’ve no idea… a needle of some sort?’ said Reid holding the object out in front of him.
‘Be careful with it, Sir, it could be poisoned.’
Reid took out an envelope from his coat pocket and dropped the object into it.
‘Bill, have you ever seen anything like that before?’
‘Never sir, how could it possibly have found its way into Blackwell’s neck?’
‘Has anyone else been down here in the last hour?’ Reid looked up at the small group of watching policemen.
‘I brought him a cup of tea half an hour ago, he was all right then; no one else has been down here,’ answered one of the officers.
Reid noticed the empty tin cup on the floor beside the body. ‘Somebody must have been down here. This needle or whatever it is didn’t appear by magic did it?’
‘Let me take it to get analysed in the lab,’ said Sergeant Thick, holding out his hand and carefully taking the brown envelope from Reid.
‘Thanks, Bill.’ Reid looked at the uniformed officers: ‘you three, get the body onto the bed. Let’s see if you can manage that.’ Reid sighed deeply. Was nothing going to go right with his investigations?
A little later, just after all the policeman had left the gaol cell, a flying insect of the size and shape of a dragonfly and which had secreted itself in a large hole in the wall in the corner of the room flew out of its hiding place and headed for the nearest open window. Its dull metallic body buzzed faintly as it was guided back by the individual who had sent it to the police station in order to eliminate the petty thief Blackwell with the poison dart it had ejected into his neck.
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Report Number 0016 to the Glorious and Munificent Jaran Galactic Federation High Council (Planetary Exploration and Viable Exo-Planet Evaluation Committee – Sector 2007 Sub-Committee) by First Commander Treve Pacton Ashto. |
My greetings and utmost felicitations to the esteemed members of the sub-committee.
I must apologise for the lack of reports I have filed recently. However, if I can be candid, I do find it strange that we have rarely, if ever, received any feedback about the reports I and the Apprentice Commander have sent in so far to the sub-committee in the almost nine Earth months we have been residing on this planet. I do realise, of course, that the sub-committee is very busy and has many duties and functions to carry out but surely an occasional comment arising from its deliberations about the possibilities for the Earth’s eventual admittance into the Federation, even at this early stage in a five-year process, would be very encouraging for Apprentice Commander Atia and myself.
In any case we have continued to be extremely busy continuing to gather information and intelligence about the planet Earth. Apprentice Commander Atia and I have recently been continuing to monitor the local policing authorities in Britain’s main city of London, particularly with regard of the new series of murders I mentioned in my last report. We have begun to help the police by providing them with the occasional piece of information (passed on anonymously of course) that will hopefully nudge them nearer to finding out the identity of the murderer who has been dubbed by the local written media “The Vampire Killer” apparently named after a mythical, half-dead, bloodsucking creature. Our own investigations into the murders, carried out as part of our overall research into the Earth humans and their various machinations, have continued with only limited success so far. However, we are always keen to develop new ways to study the local populace so even our lack of success so far in this area has not been unrewarding.
Recently Atia and I have been researching how the treatment and disposal of the recently dead in this region of the planet is undertaken, although we are aware that practices and traditions in other independent states on the Earth vary considerably. In Britain the burial of bodies in the ground or in specially constructed tombs is the norm, but as usual it is highly dependent on the wealth of the deceased person and their familial groupings. Periods of mourning before and after funerals have taken place is very common. (The aged Queen of this state went into a mourning phase after the death of her husband a number of years ago actually to the point where she disappeared from public view, attracting some criticism as a result.) Often the body of a deceased person will lie in an open coffin for a short time, prior to the funeral, usually in the family home. This allows friends and relatives to visit the corpse and say their final goodbyes (as humans often refer to this particular part of the process). Funerals are usually conducted with many religious trappings and are very unlike those ceremonies back home on Jara of course where dead bodies are integrated back into local eco systems without a great deal of fuss. All of this presumes that individuals and their families can actually afford to hold a funeral of this sort. Because there is such a lot of abject poverty in this country (despite, as I have previously mentioned, this being the wealthiest state on the planet) pauper funerals, often in unmarked and unrecorded burial places, are all too common.
That is all that we have to report at present. Hopefully the sub-committee will find the reports we have sent to be both interesting and informative. We hope to hear from you soon. I will report again in the near future.
With my utmost loyalty to the glorious Jaran Galactic Federation,
First Commander Treve Pacton Ashto.