COPY MURDERS AND OTHERS
Robin Odell
The murder of Marie Kelly is generally considered to be the last outrage committed by Jack the Ripper, although for many months after there occurred a number of murders which were thought to be attributable to the Whitechapel killer. A number of these have come to be known as “copy murders,” and were supposed to have been perpetrated by different murderers, each copying the Ripper’s technique.
The first such attempt happened on November 21st, 1888, just thirteen days after the death of Marie Kelly, when a prostitute called Annie Farmer was attacked at a lodging-house in George Street, Whitechapel. The man with whom she was preparing to spend the night tried to cut her throat, but when she screamed he let her go and made off before he could be caught. The police seemed satisfied that the woman’s assailant was not the man they were seeking, for his technique certainly seemed amateurish compared with that of the Ripper.
It was some months later, in June 1889, when the next public scare took place. In that month several portions of a human female body were washed up at various points along the river Thames. It was claimed that one of the last portions to be found was wrapped up in a piece of white cloth of the type that medical students used in connection with a certain type of work. The head was never found, but some marks on some of the parts retrieved established the woman’s identity. She was a prostitute by the name of Elizabeth Jackson, who had lived in a lodging-house in Chelsea. This incident was known as “The Thames Mystery,” and although it bore little relation to the Ripper murders, it was none the less bracketed with them.
In the following month occurred a murder which really led people to believe that Jack the Ripper had taken up the knife again. This killing was stamped with many of the familiar characteristics of the Ripper’s methods. At 12:50 A.M. on Wednesday July 17th, 1889, Police Constable Andrews was patrolling in Castle Alley, Whitechapel, a long, dark, and sinister passage no more than a yard wide at one end. Its black depths frequently housed ruffians with criminal intentions. In fact, so many people had been attacked and robbed there that even the local prostitutes feared to use it at night.
Whilst walking the hundred and eighty yards of the passage’s length the patrolling policeman came across the body of a woman lying in a doorway. His first thought was that the Ripper had struck again, for the woman’s throat was cut and there were gashes across her abdomen.
As in the previous murders, there was the element of luck always on the side of the killer. Police Constable Andrews patrolled the alley every fifteen minutes whilst on his beat, and twenty-five minutes before he discovered the body he had actually eaten his supper at a place nearby.
The police were able to identify the dead woman by the clay pipe which was found underneath the body. She was a local woman, known as “Clay-pipe Alice” on account of her habit of smoking a clay pipe in bed. Her real name was Alice McKenzie, and she lived in Gun Street, Spitalfields. John McCormack, a man with whom “Clay-pipe Alice” had lived, said that she was a respectable woman who earned a living by cleaning for a family in Whitechapel. The police, however, had other ideas as to McKenzie’s background. She was known to several constables as an habitual drunkard, and she had frequently been seen soliciting in the Spitalfields area.
In several respects the circumstances of this woman’s death fitted the familiar pattern of Jack the Ripper’s killings. The type of victim, the area in which the crime had been committed, and the ability to avoid patrolling policemen were all hall-marks of the Ripper. Even the nature of the killing was similar—the cut throat and the abdominal injuries. On this latter question, however, Dr. Bagster Phillips indicated some inconsistencies. McKenzie’s throat had been cut with a short blade—in the other crimes a long-bladed knife had been the weapon used; the injuries to the abdomen were no more than superficial and seemed to have been caused by the thumb and fingernails of a hand—in the other murders the abdominal injuries were extensive and effected with a sharp knife. The doctor summed up that in this case the injuries “were not similar to those in other East End murder cases.” As to the question of any special skill being shown in inflicting the injuries, the doctor was of the opinion that this particular crime showed nothing more than the ability to deprive someone of life speedily.
The night of February 13th, 1891, brought a return of the fear that East Enders had known three years previously. It was a bitterly cold night that emptied Whitechapel’s dingy corners of their huddles of prostitutes and lonely humanity. Police Constable Leeson was patrolling in the neighbourhood of the Mint when he heard the unmistakable shrill of a police whistle. He made off at top speed in the direction that the sound had come from, and he found himself in a place called Swallow Gardens, which was actually a railway arch running from Royal Mint Street to Chambers Street. There Leeson found a colleague, P.C. Thompson, standing with a couple of night-watchmen.
“What’s up?” asked Leeson. “Murder,” replied Thompson hoarsely. “A Jack the Ripper job.” Both constables were inexperienced, and Leeson could see that his colleague was badly shaken. The two men walked to the spot where Thompson had found the body. “The form lying in the roadway was that of a young woman. Her clothing was disarranged, and there could be no doubt that she had been brutally murdered. Apart from the fearful wound in the throat there were other terrible injuries about the lower part of the trunk.” So Leeson later described the murder scene.*1
The woman was still breathing, although speech was impossible and her life was ebbing fast. Leeson recognized her as “Carroty Nell,” a woman known to the police on account of her soliciting activities near Tower Hill. In the gutter near the body was a new crêpe hat, although there was another, older hat pinned to the woman’s shawl. It was obvious that the murder had not long been committed, but neither policemen nor nearby night-watchmen had seen or heard anything.
More experienced police officers soon arrived at the scene, and a murder hunt began at once. Hundreds of policemen and civilians took part in the search, and small parties of men were organized to scour every alley, passage, and archway. Every house in the district was searched the same night, as the police were of the opinion that the murderer’s disappearance into thin air could be accounted for only by his hiding in a nearby house until the coast was clear.
There was something uncanny about the murderer’s quick getaway. In addition to P.C. Thompson, who had been patrolling the area in rubber-soled boots a mere stone’s throw from the murder spot, there had also been a police constable stationed just fifty yards away in Royal Mint Street. This officer had been on duty all night, and he heard nothing until Thompson blew his whistle on finding the body. It is no wonder that the police felt that the murderer was still in the vicinity, but their searches brought no rewards, although a further precaution was taken in cordoning off the docks. The authorities were leaving nothing to chance, and, perhaps remembering the drover theory, they decided to check on the crews of every vessel leaving the docks.
The dead woman was soon properly identified as Frances Coles of Thrawl Street, Spitalfields, where she was in fact known as “Carroty Nell.” Her body was taken to the police station, where it was examined by Dr. Phillips, who by now must have seen some of the worst victims of murder.
Frances Coles was both young and pretty, rare qualities among the women of her class. She was spoken highly of in the places where she had lodged, and was often described as being of a superior type, although her recent behaviour had been anything but high-class.
The police pounced upon the crêpe hat found pinned to Coles’s shawl as an important clue. It appeared that Coles had bought a new hat, which she wore straight away, whilst pinning her old one to her shawl until she reached home. But where had she made her purchase? The Spitalfields district was thoroughly combed for the seller of the hat, and perseverance eventually brought results. A shopkeeper was found, and she identified the hat as one that she had sold to Frances Coles the previous afternoon for five shillings. Apparently Coles had tried earlier in the day to buy the hat by making a down payment, with the promise of paying the rest later. The shopkeeper would not accept this arrangement, and told Coles that she would have to pay the full amount if she wanted the hat.
In the afternoon Coles returned, saying that she had found a friend who would lend her the money. The shopkeeper noticed a man standing about outside while Coles was making her purchase, but she was unable to give a clear description of the man, as he kept his back towards the shop. However, she was able to say that he was thick-set, middle-aged, and fairly well dressed. The woman remembered Coles pinning the old hat to her shawl, and on leaving the shop she was joined by the man and they walked off down the street.
The police were obviously keen to question this man, and were about to embark on a full-scale search for him when another issue presented itself. Earlier on the night of the murder a man asking for Frances Coles had called at her lodgings. It was noticed that his hand was bleeding, and by way of explanation he said that some ruffians had set on him and robbed him of all his money. The man stayed with Coles for about an hour, and he was heard to leave at 1 A.M. Thirty minutes later Frances Coles went out on a mission that ended with her death in the gutter at Swallow Gardens.
In addition to this, it appeared that the man returned to Coles’s lodgings at 3 A.M. On this occasion he was highly excited and was covered with blood. He told the lodging-house deputy that he wanted lodgings for the night, and explained, “I’ve been knocked down and robbed in Ratcliff Highway.” The deputy would not accept this explanation in view of the fact that the man claimed to have been robbed before his first visit. He refused to give him a bed, and advised him to go to London Hospital for treatment.
The police checked with the authorities at London Hospital to see whether a man covered with blood had asked for treatment. An injured man had sought treatment in the early hours of the morning, but his injuries were not severe enough for him to have been the man the police were seeking. According to the doctors, he was a seafaring man, and after treatment he was allowed to go.
Writing of these events, Leeson said:
There was tremendous excitement now among the police engaged on the case, as it really looked as though they were hot on the trail of the Terror. Next day the excitement spread to the people outside, and big crowds assembled in front of Leman Street Station waiting for the news that Jack the Ripper had been laid by the heels at last.
That night a man was arrested in a Whitechapel public house and taken in for questioning. Whitechapel went mad. The news of the man’s arrest spread rapidly, and everyone took it for granted that the Ripper had at last been caught. There was quite a scuffle when the man was taken into the police station, and a crowd stood outside demanding his blood. If the crowd had managed to seize him he would surely have been lynched.
The arrested man gave his name as James Thomas Sadler, and he said that he was a ship’s fireman from the S.S. Fez in London Docks. He seemed to be ignorant of the murder, but the police were sure he was their man, and he was duly charged with the wilful murder of Frances Coles.
Sadler protested his innocence from the very beginning, but the police badly needed a conviction and public opinion was greatly inflamed. Moreover, the evidence against him was damning. Not only did he admit meeting Frances Coles, but he even said that he had bought her a hat. However, he stated emphatically that after leaving her lodgings at 12:40 A.M. he had not seen her again.
While Sadler was in Holloway Prison stories highly prejudicial to his case were being circulated about him. Some of these tales were so outrageous that questions were asked in the House of Commons, and the Home Secretary spoke of his regret that the newspapers should seek to gratify public curiosity in this way.
With the police and public convinced of his guilt and no one lifting a finger to help him, Sadler, still protesting his innocence, wrote a despairing letter to the Stokers’ Union of which he was a member: “What a godsend my case will be to the police if they can only conduct me, innocent as I am, to the bitter end—the scaffold!”
This pathetic eleventh-hour acclamation of innocence was passed on to Mr. Harry Wilson, who agreed to undertake Sadler’s defence. Wilson soon discovered that the charges against Sadler were not at all what they seemed to be. To begin with, the circumstances of Coles’s death did not altogether match those of the previous victims of the Ripper, and three ship’s captains gave references upholding Sadler’s character and conduct. This certainly disposed of the scurrilous attacks made on Sadler, painting him as a wild-eyed demon with fits of destructive temper.
But the most telling blow in Sadler’s defence was yet to come. Mr. Wilson was able to establish that Sadler had been attacked twice on that night, and thus a major deficiency was exposed in the prosecution’s case.
The police, however, were reluctant to let their man go, and although they managed to draw out the proceedings, it was plain that there was no longer a case against James Sadler. After the magistrate had consulted with the Attorney-General it was decided that no more evidence could be brought against Sadler, and he was duly discharged.
There was a story that a newspaper took one of its competitors to court over the Sadler affair, claiming damages on the sailor’s behalf for articles which had maligned his character. Apparently a sum was awarded to Sadler, and after signing on with a vessel bound for South America he was never seen or heard of again.
Yet another interesting sequel to these events took place when Mr. Wilson was walking down Bow Street a few nights later. He claimed that he was suddenly accosted by a short, thick-set man dressed in black. “Who are you?” asked Wilson. “I am Jack the Ripper,” replied the unknown man, adding, “Perhaps there will soon be some more work for you to do, Mr. Wilson.” The man made off into the darkness, but Wilson noticed that he was clutching a black bag.
Reluctantly in some instances, the police, Press, and public had to admit that Jack the Ripper still eluded them, and that the man Sadler should never have been arrested on that charge at all. The Spectator remarked:
It is almost beyond doubt that, black as the evidence against Sadler originally looked, he did not kill the woman; and it is more than possible, it is almost probable, that she was killed by “Jack the Ripper,” as the populace have nicknamed the systematic murderer of prostitutes in Whitechapel.
The murder of Frances Coles was the last killing in Britain that could be even remotely attributed to Jack the Ripper. Nevertheless the mysterious Jack has become almost a legend, and certainly a standard by which to measure the enormity of the crime of murder. The names of many murderers since 1888 have been coupled with the Ripper, and as recently as 1961 a murderer in Brooklyn known as “The Mad Strangler” was said by the inspector in charge of the case to be “worse than Jack the Ripper.”
After the last Ripper murder in London there came reports of similar murders abroad. From America and Russia came news of such killings during the years 1886 to 1894, and in January 1889 a newspaper in Tunis reported that the Ripper might have been caught there. Apparently the French police had rounded up a number of bandits. Among them was a Briton whose description was said to answer that of a man wanted in connection with the East End murders in London. This man, however, was eventually cleared of suspicion on this count.
From Texas and Jersey City, in the United States, came reports of Ripper-like killings between 1890 and 1892. These led to a careful surveillance of Americans in London, which caused embarrassment to a few visitors and added to the frustration of the police.
The killing of a woman called “Old Shakespeare” in a dock-side hotel in New York in April 1891 again brought the Ripper’s name to people’s tongues. “Has Jack the Ripper arrived?” asked one New York newspaper. This was a good question, because the New York Police Department had smirked at the inability of Scotland Yard to capture the Ripper, and had said that if the notorious Jack started his games in New York City he would be arrested in a matter of hours.
No doubt with extra diligence, the New York Police Department set about catching Jack the Ripper now that he was operating in their territory. “Old Shakespeare,” a drunken wretch, familiar to all the water-front dives, had been strangled and atrociously slashed with a filed-down cooking-knife. Her body had been found lying on the floor of her room in the East River Hotel, and the knife was discovered on the floor by the bed. Some reports remarked that the sign of the cross had been cut upon her thigh. This was given special significance, and even hailed as the mark of Jack the Ripper.
“Old Shakespeare,” whose real name was Carrie Brown, had been seen to arrive at the hotel with a man about 11 P.M. on April 25th. The man was described as medium-sized, stocky, blond, and having the appearance of a seaman. A short while later the police arrested a man who filled this description in general terms, and who was known to frequent that neighbourhood. Locally he answered to the name of “Frenchy,” and as he could not speak English, it was only with difficulty that the New York police established his identity. He was an Algerian-Frenchman named Ameer Ben Ali.*2 Further investigations followed, and by April 30th the police were convinced of “Frenchy’s” guilt. “Frenchy” protested his innocence, and in court his inability to understand English added greatly to the confusion. The jury found “Frenchy” guilty of second-degree murder, and on July 10th, 1891, he was sentenced to prison for life. This was later followed by his admission to a hospital for the criminally insane.
This was not the end of the matter, however, for fresh evidence came to light, and this was to help “Frenchy.” It appeared that a man who was known to have been in “Old Shakespeare’s” company had been observed in the vicinity just prior to the murder. He was never seen again after the night of the murder, but in his abandoned room the police found a bloodstained shirt and a key which fitted the door of “Old Shakespeare’s” room.
On the strength of this new evidence “Frenchy’s” sentence was commuted, and he was eventually allowed back to his native Algeria. Clearly the police were satisfied that “Frenchy” was not Jack the Ripper, and the man involved by the new evidence was never traced. In fact, the New York police were experiencing some of the frustrations that had beset London’s Metropolitan Police during those terrible months of 1888.
If “Frenchy”—Ameer Ben Ali’s name—was only loosely connected with that of Jack the Ripper, there were others who had more serious claims to the mantle of the Whitechapel killer. One of these was George Chapman, who was executed at Wandsworth Prison in 1903 for murdering three women.
There were many facts about Chapman’s career that led some people to believe that, apart from the poisonings for which he was executed, he was also responsible for the Whitechapel murders. Chapman was actually of Polish origin, and his real name was Severin Klosowski. He was born in the Polish village of Nargornak in 1865, and there was evidence to indicate that he chose a career in the medical profession. Whether or not he obtained a medical degree is a matter of doubt, but he did serve as a hospital assistant or “barber surgeon.” In Poland this was a post that was technically known as Feldscher, an appointment corresponding to that of a junior surgical assistant.
Klosowski was in Warsaw in 1887, where he met a hairdresser’s traveller from London by the name of Wolff Levisohn. Levisohn later saw Klosowski in London about 1888–89 when the Pole was living in Whitechapel. Klosowski obtained work as a hairdresser’s assistant in Whitechapel High Street, and it was in this capacity that he again met Levisohn.
Severin Klosowski made numerous changes of address until he acquired his own shop in Tottenham’s High Road. However, this business venture failed, and he took jobs in Shoreditch and then in Leytonstone. On August Bank Holiday 1889 he married a Polish woman, and they lived for a while in Cable Street, Whitechapel. Soon afterwards they went to America together, but in February 1891 Mrs. Klosowski returned to England, leaving her husband in the United States.
Klosowski himself reappeared in London’s East End in 1893, and after a while his wife left him altogether. Returning to his hairdressing, Klosowski met a woman named Annie Chapman,*3 and they lived together as man and wife. In fact, Klosowski then adopted the name of George Chapman, but it was not long before Annie Chapman left him. It was then that he set about his murderous ways.
George Chapman, alias Severin Klosowski, murdered three women by antimonial poisoning. His first victim was Mrs. Spink, whom he had met as early as 1895 when he was at Leytonstone. Mrs. Spink, who was separated from her real husband, had private means, and after she “married” Chapman, as Klosowski then called himself, she made several withdrawals from the bank to set him up in a hairdressing business. Mrs. Spink died on Christmas Day two years later.
Chapman next “married” Bessie Taylor, some time between 1898 and 1900. Bessie Taylor had replied to an advertisement for a barmaid that Chapman had inserted in one of the papers. He had by that time acquired a public house, but after living with Chapman for a year or two Bessie Taylor also died.
Maud Marsh, the third victim, also answered an advertisement for a barmaid. She became “married” to Chapman in August 1901, and she died on October 22nd in the following year. Three days after her death Chapman was arrested, and he was duly found guilty of poisoning the three women.
When Chapman was arrested Inspector Abberline, who had featured in the search for the Whitechapel murderer, was said to have remarked to a colleague, “You’ve got Jack the Ripper at last.” Indeed, after Chapman had been convicted of the poisonings the police thought that there was some connection between the poisoner and the Ripper.
The police questioned Chapman’s first wife, the Polish woman who had left him, about his nightly habits at the time of the Ripper murders. She said that he was often out as late as 3 and 4 A.M., and she could offer no reason for these absences. The theory gained ground that long before Jack the Ripper killed Marie Kelly he had become aware of the tremendous risks that he was taking. If George Chapman was Jack the Ripper, then the safer and more subtle means of killing that poisoning offered might have suggested itself to him. Furthermore, having changed his technique, he also changed his class of victim.
Other factors supporting the comparison between Chapman and the Ripper were put forward. The description of the man seen with Marie Kelly would have fitted Chapman, and Chapman, with his medical background, could easily have performed the mutilations on the Ripper’s victims, which in some cases were said to have demanded skill. Moreover, he was living in the Whitechapel area throughout the period of the murders, and when he went to America the murders in the East End stopped. And whilst Chapman was working in a barber’s shop in Jersey City there were reports of a similar outburst of murders in that locality.
Finally, Chapman passed himself off as an American and frequently used Americanisms in conversation. This it was thought could account for the Americanisms such as “Dear Boss” used in the Ripper’s correspondence. This claim, however, was not borne out very faithfully in the letters which Chapman wrote whilst in prison. The following is an example of their style:
Believe me, be careful in your life of dangers of other enimis whom are unnow to you. As you see on your own expirence in my case how I was unjustly criticised and falsly Represented. Also you can see I am not Believed. Therefore you see where there is justice….
This extract seems to bear little resemblance to the letter signed “Jack the Ripper.” There were other inconsistencies too, for some of those who had at one time voiced the opinion that the Ripper was a Polish Jew and believed that this tied in with Chapman forgot that the latter was in fact a Roman Catholic. Whilst it must be admitted that there were similar aspects in the careers of the Ripper and George Chapman, it would seem odd that a man could readily change from killing at least six women by ferocious knifing to tamely poisoning three others.
Many people, among them Inspector Abberline, felt that Chapman was the Ripper, in spite of indications to the contrary. This view was certainly held by other police officers, and Inspector A. F. Neil wrote: “We were never able to secure definite proof that Chapman was the Ripper….In any case, it is the most fitting and sensible solution to the possible identity of the murderer in one of the world’s greatest crime mysteries.”*4
Lord Carson described Chapman as looking “like some evil beast. I almost expected him to leap over the dock and attack me.”*5 No matter how foreboding his appearance, nothing was ever found in Chapman’s personal effects which incriminated him as the killer of Whitechapel prostitutes. If he had any such secrets, then he carried them with him to the gallows.
Another celebrated murderer whose name was linked with that of Jack the Ripper was Dr. Neill Cream. Cream was charged in 1892 with the murders of four women. He too was a poisoner, using strychnine to eliminate the street-walkers of Waterloo and Lambeth. Cream’s association with the Whitechapel murders stemmed from a report that when actually on the scaffold he shouted, “I am Jack the…” just as the bolt was drawn. The truth of this utterance was sworn to by the executioner.
Again there was much about Dr. Neill Cream that would have suited the circumstances of Jack the Ripper’s crimes. Cream received a medical training in Canada, and he graduated from McGill University in 1876. He completed his professional training in Edinburgh, where he became a member of the Royal College of Surgeons and Physicians. Dr. Cream returned to Canada and set up in practice in Ontario, but when one of his patients died after an abortion Cream packed his bags and left for the United States.
In Chicago where he next practised medicine he became involved in two cases of suspected abortion, but nothing could be proved against him. Still sailing close to the wind, Cream was involved in a more serious incident in Chicago in 1881. He fatally poisoned the husband of his mistress by putting strychnine in the man’s medicine. Cream might well have got away with this, but, being a supreme exhibitionist, he wrote to the coroner and district attorney alleging that a blunder had been made by the druggist who made up the medicine. All that this action achieved was to throw suspicion on Cream himself.
Dr. Cream hastily made off for Canada, but was brought back to the States for trial, where he was convicted of murder. He was sentenced to life imprisonment, but was released in 1891 after serving ten years. Cream arrived in England in October of the same year, and in the course of the next few months murdered four women. Having failed to learn his lesson in America, Cream, after poisoning his first victim, wrote to the coroner offering to provide information which would lead to the murderer’s arrest. He signed the letter with a fictitious name and the title of detective.
During the course of his murderous career in London Cream wrote many letters, some of them constituting blackmail. One of these letters caused his undoing, and he was arrested and charged with attempting blackmail. In the meantime the police were able to establish evidence identifying Cream as the Lambeth poisoner.
Nowadays Cream would probably have been found insane, but as it was he paid the supreme penalty. Cream has been described as a sadist, a sexual maniac, and a drug fiend, and one of the suggested motives for his murderous activities was that he took the lives of prostitutes because of having contracted venereal disease. There was no medical evidence to support this, but it was established that Cream suffered from agonizing headaches on account of failings in his sight. This it was thought drove him quite out of his mind at times.
As for Dr. Cream being Jack the Ripper, it seems that if he really did make that utterance on the scaffold, then it must have been his last attempt at the very exhibitionism which had finally betrayed him. For at the time that Whitechapel was under the terror of Jack the Ripper Dr. Neill Cream had been serving a prison sentence in America.
However, Cream’s part in the Ripper story does not end here. Some years before Cream was convicted and hanged Sir Edward Marshall Hall, the famous advocate, defended him on a charge of bigamy.*6 Several women claimed to have been “married” to Cream, and Marshall Hall advised his client to plead guilty.
Cream indignantly refused, and protested that he had in fact been in jail in Sydney, Australia, at the time he was supposed to have committed the offences. Cream’s description was sent to Australia, and a reply was received confirming that a man of that description had been in prison in Sydney at the time in question. This provided a perfect alibi, and Cream was subsequently released.
The theory was that Cream had a double in the criminal underworld, and they went by the same name, using each other’s terms of imprisonment as alibis. It has been suggested that as Cream himself was in prison in America at the time of the Whitechapel murders his double was actually Jack the Ripper and that Cream’s last words on the scaffold were aimed at providing his double with a final alibi, this being in the nature of a repayment for the double, whose imprisonment in Australia gave Cream an alibi to escape the charge of bigamy.
This “double” theory is ingenious, but simply leads inquiry round in ever-decreasing circles, and, of course, there is no supporting evidence for making the initial assumption anyway. Actually the idea of Jack the Ripper’s double identity arises later in connection with another theory, but such unexplained assertions, though novel, have little application in the serious quest to solve the Ripper mystery.
