PC Wurzel and Ian Millen sat in the small storeroom directly opposite Stanford Beckett’s office. A shout from the office would bring them rushing the few steps across the corridor. In the meantime, while they waited, they played cards, using a small upturned wooden crate as a card table. The gas lamp had been lowered, but there was still enough illumination for them to see the cards they were playing.

‘I’m a vital part of this investigation,’ Wurzel told Millen proudly. ‘Them Museum Detectives sought me out to take ’em to Charing Cross and introduce them to friends of the last one that died, poor Kate Branson.’ He watched Millen lay down the eight of clubs and studied his own hand. They were playing rummy because Millen had insisted he did not gamble. ‘Money’s too hard earned to throw away on the turn of a card,’ he’d said when Wurzel had produced the pack of cards and suggested a few hands of poker. Wurzel hesitated, then picked up the discarded eight of clubs and added it to his own hand before putting down a three of hearts in its place.

‘I’m wondering if this bloke we’re laying in wait for will be armed,’ continued Wurzel. ‘I mean, he slashed that picture up pretty badly with a knife. Who’s to say he won’t try the same with us?’

Millen lifted a leaded stick from beside his chair.

‘If he does, he’ll regret it,’ he said.

‘Well, yeah,’ agreed Wurzel, and he produced his police truncheon, which he put on the crate. ‘This’ll do the trick as well. But say he’s alerted to the fact we’re here?’

‘He won’t be, so long as we keep quiet,’ said Millen pointedly. ‘No talking. Let’s just play cards.’

In Stanford Beckett’s office on the other side of the corridor, Daniel and Abigail pored over the two notebooks Abberline had loaned them. Each had taken one of the notebooks and Daniel had left his own notebook on the table between them so each could refer back to it and cross-check details. As was the case with the two men in the storeroom, they’d lowered the gas lighting, with the additional precaution of pulling the heavy curtains shut to keep the light from being seen by anyone outside in the street. Both kept their ears alert for any sound in the corridor that would indicate an intruder, and when they did speak, they spoke in whispers, as now.

‘He’s got more details about the murders in his notebooks than you had in yours,’ whispered Abigail. ‘Listen: Mary Ann Nichols (née Walker) was killed on 31st August 1888. She married William Nichols in 1864 and had five children. After William had an affair, the couple separated in 1880. Mary became an alcoholic with a taste for gin. She became a prostitute. living in casual lodging houses. According to her friend, Ellen Holland, who Nichols shared a bed with in a lodging house in Thrawl Street, on the evening of 31st August the deputy at the lodging house turned her out because she did not have the four shillings lodging fee. At 2.30 a.m., Holland saw Nichols at the corner of Brick Lane and Whitechapel High Street. She was drunk and hardly able to stand. At 3.40 a.m. two carmen, Charles Cross and Robert Paul, discovered her body at the entrance to the stableyard in Buck’s Row.’

‘Fred was always very good on details,’ nodded Daniel.

‘And this about Elizabeth Stride, who was killed in the early hours of 30th September,’ continued Abigail ‘On 30th September, PC 425H William Smith saw Stride talking to a man in Berner Street at 12.30 a.m.. At 12.45 a.m., James Brown saw a man and a woman talking at the junction of Fairclough Street and Berner Street.

‘Also at 12.45 a.m., Israel Schwartz saw a man walk up to Stride in Berner Street and argue with her, then throw her down to the ground. At 1 a.m., a street jewellery hawker and also a steward of the International Working Men’s Education Club, discovered Stride’s body in Berner Street.

‘He then goes on to Catherine Eddowes, who was also killed in the early hours of 30th September: at 1.35 a.m., Joseph Lawende, Joseph Levy and Harry Harris saw Eddowes talking to a man at the corner of Church Passage. At 1.45 a.m. PC 881 Edward Watkins of the City Police discovered the mutilated body of Eddowes in Mitre Square.’

‘I agree he’s got more details than I had in mine, but as I said, I’d only joined Abberline’s squad six months before the Ripper enquiries,’ Daniel defended himself. ‘I’d only recently been made a detective sergeant. I was lucky that Abberline had noticed me when I was a detective constable and thought I had potential and so he had me added to his team. To a great extent, I was still learning my way. ‘

‘You learnt from Abberline?’

‘I did. As you’ve just seen from those reports, he was very precise. A great man for recording every last detail so he could compare notes later and see where they might lead. You’ll see he even entered the autopsy reports on each victim so he could compare the injuries they’d suffered, look for any common denominator.’

Abigail turned to the autopsy reports, all neatly copied out in Abberline’s precise handwriting.

‘“Autopsy report on Mary Ann Nichols by Dr Rees Ralph Llewellyn”,’ she read.

‘“Five of the teeth were missing and there was slight laceration of the tongue. There was a bruise running along the lower jaw and the right side of the face. This might have been caused by a blow from a fist or pressure from a thumb.”’ There was a great deal more about bruising and cuts to the face and a description of cuts to her throat and neck which had ‘severed the tissues right down to the vertebrae’, before she came to: ‘“There were no other injuries about the body until just about the lower part of the abdomen. Two or three inches from the left side was a wound running in a jagged manner. The wound was a very deep one and the tissues were cut through. There were several incisions running across the abdomen. There were also three or four similar cuts running downwards on the right side, all of which had been caused by a knife”.’

Abigail then turned to the autopsy report on Annie Chapman, this one by a Dr Phillips. As with Mary Ann Nichols, there was bruising to the face and, as with Annie Chapman, the knife cuts to her neck had been so deep her throat had been severed. Dr Phillips then went on to detail: ‘the injuries to the abdomen. The abdomen had been entirely laid open and the intestines severed from their mesenteric attachments, which had been lifted out. From the pelvis, the uterus and its appendages with the upper portion of the vagina and the posterior two-thirds of the bladder had been entirely removed.’

Abigail then tuned to the autopsy report by this same Dr Phillips on Elizabeth Stride.

‘Elizabeth Stride’s body wasn’t mutilated like the others,’ said Abigail.

‘No, but the injuries to her face were the same,’ said Daniel. ‘The suggestion was that, with all the people around, the killer abandoned the idea of mutilating her; but he was able to carry that out shortly after on the body of Catherine Eddowes.’

Abigail turned to the autopsy report on Catherine Eddowes, and after a few moments said: ‘My God, what sort of monster was he? He cut out her vagina and her rectum, along with her intestines.’

‘He was the worst I’ve ever known,’ said Daniel. ‘Especially because it all seemed so calculated, and at the same time pointless. What was he after?’ He hesitated, then said: ‘If I were you, I’d avoid the autopsy report on Mary Jane Kelly. The others were bad, but this was by far the worst. He had more time with Mary Jane than with the others. All the others were killed and eviscerated in the open. Mary Jane was killed in her room. The killer had all the time he wanted to do what he wanted.’

Abigail nodded, closed the notebook and pushed it away. ‘Yes. I’ve had quite enough pain and misery from the first ones.’ She opened the notebook again. ‘But I can cope with Mr Abberline’s notes about events leading up to her death. As you say, comparing what he did to the other women.’

She read Abberline’s notes, which informed her that Mary Jane Kelly was killed on 9th November in her room at 13 Miller’s Court.

‘At 8.30 a.m. on that morning, Caroline Maxwell met and spoke to Kelly at the corner of Miller’s Court. Maxwell said that Kelly was very drunk. At 10 a.m., Maurice Lewis, a tailor of Dorset Street, says he saw Kelly drinking in the Britannia pub at the corner of Commercial Street and Dorset Street. Later that morning, Thomas Bowyer of 37 Dorset Street called at Kelly’s place to collect the rent on behalf of the landlord, John McCarthy, and discovered Kelly’s mutilated body.’

She put the notebook down and looked at him, overcome by the horrific details. ‘I can’t imagine how it must have been for you being involved in all this,’ she said.

‘About the same as it is for both of us right now, looking into these two killings at the National Gallery,’ said Daniel ruefully.

‘No, it’s different,’ said Abigail. ‘Those two women were killed and mutilated to try and incriminate Sickert because of some real or imagined hurt. These women were killed for – what? Pleasure?’

‘Who knows?’ sighed Daniel. ‘We were desperate to catch him and stop him before he killed more. But then, he seemed to stop.’

‘Why?’

‘Some suggested he’d died. Others said he’d fled abroad. Certainly, there were reports of similar murders in America within the year of them ending in England.’ Suddenly he exclaimed in a note of triumph, ‘Here we are! Good old Fred!’

‘What have you found?’ asked Abigail.

‘The names of other potential victims, all murdered in the same area but questions remained as to whether they were actual victims of the Ripper or of someone else.’

He pushed the open notebook to her.

‘Emma Elizabeth Smith,’ read Abigail. ‘Martha Tabram. Alice McKenzie. Mary Bigwell, Jane Turner, Barbara Willen.’

‘Look at Barbara Willen’s address,’ urged Daniel keenly. ‘The Shambles.’

‘An old name for a butchery,’ said Abigail.

‘We need to talk to Sergeant Whetstone again,’ said Daniel. ‘This time with Fred.’

Suddenly he put his finger to his lips as he heard a shuffling noise outside in the corridor. Abigail heard it, too. They got up and moved silently to take up positions behind the door. Slowly, the door opened and a hooded figure stepped into the office. The intruder hesitated, then saw the damaged painting leaning against the wall opposite and went to it, lifting up.

‘Stop right there,’ said Daniel, ‘Put that picture down and raise your hands in the air.’

Suddenly the figure whirled round and hurled the painting at them, at the same time rushing for the door, but before he could reach safety the door of the storeroom opposite was jerked open and the burly figure of Ian Millen leapt out and thrust his leaded stick hard into the intruder’s stomach.

The intruder collapsed to the floor with a yelp of pain, and the wiry figure of PC Wurzel entered the action, dropping on the fallen figure with a force that brought another cry of pain.

‘Got him!’ exulted Wurzel triumphantly.

Daniel stepped forward and removed the hood from the intruder’s face, revealing the anguished features of Simon Anstis.

‘Don’t hurt me!’ begged Anstis, shielding his face with his hands and arms.

‘Constable Wurzel, this is Mr Simon Anstis,’ said Daniel. ‘Would you please take him into custody and charge him with burglary and criminal damage.’ He turned to Ian Millen. ‘Mr Millen, would you be kind enough to accompany PC Wurzel to the Strand police station when he takes Mr Anstis in, just in case Mr Anstis decides to be difficult.’

‘I won’t!’ Anstis promised. ‘I’ve never hurt anyone! It’s not in my nature.’

Millen hauled Anstis to his feet.

‘It will be my pleasure,’ he said. He leant in to the cowering Anstis and growled menacingly: ‘I’ll teach you to deface the paintings in my care.’ He produced his leaded stick and poked it at Anstis. ‘Give me just one excuse and you’ll feel this again, laddie. And harder next time.’

 ‘Thank you,’ said Daniel. ‘We’ll wait for your return so that you can lock up.’ He looked at Anstis and held out his hand as he added: ‘And we’ll have the keys that you used to get in.’

Anstis took two keys on a ring from his pocket and passed them to Daniel. Then his arms were gripped by both Millen and PC Wurzel and he was escorted out.

‘Now,’ said Daniel, sitting down at the desk. ‘I think we’ll return to Fred’s notebooks until Mr Millen comes back.’