The barman from The Flower Pot slipped the note through the letter box at the address he’d been given. ‘But no personal visits,’ he’d been warned. ‘Leave a note if you have information. I’ll get in touch.’
This ought to be worth something, the barman thought as he walked away. All he had to do if this Wilson bloke carried out his threat and brought the Yard in was hold his nerve. Keep denying everything. He hadn’t survived in Seven Dials all these years by grassing to the law about anyone, and he wasn’t going to start now.
Daniel and Abigail were still unsure of the purpose behind their being invited to Scotland Yard, particularly because the chief superintendent’s manner was not exactly welcoming. He sat behind his desk, glowering unhappily at them. John Feather, sitting at one side of the desk, kept his facial expression bland and non-committal. Something’s happened to force Armstrong to change his mind, but he’s not happy about it, realised Daniel.
‘May I ask, Chief Superintendent, what prompted you to change your mind?’
‘Who said I’d changed my mind?’ demanded Armstrong defensively. ‘It’s just that since then I’ve discussed the case with Inspector Feather, and he told me that Lily Wallace mentioned some rich man who collected Joe Wallace in a carriage and took him out on the two nights that the women were killed.’
‘That’s right,’ said Abigail. ‘I was with the inspector when she said it.’
‘Have you got any idea who this rich man is?’ asked Armstrong.
Daniel and Abigail exchanged wary glances, then Daniel said: ‘We suspect it might be a man called Edmund Heppenstall.’
Armstrong frowned.
‘Who’s Edmund Heppenstall?’
‘A very important surgeon, and someone with a deep hatred of Walter Sickert.’
‘Why?’
Daniel and Abigail told the chief superintendent the background they’d discovered, Catherine Heppenstall’s affair with Sickert and her subsequent disappearance, and their suspicion that Heppenstall may have killed his wife, at which Armstrong snorted contemptuously: ‘Rubbish! Men of that social standing don’t kill their wives.’
‘I’m afraid they do,’ said Daniel. ‘And, because of their social standing, most of them get away with it. We were about to talk to Mr Heppenstall before you told us the case was closed.’
‘If you talk to this Heppenstall, it’s absolutely without my permission,’ said Armstrong firmly. Then he asked: ‘Have you got any other suspects for this supposed rich man?’
‘Not at the moment. However, we have brought Fred Abberline in to help us.’
‘Abberline!!’ exploded Armstrong. ‘Why?’
‘Because he was always a good detective, and his knowledge of Whitechapel and the original Ripper killings is second to none. And we’re convinced they’re connected. Joe Wallace was a child during the original Ripper killings, and we think it’s likely he was related to one of the victims. The word in Whitechapel is still that Sickert was involved in the original killings, along with Sir William Gull and Prince Albert Victor …’
‘It may be the word in Whitechapel, but I’ll have no such things said in here!’ shouted Armstrong, banging his desk. ‘Nor to anyone else. You’re talking rumour and gossip intended to smear the Queen! I won’t have it!’
‘I’m just repeating what they say in Whitechapel. We heard it again from someone else who was a child of one of the Ripper’s victims, and Joe Wallace said it when he attacked me.’
‘I don’t care!’ raged Armstrong. ‘I won’t have that kind of treasonous muck repeated.’
‘It’s why Joe Wallace did what he did to those women,’ said Daniel.
‘That’s speculation!’ said Armstrong hotly.
Daniel shrugged. ‘Very well,’ he said resignedly. ‘We’ll concentrate our efforts into trying to find out who this mystery rich man is.’
‘With Inspector Feather,’ said Armstrong sternly. ‘I want everything you find out shared with us at Scotland Yard.’
Daniel and Abigail nodded. ‘Everything we find out, we’ll share,’ said Daniel. ‘One thing we’d like is your permission to check the razor that was found by Joe Wallace’s body for fingerprints,’ said Daniel.
‘Fingerprints?’ said Armstrong scornfully. ‘Stuff and nonsense.’
‘It can’t do any harm,’ persisted Daniel. ‘And it will at least confirm that Wallace didn’t kill himself.’
Armstrong fell silent and they could see he was racked with indecision. Finally, he said reluctantly: ‘If you want to waste your time on it.’ He looked at Feather. ‘Where is this razor?’
‘I’ve got it,’ said Daniel.
Armstrong whirled round to glare at him.
‘You?’
‘I picked it up at the scene of the crime,’ said Daniel. ‘I brought it to give to Inspector Feather, but after you said the case was ended, I forgot to hand it over.’ He tapped his inside pocket. ‘I brought it with me now. I’d like to take it to Dr Snow.’
‘Dr Snow!’ said Armstrong, his voice once again heavy with scorn. ‘It’s all just poppycock, all this so-called science. Mumbo jumbo. Wasting time and money that could be spent on proper policing. Men on the beat.’
‘Nevertheless, I’d like your permission to have Dr Snow examine the fingerprints on the razor and compare them with Joe Wallace’s.’
Armstrong looked sour, but said grudgingly: ‘I’ve already said you can.’
‘Thank you.’
‘And everything on this investigation goes through us,’ stressed Armstrong.
‘In that case I think you ought to pull in the barman at The Flower Pot pub where Joe Wallace’s body was found,’ said Daniel. ‘Wallace was in that pub yesterday with this rich man.’
Armstrong looked aggressively at Feather. ‘You didn’t tell me that.’
‘With respect, sir, I was going to, but you’d declared the case closed with Wallace dead.’
‘Well do it,’ said Armstrong. ‘Bring him in.’ He turned back to Daniel and Abigail and said sternly: ‘And Scotland Yard are in charge of this case. Is that clear?’
‘Absolutely,’ said Daniel. He looked at Abigail, who nodded. ‘Absolutely,’ she echoed.
Abberline was waiting for them in Freddy’s, a cup of coffee before him on the table, along with one of his old notebooks.
‘How did you get on?’ he asked as Daniel and Abigail sat down.
They filled him in on their meeting.
‘So what’s Armstrong after?’ asked Abberline.
‘The credit when we solve the case,’ said Abigail.
‘And you’re all right with that?’
‘So long as the man who killed those women and Edwin O’Tool is brought to justice, we’re content,’ she told him.
Abberline nodded, then tapped the open notebook in front of him. ‘I’ve been thinking about this butcher, Joe Wallace, and I went back to my old notes after you said about other women who might have been victims of the original Ripper, and any children they might have had – especially any who might have gone into the butchery trade.’
‘Yes, we saw one that made us think,’ said Abigail. ‘A woman who lived at The Shambles, which is an old name for a butcher’s.’
‘Barbara Willen,’ nodded Abberline. ‘She was never included in the official list of Ripper’s victims, but the locals all believed she should have been. I checked out The Shambles at the time. It’s where they used to prepare the offal. Her husband – actually, her common-law-husband – worked there. His name was Ben Wallace.’
‘As in Joe Wallace?’ asked Daniel eagerly.
Abberline nodded. ‘Right. He was Joe’s father.’
‘And Ben Wallace was a butcher?’
‘More of a butcher’s labourer, as I recall,’ said Abberline. ‘He was a drinker. When he had taken drink he wouldn’t have been the safest person to be wielding a sharp knife, so he got given the messy jobs. Washing the heads and the intestines. But it’s quite likely that Joe followed his dad into the business.’
‘It’s a pity we didn’t get hold of him before he went in search of his mystery accomplice the other day, who obviously killed him,’ sighed Daniel.
‘You sure he didn’t kill himself?’
‘Certain,’ said Daniel. He tapped his pocket where he still had the razor. ‘Joe’s wife, Lily, said this razor that was used wasn’t Joe’s. The razor’s got fingerprints on it in the blood. If we check those with Wallace’s fingerprints and they’re different, then we know he didn’t kill himself.’ He frowned. ‘There are three men we’re looking for: this mystery rich man who quite possibly killed Joe, the driver of the carriage, and whoever was with Joe when he attacked me.’
‘Perhaps the man who was with Joe when he attacked you was this rich man? Or the carriage driver?’ suggested Abigail.
‘Maybe,’ said Daniel. ‘But it could have been a pal of Wallace’s from Whitechapel.’ He nodded towards Abberline’s half-empty cup of coffee. ‘When you’ve finished that I suggest we go and see Dr Snow at Scotland Yard’s new science department.’
‘Science department?’ said Abberline, bemused. ‘My word, there have been changes. Don’t tell me that Armstrong’s bringing in modern methods.’
‘No, it’s happened in spite of Armstrong, not because of him,’ said Daniel. ‘He doesn’t approve. But he’s given us permission to take the razor in to be examined. So I suggest we go and do just that before he changes his mind.’ He regarded Abberline cautiously. ‘If you’re all right with that? Coming in with us, I mean.’
‘Armstrong knows I’m here?’
‘He does.’
‘How did he react?’
Daniel gave a wry smile and looked at Abigail, who said, ‘Let’s just say he didn’t bar you. Which makes a change. Daniel and I keep being barred from Scotland Yard on his instructions.’
Abberline picked up his cup and drained the rest of his coffee. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Let’s go and see this Dr Snow.’
Dr Snow examined the bloody handle of the razor under his microscope.
‘Fascinating!’ he said. ‘I see what you mean about the patterns of the fingerprints. They’re very clear.’
‘The whole idea behind fingerprints is that for every one of us the skin at the tips of our fingers and thumbs is raised just a bit,’ said Daniel. ‘It’s called the friction ridge, and it makes patterns: loops, whorls and arches of skin. And everyone’s prints are unique to them, so that no two people have exactly the same patterns in their prints.’
‘I’ve read about them, but I’ve never had the chance to examine any up close before,’ said Snow. He gave a rueful sigh. ‘Sadly, no one has brought anything like this to me to look at.’
‘They will, in time,’ said Daniel. He produced a sheet of paper on which were small round prints in black ink. ‘I went to the mortuary and got impressions made of Joe Wallace’s fingertips and thumbs so we could compare them.’
Snow put the sheet of paper beneath a second microscope and looked at the patterns.
‘They’re different,’ he said.
‘May I have a look?’ asked Abberline.
Dr Snow stepped back and Abberline studied the imprints in the blood on the razor handle and those on the sheet of paper. ‘Fascinating!’ he said.
Abberline then stepped aside to allow Abigail to study the images, followed by Daniel.
‘This could catch on,’ said Abberline. ‘But you’d need a vast collection of fingerprints if you want to use this to actually catch criminals.’
‘I’m sure that will come,’ said Daniel. ‘But, for the moment, it’s enough to show that someone else other than Joe Wallace wielded this razor.’
The door opened and the burly figure of Chief Superintendent Armstrong appeared. He stopped short when he saw Abberline.
‘Abberline,’ he grunted.
‘Armstrong,’ responded Abberline curtly.
‘You must take a look at this, Chief Superintendent,’ said Dr Snow enthusiastically. ‘The fingerprints on the razor are completely different to those of the deceased, Mr Wallace.’
Armstrong wavered, then said: ‘I’ll look later. I came down here because the mortuary attendant reported that you’d been in and put ink on the fingers of the dead man.’
‘I did,’ said Daniel. ‘If you remember, you gave me permission to investigate the fingerprints on the razor. This test proved conclusively that Wallace did not commit suicide. He was murdered.’
‘By this rich man?’ glowered Armstrong.
‘That’s where the evidence seems to be taking us,’ said Daniel.
Armstrong hesitated, then he said: ‘You tell us everything you find out. Everything. Is that understood?’
With that he left the laboratory.
‘He’s quite rude, isn’t he?’ commented Dr Snow, showing his annoyance.
‘Trust me, that’s him in a good mood,’ said Abberline.
The chief superintendent entered Inspector Feather’s office and without preamble burst out: ‘Lily Wallace saw the carriage this rich bloke picked her husband up in, didn’t she?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Feather.
‘Did she describe it?’
‘No, sir. But then, it was dark when he was picked up, and I didn’t notice a street lamp at the end of the street where she lives.’
‘Bring her in,’ said Armstrong. ‘I want to know everything about this carriage, marks on it, did it have curtains, everything there is. We find this carriage, we find this mysterious rich man, and our killer.’
‘What about bringing in the barman from The Flower Pot?’ asked Feather. ‘Which do you want done first?’
‘Lily Wallace,’ said Armstrong. ‘She’s liable to do a flit. We know where the barman is and we can pick him up at any time.’