things.”
“I would remind you that some of the best police officers in London are trying to solve this case as quickly as possible in order to prove we special constables are not needed. Men like Swanson and Abberline.”
“They are welcome to it,” the Guv said.
“I know even if we track down this fellow ourselves, Scotland Yard will get the credit,” I said. “You do intend to try, don’t you, sir?”
“Of course,” he answered, “because the people in charge and the men investigating the case will know. They are the ones I’m trying to prove myself against. I wonder if you realize how many organizations will be trying to horn in on this case in order to solve it and get the credit.”
“What do you mean?”
“You tell me. With whom are we in direct competition?”
“Scotland Yard,” I answered.
“Who consists of—”
“The Criminal Investigation Department.”
“And?”
“The Met. That is, the regular police. I’m sure they’d like to solve it and be able to lord it over the CID.”
“Who else?”
“Special Branch. They’re devious and not above breaking the law to get what they want.”
“Very good. Continue.”
“Uh…”
“Don’t stand there blowing bubbles like a goldfish, Thomas. Who else?”
“I’m sorry, sir. I can’t think of anyone.”
Barker snorted. “Oh, come now, lad, show some imagination. What about the Plainclothes Division? Surely they’ll be out hunting the killer. Don’t you suppose the Thames Police hope a murder happens close to the river? There is the Home Office, responsible for domestic affairs, and the Foreign Office, who might decide to step in if they suspect the killer came recently from Poland or Russia. Consider ‘H’ Division itself, the Whitechapel Police. They’ll consider the murders to be within their jurisdiction, and might not be likely to share their theories with the Met. Even the Yeomen Guard of the Tower Hamlets considers that area of London their responsibility, and might withhold facts in order to investigate for themselves.”
“When you put it that way, sir, it sounds like a jurisdictional nightmare.”
“That’s exactly what it is. I understand even the coroners and medical practitioners are fighting over the chance to examine the bodies. Their reports will be read widely and could be the making of a career.”
“You make it sound like a foxhunt,” I said.
“A foxhunt! Aye, Thomas, that’s what it is, everyone after one little creature. And the hounds are the newspapers baying on every street corner, ‘Another Horrible Murder!’”
“With so many hounds and hunters, it should be an easy matter to bring this murderer to book.”
“Perhaps,” Barker said, “even probably, given ideal circumstances. But if each of us insists on grasping his few facts and not sharing them with the others, I suspect several more women will be killed before this case is over.”
CHAPTER NINE
“What next, sir?” I asked Cyrus Barker. That is, Special Inspector Barker of the Yard. I don’t believe either of us would get used to that any time soon.
“I believe it is time to speak with the real heads of the investigation, Swanson and Abberline. I would prefer to take them on one at a time.”
If anyone knew exactly how matters stood with the Whitechapel Killer, it would be they. We had met each of them in the course of previous enquiries, and I must admit they were highly competent as far as I could tell. Swanson was nearly as good a tracker of men as my employer and I wondered why he did not go into private work where he could make more money. Abberline was innovative, always trying to bring in science to aid in his cases. Both were well respected within Scotland Yard; I’d even go so far as to say some constables would march through a fire barefoot at their request. If we could get their backing, even their approval, it would certainly make our being there much easier.
We tracked Detective Inspector Donald Swanson
“I would remind you that some of the best police officers in London are trying to solve this case as quickly as possible in order to prove we special constables are not needed. Men like Swanson and Abberline.”
“They are welcome to it,” the Guv said.
“I know even if we track down this fellow ourselves, Scotland Yard will get the credit,” I said. “You do intend to try, don’t you, sir?”
“Of course,” he answered, “because the people in charge and the men investigating the case will know. They are the ones I’m trying to prove myself against. I wonder if you realize how many organizations will be trying to horn in on this case in order to solve it and get the credit.”
“What do you mean?”
“You tell me. With whom are we in direct competition?”
“Scotland Yard,” I answered.
“Who consists of—”
“The Criminal Investigation Department.”
“And?”
“The Met. That is, the regular police. I’m sure they’d like to solve it and be able to lord it over the CID.”
“Who else?”
“Special Branch. They’re devious and not above breaking the law to get what they want.”
“Very good. Continue.”
“Uh…”
“Don’t stand there blowing bubbles like a goldfish, Thomas. Who else?”
“I’m sorry, sir. I can’t think of anyone.”
Barker snorted. “Oh, come now, lad, show some imagination. What about the Plainclothes Division? Surely they’ll be out hunting the killer. Don’t you suppose the Thames Police hope a murder happens close to the river? There is the Home Office, responsible for domestic affairs, and the Foreign Office, who might decide to step in if they suspect the killer came recently from Poland or Russia. Consider ‘H’ Division itself, the Whitechapel Police. They’ll consider the murders to be within their jurisdiction, and might not be likely to share their theories with the Met. Even the Yeomen Guard of the Tower Hamlets considers that area of London their responsibility, and might withhold facts in order to investigate for themselves.”
“When you put it that way, sir, it sounds like a jurisdictional nightmare.”
“That’s exactly what it is. I understand even the coroners and medical practitioners are fighting over the chance to examine the bodies. Their reports will be read widely and could be the making of a career.”
“You make it sound like a foxhunt,” I said.
“A foxhunt! Aye, Thomas, that’s what it is, everyone after one little creature. And the hounds are the newspapers baying on every street corner, ‘Another Horrible Murder!’”
“With so many hounds and hunters, it should be an easy matter to bring this murderer to book.”
“Perhaps,” Barker said, “even probably, given ideal circumstances. But if each of us insists on grasping his few facts and not sharing them with the others, I suspect several more women will be killed before this case is over.”
CHAPTER NINE
“What next, sir?” I asked Cyrus Barker. That is, Special Inspector Barker of the Yard. I don’t believe either of us would get used to that any time soon.
“I believe it is time to speak with the real heads of the investigation, Swanson and Abberline. I would prefer to take them on one at a time.”
If anyone knew exactly how matters stood with the Whitechapel Killer, it would be they. We had met each of them in the course of previous enquiries, and I must admit they were highly competent as far as I could tell. Swanson was nearly as good a tracker of men as my employer and I wondered why he did not go into private work where he could make more money. Abberline was innovative, always trying to bring in science to aid in his cases. Both were well respected within Scotland Yard; I’d even go so far as to say some constables would march through a fire barefoot at their request. If we could get their backing, even their approval, it would certainly make our being there much easier.
We tracked Detective Inspector Donald Swanson
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