No Absolution Read online

  “She is cleansed now, Jacob and worthy of entering Heaven’s gates.” Father’s voice sounded strange, his movements somehow languid and slow.

  * * *

  He woke with a start, the bedclothes wrapped about his limbs binding him to the bed. Freeing himself, Jake struck a match and lit the bedside lamp. Four-thirty, the hands of his battered clock told him. The sky outside the window was still dark, no glimmer yet of dawn. His head pounded unbearably, the voice of the knife vibrating in his skull.

  “It’s no use. I can’t ignore it any longer. The hoor has to be cleansed tonight if possible.” He spoke into the silence of the room. Today on the anniversary of Mam’s death.

  He pried up the board, took the rubber-soled boots out and slipped them on. Gathering up his knife safe, he tucked it under his arm. Moments later, Jake let himself out the door of the squalid squat in Miller’s Court and set off toward Dorset Street. The rain did little to disperse the thick mist, if anything; it seemed to add to it. If Eliza was correct, Annie might still be out looking for a punter to give her the price of a bed, or a drink. He walked with a quick purposeful step, eyeing the alleys and shadows for any trace of the woman he sought. Forty-five frustrating minutes passed with no sign of any whore, let alone the one he pursued. His footsteps brought him to the corner of Hanbury Street where he stopped in the pale light of a street lamp and considered the possibility of returning to Miller’s Court and continuing his search the next evening.

  A movement in the shadows across the street caught his attention. A short stout woman approached the corner on the opposite side of the street. A smile crossed his face as he recognised Black Annie; luck was with him after all this morning. He crossed the street with long strides and grasped her by the arm propelling her up against the shutters of 29 Hanbury St. The numbers hung askew just above her left shoulder.

  “What is it you want with me?” The woman’s voice was harsh and desperate.

  “You’re soused again, Annie. Any luck getting your doss for the night?” Jake smiled, his fingers tightening on her arm.

  “Oy, Jake, it’s only you. Are you lookin’ for a toss? Do you have a crib?” The woman relaxed a bit under his hands.

  “I haven’t time, around the back here is good enough. Will you?”

  “Yes.” Annie replied though there was a thin thread of uncertainty in her voice.

  The sound of footsteps nearby drove him to propel her quickly down the narrow passageway into the back yard of the building. It was dark in the enclosed yard. A high fence separated it from its neighbours. Jake steered her into the sheltered corner between the back steps and the fence. The whites of Annie’s eyes showed as they widened in fear with the realisation there was no way out without getting past him first. She put her hand out, silently demanding her payment in advance. He passed her the thruppence and waited while she turned around. The woman gathered her voluminous skirts in her hands and raised them up past her hips. She leaned forward with her hands on the wall of the house for support, her garments bunched around her waist. The pale flesh of her nether regions gleamed in the shadows. He reached out and untied the red and white neckerchief from around her neck, his left hand gripped her chin.

  “Here now, no need to do that,” she protested. The woman attempted to push away from the wall but his fingers tightened and pulled her head back.

  “No!” She managed to force the word out before he cut off her wind.

  It was all his victim had time to say before he twisted the neckerchief and pulled it tight. Her hands scrabbled on the wall for a moment before she went limp and he caught her weight against the house and fence. It took only a moment for him to crush her windpipe. He let her slide down the fence and laid her on the ground in the confined spot between the steps and the fence. He stiffened and remained motionless at the sound of movement in the yard next door. Jake waited until the sound of the door closing again told him whoever ventured to the outhouse had returned to the lodging. He knelt by the woman and closed her eyes.

  Jake drew the knife from his pocket and held in front of his eyes, the sharp edge gleaming dully in the murky light. Righteous rage and exultation filled him. Father would be so proud of him for continuing the holy work of cleansing the sin-filled women, those deceitful creatures who worked their wicked wiles on unsuspecting males, leading them into the hellfires of sin. Pulling her head back, he neatly slit the throat from ear to ear, slicing left to right. Blood sprayed from the incision darkening the worn boards of the fence. He snatched a leather apron hanging on the stair rail to shield his clothes from any mess. The flow slowed and he pitched the bloody apron into the window well.

  Working swiftly, he wrenched the brass rings from her fingers, pulled aside the black knee-length coat and raised her skirts. He knelt between her legs in order to have better access. She wore two ragged and dirty petticoats and his searching hands found a large pocket under the skirt tied with long strings about her waist. It was empty, so he merely moved it out of his way. The surroundings were not the best workplace, but a man had to make the most of a situation.

  Annie fell with her head to the north, he noticed dispassionately. He took her left arm and placed it across her left breast. Shoving her legs up, he allowed the knees to fall outward and planted her feet in their shabby lace up boots firmly on the earth. The head, he turned on the right side so she looked to the west and exposed the gaping wound in her neck. There was something important about the direction. The teachings of his father’s lodge flickered through his brain before being driven out by the more important matter at hand. He had never fully understood the tenets of their teachings anyway.

  Quickly now, dawn wasn’t far off and soon the streets would be crawling with urchins and people on their way to work or the public houses. He made two small clean cuts on the left side of the spine where it was exposed by position of her head; if he could separate the bones he might be able to take the head and study the brain. The process would take a while though; better to perform the task he was called to do. Reaching into an inside pocket he withdrew a ginger beer bottle with a wide mouth which he held against the open wound on the woman’s neck. Using the edge of the knife he scooped some blood into the bottle, when it was part full he stoppered it and returned the bottle to his pocket. He smiled happily as he turned to his work. The work Father taught him so well.

  Pushing her skirts and petticoats up further, he exposed the abdomen and the knife sliced sweetly through her flesh. He pulled the incision open and carefully removed the intestines, severing them from the mesenteric membranes. Very precisely, he placed the steaming mass on the woman’s left shoulder. Next, he peeled back two sections of the belly wall and placed them out of his way over her right shoulder. Not so different than slicing up a cow or a hog. Next, he removed the uterus with its appendages, the upper portion of the vagina and the posterior two-thirds of her bladder. The heat from her body bathed his hands and wrists, the hot coppery iron smell of the blood intoxicated him. Father would be proud of him, of the skill he exhibited, cleanly removing the organs for cleansing in the fire, avoiding the stench of the rectum and dividing the vagina low enough to avoid injury to the cervix uteri. Father’s voice whispered the proper names of the organs in his ear as he worked with swift hands in the face of the rapidly approaching dawn.

  He scooped up the selected organs and wrapped them in the waterproofed canvas he drew from the pocket of his coat. He emptied the pockets of her skirts and carefully laid them out by her feet so there could be no mistaking her death to be as a result of robbery. On a small piece of muslin ripped from her petticoat, he laid out her comb and toothbrush and left part of an envelope on the ground beside her. The three cheap brass rings he had wrenched from her fingers he decided to keep as a souvenir. Perhaps he would burn them when he cleansed the filth from her sex organs in the heat of Heavenly Father’s avenging fire. Time would tell. Jake slipped through the shadows of the familiar passages ways and left without drawing attention to hi
s presence.

  On the way to his lodgings he detoured out of his way to walk past Fleischer’s butcher shop. The lamp light poured a golden glow unto the cobbles in front of the shop; the dark man nodded approvingly. Aggie was where she belonged, working at a reasonably respectable job. Well, at least she was as respectable as a woman could be who worked for a living could be.

  Safely back in his narrow room, Jake laid the cooling bundle on the stones of the fireplace and built the fire hot just as Father taught him. Hot enough that the smell of cooking flesh would blend with the foul odours already filling the narrow streets and alleys of Whitechapel and Spitalfields. Hot enough to leave nothing behind. He fed the bits of flesh into the blaze bit by bit, the blood bubbling and bursting the organs as it heated. His heart rejoiced at the high pitched screams the rapidly heating liquid in the organs made as they vaporised and escaped their revolting prison of flesh. The screams of the sinners descending to Hell, while Annie’s immortal soul was cleansed and set free. She would thank him when he met her in the Hereafter. Satisfied his work was finished, Jake carefully cleaned Father’s knife and replaced it in the oil cloth knife safe. He cleaned and folded the waxed canvas and tucked it into his jacket. The rubber-soled boots he placed out of sight in the space beneath the loose floor board.

  By six o’clock Jake was on his way back to the slaughter yard. For the first time in over a week the knife slept and Father’s voice was silent.

  Chapter Four

  He broke the seal on the bottle of ginger beer and unwrapped the sausage rolls he had picked up at the Ten Bells on the way home. Unwillingly, his thoughts turned to Aggie, she had smiled at him when he lugged in the half carcass of beef for her father to butcher. She had been engaged in making blood pudding, with her arms elbow deep in the barrel. The splatters of red on her face had sent an unwelcome thrill to his gut and he was glad the heavy apron hid the bulge in his pants. It was the blood, not the woman, he told himself sternly. No woman would ever ensnare him by commanding his body. How many times did Father warn him of how Mam had ensorcelled him? It was a danger, a very real danger. Women were all witches and banshees walking the earth in human form. Such a pity about Aggie though, she was still unmarried and reduced to working with her widowed father to earn her living. Women should not work; their place was in the home caring for the man of the house and doing his bidding. They were to be firmly kept under control by strong hand of the Lord, wielded at her husband’s discretion.

  Dismissing her from his mind, Jake wiped the crumbs from his lips and reached for his copy of The Daily Telegraph. A delicious thrill of excitement shot through his stomach and curled delightfully around his groin. Another large article about the cleansing of the whores presented itself. There had been some mention of his deeds in the paper every day for the last eight days.

  “September seventeenth, well let’s see what they have come up with today.” Jake folded the paper in half and settled back to peruse the daily offering in the flickering light of the oil lamp. He shook his head a couple of times in exasperation, they just didn’t understand. These women harboured pestilence and disease in their bodies. They had to be exterminated, like the rats which ran everywhere soiling anything they came in contact with.

  “Mayhap ‘tis time for me to use some of the proper red stuff I saved for just this purpose.” His gaze turned to the ginger beer bottle sitting on the floor by the hearth. “They need to understand what it is I do. I would’ve expected the blue bottles to be more intelligent, it’s been far too easy to outguess the police. I needs more of a challenge, me success is hollow if the buggers don’t appreciate me work.”

  He set the paper on the floor and rose to gather the ginger beer bottle along with some paper and a quill. Setting his implements on the small table in the corner of the room he pried the stopper from the stoneware bottle. His fingers trembled as he gripped the quill and dipped it into the dark red liquid; the lovely vibrant colour was darkened and faded to a purple-black. The congealed blood was thick and refused to flow from his quill onto the paper.

  “Curse it! The bitch is as useless in death as she was alive!”

  Violently, he hurled the container and its contents into the fire where the stoneware burst on impact. The blood sizzled and smoked so he hurried to add some coals to the fire, he wasn’t ready to be caught just yet. No reason to have the old harridan what lived down the stairs up here asking questions. His vision clouded as rage took over his body. Trembling convulsively Jake sank into his chair. His hands grasped the newspaper from beside his feet and unconsciously he shredded it systematically into tiny bits. In a haze, he leapt up again and removed the knife from its pocket; he raised it to his lips and kissed the gleaming blade. The wooden handle smelled enticingly of blood and fear, human and animal. He drew a breath deep into his lungs. Oh, yes they should be afeared. Afeared to meet the Almighty after what they’ve got up to on this earth. I have saved their immortal souls, so I have, though little they know it or thank me fer it.

  “Remember, it must also be a game of wits, Jacob.” His father’s disembodied voice filled the shabby room.

  “Yes, Father. I have been remiss in that aspect, haven’t I? I must give the fools a clue, and myself a bit of a handicap, like a blooded Thoroughbred challenging a dray horse.” He slipped unthinkingly into Father’s more formal speech. Jake’s fingers caressed the knife, the lovely long blade thin and easy to manoeuvre within the confines of the body. Sharp enough to sever the tendons and muscles attaching limbs to the torso, although he hadn’t had the opportunity yet to experiment with that.

  He jumped as something popped loudly in the hearth. Shaking his head to clear it served to silence his father’s voice. Jake returned the knife to its proper place and turned back to his chair. The chair and surrounding area was covered with a confetti of shredded newsprint. He frowned in annoyance at the mess. Quickly, he gathered the pieces and consigned them to the flames. No matter, there would be more press to read on the morrow. I have their attention now.

  Smiling, he sat and finished the last of the ginger beer, saving the container to replace the one shattered in the hearth.

  * * *

  It took Jake a week to get enough red ink to carry out his plan. He bided his time and managed to find an excuse to go by the small desk where Aggie kept the shop’s records. He stole a bit of red ink every chance he got and secreted it in his ginger beer bottle. Friday, the twenty-first of September, found him with enough to finally set his little game in play. He arrived at his lodgings late in the evening after having first stopped at the Bells for a shandy-gaff and to look for his next target.

  * * *

  The drink tasted off and was unusually warm on his tongue. Jake set the mug on the scarred table and surveyed the inhabitants of the pub. There were few women in evidence, only a couple of shop girls at the bar who looked no better than they should be. The knife was calling for blood and he was more than anxious to appease it. However, there was still the matter of teasing the police with a few bits of information. It wouldn’t do for them to forget about old Jake and his knife ripping up those prostitutes. His gaze lingered on the shop girls for a moment before he dismissed them as quarry. He left the pub and strode off toward his digs in Miller’s Close. His step faltered as he passed the lane which would take him past Fleischer’s shop. It was quite a few streets out of his way, but there was something about the blonde daughter which drew him. Without a conscious decision on his part, his feet turned the corner and his step quickened as he neared the narrow street which held the place he sought.

  Warm yellow light shone from the window of a nearby shop, the tinkle of the bell fixed to the door reached his ears as a tall well-dressed man left the premises. The light in the narrow street was failing as evening deepened, Jake had to look twice to be sure he identified the man correctly.

  “Well, well, well, if it isn’t the great Inspector Brownfield. What brings him into this Godforsaken hole, I wonder. Looking for a lead on t
he Whitechapel murderer?”

  He rubbed his hand over his mouth and slowed his footsteps, watching the Inspector until he turned up a side street and vanished into the dusk. It would have been a good jolly to speak to the Inspector, so close to him without the man ever realising who it was standing beside him. A smile forced its way across his face, giving in to the impulse, Jake allowed it to take over and let out a bark of laughter as he neared the butcher’s.

  Fleischer’s door swung open as he paused in the pool of light from the gas lamp. Aggie emerged and hurried down the lane toward where he stood. She jumped back with a small gasp as she raised her head and recognised him.

  “Evening, Aggie.”

  She answered him slowly, her expression betraying her nervousness. His attempt to hide his amusement resulted in a twisting of his mouth, which he saw she found upsetting.

  “Something wrong?”

  Aggie hesitated before shaking her head. A wild thrill flickered through him. She was afraid and uneasy, worrying about the murders so close to home no doubt. He allowed his eyes to run over her buxom figure and then caught and held her gaze. Her fear tantalised him. He stepped back a pace or two.

  When she made no move to pass him by, as the street was so narrow she couldn’t do so without touching him, he decided to toy with her a bit. “How is your friend that has been hanging about?” He smothered a smile at her start of guilt.

  “What friend? What nonsense are ye goin’ on about?” Her words came out breathless and pinched. She glanced back toward the shop where her father was bent over the butcher block.

  “The one what’s bin hanging about, lookin’ fer favours.” Jake moved a step closer.

  The blonde head turned and glanced in the direction the inspector had disappeared in. Well, well, maybe there was more there than he suspected. Anger curled in his gut.