The Ribbon Maker Murders

By Adriel Chevalier

Thirty years after Jack the Ripper, another serial murderer came on the scene. Unlike The Ripper, who killed randomly, he had obvious purpose and intent, and in each case the butcher had planned their fate carefully. His intent was to frame an obscure lady who couldn’t be found, or so it seemed. He kept one step ahead of the London Metropolitan Police investigators, until one tiny fatal mistake that he didn’t foresee.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Adriel Chevalier
• Release date: Feb 28, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005744663

Adriel Chevalier

Adriel Jacques Chevalier descended from a French family that migrated to the Netherlands before immigrating to the United States. His family's vocation centered around the jewelry and watchmaking business for generations. However, Adriel was never adept with handling the delicate parts of tiny machinery. Instead, he turned his interests to the software industry that was just becoming popular in his young, adult life. He found that logic and problem solving better suited his skills, and he excelled in his field.Adriel's elder sister had taught him to read and write at the age of three. Due to boredom suffered from structured learning, he sought to educate himself from his youth. In his adult life he spent decades studying ancient history and various writings, mostly centering around Christian and Judaic literature. Some of his studies he opted to conduct in the pre-translated, original language to gain a clearer understanding.Always frustrated with the structure and politics of organized religion, he sought relationships according to the instruction of the Messiah, "For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there I am in their midst." Adriel recognized that the Messiah's name was synonymous with his authority, which is Truth, and that any group larger than three brought annoying problems.Adriel and his fellows departed from the mainstream teaching of the established religions and embarked on a journey that led them on a quest for intrinsic Truth. Through many enlightening revelations and miraculous experiences, Adriel came to recognize that much of what is taught today concerning the Creator and his anointed one is rubbish. He forsook the erroneous cliches, rhetoric and discrepancies of the religious culture and embraced Truth, which is available to any man anywhere at any time.Although it was contrary to Adriel's belief system to share his findings in a rhetorical document, in his latter years he decided to envelop them into works of fiction to be enjoyed by others. He has developed several stories with elements of actual experiences and enlightenment for others to enjoy and ponder.

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Adriel Chevalier Books

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The Templar Secret - 2020

The Geneticist - 2021

Midnight Marauder - 2021

The Ribbon Maker - 2022

The Seven Peals of Thunder - 2022

THE RIBBON MAKER MURDERS

Adriel Jacques Chevalier

Copyright © 2022 Adriel Jacques Chevalier

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 9781005744663

To the Reader

Profiles often mask the truth behind the motives of murder. As senseless as murders sometimes appear, they always have a motive, which is often misinterpreted. As much as investigators think they know, they have yet to learn what lurks in the mind of the killers like The Ribbon Maker. This is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is a coincidence.

CHAPTER ONE

First Ribbon

Constable Gibbons was on his third gin, tonic, sugar, and lime when he posed the question to Inspector Hawkins as they sat at the dimly lit bar of their favorite pub. Did you hear about that murder on Myrdle Street? The dark brown wool overcoat that covered Gibbons’ large frame was still wet from the drizzle that fell on this dank, dark afternoon. The smell of sour ale mixed with various types of tobacco smoke and the din of scores of conversations permeated the air.

Inspector Hawkins sipped his Scotch whisky as his cigarette smoke swirled about his head. I did, and Chief Inspector Warren assured everyone that it isn’t the slasher.

Gibbons furrowed his brow as he turned to focus his gaze upon Hawkins. Good god, Hawkins, how could he possibly be so sure? I know it has been thirty years, but this has the same flavor as that butcher that we never caught.

Hawkins took another long drag from his cigarette. Yes, well, I have reviewed the case file, and it has nothing in common with our slasher. This degenerate has an incomprehensible agenda for detail. I can’t give you any specifics, but suffice it say that this is far worse than any that we have ever seen.

Gibbons spat a lemon seed back into his glass and stared toward the back of the bar. History is going to repeat itself, isn’t it?

Hawkins shook his head mournfully. Oh, Gibbons, I’m afraid that it is. This doesn’t look like a one time murder. Too many details point to a succession of future mutilations, and we are diligently trying to anticipate his next move.

It was London 1919, and many transitions were taking effect. The World War had ended just four months ago. The last wave of the Spanish flu in the city had just subsided. Three decades prior, the slasher, known as Jack the Ripper, had never been caught. However, the string of murders that was about to parade across the city of London was far more alarming than the ones attributed to the slasher. Some surmised that it was more than one perpetrator. However, employing multiple murderers with the precision of the executions was unlikely. It didn’t fit the profile, but nonetheless, he proved to be prolific in his attacks. He would be executing one to two each week, and the London Metropolitan Police were soon to be baffled how this maniac could possibly operate so frequently without detection. However, they were still dealing with the first atrocity.

Officer Hawkins had been among four other London detectives as they were being briefed on the details of the Smithers case. She was found in her second floor flat on Myrdle Street naked, lying upon her bed. Her head had been shaved, and her flesh had been striped lengthwise from head to foot all the way around by an extremely sharp instrument exactly two centimeters apart and one centimeter deep. The autopsy had revealed that she was most likely awake during her mutilation, and her death was due to loss of blood. Traces of curare were found in her body, which accounted for the lack of evidence of any resistance on her part. The more interesting aspect of the murder scene was a note that was constructed of newspaper print pasted onto a sheet of paper with the entries, Nude Figures, Underclothing, Indecorous Dancing. It was attached to her forehead with a long iron spike driven deeply into her skull.

She had been found by her friend, Amelia Good, who lived directly across the hall. She and the victim, Janet Smithers, were scheduled to go to the market together on Saturday morning of 22 March, but Janet never emerged from her apartment. Amelia knocked on Janet’s door, but there was no answer. She noticed that the door was unlocked, and when she entered Janet’s bedroom, she screamed in horror at the macabre sight of the mutilated body. She immediately ran to the first floor apartment of the landlord, Harold Stone, to ask him to call the police, as he was the only one in the building with a telephone.

Miss Good had been escorted to the precinct by Constable Whiting for questioning. She was extensively interrogated by Chief Inspector Warren. Miss Smithers had lived in the apartment for a little less than a year. She was employed by an exclusive gentlemen’s club in the West End of London as a nude dancer for private parties. This appeared to coincide with the note attached to her forehead, and an investigation was launched surrounding the members of the club as possible suspects. It was established that she had in fact worked at the club the night of her murder. She was always safely escorted to her home after the parties ended, and the gentleman who accompanied her that evening had been brought in for questioning.

His name was Clarence Langford. He was a tall, handsome, lean, impeccably dressed bachelor of significant means, who owned an exclusive women’s clothing shop on Cannon Street that offered Paris originals to the elite London shopper. He had walked Miss Smithers to her apartment door to ensure her safety and reported nothing suspicious. He had a solid alibi for the rest of the night as he had been seen by others at a local pub until dawn. In addition, no reasonable suspect was found among the members of the gentlemen’s club. However, it appeared obvious that the murder was associated with her profession.

Analysts were arguing over the duration of the mutilation. Some thought that it required several hours, while others believed that the butcher executed his victim within the span of two hours. The major contention was due to the number of slashes that were spaced exactly two centimeters apart. One group believed that the murderer had an instrument that held several blades that controlled the spacing of the slashes. This would facilitate the scoring of the flesh in fewer strokes. It did require that the adjacent cuts would have to be measured and followed precisely. However, it was agreed that the cutter probably overlapped the slashes with two of the blades to alleviate any measurements. Closer analysis indicated that this premise was reasonable due to the apparent deeper cuts of two adjoining slashes around the body. This led to another agreement that one of the instruments most likely held seven blades that was used on wider portions of the body, while a lesser instrument of four blades was used on narrower parts. Regardless, the mutilation was definitely not performed in haste.

Investigators had combed the surrounding area for cutlery shops with inquiries about anyone who might have requested multiple blades that were attached to a handle to facilitate the scoring of meat. Although some bakers might employ multiple blades for scoring and cutting pastry, no one was aware of any such request. Unfortunately, the inquiry itself led some shop owners to surmise that the victim had been scored accordingly. As feared by the investigators, this caused unwanted dissemination of detailed information concerning the murder. It was difficult to investigate without giving away certain facts.

There was no evidence of sexual assault on the victim. She had no bruising or semen discharge within her. It appeared that she had not recently engaged in any sexual activity involving her vagina. The lack of evidence of a sexual nature may have coincided with the murderer’s message. It appeared that he was appalled by her profession, and this was the greatest of all protests that he could make. In the least, he had an apparent mixture of morals. He was most definitely a psychopath.

Searches for possible procurement of curare were investigated. There were few who had access to the drug, and no clues were uncovered concerning the purchase of curare in the vicinity. It could have possibly been obtained elsewhere, and it was doubtful that a murderer of this caliber would leave such a telltale trail of evidence. Nothing indicated that this was an impulse murder, and relying on the carelessness of the perpetrator would be foolish.

As careful as the gentlemen’s club had been to help protect Miss Smithers, she became the unwitting victim of someone who had obviously targeted her. There were no signs of forced entry into her apartment, and no one had seen anyone suspicious in the building or the area. Miss Good had doubted that anyone coming to Miss Smithers’ door at that hour of the night would have gained entry. The landlord was interrogated concerning the sharing of keys. However, he held strict rules of protection and privacy for all tenants and assured that no one else had a key other than anyone with whom Miss Smithers may have shared. His alibi was solid, as he had been home with his wife the entire time.

Miss Good had no knowledge of Miss Smithers having a lover. She had few friends and kept mostly to herself. On occasion, they would go to one of the local pubs for drinks and dart games. There were no known incidents of unwanted attention or suspicious activity. Most of the patrons were like extended family and knew one another well. Outsiders would probably stick out like a sore thumb. Nonetheless, this launched an interrogation of the regular customers and personnel at Muldoon’s Eatery and Pub with disappointing results.

Another contention arose concerning the shaved head of the victim. It held some significance, but no one was sure exactly what that was. Some surmised that it had implications to the New Testament passage in Corinthians where the Apostle Paul speaks of women’s shaved heads. It was assumed that these were women of ill repute, which made sense. However, Miss Smithers was not a prostitute, and no evidence could be obtained to the contrary. She never had a known personal relationship with any man at the club, and everyone had esteemed her with great respect. They thouroughly enjoyed her entertainment, but she had never suffered any abuse. In fact, she had been compensated handsomely due to her voluptuous and beautiful features.

Some viewed her shaved head as a statement that Miss Smithers could not let her hair down, so to speak. She lived a secret and secluded life, and her nude employment was not common knowledge at the apartments. Everyone thought that she was a waitress at the club. Only Miss Good knew about her nude dancing because they had become close friends, but Miss Smithers wasn’t proud of her profession. Her consolation was that at least she hadn’t turned to prostitution. Times were hard, especially for single females.

This tended to cause some investigators to narrow their focus to suspects who knew about her profession, which were nonexistent outside the club other than Miss Good. However, it had appeared unlikely that the murderer was a member. There was the possibility of coincidence that the murderer happened onto a nude dancer, but the note appeared to allude to that very fact. Clues were plentiful, but suspects were few.

Miss Good had been instructed by the police to keep any details to the case a secret. However, the landlord had seen the body, and he had told his wife, who was known as the biggest gossip in Whitechapel. In a matter of days, news of the incident had spread like wildfire. Fear had quickly ravaged the female population of London, especially for women in roles of questionable honor. The police were fearing copycat murders, but no one was aware of the precision of the cuts other than possible suspicions among cutlery merchants. Miss Smithers was covered in blood, and the uniformity to the mutilation could not be observed casually. A copycat should be easily detected. It was unlikely that anyone would be that precise.

The police were grabbing at straws. Someone within the department had named the killer as The Ribbon Maker. He slashed his victim leaving identical ribbons of flesh. As inane as it may sound, the police had searched for ribbon makers in the area to interrogate. Only two were found, and they were elderly and feeble, which proved to be largely a waste of precious investigative time. Within a matter of six days, the police had run out of ideas.

Hawkins lit another cigarette and shook the match to extinguish it. I will tell you, Gibbons, that we have run out of possible leads for this case. As much as we fear a second murder is imminent, it may give us more clues.

Gibbons nodded as he sipped his drink. I had no idea that you were that intimate with the case, Hawkins. Apparently, you are one of the investigators.

Yes, I am, but there are four other investigators, and we have reached a stalemate with our assumptions. There’s just not enough evidence to clearly make determinations about this case, even the motive. Although, there appears to be an apparent motive, which I cannot discuss, we also suspicion that it may be a false indication that leads in the wrong direction.

Gibbons clutched his drink and snorted. Well, my wife and her friends are more than concerned, I will tell you that. News of this crime has spread at an alarming rate, and I suppose it has much to do with the slasher thirty years ago. No one has forgotten those murders, and he’s still out there.

Hawkins nodded and blew a smoke ring. Perhaps, but he may be deceased. The five murders that have been attributed to him spanned a little over two months. The department had received several letters about possible future victims, but they were mostly viewed as hoaxes. Five murders in two months with no others seems to indicate to me that he was either arrested for another crime, or he died. At any rate, his methods are far from what we have encountered on this case.

Yes, but he could have moved to another location, which would have been wise in his situation.

I suppose, but one would expect other murders to surface elsewhere. These sick chaps have a need to kill, and that seldom, if ever, just goes away. This murder was meant to be a statement, and I’m reasonably sure that he has something else to convey.

Gibbons sucked the sugar from his ice and ordered another drink. I hear that the hardware merchandisers have had a run on security door locks. Some families are doubling and tripling their locks on doors and even windows.

Yes, well, I can’t blame them, Gibbons. If they knew the details to this case, they would probably consider moving away altogether.

It was a chilly, rainy, early evening in London, and Inspector Hawkins trudged along the way toward his home in Soho. When he arrived, he chuckled to himself as he spied the two locks sitting on the table in the hallway that his wife, Ellie, had purchased that morning. Ellie had a dish of blood pudding and potatoes awaiting him in the dining room. He removed his overcoat and took his seat at the table. He stuffed his napkin into his collar before attacking the sausage with his fork and knife. She poured him a glass of red wine and sat at the corner of the table. She wanted to be sure that he intended to install the locks tonight.

Hawkins looked over at this wife. You know, Ellie, I can’t divulge any specifics about this case, but I don’t blame you for buying those locks. I will be sure to install them this evening. It’s important that you feel safe in our own home, but I will say that there was no sign of forced entry to the victim’s apartment. I would appreciate you keeping that to yourself.

Ellie nodded and patted his arm. Yes, dear, I won’t tell a soul. I do appreciate you installing the locks. One is for the front, and the other is for the back door. I know it’s probably silly, but I felt that I needed to do something. The other neighbor women have done the same.

I understand, and I will say, but don’t quote me, that I believe you are all safe at this point. However, if I determine differently, I will certainly let you know immediately.

Jack the Ripper had localized his murders in the Whitechapel district. Hawkins was wondering if the current offender would do the same. Was he intending to pose as an extension of the Ripper? Hopefully, time would tell, but it would mean the loss of other souls to this madman. Still, this wasn’t the same mode of operation. Hawkins was terribly disappointed that the department hadn’t been more successful in locating reasonable suspects. This wasn’t a random murder, but it was far from obvious. He had to have known something about his victim, but how? She rarely was out. Perhaps someone at the market had spotted her and targeted her as a victim. However, someone that remote could not have known about her vocation. The obvious connection was the gentlemen’s club, but none of them proved to be a reasonable suspect. Perhaps one of them had leaked the information about Miss Smithers to someone else. However, that had been investigated, and no one connected with the club would admit to divulging such illegal behavior to anyone.

There was a missing link, and Hawkins was determined to find it. That night, he lay on his bed staring at the ceiling as Ellie snored softly beside him. He was fairly confident that someone in the department had interrogated the killer. Everyone seemed to have a solid alibi, but what if the murders were engineered by more than one perpetrator? They could provide alibis for one another and even get others involved in testifying that they were in a particular location without noticing the absence of one during the murder.

This led Hawkins to attend the pub that Misses Good and Smithers had recently visited. He wandered into the establishment just after nine o’clock in the morning. The smell of fresh coffee permeated the air, and it persuaded Hawkins to order a cup with a dish of scrambled eggs and sausage, even though he rarely ate breakfast. As he sat at the bar, he engaged the barman in a conversation about Miss Smithers.

Dem file girl, she was, the barman exclaimed as he dried a cup with his towel. She was a beauty with a chest that would tempt a priest to beg for a squeeze.

Did you ever notice one of the patrons paying too much attention to her? Hawkins had identified himself as an inspector.

Well, not to the point of being unusual. After all, Jan attracted a lot of attention among the men. However, most of the men here are married and often with their wives when they come in. We have very few younger ones, and most of them frequent the pubs with a younger crowd. Believe me, if I ever saw a bloke eyeballing Jan with intent, I would be the first to knock him to the ground. Jan was family here, and we look out for our own.

Did you ever notice someone that night that wasn’t part of the regular crowd?

Of course I did. We have stragglers come in every night. They wander in, but they don’t stay long. We get two or three on any given night, but not many return, probably due to the family nature of the pub.

Did you notice anyone strange on the last night that Miss Smithers was here?

Oh, trust me, Inspector, I have often pondered that question since I learned of her murder. If there was any way that I could help you, I would have done it already. Unfortunately, I don’t remember anything of the kind. I wish I could.

The pub was truly a dead end. The gentlemen’s club also provided no leads. Unfortunately, if it all ended here, the murderer would get away scot-free. As disappointing as it was, Hawkins feared that no retribution would be offered to allay the grief of Miss Smithers’ mother, who had been a widow for over a decade. It was a sad commentary of justice, but nothing more could be done. The list of grievances that was nailed to the victim’s head provided no more clues than someone outraged by the immorality of mankind. Some had suspected that perhaps a member of the clergy might be responsible, but it was unlikely that anyone connected with the Church would be so derelict to commit such an atrocity. Besides, that avenue of suspects could prove to be inexhaustible.

Still, if she had gone to confession and admitted her vocation, it could be linked to the clergy. It was a stretch, but nonetheless, possible. Hawkins made another visit to