Prisoner 4374

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Book excerpt

Only Death Will Find You...

Within the slender boundaries between heaven and hell

Sit all the black angels

This is where we will find you.

Against the shadows on a cold moonlit night

Lie all the forgotten heroes

This is where we will find you.

Behind the gravestones,

Where evil breathes upon the tombs of the innocent

Gloom rears its ugly head.

This is where we will find you.

Where the stench of death prefers to lurk,

Where the good will fear to tread,

Where the Devil eats the souls of men,

Only death will find you.

A.J. GRIFFITHS-JONES

Note from the Author

The events, people and places recounted in these pages are based upon fact. I have chosen the rather unconventional method of writing in an autobiographical style in the hope that the reader can envisage the crimes and consequences that led to the trial of a notorious felon.

Until now, the finer details of Dr. Thomas Neill Cream's life have been, relatively, undocumented. Cream has been branded as a 'Jack the Ripper' suspect since the beginning of the 20th Century, and only now can it be revealed as to whether he earns a rightful place on that suspect list, or not. Over a decade of research in to Cream's life has allowed me to recreate the circumstances of his crimes in considerable detail. In writing his biography I have been fortunate in accessing a number of resources, for which I will be eternally grateful to those who have supported me in pursuit of the truth.

My work includes exclusive, previously unpublished, photograph's of Dr. Cream for which I have personally obtained copyright. I also have permission to use the complete records from his incarceration, totaling 181 pages of authentic reports from which I have been able to piece together his motives and movements both before and during his imprisonment. These documents alone prove, beyond doubt, where Cream was in 1888, the year of the London 'Jack the Ripper' murders.

Firstly, in recognition of my support network, I mention my darling husband Dave, without whom this book would never have seen the light of day. His belief in me has never faltered and for that he has my unconditional love and respect. I also owe my sincere thanks to Sylvia Caswell, who has relentlessly read and reread my work, giving constructive criticism and support throughout this long and arduous journey, I am proud to have you as my advocate. Appreciation also, to Barry and Karen Williams, and my good friend Bev Williams for their feedback and honest appraisals. John Reinhardt and his team at the Illinois State Archive have been first-rate in helping me to procure and make use of the records at their disposal, I appreciate it. I owe my gratitude to Heather McNabb and colleagues at the Musee McCord Museum in Canada, for aiding my quest to find original photographs of Cream, and then assisting with the legalities of copyright issues. Faye Robinson and Paul Bickley at Scotland Yard have been both professional and encouraging in providing images from the Crime Museum, thank you. Appreciation also to Sophia Brothers, and her department at the Science Museum Group, who have provided me with further images and support. Lastly, but by no means least, I am beholden to Antony Caswell for his brilliant interpretation and graphic design of the cover for 'Prisoner 4374', you did a wonderful job.

I do hope that you enjoy reading the journey of Thomas Cream’s life and that I have succeeded in portraying him in his true colors.

A. J. Griffiths-Jones

1.  In the beginning…

If you asked me to pinpoint the moment when it all started, well, that would be a darn hard task.

I guess you could say that my mother's passing was a pivotal time, how that poor woman suffered, but hey, I didn't set out to carve myself a life of debauchery. I used to teach Sunday school for goodness sake, pillar of the community in my younger days. Let's say it kind of just happened. We're talking about nineteenth century America my friend, a fellow had to make ends meet & sometimes it just meant stepping over the line. Don't get me wrong, I'm no criminal, but to finance yourself in a comfortable manner sometimes you had to put your morals to one side, get your hands a little dirty, ruffle a few feathers. I guess you could blame it on the women too, yep, there you go, it was the women who got me into this mess.

I've always had a natural charm with the ladies, must have been a combination of my inherent good looks and smooth Scottish-American tongue, they just dropped at my feet - ha,ha, literally in some cases! Let's see, there was that disastrous relationship with Flora, even ended up marrying that one. Julia came next, the bitch nearly cost me my life, what with her scheming and lies, but we'll talk about that later. Jeez, it still makes me curse at the very mention of her name. The only woman I really ever loved was Laura, how it pains me to think of her sweet young face, but I never really was the settling kind. I always regarded marriage as a means to an end, wealth being the optimum prize. Anyhow, I'm guessing that you want to know all about those London street-walkers mostly, but you'll have to be patient dear friend, all in good time. I have so much to tell you.

Let's talk about that 'Jack the Ripper' rumor......oh yes, I've read the books. I'm flattered that so many pages have been devoted to my name, there must be ten score and more who think I did it. Have you joined the ranks dear reader?

 Well, I certainly had the surgical talent in those days, used to pride myself that I could gut a hog in darn near three minutes. There is also the little matter that the bitches didn't scream isn't there? And I did just happen to graduate with an excellent thesis on chloroform, that sure would knock the whores out cold.

And then there was that guy from the Whitechapel neighborhood, what was his name, George Hutchinson? Says he saw a 'gentleman' with a horseshoe tiepin near the murder scene. Well, you got me there too, worn one of those since my university days. He nearly got my height, even got a good look at the well-groomed moustache. Guess I fit his description pretty neatly didn't I?

Now those English cops were smart, but even they couldn't figure it out. I mean, one 'Ripper' and a whole force of 'Bobbies', maybe they were just looking in the wrong place all along. Or maybe they were searching but not really seeing....Well friend, I could go on, there are things that even the best of them over-looked. I mean, have you ever asked yourself why a fifty-cent a night bitch would be wearing a silk scarf? And they all were you know. Bit of a coincidence don't you think? You could understand a cotton neckerchief tied around their filthy necks, but silk? Some parting gift that was!

Now then, before you get all excited and go telling folk you know who Jack was, you have to solve a riddle. That being the fact that I was holed up in Joliet State Penitentiary during the entire Ripper episode, with not one iota of an impending parole date.

Sure, there were petitions, but the fact remains I was serving a life sentence in 1888. So, how did I get out of that one? Do you reckon I paid some doppel-ganger to sit in my cell while I dug myself out & high-tailed it to London? Maybe I bribed Governor Fifer to let me out early, ha, ha, sure he would sleep easy at night with that on his conscience! I mean, I did have money despite my delicate predicament, what with my father's death and all, but do you reckon I would line the pockets of some paper-shuffling bigwig in order to stalk hookers in the London fog? Well maybe that's exactly what I did! Or maybe not....

Regrettably my demise was to be with a noose around my neck at Newgate. They dubbed me 'The Lambeth Poisoner', a rather harsh moniker I thought, considering I was doing no more than cleanse your city streets of disease-ridden sluts. Where was the appreciation from your London Borough Council? Nowhere! Instead they locked me in a cold, damp cell & pronounced me guilty of murder. 'Murder'! Darn cheek, didn't even get compensated for the vast amounts of strychnine I had to purchase from the drugstore. That hangman, Billington they called him, went on to tell the tale that I shouted 'I am Jack...' as the trap was drawn. How can he be sure I didn't say 'Bye Jack..' ? I mean, 'Jack' was still walking the streets when they arrested me for those 'other' unfortunate incidents, would have been polite for a gent to say farewell.

Always tickled me that they never asked if I knew him, Jack that is. I mean, come on, there were some mighty fine medical men lodging in the East End in my day, only seems natural that our paths would cross at some point.

Hell, did I hint he was a doctor? Slip of the tongue friend, don't want to give the game away do I? Jeez, you'll all be queueing up at the pearly gates to ask me his name! Well, if you're good & don't judge me too harshly on my actions, I might tell you about my notorious pal. Let's wait and see...

For now let ME hold the limelight, let me tell you what it's like to be driven by a desire so strong that you breathe, eat and sleep revenge. Your dreams of slaughter become intertwined with your waking actions until you neither know if you thought it or did it, wanted it or despised it, regretted it or revelled in it. I am an addict, I am addicted to my own glorious infamy! Let me share it with you…

Sorry, what was I thinking friend, I should introduce myself: Thomas Neill Cream M.D. at your service.