The Blood Detective

12

Nigel enjoyed the sense of being alone with the information.

Foster and Heather had barely spoken over the past couple of hours, but the sighing detective was a large, distracting presence; he made a simple act such as turning a page sound symphonic. Now the room was empty, and the only noise was the buzz of the strip light above his head. Nigel felt he could roll back the years and build a complete picture of the events that followed the 'Kensington Horrors'.

He had asked for the News of the World reel to be brought to him, so that he could soak up every nuance and detail, the more salacious the better, and immerse himself in the case.

The picture swiftly became clear. The accused was a simple giant, 'nearer seven feet than six'. Nigel knew this would have marked him out as extraordinary in a time when the average size was about a foot shorter than the present day. The man was itinerant, travelling the country in search of work, as many of his class did, transported by the booming railways. The press had used this common fact to imply shiftiness, as if there were sinister reasons behind Fairbairn's many travels. One interview with a Liverpudlian, a native of the city where Fairbairn had worked on the docks for less than a year, said that he had been hounded from his job by colleagues.

'He weren't right,' was the damning verdict.

There was no shortage of neighbours to echo that view. Fairbairn kept himself to himself, he didn't mix, he barely spoke. Each character quirk was taken and finessed to insinuate a loner, a crank, a nut. Even more damning was the fact he was known to frequent local pubs, an insignificant nugget the News of the World regarded as important enough to mention in every update on the investigation.

On 5 th May Fairbairn, now almost universally known as 'The Giant', appeared at the Old Bailey.

He loped to the dock and spent the whole proceedings fixing his focus on the floor. 'Not once did he raise his baleful gaze from his boots,' The Times reporter noted. 'Not even when his name was called, nor even when his fateful plea of Not Guilty was recorded.'

Two weeks later, on 19th May -- the wheels of justice were not slow to turn in the nineteenth century -- the trial began. The court was teeming, the best seats bought by the upper classes in search of low class thrills. When Fairbairn took his place in court, high-pitched gasps broke the expectant hush. Most of them emanated from wealthy women in the ringside seats. This being the judicial equivalent of opening night, they were dressed in their best -- hats and all.

One reporter noted the rustle as one after the other they produced fans to cool themselves: 'Such was the crush around the venerable court that gathering breath was a trial.' The same reporter noticed the mixture of distasteful and admiring looks directed towards the defendant, which accompanied the furious fanning.

Those in the cheap seats were less demure. Cries of 'Hang, you bastard!' and 'Let him dangle!' led to at least four men being ejected, a scene described by the man from The Times as 'a sordid kerfuffle'. Through it it all Fairbairn's gaze never once lifted from his feet. Instead of the giant man who had appeared at the arraignment, Fairbairn seemed to have been physically altered by his ordeal. His shoulders slumped, he had lost weight, he winced when he moved, and one arm remained seemingly immobile at his side. 'Never has a sorrier, more pathetic creature answered such a grave charge,' The Times opined.

Nigel noted with interest the fact that Fairbairn was being charged with only two of the Kensington killings, presumably for lack of evidence regarding the other three. He recorded this in his notepad, knowing that it might be something to pursue later.

The two he was answering were the first and third killings, just over a week apart.

The case was prosecuted by Mr John J. Dart, QC, MP who, from the transcript provided by one of the newspapers, was not going to allow the opportunities afforded by such a stage to be squandered. There was no physical description of the barrister, but Nigel pictured a portly, pompous politico, florid features glowing under his white wig as he preened on the floor of the packed courthouse. He opened by asking the jury to strike from their minds all that had been written about the case, which would be decided on the known facts.

Here Dart turned and slowly raised his finger in the direction of the accused. The Times recorded how the eyes of the courtroom followed the direction of the digit.

// is the Crown's case that that man stood there, Eke Fairbairn, did with malice and in cold blood murder Samuel Roebuck and Leonard Childe.

Dart held his pose, allowing the impact of his gesture and words to settle on the audience. Once again, from the public gallery, came the cry 'Let him dangle!' followed by a brief halt in proceedings while the judge called for order. When they reconvened, Dart outlined the prosecution case.

On the evening of March 24th, Mr Roebuck, as he was in the habit of doing was seeking refreshment in the Clarendon public house on Clarendon Road. According to witnesses, Mr Roebuck had taken a considerable amount of porter during the evening hours. He was a working man and this was nearing the end of a working week. It is not for us here to judge his behaviour. No, Mr Roebuck has met our maker and judgement has already been passed by a higher authority. Late in the evening he was described as drunk yet not incapable.

For reasons unknown, you will hear how Roebuck became embroiled in a quarrel with the prisoner at the bar, which culminated in the ejection from the premises of both men, the expectation being that the quarrel would be settled there and not within sight of womenfolk. The two men departed. . .

The Times noted here how Dart walked the length of the jury rail before returning to his original spot without saying another word, until: Roebuck was not to be seen alive again!

Once again he allowed his words time to imprint on the consciousness of those present. Next he outlined the details of the second murder charge, relating to Leonard Childe, a 38-year-old blacksmith. Again, the night before he was found stabbed, Childe had been drinking at a local pub. Fairbairn had been drinking in the same pub and, as with the previous charge, was seen to row with the victim. Both were evicted from the premises. Dart said the prosecution would also produce a knife found at the lodgings of the accused, and an expert witness who would testify it was the same knife that had caused the fatal wounds.

The News of the World reported how, as the prosecution's opening speech came to its close, Dart lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper.

is the prosecution's case that the accused is a man incapable of handling strong drink. A man who, rather than settling his quarrels with his fists or turning the other cheek, did brutally pull a knife and slay both unfortunates. Good Christian men know evil lurks in the bottom of a glass. We contend there is an even bigger evil lurking in the heart of the accused. Together they have forged a combustible and repellent concoction that has been midwife to these obscene and ungodly acts.