The Last Caller

The unresolved mystery of the Southall murders

Since the middle of the 19^th Century onward till the advent of the 20^th Century, the influx of foreign immigrants into Britain had induced several strange sociopolitical evens which eventually reached both local media in London and the whole of the British Isles.  While both Irish and Jewish peasants flowed into the Whitechapel district of London, and subsequently many women and girls of the district resorted to prostitution in 1888, Indian migrant workers had flowed into Southall district with similar results.  However, the Southall murders seemed to be overshadowed by Whitechapel.

An unknown number of poor and migrant Indian girls have been known to resort to cheap prostitution, between 1880 and 1885. Many of these girls were known to be of Tamil or other South Indian origin. Yet, it was not until 1887-88, when the Whitechapel district began its cases, that Southall district had a few such cases of bizarre murders. One case happened at/ around the hour of midnight, in late September.

A Tamil teenager who is still to be identified had been out late that night, presumably to prostitute at a rather low figure. She had received a few men throughout the night but none of them had seemed so strange. Then, when she perceived that she had finished and prepared to head homeward, around midnight, she received a last caller. The night was dark enough to obscure his face like a mask; furthermore, since almost no good soul was out so late, nobody saw or heard him.  She admitted him, expecting only that he wanted what all men want from a poor girl.”

Ultimately, he proved to be not only her last caller for that night but also her last caller for life.

The reader may wonder, in this case, how I managed to learn the details of the murders while the media was mystified and Scotland Yard was searching for clues.  There are certain ways which may be available to certain individuals and, besides that, money always talks. It happened that, a few nights after the case aforementioned, the caller was in the neighborhood again. Apparently, his employer or employers had sudden need of a girl and sent him back to find her. The night still concealed him; but, from is tone, I perceived him to be a Cockney resident of the area. I stopped him on his round and , assuring him that I was neither a policeman nor a detective, I convinced him to lead me to the employer(s).

At first, I was a bit astonished by them, but their credentials and identities later impressed me.  They both were PIOs; that is, Persons of Indian Origin.  They informed me that they were educated in India, in the subject of medicine. The former stood about six feet tall, with a rather gaunt and grave manner and the latter stood about five feet seven inches tall and had a more open attitude. He was a bit suave and gentlemanly in his manner. They had been educated to perform surgery but I found neither a clinic of any dimensions nor an OT [operating theater] in sight.  I introduced myself calmly and asked them to respond. The latter replied, as follows.

“He is Haresh M. Waite₁ . I am Professor Anil Rajiv Bhargava₂. We are graduates from the Bombay Medical College.”

“Then you are doctors by profession. That is interesting. What, may I ask, did you do with the girls?”

He smiled a bit wryly and said, “Well, sir, it seems that you have asked the question. We are, of course, at liberty to remain silent; but, providing that you promise to keep it secret, we may tell you.”

“Very well, Professor. I do promise, and you both may depend upon me.”

“Thank you. We are currently using the girls’ anatomies for some experiments. We may divulge the nature thereof later. Bear in mind, please, that these girls are poor, undereducated, or uneducated, and our kin of sorts. That is, they are PIOs. Furthermore, we understand that they are working in the country illegally, as prostitutes. My comrade and I have agreed to do a civil service by using them.”

Oddly, I could not object. The number of prostitutes in the community was almost equal to the number in Whitechapel that year; furthermore, I could not remember a date when the officials or police had objected. 

My evident interest in this case eventually led the suspects to include me. I could not say that I objected. Prostitution was widespread through most poor neighborhoods of London. I agreed to join after considering my share in the scheme, which included renting a small carriage and employing the Cockney chap as the chauffeur. He was very happy and eager to help. The scheme changed to include the carriage which would deliver the specimens directly to the suspects. Furthermore, whereas nobody had suspected the two doctors yet, they certainly had not suspected me.

So I fitted out in a proper suit and a wallet stuffed with bank notes, and called upon my prospective victims under the premise of “wanting what all men want from a poor girl.”

Meanwhile, Scotland Yard had just assigned a PIO officer to handle the case. They updated him on the case and he set out for Southall on the afternoon that I began my scheme. However, without either his knowledge or his approval, the officer’s teenage daughter joined the case “under cover” to assist him. She had considered posing as a prostitute to obtain the identity(ies) of the suspect(s). She was a fair girl of 18 years, about five feet four inches tall, slender but strong. Finding a place fitted out as a brothel, she gained access and set herself up.

That evening, when I was executing my scheme in the east end, I happened upon the same brothel that the teenager had posed in. I alerted the chauffeur to come at a certain moment, and then I strolled in and selected a fair girl. There were, then, only her and the inspector’s daughter. She started to undress for the contact and I followed suit, to convince her of my purpose. As I was about to penetrate her, the other suddenly shouted,

“Hey! You do me! Do me! She not beautiful!”

I agreed, although I suspected that she had an ulterior motive too. We continued from where I left off, and then I reached for my trousers and slid my hand into my pocket. I found my hand kerchief, which I had laced with chemical in the carriage, and brought it under her face. She stared for a second. Then I quickly held it to her face, covering her nose and mouth like a kidnaper. [You might say that I was.] She succumbed at once. A second later, the chauffeur arrived as agreed and I handed him the kerchief. In the meantime, the first victim had been staring. The chauffeur followed my example and drugged her. Then we proceeded to tie them up.

“Sid, tie her up nice and tight. We got two girls tonight.”

“Cor, blimey, what a catch, Mister Thornton.”

“Yes, they are indeed.”

By eleven, that night, PIO Inspector Raja Devgan had approached our side of the district. He had apparently searched five brothels but, so far, nobody had reported anything strange.  Ten minutes later, he passed the brothel we had visited but nobody had contacted him. He left, presumably back to his office.  A few seconds later, sure that he was in his office again, Waite telephoned him. His tone was casual and calm, obviously concealing his amusement.

“Good evening, Inspector Devgan.”

“Hello. Who is this, please?”

“My name is Waite, Inspector. Haresh Waite.”

“I am sorry, I do not know a Haresh Waite. What is the matter?”

“I-er-understand that you are probing the disappearance of some prostitutes in Southall, Inspector. Have you found anything yet?”

“Nothing yet. Why do you ask?”

“I may know something of interest to you, Inspector.”

“Of interest to me? Speak.”

“Well, Inspector, it appears that your daughter, Madhuri, is trying to help you. She may be under cover.”

“What?”

“We found her, just a moment ago, impersonating a slut.”

“She did not tell me.”

“Oh? I see, Inspector. Well, here is our angle. If you would be kind enough to report that the case failed and you wish to close it, we will send her home alive.”

“How can I be sure that she is really with you, Mister Waite?”

Sidney and I moved her chair closer and Waite held the receiver to her face; but Madhuri Devgan was still unconscious. I reached slowly into her blouse and grabbed her breast. Then I squeezed it. She revived for a second and moaned. Devgan recognized her voice.

“Mister Waite, you do not sound like kidnappers. What is up?”

“We are not, Inspector. In fact, my friend is a professor and I am a doctor.”

“A professor and a doctor? OK. Wait. I’ll contact my boss soon, after I do the papers for the case. Don’t hurt Madhuri.”

“Good, Inspector. We will call you again to confirm.”

Inspector Raja Devgan closed the line, certainly feeling a bit nervous. We roared. I suspected that my contacts had other plans for Madhuri.  Waite admitted it to us while ordering us to carry her back to the corner.

“OK, Mister Thornton, move her back. We are going to use her, after we finish this whore.”

“You plan to use her parts too, huh?”

“Well, let us say that since she is impersonating a slut, we will treat her like the sluts we treated before.”

Laughing aloud, I agreed that it was a fit end to her part in the caper.

While I was involved in the scheme, I learned some facts about Haresh Waite that would seem alarming to someone or another. Haresh Waite had been led to the point of immigration by his past in Bombai. After receiving his degree from the medical college, he set p a laboratory in the south side wherein he attempted to re-animate various corpses he had removed [allegedly, he had someone rob the graves] from a local cemetery. Eventually, the city authorities, especially the police department, had demanded that he emigrate.

After he had moved to London in 1886, he met Professor Bhargava, whom he had graduated with in Bombay. Bhargava had conceived of a collaboration at that time. After meeting each other in London, Bhargava had spoken of it to him. Then, they heard about the rise of prostitution in the city and changed to the present plan.

“Do you still plan to re-animate, Haresh?”

“Not these whores, for sure,” he bellowed, sarcastically. We all laughed out loud. “Somebody more worthy, of course.”

“Oh, of course. You might re-animate Madhuri Devgan.”

“In fact, my dearly departed wife Radha was one of my first subjects. Unfortunately, I failed,” he said, sadly.

“You really loved her.”

“She was a great wife, Mister Thornton. Alas! She is utterly lost to me.”

“What a pity! By the way, what ever do you do with their organs?”

“We have found an external market for them,” Barghava replied. “We pack them carefully and send them off.”

<sub>1. The Bombai Re-animator, a Lovecraftian OC.
2. The Indian version of Frankenstein, another OC.</sub>