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About the Author

Mark Barresi spent three years in the army infantry, training

at Fort Benning and then Fort Campbell, where he
expanded his military knowledge and skills while going to
college and taking creative writing courses. He has followed
the paths of his favorite established authors, James Byron
Huggins and Clive Cussler, and has authored four books and
established himself as one of the great new talents of the
action and horror genre. In his spare time, apart from
writing, he is a strong supporter of conservative issues
affecting US policies and the countrys direction,
following the same paths and beliefs as iconic actors John
Wayne and Charlton Heston. He is a lifelong member and
outspoken supporter of the NRA (National Rifle
Association) and gun rights for private citizens. He enjoys
traveling, collecting antiques, and being an animal rights
activist, caring for abused and neglected animals. He plans
to write his next novel in the near future: Forbidden
Passageways. He currently lives in New York City.

Other Titles by Mark Barresi


Mark Barresi


Copyright Mark Barresi (2015)

The right of Mark Barresi to be identified as author of this
work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77
and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be
reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any
form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying,
recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the
Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to
this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil
claims for damages.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the
British Library.
ISBN 9781785543661 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781785543678 (Hardback)
First Published (2015)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd.
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
E14 5LQ

Printed and bound in Great Britain

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web

addresses or links contained in this book may have changed
since publication and may no longer be valid. The views
expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do
not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the
publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.


History of Researchers of Jack the Ripper

want to first say that I never intended to write a book

about Jack the Ripper. My first thoughts were to write
a novel about a serial killer in San Diego who was
possessed by a demon. But I stopped and thought about
this idea, and it didnt sound very appealing to me. I knew
at that point that a story of that kind would not be very
interesting to my readers. So I began to investigate the
history of Jack the Ripper.
As we all know, his identity has never discovered,
despite being investigated by all the lead detectives on
Scotland Yardmost notable of all, Inspector Frederick
Abberlineand a whole list of other prominent police
detectives and officials who worked the case even beyond
1888, the year the murders began and ended in Whitechapel,
England. I have read many books about the Ripper, watched
many documentaries and have a whole list of known
suspects, and many potential suspects were repeatedly
mentioned every year all the way to present day. Some
suspects and theories sound believable, but most are very
ridiculous, leading investigators and researchers to just
laugh and not even bother to follow the leads.

The best-known researchers to whom I give my utmost

admiration and respect and whose work I believe and follow
are: Martin Fido, Paul Begg, Stewart Evans, Richard Jones,
and Donald Rumbelow. I have read their works and watched
them give their personal thoughts in interviews on who the
Ripper could have been. On the journey from 1888 to
present day, our advanced criminology system has taken us
to DNA evidence. Experts and Law-Enforcement can now
list up to six plausible suspects that we believe may have
committed the slayings. Some of these suspects were even
named in secret archived notes locked away in Scotland
Yard until more recent years. But years have passed, and we
have no DNA evidence to link any suspect or any confession
made by arrested suspects or any valuable witnesses to the
crimes. Until the day comes that we can find something that
truly links one outstanding suspect to the crimes, we can
only offer opinions and suggestions for who Jack the Ripper
really was. This book is only my opinion of who I feel
committed the most brutal serial slayings of all time, a
conclusion I came to after two years of research and
investigation. I agree with some of the best researchers and
authors that we might have found our killer. In all, I
dedicate this book to all Jack the Ripper authors and
researchers around today.

Mark Barresi


I want to thank my family and close friends who helped me

and supported me in writing this book as I faced some
personal hardships along the way. I will always be indebted
to you all.
Most of all, I want to thank my mother for her love and


Discovery of the Journal

t was a very dark night, and strong winds carried a

continuous downpour of heavy rain throughout the
massive city of San Diego.
It was just past 11:00 p.m. as he sat at his desk, reading
the latest news on his laptop. The top story read: A
prominent physician for the pharmaceutical company,
Quasar Pharmaceuticals, was terminated yesterday for his
ongoing illegal attempts to bring in GHB and other drugs
that are not legal for most American and other companies who
sell and distribute a wide variety of brands of drugs and
pharmaceuticals around the world. The doctors name is
being withheld at this time by the board of directors of
He laughed to himself as he took a long drag of his
Dunhill Fine Cut cigarette. He placed it in the glass ashtray
on the left side of the desk and then picked up a shot glass
of Wild Turkey bourbon. He took a fast gulp of it and


squeezed his eyes tightly shut from the effects of the strong
alcohol. He stopped reading the online news article about
him; he already knew what was to follow. He would be
brought up on federal charges for distributing illegal
prescription drugs, both steroids and other GHB
performance-enhancing drugs, to sports athletes and other
well-known physicians to give to their patients.
The illegal distribution had made him wealthy and
attracted many powerful and influential friends. Now he
was about to lose all his money, his luxurious home and
cars, not to mention all the personal things he had gathered
over the years. He thought of being alone in a federal
prison, unable to access any of the enjoyable comforts that
even the everyday person had. He knew he would be found
guilty and sentenced to many years in prison.
Losing his freedom and his will to live, he clenched his
fists and banged them down hard on the wooden desk. He
then smiled as he thought to himself, If Im about to lose
everything I have built around me to those who feel they
are the champions of the good and just of the people, I
will not give in to them without exacting my bold taste of
vengeance against these fools.
I have long held my hatred for men and women who have
achieved happiness in life that I was never able to
cherish and enjoy. Money and power did not bring it to
me, and true love I never found, just a brief failed
marriage to that bitch who never loved me but gave all her
love and devotion to our only child. I have longed for her to
suffer in hell since the day she passed away from
Alzheimers. He had been overjoyed to watch her suffer as
she lost all memory of her loved ones and happy life.
To him, her suffering was well deserved. He
blamed her for their divorce and his many years of
unhappiness when they were together. She had taken him
for a lot of money in the divorce which she had received in


the settlement along with custody of their only child, the

only thing he had truly loved in his bitter and twisted life.
His disdain for women had started with her, and he now
knew the true bloodline of hatred and vengeance. It had all
begun within his family tree many years ago, which he had
discovered while sorting through an old trunk from the
early 1900s. The truck of old family items had belonged to
his father and had been stowed away for many years,
unopened until just the other day when he found an old box
in it.
He spun in his leather chair to reach the old nineteenthcentury box made of dark Calamander wood. He opened it
and took out a very old journal and two brass rings that
had at one time belonged to a female.
The journal was from the 1800s, leather-bound with a
brass latch in the center. As he opened the latch to read the
very worn and frail pages of the journal, he saw the name of
its owner and author on the inside cover. The journal had
belonged to a distant relative. The name had been signed
with a fine fountain pen matching the era of the book. The
water-based liquid ink was still legible, and the fine blue
script read, Francis J. Tumbletythe author of the journal.
It held a total of two hundred pages, but only one hundred
and thirty seven pages were completed with detailed written
passages by Tumblety, who in fact had been a physician
himself dealing in ancient Indian herbs and other forms of
medicines found during that era.
But it was the last twenty pages or so that really caught
his attention. As Francis Tumblety recounted his visits to
Europe in the mid-to-late 1800s, he described traveling to a
poverty-stricken area known as Whitechapel, England, in
late 1888. He had spent time there as one of the most
infamous crimes in world history took place. He admitted
that Whitechapel was home to a large immigrant population
of Polish Jews who had found refuge in the abundance of


very cheap lodging houses known as doss-houses. The

result was very tight quarters for the occupants and a shared
toilet on each floor or outhouses.
He went on to write that these people were beneath him
and said that he found them repulsive. He hated them
because they drank heavily and became violent toward one
another in an area that was already very tight to live in, with
overcrowded streets and very small alleys. He noted that
their drink of choice was gin, and the women had very
puffed-out cheeks from heavy drinking. The ones who took
to prostitution in order to make a living walked the streets of
Whitechapel to find a few pennies to cover the cost of
lodging for the nights. He wrote of his hatred for these
women. I have become sick to my insides of these grotesque
and foul women who need to sell themselves to earn refuge
for a nights stay. For my first wife was a woman of the
street, which she did not admit to me until after we were
already husband and wife. I shall fix these women while I
am here in Whitechapel.
Tumblety went on to say how he committed the most
unspeakable act one can do to another personthe act of
bloody murderand how he got away with it after he had
savagely taken five womens lives. He had escaped England
and went to France. Then he had made his way by boat
across the Atlantic Ocean to return to New York and be in
America again.
He smiled as he read who his great uncle really was: I
escaped the fools in England right after I slaughtered the
last whore. I managed to slip by the great detectives of
Scotland Yard just as they gave me my true name, Jack the
He looked up from the journal and spoke to himself,
My dear uncle, how true I hold what you did so many years
ago to my heart. I will carry on your legacy of vengeance to
rid the world of these foul women and all others who get in


my way. The Ripper shall be born again! He put down the

journal and picked up a very sharp stainless steel postmortem knife. Then he smiled and said, A century ago you
were immortalized, and now I will join you in the present


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