Mrs. Jeffries and the One Who Got Away (4 page)

“Do we know who she is?” Witherspoon asked softly.

“Her name is Alice Robinson. She was identified by Constable Pierpoint.” He nodded toward a pale-faced lad with sloping thin shoulders and freckles.

“She's known to the police?” Barnes asked sharply.

“Not at all, Constable,” Rogers said smoothly. “It was only happenstance that the constable was able to identify her. A few days ago, there was a break-in at the house across the road and he spoke to Mrs. Robinson as a possible witness. But she'd not seen anything.”

Witherspoon nodded. He'd deliberately kept his attention focused on Inspector Rogers. He was in no hurry to examine the corpse. “Where did the victim live?”

“Mrs. Robinson owns a lodging house on Magdala Road. It's about a quarter mile from here.”

“Have you sent anyone there, sir?” Barnes glanced at the three constables. They weren't doing anything except standing over the body.

“Not as yet.” Rogers crossed his arms over his chest. “When I saw the clipping, I decided to do nothing until Inspector Witherspoon arrived. Now that he has, he can handle the investigation in any way he sees fit.”

“I take it that means you've not started a search or looked for witnesses?” Witherspoon asked.

“The immediate area has been gone over”—Rogers swept his hand in an arc—“and the constables asked people in the vicinity if they'd seen anyone, but thus far, we've found out nothing. You'll want to conduct your own inquiries, of course. I'll put some of my men at your disposal.”

Barnes struggled to keep his expression neutral but it was blooming hard. He turned away and pretended to examine the crime scene. But inside he was seething. As the first officer on the spot, Rogers should have immediately started a search of the grounds as well as making sure that potential witnesses weren't chucked out onto the street without so much as a by-your-leave. The man was doing his best to cock up this investigation before it was even started. The constable couldn't understand it. Rogers was retiring, and even knowing he might lose the case, he should still have had enough pride to do the job properly.

“I'd appreciate any men that you can spare.” Witherspoon glanced at the constables standing over the dead woman. “These lads would be most helpful. They can point out the people who were actually in the cemetery when you arrived here.”

“That'll be fine.” Rogers smiled agreeably. “But I can't spare anyone else. We're busy. This district has seen an increase in robberies since Christmas and I want to leave it nice and tidy when I retire.”

“We can bring some constables in from our station.” Barnes turned back and gave Rogers a wide grin. “Our lads are well trained in the inspector's methods.”

Rogers' smile disappeared and his eyes narrowed in anger.

“Really, Constable”—Witherspoon laughed self-consciously—“I'm sure my methods aren't very different from Inspector Rogers'.”

“You're too modest, sir.” Barnes wasn't going to stop now. He was righteously angry with Rogers. “There's a reason
you've
solved more murders than anyone in the history of the force. Now, being as Inspector Rogers is so busy, perhaps he'd like to show us the body so that we can get on with a proper investigation.”

*   *   *

Davey Marsh was only ten years old but he was already an old hand at working the neighborhood around the Ladbroke Road Police Station. There was always a clerk, copper, or criminal who would pay a few coins for a message to be sent or an errand to be run. But of all the places he went, his favorite was Upper Edmonton Gardens. Everyone at that household was generous. Inspector Witherspoon always gave him at least a sixpence when he sent him there to say he'd be home late, and the servants were even more generous, especially the cook. Mrs. Goodge never let him leave the kitchen without a sweet bun or a slice of pie.

His mouth watered as he rapped on the back door. A few moments later, Wiggins stuck his head out.

“Cor blimey, it's Davey. Come on in, lad.” He held the door open wide. “'Ave ya got a message for us?” The footman, a brown-haired man in his early twenties, had blue eyes and even features.

“Constable Barnes sent me,” Davey said as Wiggins closed the door and motioned for the boy to follow him. “He said it was real important.”

Wiggins nodded and led him into the kitchen. “Young Davey Marsh is 'ere,” he announced, “and 'e says 'e's got an important message from Constable Barnes.”

“Hello, Davey.” Mrs. Jeffries' spirits soared. There was usually only one reason the constable bothered to send a message. “You look like you've grown a bit since I last saw you.”

“Mam says I'm growin' so fast she can't keep me in trousers.” He laughed. He was a skinny boy wearing a secondhand blue jacket that was too big for him, scuffed brown shoes, and dark green trousers that were two inches above his ankles.

“Take a chair, lad, and have a nice slice of brown bread,” Mrs. Goodge ordered. “It was made fresh this morning and I know that boys your age are always hungry.” She also knew that he was generally hungry because his family was poor. He had a younger brother and a mother who struggled to make ends meet by working as a washerwoman.

Davey flew to the table, scrapped back a chair, and flopped down. He pushed a lock of dark blond hair off his forehead as he waited for the treat. “Ta, Mrs. Goodge, your bread is good, not like that stale old stuff Mam buys from the baker.”

Wiggins took the spot next to Davey as Mrs. Goodge put a plate down in front of the boy. His eyes widened as he saw the huge slice she'd cut him. “Put some butter and jam on it, boy,” she ordered. “And I'll cut another slice for you to take home for your brother.”

Mrs. Goodge wrapped the bread in paper while the lad ate and the other two waited for him to finish. When he'd eaten the last crumb, Mrs. Jeffries said, “Now, what was the message?”

“Constable Barnes said that the inspector was goin' to be late home tonight because they'd been called out on a murder.” Davey rose from his chair. “And now I've got to get goin' to his house so I can tell Mrs. Barnes the same thing.” He glanced at the paper-wrapped parcel Mrs. Goodge had laid on the end of the table. “Can I take it?”

“Of course.” The cook nodded. “Are you sure that's all the constable said?”

“I'm sure.” He hurried around the table and snatched up the bundle.

Mrs. Jeffries frowned. It wasn't like the constable to be so stingy with information. “He didn't say where they were going?”

Davey edged toward the back hall. “All he said was that I was to tell ya that he and the inspector had been called to a murder site in Highgate so your guv'll be home late tonight.”

“He didn't happen to mention where in Highgate this murder site might be?” she persisted.

Davey started to shake his head but then stopped and ran a grubby hand across his cheek as he tried to recall what he'd heard. “He didn't say it was where he was goin', but as he and the inspector got into the hansom cab, I heard him shoutin' up to the driver to take 'em to . . . oh . . . now, where was it? It was, it was . . .”

Mrs. Goodge opened her mouth to shout encouragement at the lad, but Mrs. Jeffries raised her hand for silence as they watched Davey's forehead wrinkle in concentration.

“Now I've got it,” he cried. “Highgate Cemetery. He told the driver to take 'em to the cemetery.”

“Highgate Cemetery?” Wiggins looked doubtful. “Are ya sure? That's not in the inspector's district.”

“I'm sure.” Davey looked offended. “It might take me a minute to remember, but I know what I heard. But I've got to go now. Constable Barnes and his missus live across the river, and I want to get there and get home in time to give my brother this bread. There's no food in the house and Mam don't have another load of wash to do until tomorrow.”

Mrs. Jeffries was already on her feet and heading for the pine sideboard where she kept a stash of coins. She jerked the drawer open and pulled out a handful of coins “Take this, Davey,” she said, handing him the money. “And buy something decent to eat tonight.”

Davey's jaw dropped as he looked at the coins in his palm. “Ta, Mrs. Jeffries. This'll buy all three of us a nice supper.” Grinning, he shoved the money in his pocket and headed down the back hall.

As soon as they heard the door close, Wiggins got to his feet. “Should I get to the cemetery?” Good-natured and easygoing, he was nonetheless sharp-eyed and clever when they were “on the hunt.”

“But what about the others?” Mrs. Goodge interjected before the housekeeper could answer him. She glanced at the clock. “It's only half past one. We've enough time to get them here for a meeting.”

“But the only thing we could tell them is that there's been a murder,” Mrs. Jeffries pointed out. “We've no other information. No, I think Wiggins should go to Highgate and see what he can find out. I'll pop round to Betsy and Smythe's flat and tell them to be here in the morning for a meeting. Then I'll stop at Ruth's to tell her.”

“On the way home, I can let Luty and Hatchet know so they can be here as well,” Wiggins offered.

“That's probably best.” The cook looked at Mrs. Jeffries. “By then you'll have had a chance to speak to the inspector. Let's just hope that he doesn't come in so late he's too tired to tell you what's what.”

*   *   *

Mr. Abbot dashed toward them as Barnes, Witherspoon, and Rogers turned toward the corpse. “You there”—he pointed at Inspector Witherspoon as he raced up the slight incline—“when can I open the gates again? We've a burial scheduled for this afternoon and it'll be most inconvenient if it's delayed. I've already paid the gravediggers and I don't want to have to pay them again tomorrow.”

Witherspoon realized that between Inspector Rogers' attitude and Constable Barnes' charging ahead like a bull in a china shop, he might as well do what was expected and take over. “We're moving as quickly as we can, sir, but this is a murder site,” he explained. “I'm not sure when we'll be finished.”

“I've got a hearse and two coaches coming through the main gate in an hour. Will you be done by then?” Abbot waved his hands about, pointing in the direction of the road. “I don't see what's taking so long. You've been here for hours.”

“And we wouldn't be delayed if proper procedure had been followed,” Barnes muttered.

Rogers glared at the constable, but held his peace.

“For goodness' sake, Inspector,” Abbot cried. “This is a cemetery and we don't just have burials scheduled. There are dozens of people who want to get in to pay their respects to loved ones.”

“The police surgeon should be here any moment,” Rogers said. “As soon as Inspector Witherspoon examines the body and the surgeon is finished, we'll be out of your way.”

“Examine the body?” Abbot exclaimed. “What on earth for? The woman is dead, dead, dead. Can't you just get a van in here and move her along to the morgue?”

Before Witherspoon could reply, they heard footsteps, and everyone turned to see a man and two constables coming their way. The man wore a blue overcoat and bowler hat and carried a physician's bag. The constables carried an empty stretcher.

“It appears the police surgeon has arrived,” Rogers said.

“It's about time.” Abbot snorted and glanced down at the body. He shuddered and then backed away.

“We'll be finished in a few moments, sir,” Witherspoon called. “But we'll need to search this part of the cemetery and we'll need to question your staff.”

“And that includes the gravediggers,” Barnes added.

“You can do what you like as long as I can open the main gate.” Abbot stopped. “The burial is on the other side of the cemetery.”

“You can proceed about your business.” Witherspoon turned to Rogers as he spoke. He didn't wish to be harsh, but honestly, the inspector had been a bit remiss in his duty.

Rogers didn't see the inspector's disapproving expression, though. He'd knelt down by the body and was waving at the newcomers. “Dr. Procash, we'll be done here in a moment and then she's all yours.”

“When was the body discovered?” Barnes asked.

“Half past nine this morning.”

“What time do the gates open?”

“Nine,” Rogers replied. “So she couldn't have been dead more than half an hour before she was discovered. Now, can we get on with this? I've a lot to do today.” He glanced at Witherspoon. “Ready?”

The inspector took a deep breath and steeled himself before kneeling next to the dead woman. “Yes, of course.” He focused on her attire. She wore a rust-colored cloak that had slipped open, revealing a striped gray and rust blouse neatly tucked into a gray skirt. Her hands lay across her stomach, and he noticed she wore a garnet ring on her right hand. His gaze traveled up her torso. A red cord, its ends neatly arranged over her chest, lay draped around her neck. Keeping his eyes away from her face, he moved closer and examined the darkened line around her neck. “It looks like she was strangled from the front,” he muttered.

“Either that or the killer rearranged the cord,” Rogers replied.

Witherspoon looked at her face and then gasped. At the same moment, he heard Barnes take a deep, sharply drawn breath.

Rogers, who heard both men, looked at them curiously. “Surely this isn't the first time you've seen a strangulation,” he scoffed. “She's not a pretty sight, but I'd think that with all the murders you've solved and your reputation for not letting anyone touch the body till you've had a good look at it would have prepared you for this.”

Her tongue was protruding, her lips were blue, and her mouth was open as if she'd just been surprised. Her eyes stared straight up to the sky.