Read Mrs. Jeffries Defends Her Own Online

Authors: Emily Brightwell

Mrs. Jeffries Defends Her Own (5 page)

BOOK: Mrs. Jeffries Defends Her Own
2.88Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

“But the new procedures are very clear that the body is to remain untouched until the police surgeon arrives,” Bosworth said.

The constable threw a quick, nervous glance over his shoulder toward the open door. “We know that, sir, but when Constable Clark mentioned that to the inspector, he got furious and told us to do what we were told. Just so you know, sir, he also had us rifle the victim’s pockets. He said he was lookin’ for evidence, sir. The other lads and I wanted to leave him alone until you got here.
We’re all familiar with the new ideas about crime scenes and evidence gatherin’, but—” He broke off abruptly as footsteps sounded in the outer office, and a second later, Inspector Nivens stepped into the office.

Nivens frowned at the doctor. “You’re finally here, are you? We sent for you hours ago.”

“I had to finish a postmortem,” Bosworth replied. “And can you explain why you had the body moved about? You know good and well the new procedures are fairly clear that there should be minimal handling of the victim until after my examination.”

“Those ‘procedures,’ as you call them, aren’t in any way official as yet,” Nivens retorted. “And until they are official, then I’m in charge of this investigation and it shall be run as I see fit. So please, just get on with it.”

Dr. Bosworth stared at him. “Alright, I’ll get on with it, but I will be noting in my postmortem report that the victim had been moved and that the senior officer didn’t think it necessary to study the body in situ or examine the fatal wounds properly.”

“It’s not my job to examine the wounds, it’s yours,” Nivens snapped. “And I told the constables to put the body back precisely as we found it.”

“That is both irrelevant and impossible. Furthermore, I know for a fact that most senior officers when in charge of a serious case always examine both the fatal wound so that they can get some idea of the weapon used and the murder scene so as to ascertain any number of other details about the crime. As I understand it, this method has helped senior officers such as Inspector Gerald Witherspoon solve all of his assigned homicides.”

“The victim was shot,” Nivens yelled, his face flushed
with rage. “What more do you need to know? No one has proved that any of those so-called modern scientific methods amount to any more than a hill of beans. I’ll not have some upstart doctor telling me how to do my job. Your insubordination shall be duly noted in my report to Chief Inspector Barrows.” With that, he stalked out of the room.

Bosworth sighed heavily. He was annoyed with himself for losing his temper. But he’d dealt with Nivens on previous occasions and found the man incompetent and odious. He’d also heard gossip that prisoners being brought in by Nivens were frequently covered with fresh cuts and ugly bruises. But complaining about the man wouldn’t do any good. Inspector Nigel Nivens kept his position because of family connections and political influence. Bosworth edged in closer to the body and eased the dead man’s head back. He studied the wound, paying close attention to both the size and shape of the bullet hole. Still keeping the head tilted up, he looked at the desktop and estimated how much blood was pooled on the blotter.

“I hope the poor fellow died quickly,” the constable standing in the doorway muttered.

“He did,” Bosworth remarked. “From the angle of the bullet’s entry, it went directly into his brain. That, in and of itself, doesn’t guarantee a quick death, of course. But from the amount of blood on the desk blotter, he died quickly. Head wounds do bleed heavily, but from the amount there”—he nodded toward the desk blotter—“I’d say his heart had stopped pumping seconds after the bullet hit him.”

The constable glanced behind him and then asked, “Can you really tell what kind of weapon was used, sir? I’m not doubting you, sir, I’m not like Inspector Nivens.
Most of us rank-and-file lads believe in the new methods, but can you really say what kind of gun was used? That’s almost like magic.”

Bosworth smiled briefly. “It’s not magic, Constable. It’s science. We can’t be terribly exact as yet, but we’re moving in that direction, and I predict that one day we’ll be able to determine not only the size of the weapon used but also the specific type of gun. As to how we do it, it’s simple observation.” He angled the victim’s face so that the constable could get a better view. “The size of the weapon is determined by the size of the bullet hole. As you can see here”—with his other hand he pointed to the entry wound—“this is quite a small hole, so that tells me the weapon was probably either a derringer or perhaps, if the assailant was standing a bit farther back from the desk, an Enfield. But it most definitely wasn’t caused by a large pistol or an American six-gun. The difference in sizes is subtle but real.”

“And if we know right away what kind of weapon we’re looking for,” the constable mused, “then we’ve got one more thing to help us find the culprit. That’s right clever, isn’t it.”

Surprised, Mrs. Jeffries stared at her sister-in-law. “You threatened him? Good gracious, Fiona, that’s not like you. Why did you do such a thing?”

“Why does anyone lose control of their tongue?” Fiona replied. “I was angry at him, so angry that I lost my temper and behaved like a common fishwife. What’s more, I’m certain there were plenty of people who heard me screaming at him.”

“There were others present?”

“Not in the room itself,” she replied. “We were in John’s study. I’d seen Ronald go into the room, and knowing he wanted to have a word with me, I went in and closed the door so we could speak privately. But as we were in the middle of a dinner party, I’m sure that both the other guests and my servants got an earful.”

“What happened? I need to know where and when this incident took place and all the names of the people who were likely to have overheard it. As we’ve already established, it’s hardly in your nature to lose control, so it’s imperative you tell me exactly why you had such an outburst.”

Fiona looked down at the half-empty sherry glass in her hand. “As to when it happened, it was Saturday. We had a dinner party, and I’d invited Ronald and Lucretia.”

“And the other guests?”

“There were only three other guests: Henry Anson and his fiancée, Miss Throckmorton, and Mrs. Meadows. You might remember her, she was Lucretia’s best friend, they were at school together.”

“I don’t remember her,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “The only people I recall from those days are you and John. Now, how many servants were likely to have been in the vicinity?”

“Most of them.” She took another sip from her glass. “The study is next to the dining room, so any or all of the servants could have been in there clearing things up. We’d finished dinner, and John had taken the other guests upstairs to his little sitting room to show them his latest map. He collects them, you know, especially old ones.”

“What was the argument about?”

“I was afraid you were going to ask me that. It’s
embarrassing, Hepzibah, and not something I wish to talk about.” She looked down at the floor.

“I can’t help you unless I know the truth,” Mrs. Jeffries declared.

“But what if the subject of our argument doesn’t have anything to do with his being murdered?” she asked, once again meeting Mrs. Jeffries’ gaze.

“How can you possibly know that? Do you know why Dearman was murdered, and if you do, please say so. That will save both me and the police a great deal of time and trouble. The why, Fiona, almost always points to the killer.”

“I don’t know why he was murdered, but I do know that my argument with him had nothing to do with it. It was personal, very personal,” she insisted. “I’m certain it had nothing to do with his murder. Ronald Dearman was an odious excuse for a human being. He had plenty of enemies, and one of them finally had enough and murdered him. My argument with him was very humiliating. It’s not something I care to talk about.”

Mrs. Jeffries got to her feet. “Then we have nothing further to discuss. If you feel you’re going to be unjustly accused of murder, then I suggest you obtain legal assistance right away. A good solicitor can advise you as to the best course of action.”

Fiona said nothing; she merely got to her feet, putting her glass on the side table as she rose.

Mrs. Jeffries saw that her hand trembled, and she tried to harden her heart to the woman’s misery, but then an image of her late husband’s face flashed through her mind. For a brief, wonderful moment, she saw him clearly. He gazed at her with an expression she knew only too
well, and because of the love she saw in his eyes, she knew that despite her sister-in-law’s lack of cooperation, she couldn’t turn her away. “Wait, sit back down,” she ordered.

Fiona froze and then eased back into her seat, staring at her with a desperate but hopeful expression. “I know you must think me a fool, Hepzibah, and I’m not trying to be difficult, but I really don’t want say anything about that horrid argument. It involved the most humiliating moment of my life, but I swear to you, it had nothing to do with the murder.”

“Alright, then, I’ll take your word for it, and I’ll not bring the subject up again unless it becomes pertinent to the murder,” Mrs. Jeffries replied.

“That won’t happen, I promise you.”

Mrs. Jeffries regarded her steadily. “As far as I know, you’ve never lied to me, so I want you to look me in the eye and tell me the truth. Did you kill him?”

Fiona lifted her chin slightly. “I did not.”

Inspector Witherspoon sat at his desk studying an open ledger. He scanned the rows of figures carefully, trying to ascertain if the pounds, shillings, and pence listed in their relevant columns seemed reasonable for the alleged expenditure. He was concentrating so hard, he didn’t hear Constable Barnes enter the small office. Barnes, an older constable with a ramrod straight posture, a ruddy complexion, and head full of curly iron gray hair, cleared his throat.

Witherspoon looked up over the rim of his spectacles. His thinning brown hair stood up in tufts where he’d run his fingers through it. He grinned broadly when he saw
that Barnes carried a small tray with two steaming cups of tea. “Back already, Constable? I thought you were giving a lecture at the Yard this afternoon.”

“It’s finished, sir,” Barnes replied.

“Did it go well?” Witherspoon asked.

“Very well, sir, though the lads were disappointed that you hadn’t come.” Barnes came farther into the office. He was totally comfortable with the inspector; they’d worked together on so many homicide cases they could almost read one another’s minds. He put the tray on the edge of the desk, handed the inspector a mug, and picked up his own.

“You’re the expert on confidence tricksters, Constable, not me,” Witherspoon said as he took a quick sip.

Barnes sat down on the only other chair in the room. They were in the duty inspector’s office at the back of the Ladbroke Road Police Station. The men sipped their tea in companionable silence for a few moments. The rain had begun again and now pelted the two small windows that faced out into the backyard of the station. The muted sounds of policemen talking, feet shuffling, doors squeaking, and, occasionally, a prisoner whining came through the thick oak door.

“I heard a bit of news before I left the Yard,” Barnes commented. “There’s been a murder in an office building in Queen Street Place just off the Southwark Bridge. Inspector Nivens got the case.”

“He’s wanted one for a long time,” Witherspoon said. “For my part, I’m quite happy to be working on this fraud case. Unlike people, with numbers, if you look at them closely enough, you can tell if they’re lying. Who was the victim?”

“A man named Ronald Dearman, he’s the deputy
manager of Sutcliffe Manufacturing. He was shot in his office yesterday evening.”

Witherspoon tried not to be interested, but he couldn’t help himself. “Were there any witnesses?”

“Not according to the first reports that came in.” Barnes sipped his tea. “But it’s early days yet, so they probably hadn’t had time to do a proper survey of all the possible witnesses in the area. Let’s just hope that Nivens finds the killer quickly. Everyone on the force has worked hard to restore public confidence in the police since those Ripper murders. It would be a shame if an incompetent officer put us in a bad light again.” Barnes kept his tone neutral, but he disliked Nigel Nivens intensely.

“I wouldn’t say Inspector Nivens is incompetent.” Witherspoon felt duty bound to defend a fellow officer. “He’s got a reasonable number of arrests and convictions. His record is no worse than any other officer.”

“And it’s not any better, either,” Barnes muttered. “But you’re right, sir, he’s not inadequate at his job. I just wish that there was an officer more experienced in murder investigations in charge, that’s all.”

“I see your point, Constable.” Witherspoon put his mug on the desk. “But the Ripper killings were several years ago, and most of the public has forgotten those awful days. I’m sure Inspector Nivens will do the best that he can.”

“Hmm,” Barnes murmured. “Let’s just hope his best is good enough.”

“Go home and get some rest, Fiona,” Mrs. Jeffries ordered as she escorted her guest to the foyer. “I’ll contact you later.”

“How will you manage to investigate this matter?” Fiona asked as she pulled on her gloves.

“We have our ways,” Mrs. Jeffries replied. “Don’t worry, as I promised, we’ll be discreet and your name won’t be bandied about by anyone.” She pulled open the door. “Oh dear, it’s started to rain again. Wait here and I’ll have Wiggins go fetch you a hansom.”

But Fiona was already moving past her, her umbrella at the ready. “That won’t be necessary. I feel like getting a bit of fresh air. I’ll get a cab at the corner.” She opened the umbrella as she stepped out onto the stoop. Turning, she smiled at Mrs. Jeffries. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your helping me. I know better than anyone that I’ve no right to expect anything from you.”

“I can’t promise that I’ll be of much use,” she replied. “But I’ll do my very best.”

“That’s good enough for me.” Fiona cocked her head to one side and eyed her curiously. “David always did say that you were very clever and that if anyone had a talent for detecting, it was you. I’ll wait to hear from you.” She turned and hurried down the stairs.

BOOK: Mrs. Jeffries Defends Her Own
2.88Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

The Body In The Big Apple by Katherine Hall Page
Photographs & Phantoms by Cindy Spencer Pape
Stark After Dark by J. Kenner
The Dark Stairs R/I by Byars, Betsy
Clarity 2 by Lost, Loretta
torg 03- The Nightmare Dream by Jonatha Ariadne Caspian
Betrayed: Dark beginnings by Rebecca Weeks
Living in Harmony by Mary Ellis