Mrs. Jeffries Defends Her Own (8 page)

“Like Luty said yesterday, he’s been at it long enough to find his way round that,” Mrs. Goodge said confidently. “That’s the one advantage to gettin’ old, you know all the ins and outs.”

“Looks like we’re gettin’ off to fine start,” Luty said.
“I even found out a thing or two myself. But tell us what you heard from Barnes first.”

“By chance, he happened to be in Chief Inspector Barrows’ office late yesterday afternoon when Nivens sent in his first report on the case,” Mrs. Jeffries began.

“Constable Barnes said that Nivens only sent in the report that fast because he’s such a bootlicker.” Mrs. Goodge repeated the constable’s exact words with relish. “The usual practice is for the senior officer to send in progress reports after they’ve interviewed all the possible witnesses, and that generally takes several days.”

“Constable Barnes is of the opinion that Nivens will be sending in reports to Barrows frequently,” said Mrs. Jeffries, picking up where Mrs. Goodge had left off. “And that might work to our advantage. I had the distinct impression that Barnes might be able to get a look at them before they reach the chief inspector’s desk. But that’s not all he told us. He said the police had already determined that the killer committed the murder sometime after the Sutcliffe Manufacturing office emptied out but before the building porter came on duty. Apparently, the porter doesn’t come on until half past six and the last employee, a clerk named Daniel Jones, left the office at six fifteen.”

“Were all the other offices empty by then?” Hatchet asked.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “It will be necessary for one of us to go to the building itself and take a good look at both the Sutcliffe offices and the rest of the building, including where the porter’s desk is and who, if anyone, would likely know the porter’s schedule.”

“I’ll do it,” Wiggins said.

“Take care to avoid Nivens,” Luty warned. “He’s seen you, remember? He knows us all by sight.”

“I’ll be careful.”

“Unfortunately, Constable Barnes was only able to read part of the report before Barrows came into the room, so that’s really all he found out.” Mrs. Jeffries looked at Luty. “Your turn. What did you find out?”

Luty grinned broadly. “I found out that the Dearmans weren’t a happily married couple. My source told me that the gossip was that they fought like cats and dogs. Dearman had a reputation as a bully, but he never had the upper hand with his wife because she’s John Sutcliffe’s sister and as he worked for Sutcliffe, he had to put up with her. I know it ain’t much, half the marriages in London are miserable, but at least we know there ain’t goin’ to be too many people weepin’ over his grave.”

“Considering the circumstances, we’ve made some progress,” Mrs. Jeffries said.

“We’re going to need more,” Ruth murmured.

“We’ll get more,” Mrs. Jeffries replied. “I’m going to go see Fiona this morning and ask for a more complete list of Dearman’s enemies. Apparently, if he was in the office alone, anyone could have gotten in to murder him.”

“Was he the one who usually locked up?” Phyllis asked.

“That was the impression I got from Fiona. She said that Dearman often worked quite late.” Mrs. Jeffries’ brows drew together in thought. “But I’ll ask her that specifically when I see her.”

“If he was the one who always locked up at night, then that might help us narrow down the suspects,” Hatchet mused. “Generally, the only people who would know such a detail would be either the workers at the office or
someone close to the victim who knew his comings and goings.”

“Or someone who just stood across the road and watched the place,” Luty said. “If Dearman was always the last one to leave the office, it wouldn’t be long before the killer figured out he was the one who locked up in the evenings. We know the office was locked when the body was discovered, because Mrs. Sutcliffe had to get the porter to let her and Mrs. Dearman into the office.”

“Which means that Dearman’s keys should have been in his possession,” Mrs. Jeffries murmured.

“Can we get Constable Barnes to confirm that?” Hatchet asked. “If they were in his pocket, they’ll have been collected into evidence along with anything else that he had on him.”

“I’ll ask him,” she replied. “And I’ll ask Fiona who else had keys to the office. If she doesn’t know the answer, she can ask her husband. But I think it’s important we find out.”

Phyllis got to her feet. “If that’s it then, I’ll be going. I’ll try the nearest shops to Whipple Road, and as the Dearmans lived close to the Sutcliffes, maybe I’ll catch two birds with one stone.”

“While I’m at the Sutcliffe offices, I’ll see if I can find a clerk who likes to chat.” Wiggins rose from his chair.

“I’ll check in with some of my financial sources to see if they know anythin’ about Dearman’s finances,” Luty offered. The elderly American knew everyone important in London. Despite her lack of formal education and her blunt manner, she was regarded as an excellent businesswoman as well as a colorful personality.
Bankers, financiers, and aristocrats numbered amongst her friends. She was as comfortable chatting with a countess as she was buying a beggar a meal. “I always say, there’s generally two things people get killed over, love or money, and it don’t seem like Dearman was loved by anyone.”

“I’ve a meeting of my women’s group today,” Ruth said. “I’ll see what I can find out there. But I do wish we had more names. Oh, Gerald is coming to my house for an early dinner tonight, so if anyone needs to nip out and take care of anything, you’ll have a chance.”

Mrs. Goodge smiled gratefully at Ruth. “Thank you. Now I can get my baking done for my sources without having to worry about cooking a fancy dinner for the inspector.”

“What about our dinner?” Wiggins asked. “Don’t we get any supper?”

“Have I ever not fed you?” The cook frowned at him. “But we can eat somethin’ simple.”

“Anything you cook for us is wonderful,” Phyllis said quickly. “Are we meeting this afternoon as well?”

“We are indeed,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “I need to pass along whatever I’ve learned from Fiona today, and I want to hear what you’ve all found out. I’m not certain our usual methods are going to be as useful as in our previous cases.”

“Why wouldn’t they?” the cook demanded. “The only thing really different is Smythe and Betsy are gone. We’ve solved the problem of findin’ out what the police know. Constable Barnes has agreed to help with that, so we should do just fine.”

Mrs. Jeffries didn’t want to infect the others with her
pessimism, so she said nothing. But she knew that catching this killer wasn’t going to be easy. Constable Barnes could find out what was written in the reports, but there were other, more subtle clues they’d lose. Handwriting on a sheet of paper gave only the cold, hard facts; a report couldn’t include a policeman’s intuition or analyze the way a witness suddenly stiffened when asked certain questions. No, she wasn’t going to fool herself; without all the others this was going to be a tough case to crack. Furthermore, one of Smythe’s sources was invaluable. Then again, she thought, there was no reason she couldn’t contact that person. It might cost a bit, but if it was too expensive, she’d give Fiona the bill. Suddenly cheered, she said, “You’re right, we’ll find a way. We always do.”

Nivens sat in the small morning room of the Sutcliffe house and glared at the housekeeper. “Could you please repeat that,” he ordered. He was in a foul mood; the mistress of the house was making him wait, and he wasn’t used to waiting for anyone.

“It sounded as if she threatened to kill him.” Henrietta Sanger cast a nervous glance toward the hallway. “Please, Inspector, this is very awkward. I’m sure Mrs. Sutcliffe wouldn’t approve of you questioning the household without her knowledge.”

He smiled coldly. “Frankly, your Mrs. Sutcliffe doesn’t have much choice in the matter. We’re investigating a murder, and I won’t be leaving here until I can speak with her. Are you certain you made it clear that I was waiting to see her?”

“Yes, sir, I did. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve work to
do.” She got up from the straight-backed chair and started for the door. Henrietta Sanger was a middle-aged woman with graying black hair, blue eyes, and freckles.

“Wait, I’m not through speaking with you.” Nivens leapt up and stepped in front of her, effectively blocking her path. He wasn’t having a good day. He wished he’d gone back to the Sutcliffe offices; the clerks there were easily intimidated. But he’d sent half a dozen constables under Constable Morehead’s lead and instructed them to interview everyone in the building. If the constable knew what was good for him, he’d better be learning something useful. “Was anyone else likely to have heard Mrs. Sutcliffe threatening to murder Mr. Dearman?”

“I have no idea. You’ll have to ask them yourself.” She tried to step around him, but he moved quickly, again blocking her path.

“I’ve not given permission for you to go,” he said harshly. “I’ve not finished interviewing you.”

The housekeeper seemed to suddenly find her spine. She straightened up and stared him directly in the eye. “I don’t need your permission to do anything. You’re not in charge of this household. I’ve already told you what I
thought
I overheard, and I also said that as the study doors were closed, I can’t be sure of anything. I’ll thank you to step out of my way, sir. I’ve work to do.”

“Yes, I’m sure you do,” Nivens said quickly. He needed this woman to cooperate, and she obviously was no longer cowed by his authority. He’d try another method. “Mrs. Sanger, please, forgive me, I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m sure you’re very busy, but can we start over? I really do need to ask you a few more questions.”

She hesitated. “Alright, get on with it, then.”

He gave her a thin smile. “Mr. and Mrs. Dearman were here for dinner Saturday night, is that correct?”

“That’s right,” she replied. “Mrs. Dearman is Mr. Sutcliffe’s sister, and they are often dinner guests.”

“Were they the only guests?”

“No, Mr. Anson and his fiancée, Miss Throckmorton, and Mrs. Meadows were also guests that night.”

“One thing I don’t understand is why Mrs. Sutcliffe was alone with Mr. Dearman in the study,” he said. “In other words, where were the other guests?”

“Mr. Sutcliffe had taken them upstairs into his sitting room,” she explained. “He wanted to show them a new map he’d acquired from the Royal Geographical Society. Mrs. Sutcliffe had already seen it.”

“Didn’t Mr. Dearman want to see it as well?” Nivens pressed.

“I don’t know. Perhaps he’d already seen it, and I know that he doesn’t like to climb stairs. He was always complaining about Mr. Sutcliffe’s sitting room being on the third floor of the house,” she replied. “As soon as the others had gone, I overheard him tell her he’d like a private word with her. He went into the master’s study, and she followed a few moments later.”

Nivens nodded in encouragement. “So Mr. Dearman and Mrs. Sutcliffe were alone together in the study. Is that when they started arguing?”

“I’ve told you, Inspector, I can’t be sure they were arguing.”

“But you said their voices were raised,” he reminded her. “You said you heard her say she was going to kill him.”

“No, I told you I wasn’t sure what I heard,” she snapped. “You barged in here and started asking questions without
so much as a by-your-leave, and like a foolish girl, I allowed you to intimidate me until I didn’t know what I was saying. All I heard was some raised voices. For all I know they could have been discussing politics and Mrs. Sutcliffe might have been joking that the Conservatives were going to kill the Liberals in the next election.”

Nivens knew that wasn’t what she’d implied earlier. He didn’t understand how witnesses could end up changing their statements so often. It happened to him all the time. Good grief, what was it about these low-class individuals that they couldn’t remember from one moment to the next what they’d seen or heard? “Where were you standing when you overheard these voices?” he asked.

She pointed to the hallway. “I was in the drawing room. I’d come up from the kitchen to supervise the clearing up. We used the Wedgewood service for the dinner party, and I wanted to remind the maids to be extra careful. As soon as I’d done that, I closed the dining room door and left them to it. Just then, Mr. Sutcliffe and some of the guests came out of the drawing room and went up the stairs to his sitting room. That’s when I heard Mr. Dearman tell Mrs. Sutcliffe he wanted to speak to her privately. As everyone had gone, I took the opportunity to nip into the drawing room and have a look around. I wanted to see whether they needed more coffee, and I wanted to make sure the sherry decanter was filled. Mrs. Dearman is very fond of an after-dinner sherry.”

“When did the shouting start?”

“Not long after they went into the study.” She glanced at the closed door again. “It was such a surprise it stopped me in my tracks, but as I said, I can’t be sure what they were saying. The walls in this house are very thick.”

“Did Mrs. Sutcliffe like Mr. Dearman?” He changed tactics, hoping it would help.

“I’ve no idea.” She smiled smugly. “Mrs. Sutcliffe isn’t in the habit of telling the servants who she does or doesn’t like. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must get back to work.”

Nivens knew when he was beaten. “Can you please go and remind Mrs. Sutcliffe that I’m waiting to speak to her?”

Wordlessly, she nodded and left. Nivens struggled to keep his temper in check while he waited. He was determined not to let his emotions get the best of him. If he was going to learn anything useful, he might very well need the cooperation of people like Mrs. Sanger. He desperately wanted to solve this murder, and thus far, he wasn’t making much progress. He stalked around the room, noting the elegant rose and green striped upholstery on the French-style furniture and the expensive green and cream satin curtains on the two long, narrow windows. A secretary of mahogany was in one corner, and landscape paintings hung on the pale green walls. He had to be careful here; this kind of wealth usually meant power even if he’d never heard of the family prior to getting the case. Nonetheless, regardless of how much money they had, if anyone in the Sutcliffe family had committed murder, he’d arrest them. As a matter of fact, he rather hoped it would be someone like that, someone rich enough and powerful enough to make sure an arrest got his name prominently mentioned in every newspaper in the city.