Mrs. Jeffries and the One Who Got Away (16 page)

“Exactly when did she threaten you?” Witherspoon asked.

“Just as she was leaving. She was almost at the side gate when suddenly she turned. She came back and looked me straight in the eye, and then she whispered that she'd kill me if I came on her property again.”

“Gracious, sir, you look very tired,” Mrs. Jeffries said as she hung up the inspector's coat and hat. “It's very late. Do you want your dinner straightaway or would you like a glass of sherry?”

“A sherry would be lovely.” He headed down the hall and she hurried after him, delighted that despite his fatigue and the late hour, he wanted to chat.

A few minutes later, she handed him a glass, took her own seat, and waited while he took a long sip of his drink.

“That is precisely what I needed.” He put the glass on the table next to him. “It's been the most confusing day, Mrs. Jeffries. We've found out a huge amount of information, but I don't know what to make of any of it.”

“Now, sir, you always say that when you're at this point in an investigation.” She took a quick sip from her own glass to buy a bit of time. The inspector was having his usual crisis of confidence and she needed to bolster his faith in himself. But she must get the words right. “You know good and well that once your ‘inner voice' begins working, it muddles up your thinking process for a day or two. Honestly, sir, if you didn't look so exhausted, I'd say you were teasing me. Tell me what happened, sir. That always helps you to sort the wheat from the chaff.”

He gave her a wan smile. “How well you know me, Mrs. Jeffries.” He began by telling her about their search of Edith Durant's room and the discovery of the ledger.

“You've no idea what it could mean?” she asked when he paused to take a breath.

“None,” he admitted. “But both Constable Barnes and I are sure it's important. We've passed it along to Y Division in the hopes that Inspector Rogers or one of his chaps might be able to make heads or tails of it. Who knows, it might be some sort of code the local lads have seen before, but I doubt they'll be able to give it much attention. Apparently, there's been an alarming number of burglaries in the area and Y Division is under a lot of pressure to make some arrests.”

Mrs. Jeffries wanted to see that ledger. “Will you be taking it to the Yard, then?”

“Constable Barnes is picking it up tomorrow morning.”

“You could take it to Ladbroke Road,” she interrupted. “You've some very clever constables there. Perhaps one of them will be able to help.” She held her breath, silently praying that he'd agree.

He scratched his chin. “That's a very good idea. If none of our men have any good ideas, we can always send it along to the Yard.” He grinned suddenly. “I can take it over personally in a day or two. By then, Chief Superintendent Barrows will be demanding I stop what I'm doing and give him a full report on the investigation. I'd rather like to see him take a look at the ledger.”

She chuckled. “I've full faith in you, sir. I'm sure by the time the chief wants his report, you'll know what the entries in the book mean.”

He smiled, pleased by the compliment. “Let's hope you're right. After that, we continued with our interviews.” Witherspoon told her about their second interview with Morecomb as well as what he'd learned from Gordon Redley and John Erksine.

“Erskine overheard Edith Durant arguing with someone the night before the murder,” she clarified. “Was he absolutely positive, sir?”

“He was. Unfortunately, instead of going upstairs and seeing who this unknown person might have been, he trotted into the kitchen for a drink of water. But I actually think that Gordon Redley's account of Edith Durant's quarrel with her neighbor was more suspicious.”

“In what way, sir?” She took a sip of sherry.

“Because the two accounts differed in one very important respect, and neither Constable Barnes nor I have any idea which of the two of them might be lying,” he explained. “Gordon Redley stated that he heard and saw Mrs. Travers tell the victim that if she didn't cease her accusations, she'd see her in court, and it was at that point that Edith Durant told Mrs. Travers that if she came on her property again, she'd kill her. She then turned and marched off, but as she was walking away, Mrs. Travers allegedly shouted at her again. It was something like, she could make it most uncomfortable if Mrs. Robinson didn't stay away from her, that Mrs. Robinson might not like being dragged through the London courts.”

“Gracious, sir, that's most extraordinary.” Mrs. Jeffries hoped she could remember all this. “What do you think she meant?”

“That's just it. When we asked her about the difference between her recollection of the incident and what Gordon Redley claimed he'd heard and saw, Mrs. Travers insisted he was wrong, that she'd made no such statements. Fortunately, we've witnesses to her account. Her maid and the man from the gasworks came out of the house when they heard the shouting start. I can ask one of them to verify what happened.” He frowned as a thought struck him. “But what if they went back to the kitchen before the incident happened?”

The absurdity of the idea almost made her laugh. “This was high drama, sir, so I very much doubt either of them moved an inch. But even if they did go inside, I'm sure that the maid would have peeked through a door or window.”

“Yes, if threats were being bandied back and forth, I suppose they'd have wanted to insure that Mrs. Travers was safe.” He drained his glass and handed it to her. “Let's have another, shall we.”

She allowed herself a smile as she crossed the room and refilled their glasses. He actually believed what he'd just said. Despite everything he'd seen as a policeman, the inspector still believed in the inherent goodness in people and ascribed only the best motives for their behavior. For her part, Mrs. Jeffries would bet her next hot dinner that Mrs. Travers' safety was the last thing either the maid or the man from the gasworks was concerned about. It was far more likely that they were both hoping the argument would accelerate into fisticuffs. But she kept her opinion to herself as she came back to her seat and handed him his glass. “Here you are, sir.” She took her seat. “You've learned a huge amount today, sir.”

“Indeed we have, Mrs. Jeffries, and not just from the tenants, either.” He took a quick sip. “Constable Barnes spoke to the cook again and he took a statement from the housemaid who was out all day yesterday. I must say, according to the maid, Edith Durant was a very odd employer.”

“In what way, sir?”

“She was an unusual combination of both strictness and leniency. Apparently, her servants, including the young female ones, could stay out as late as they liked and go to pubs. But they weren't allowed to go into her room and the only time they were allowed in the tenants' quarters was when they changed the linens once a fortnight. But, and this is the interesting part, Edith Durant herself supervised them when the beds were changed. According to Etta Morgan, she'd use her passkey to enter the room and then she'd allow either Miss Morgan or Carrie Durridge to change the linens. But she stayed and watched them the whole time.”

“It's a strange way to behave, sir, but perhaps she did it to avoid either herself or her staff from being accused of stealing from the tenants,” she suggested. Considering what she knew of Edith Durant's character, she didn't believe for a moment the woman was trying to protect her servants or herself from a bogus charge of thieving, but she wanted to insure that the inspector thought about any and all possibilities to explain Durant's behavior.

“That's possible, I suppose,” he mused. “But it doesn't seem to fit her character, now, does it. Nonetheless, I'll keep it in mind when I speak to Carrie Durridge again. She was the one person we didn't have time to re-interview today and I've a number of questions I didn't think to ask before. I'd like to know what happened to the keys.”

“You mean the one to Edith's room?”

“And the passkey,” he said. “That's not turned up, either.”

From down the hall, the clock struck the hour. Witherspoon drained his glass and stood up. “I'll have my dinner now, Mrs. Jeffries, and if you'd be so kind as to keep me company, I'll tell you what else we learned today.”

*   *   *

Mrs. Jeffries shifted her weight on the hard straight-backed chair and rocked her shoulders from side to side, trying to work the strain out of her tense muscles. It was past midnight and she'd been at her desk since bidding the inspector a cheerful “good night” just after nine o'clock. Holding her arms out toward the lantern, she stretched her cramped fingers as hard as she could. For the past three hours, she'd written down every little detail about this case that she could remember, and she sincerely hoped she had remembered them all.

She glanced toward her window, noting the pale light from the gas lamp across the road. Even though it was well past her usual bedtime, she was far too excited to sleep. Everyone had done their best, but they'd learned very few facts. Thank goodness the inspector had done a bit better. She sighed heavily and wondered if despite their assertions that they believed everyone, even a murderess, deserved justice, they weren't fooling themselves. Perhaps their own inner demons were keeping them from doing their best.

She frowned as the idea took root in her mind and started to bloom. No. She shook her head. She refused to believe such a thing. She rubbed her hands together, massaging her aching fingers and digging hard into her palms to relieve the ache. But once the thought was in her mind, it refused to go away. What if all of them, including her, had deluded themselves into thinking they were actually working on this case, when their “inner minds,” which she honestly believed they all possessed, were actually forcing them to work in accordance with their own preconceived notions of right and wrong? “You're being ridiculous,” she muttered. But was she? All of them knew that Edith Durant was a killer, and even though they'd been shamed by both Phyllis and Ruth into doing their duty, she wondered if they were victims of their own prejudices. Today the inspector had discovered more information than all of them combined.

No, she refused to believe they'd given in to their prejudices and not done the best they could. Today was merely a lackluster day; it happened sometimes. She picked up the paper and began to study the notes she'd made. Things would be different tomorrow. Better. She'd send Wiggins to the Black Swan to see if he could learn anything useful. She'd ask Ruth or Luty to have a good look at Mrs. Travers and see if there was more to the altercation between the two women than met the eye. Tomorrow, she'd ask Hatchet and Smythe to make inquiries about the tenants at the lodging house, and she'd see if Betsy might be able to find out the names of any of Durant's former servants. She'd also ask Phyllis and Mrs. Goodge to continue finding out every morsel of gossip there was to be had about the late, unlamented Edith Durant.

*   *   *

Barnes knocked on the door of the duty office at Y Division headquarters, waited till he heard a voice tell him to enter, and then stepped inside. It was an overcast gray day and despite the early hour, the lamp on the desk was lighted.

Inspector Rogers looked up from the file he'd been studying and then frowned when he saw his visitor. “I didn't set the press on Inspector Witherspoon,” he announced. “I'll not have you nor anyone else thinking I'd do such a thing to a fellow officer.”

“But they got the story very quickly,” Barnes pointed out as he advanced into the small office. “Her real name was in the evening papers that very day.”

“That's true, but they didn't get it from me,” he retorted. “We got off on the wrong foot at our first meeting and that was my fault. I'll admit to that, but I most certainly did not tell the press anything about this case, not then, not now, not ever.”

“I know, sir.”

“You know?” Rogers drew back in surprise.

Barnes smiled. “May I sit down? These are new boots and they're hurting my feet.”

Rogers pointed to the empty chair in front of the desk. “Right, then, tell me how you know it wasn't me.”

“Your reputation sir.” Barnes sighed in pleasure as he took his seat. “Several of your lads made it a point to tell me and Inspector Witherspoon that you were a decent, honorable officer who was dedicated to doin' a proper job.”

Rogers stared at the constable for a long moment, then his mouth quirked up in a grin. “So you're takin' the word of men who work for me?”

“Them and a few of my sources at the Yard. You're held in pretty high esteem, sir. Oh Lord, why do they make these boots with such a tight fit?”

After the altercation at the cemetery, Barnes had quietly checked with several of his old colleagues at Scotland Yard and learned that Rogers was highly regarded by the rank and file as well as the top brass. He'd not done it out of spite or anger, but only because he'd wanted to be prepared in case Rogers attempted to sabotage the investigation. It wouldn't be the first time someone had tried to hobble one of Inspector Witherspoon's cases.