Mrs. Jeffries Pinches the Post (12 page)

“Are you saying you haven’t interviewed the widow properly?” Chief Inspector Barrows stared at Witherspoon from the other side of his desk.

“It was impossible, sir,” Witherspoon explained. “She was quite hysterical. I meant to go back the first thing this morning, but a number of other things cropped up, and I didn’t get the chance. Constable Barnes and I were on our way there when I received the message that you wanted to see me here.”

Barrows leaned back in his chair. “Look, Inspector, I’m not trying to tell you how to run this investigation, but it is customary to interview the victim’s spouse as soon as possible after a murder.”

“Yes, sir, I quite understand. But as I said, Mrs. Nye was hysterical.” Witherspoon cocked his head to one side. “If you don’t mind my asking, sir, I’ve often gone a day or two without questioning a spouse, and you’ve never objected before. I’ve always put that fact in my reports, I’ve never tried to hide it.”

“I know. Normally, I wouldn’t bother you with such nonsense. But I was walking down the hall with the commissioner’s private secretary when all of a sudden Inspector Nivens came rushing in waving an article from the Policeman’s Gazette.” Barrows sighed. ‘The article said what most policemen already know, that the most likely suspect in a murder is generally the victim’s husband or wife. Well, the upshot of the whole business was Nivens managed to work it into the conversation that you were handling the Nye murder and had you interviewed Mrs. Nye yet? By that time Pomeroy, that’s the commissioner’s private secretary, decided to put his oar in the water and insisted it be done right away.”

The inspector knew he wasn’t very sophisticated when it came to Scotland Yard and Home Office politics, but he did rather suspect that this Pomeroy fellow and Inspector Nivens were good friends. He’d heard it said that Inspector Nivens was politically and socially very well connected. “As I said, sir, I was on my way to interview Mrs. Nye when I was called here.”

Barrows gave a short, bark of a laugh. “Yes, I daresay you were. Now that you’re here, you might as well report. How is the investigation going? Is there an arrest on the horizon?”

“It’s a very complicated case, sir.” Witherspoon frowned. “I don’t think we’ll be making any arrests just yet. We’ve a lot of territory to cover first. We think we’ve a good lead on finding out why Harrison Nye went to Fulham that night. That ought to help clear up the mystery a bit.” He glanced at the clock on the wall behind Barrow’s. “Er, is there anything else, sir? It’s getting late.”

“No,” the chief inspector interrupted. “I’ve done my duty and had a word with you. I trust you’ll keep me informed as to your progress.”

“Yes, sir, certainly.” He muttered a hasty good-bye and marched out of the office. Constable Barnes was waiting for him just outside the door. “Everything all right, sir?” Barnes inquired.

“I think so.” Witherspoon found the entire episode rather odd. “All he wanted to know was whether or not we’d interviewed Mrs. Nye.”

Barnes’s bushy eyebrows rose. “He drug us all the way up here to ask you that?”

Witherspoon looked over his shoulder as the.y headed for the stairs. He didn’t want anyone to overhear him. “I don’t think he had much choice. I’ll tell you all about it as soon as we’re outside.”

They went down the stairs and crossed the foyer. As soon as they were safely out the door, Witherspoon told Barnes what had transpired in Barrows’s office. The constable’s eyes narrowed angrily, but he held his tongue.

“I do believe that Mr. Pomeroy and Inspector Nivens are friends,” Witherspoon said. “I suspect that Nivens is a bit annoyed that he didn’t get this case.”

“He’s as jealous as an old cat,” Barnes said bluntly. He loathed Nivens as did just about every uniformed lad that had ever worked with the man. “You’d best watch yourself, sir. I think Nivens’s resentment of you is getting worse.”

“Oh dear, that will make things awkward,” Witherspoon replied. He waved at a passing hansom. The driver spotted him and pulled over to the curb. “Do you think I ought to have a talk with him?” he asked as he climbed inside. “Take us to Upper Belgrave Street,” he ordered the driver.

“I don’t think that’d work, sir,” Barnes replied as he slid into the seat next to the inspector. He grabbed the hand-rest as the cab started off.

“Really? Oh dear, that is a problem. I don’t like to think that Inspector Nivens resents me.”

“He does, sir.” Barnes wanted to make sure this was understood. It was only a miracle that Nivens’s constant undermining of the inspector hadn’t already resulted in a transfer or demotion for Witherspoon. “And you can bet your last bob that it wasn’t any accident that Nivens happened’ to run into the chief inspector while he was with the chief.”

Witherspoon stared at him over the top of his spectacles. “Are you saying you think the whole event was … er… orchestrated so that the chief would have reason to call me into his office?”

Barnes nodded. “That’s exactly what I’m sayin’, sir. It weren’t exactly a reprimand, but it wasn’t very nice, was it?”

“Not really.”

Barnes took a deep breath and plunged ahead. He had to warn the inspector, had to make him understand how damaging Nivens could be. “He’s a dangerous man, sir. He sees you as a threat to his climb to the top. He’s desperate for power and position. He’s not the least interested in justice, sir.”

“That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?”

“No sir, I don’t. I’ve known the man since he come on the force and he got where he is today by bootlicking, undermining, tattling on his fellow officers and taking the credit for others’ hard work. He’s out to get you, sir. You’d best watch your back.”

Witherspoon gaped at the constable. Barnes was a fair and honest man. He wouldn’t make up lies about someone merely because he disliked that person. “But why? I’ve not done anything to him. Why would he want to harm my career?”

“Like I said, sir, you’re a threat to him.” Barnes sighed. “Your solving all these murders the last few years has pushed him farther and farther into the background. Before, when you were still working in the records room, most of the inspectors were all much the same. They had about the same number of good arrests and about the same percentage solving their cases. Inspector Nivens, with his political friends and his bootlickin’ and backstabbing, tended to pull ahead of the pack a bit. Then you come along and solved them Kensington High Street killings and got started with solving just about every murder that come along. It made him look bad, sir, because it made him look ordinary.”

Witherspoon was stunned. “It’s not very pleasant thinking that someone dislikes me merely because I’m doing my duty.”

Barnes winced as he saw the stricken expression on his superior’s face. “You do a great deal more than your duty, sir, and that’s what scares Nivens so much. I’m only tellin’ you this so you’ll keep your guard up, sir.”

“I’m not sure I know how to do that,” the inspector admitted honestly. “How can one defend oneself against innuendos and er … what did you call it, ‘backstabbing’?”

“You can’t, sir,” Barnes said honestly. “But you can fire off a few salvos on your own.”

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean.” He looked out the side as the hansom pulled up in front of the Nye house.

“For starters,” Barnes said as he jumped down, “you can complain to Barrows about Nivens interferin’ with your investigation.”

Witherspoon handed the driver some coins. “But he hasn’t done that.”

“Sure he has,” Barnes said cheerfully. “Several of the lads who did the house-to-house in Fulham said they spotted Nivens snooping about and what’s more, he pulled Constable Peters aside and started questioning him.”

“Gracious, really. He did all that?” Witherspoon marched up the walkway toward the house.

“He did, sir, and if you complain to Barrows, that’ll get Nivens off your patch for a good while. He’s not just a greedy little sod, sir. He’s a coward too. It’ll scare the daylights out of him to get called on the carpet for stickin’ his nose in where it don’t belong.”

Witherspoon thought about what Barnes told him as they went into the Nye house and waited for the butler to announce them. He was terribly confused. The very idea of running to the chief inspector and complaining about another officer was repugnant to him. Yet he trusted Constable Barnes implicitly, and if he said that Nivens was out to damage him, Witherspoon couldn’t ignore the situation. Besides, if he were really truthful with himself, finding out that Nivens was out to do him a disservice was certainly no surprise. He’d never been more than barely civil to Witherspoon. But the inspector had always told himself Nivens’s surliness was merely his nature and that it wasn’t personal. It seems now that he was wrong. Nivens was out to destroy his career. He took that quite personally indeed.

“If you’ll come this way, gentlemen.” Duffy’s words interrupted his reveries. “Mrs. Nye is receiving in the drawing room.”

They followed him down the hallway. Eliza Nye, dressed in widows’ black, rose from where she’d been sitting on the settee. A tall, fair-haired man of about thirty-five was in the room with her. “Hello, Inspector, Constable,” she said softly. “This is my cousin, Lionel Bancroft.”

Both policemen nodded politely, then Witherspoon focused his attention on Mrs. Nye. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying, her face was pale and she had a decidedly haggard air of grief about her. It was difficult to see such a sad, delicate creature as a murderess, but the inspector knew that even the sweetest countenance could mask the heart of a monster. Still, he didn’t think she’d be so upset if she’d murdered her husband. “Again, Mrs. Nye, please accept our condolences on the loss of your husband. We’ll do everything in our power to bring his killer to justice.”

“Thank you, Inspector.” She smiled weakly. “I’m sure you will. Let’s all sit down. You must have a number of questions to ask me.”

“Are you certain you’re up to this, my dear?” Lionel Bancroft patted her hand.

“I must,” she replied. “Regardless of how distressing it is.” She sat back down. Her cousin took the spot next to her.

“We’ll do our best to make this as painless as possible,” Witherspoon said, as he and Barnes sat down on the opposite love seat. He thought he might as well start with the most obvious questions. “Do you know of anyone who would want to harm Mr. Nye?”

“No, Inspector. I can’t think of anyone who would wish him ill.”

“He hadn’t any enemies? Disgruntled business associates, uh, staff that have been let go…”

“He was a businessman, Inspector.” She shrugged slightly. “Sometimes quite a ruthless one at that, but as far as I know, no one ever threatened him.”

“Would he have told you if he had been in fear of his life?” Barnes asked softly.

She hesitated briefly. “Truthfully, I’m not sure. Harrison was very protective of me.”

“Of course he wouldn’t have told you such a thing,” Bancroft interjected. “He would never have worried you like that.” He looked at the policemen, his expression grim. “Mrs. Nye doesn’t wish to speak ill of her husband.”

“Lionel,” she yelped. “What on earth are you doing?”

“I’m telling them the truth, my dear. I don’t wish to cause you pain, but if the police are going to find out who killed Harrison, they need to know the truth about him.”

“And what would that be, sir?” Witherspoon asked quickly. He didn’t want Mrs. Nye stopping her cousin from talking. Sometimes it was unexpected outbursts like these that gave one the very clue one needed to solve the case.

Lionel shot his cousin a quick, beseeching glance, then said, “Unfortunately, Harrison had a lot of enemies. Why, even some of the people who were having dinner here the night of the murder would have wished him dead.”

“Lionel, please,” Mrs. Nye pleaded. “You mustn’t say such things. It’s not true. Harrison had made his peace with those two.”