Chapter 7
Despite D.I. Latimer’s insistence that I not look at the photographs of the dead body, I managed to sneak a peek anyway.
I wasn’t so much interested in the body itself, but rather the desk and surroundings.
Despite the peeks, I couldn’t quite read the words on the page in the typewriter.
I asked the detective and Harry to take a closer look.
D.I. Latimer produced a magnifying glass from his desk drawer and handed it to Harry. “Your younger eyes will be better than mine.”
“I read it yesterday,” Harry said, taking the glass anyway and having another look at the page.
“It’s the first lines of the biography. There’s a lot of blood but I can just make out the words.
It reads: ‘This is a true account of a man who gained sudden and enormous wealth at a young age, and the hedonistic life it allowed him to pursue in the years since. I interviewed the author known as Louis Arkwright while he lay on his deathbed and have faithfully recounted his words here to delight and scandalize you, dear reader. However, it will be one explosive revelation in particular that will shock you.’” Harry handed the magnifying glass back to the detective.
“Quite the attention-grabbing introduction.”
D.I. Latimer returned the magnifying glass to the drawer. “I hope Arkwright finds a new biographer. I want to know what that revelation is. I wonder if it’s something illegal.”
“Would you arrest an elderly man if it is?” I asked.
“Not if he’s dead.” D.I. Latimer gathered up the photographs. “May I keep these?”
“Of course,” Harry said. “It’s a pity I didn’t take any of Bradbury’s bedchamber.”
“Why? The murder didn’t occur there.”
“Did you search his bedchamber?”
“We looked,” the detective said, defensively.
“Did you find Bradbury’s notebook? Apparently, he took it everywhere with him.”
“It wasn’t found.”
“Could Miss Fox and I conduct our own search?”
There was a knock on the office door, which the detective ignored. “I don’t know why you’re bothering with this, Armitage. The killer’s identity will be revealed by the end of the day, you mark my words.” The knocking continued, more urgent this time. “What is it?” D.I. Latimer barked.
A young constable entered. “Sergeant Fanning told me to tell you there’s a disturbance in progress at Bradbury’s lodging house, sir. He’s on his way now.”
“What kind of disturbance?”
“The fiancée of the deceased is demanding to be let in. She wants to take his things.”
D.I. Latimer rose and did up his jacket buttons. “Get me a vehicle.”
“May we accompany you?” I asked. Mrs. Corrin was on our list of people to talk to, so this would save us an extra journey.
The detective agreed more readily than I thought he would. “Good idea, Miss Fox. We might need some assistance.”
Harry followed him out. “To overpower a grieving woman?”
“To calm her down. I hear you have a knack with women, Armitage.”
* * *
Mrs. Jeffry stood with hands on hips on the front porch of her Bloomsbury house glaring at a woman who also stood with hands on hips.
She must be Mrs. Corrin. Upon seeing us, the landlady demanded Mrs. Corrin be arrested, albeit in a voice soft enough not to travel to her neighbors’ windows, many of which were open with curious faces peering out.
Before either D.I. Latimer or D.S. Fanning could respond, Mrs. Corrin spluttered a protest. “On what charge?”
“Disturbing the peace and threatening me.”
“I haven’t threatened you!” Chester Bradbury’s fiancée’s shrill voice had the faces at the neighboring windows raising their eyebrows.
“And being a…a fortune hunter,” Mrs. Jeffry declared.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me. You only paid attention to Mr. Bradbury so you could get your hands on his treasure.”
Mrs. Corrin laughed. “Is that a euphemism?”
Mrs. Jeffry’s cheeks blushed bright pink, but instead of retreating, she rallied. “You used your feminine wiles to seduce him.” She flapped a hand at Mrs. Corrin’s considerable chest and tightly cinched waist. “Then you used them on Mr. Symond, right under poor Mr. Bradbury’s nose.”
“Wh-what?”
“You heard me. I know what you and Mr. Symond did. I saw you come out of his room. That’s the problem with you flirtatious ones. You don’t know when to stop.”
Mrs. Corrin was a fair-haired beauty and much younger than I’d expected.
We’d been told she was a widow, so I’d naturally assumed she was older like the landlady, but she couldn’t have been more than thirty.
Her smile ought to have enhanced her beauty with such a wide mouth and full lips, but the sneering edge to it made her seem a little mean.
“Officers,” she said, turning to the police. “I have a right to my fiancé’s belongings. Will you tell this woman to let me pass so I can go through his room.”
“You have no such rights!” Mrs. Jeffry snapped.
Mrs. Corrin turned back to her, but D.I. Latimer stepped in before she could protest. “Ladies, enough of this. Miss Fox, take Mrs. Jeffry inside and make her some tea while we speak with Mrs. Corrin.”
“Why not let both women in?” I asked. “That way—”
“No!” Mrs. Jeffry spat. “That woman is not setting foot in here ever again. I know her kind…fortune hunters taking advantage of quiet, earnest men like Mr. Bradbury. Now that he’s gone, I no longer have to let her into my home.”
“You let Miss Newman in,” Mrs. Corrin pointed out. “If anyone ought to be excluded based on their unsuitability to roam your prudish halls, it’s her.”
Mrs. Jeffry sniffed.
“You’re afraid of her,” Mrs. Corrin went on.
“You’re the one who should be afraid of her, after what you and her Mr. Symond did,” Mrs. Jeffry shot back.
Mrs. Corrin’s lack of a denial was telling.
The moment’s silence allowed me the opportunity to encourage Mrs. Jeffry to let Mrs. Corrin inside using the one weapon I thought might work on her—embarrassment.
“If you don’t let Mrs. Corrin in, she might continue to make a scene, but a civilized discussion inside will stop your neighbors eavesdropping. ”
Mrs. Jeffry lifted her chin, defiant, and peered down her nose at Mrs. Corrin. Then she lowered her arms to her sides. “She can come in, but she’s not getting Mr. Bradbury’s things. Those belong to the beneficiary of his will, not the woman who seduced him with her deviant ways.”
“Deviant?” Mrs. Corrin went to barge past me, but D.S. Fanning, the closest to her, caught her arm.
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” I said. “The police are keen to arrest someone today, and you are currently looking like an appealing option.”
D.S. Fanning scoffed, but D.I. Latimer murmured his approval for my methods as he passed me while Harry shot me a rather amused look. We followed the others into the drawing room.
Mrs. Jeffry did not offer to make us tea as she sat as far away from Mrs. Corrin as possible. “You see what I mean, Miss Fox,” she said in a hushed voice. “A merry widow with one thing on her mind—seduction.”
Her continued vilification of Mrs. Corrin was stretching my nerves, but I bit back my retort that she was an adult and a widow at that, and could do as she pleased.
After all, Mrs. Jeffry had a point. Mrs. Corrin hadn’t denied being with Mr. Symond when she was supposed to be engaged to Mr. Bradbury.
My irritation caused my question to be rather blunt. “Mrs. Corrin, where were you yesterday?”
She blanched. “I was home. Why?”
To cover my blunder, I gave her a sympathetic smile. “I simply wondered if you were alone when you heard the dreadful news.”
“I was.” She removed a handkerchief from the beaded bag slung over her arm and dabbed the corner of one eye.
Both handkerchief and eyes were quite dry.
“I don’t know who benefits from his will,” Mrs. Corrin went on.
“But I’d like to take a few keepsakes with me today to remember my dear Chester by.
A photograph, or cufflinks, or that notebook he carries with him everywhere. ”
“See how she is now?” Mrs. Jeffry whispered in my ear. “Her fiancé has just died, and she’s not in the least upset. She’s more concerned with getting her greedy hands on his things.”
“What are you whispering about?” Mrs. Corrin said, loudly. “Officers, she’s poisoning minds against me. Make her stop.”
D.I. Latimer looked like he’d rather pull out his fingernails than be there. He had not sat, and he now edged closer to the door. “I have work to do back at the Yard. Sergeant Fanning will remain here and sort things out, along with Miss Fox and Mr. Armitage.”
D.S. Fanning’s jaw firmed as he glared daggers at his superior. D.I. Latimer touched the brim of his hat in farewell then left. The sergeant looked from a sneering Mrs. Corrin to a glowering Mrs. Jeffry then sighed heavily.
I wanted to question Mrs. Corrin alone, and suspected the sergeant would jump at any opportunity to leave. I spoke to the landlady first, however. “Do you have any tea? I’m rather parched.”
“Not at the moment.” She didn’t offer to get up and make any, perhaps because she didn’t want to be forced to offer it to Mrs. Corrin.
“I’d love a cup of tea, too,” Harry told her with his warmest smile. “Wouldn’t you, Sergeant?”
D.S. Fanning nodded, adding a muttered, “Or something stronger.”
Mrs. Jeffry acquiesced and left.
I had Harry to thank for her departure, and then for the sergeant’s, too. “I’m going to look through Bradbury’s bedchamber,” Harry told him.
“There’s nothing to see in there,” the sergeant said smugly. “I’ve already looked. You’re wasting your time, Armitage. The tall man is the killer, and there’s no clue as to his whereabouts among Bradbury’s belongings.”
“Even so. If you prefer to stay here with the women—”
“I’ll come with you,” Fanning said, striding out before he’d finished his sentence.
Harry’s lips didn’t move, but I swear he was smiling.
Mrs. Corrin rose, too. “And me.”