Chapter 16 #2
“Of course you wouldn’t. I shouldn’t have jumped to such a dreadful conclusion.” Mrs. Jeffry accepted the handkerchief Harry offered her. “I was just so shocked to see him there, covered in blood… I couldn’t think.”
Miss Gainsborough hugged her friend. “It’s all right. We’re innocent, so you don’t have to lie anymore. Tell Miss Fox and Mr. Armitage everything, so they can find the person who did it.”
Mrs. Jeffry dabbed the handkerchief to the corner of her eye. “You’re right. I don’t want that tall man to get the blame. He didn’t do it either.”
I pressed shaking fingers to my lips, relieved beyond measure that the police would have to drop Goliath as a suspect when she retracted her statement.
“Tell us what happened after you saw Miss Gainsborough walking away,” Harry prompted.
Mrs. Jeffry lowered the handkerchief to her lap and drew in a fortifying breath.
“I entered the house. At that point, I thought I was alone and that Ida had simply left without entering, which I now know is exactly what did happen. I went upstairs and saw the door to Mr. Bradbury’s study open.
It’s usually closed, even when he’s not there.
I went to close it and that’s when I saw his body, slumped over the desk.
” She tapped the handkerchief against her chest as she drew in another breath.
“It was awful. There was so much blood. I could see he was dead and that’s when my mind immediately raced to Ida.
I presumed she was striding purposefully to get away before anyone saw her.
I presumed she’d done it. When there was a knock on the door, I thought she’d come back, and we could discuss what to do together.
But it wasn’t her. It was that fellow who claimed to be the grandson of the pirate. ”
“Bill Watson,” Harry filled in.
She nodded. “I was still not thinking straight and seeing him on my doorstep with a dead lodger upstairs and assuming my dearest friend had killed him…I panicked. I knew I had to prevent Mr. Watson from storming upstairs and seeing Mr. Bradbury’s body.
I can’t recall what I said to get rid of him, but he left without entering.
It wasn’t until after he’d gone that I realized his visit could have been useful.
I could have told the police that he did enter and blame the murder on him.
He’d deny it, of course, but who would believe a ruffian like him over me?
Blaming an innocent man…I’m ashamed of myself, but my only thought was for Ida. I had to protect her.”
Miss Gainsborough hugged her friend again. “You’ve always protected me, from the very start. You are the sweetest thing.”
Mrs. Jeffry gave her a flat smile. “Then I returned upstairs to Mr. Bradbury’s study, determined to hide anything that implicated Ida.”
“Did you take Bradbury’s notebook?” Harry asked.
“No. It wasn’t until you mentioned it later that I realized I hadn’t seen it. I presume the killer took it.”
I wasn’t entirely sure about that. The scene of the crime was still imprinted on my mind, particularly after studying the photographs Harry took. They’d been very helpful to remind me of what I had and hadn’t seen in those minutes after we arrived. “Did you open the balcony door?”
“Yes. I needed fresh air to help me think, and the air in the room was cloying.”
“From the blood and death,” Miss Gainsborough said with a wrinkle of her nose.
“Ye-es,” Mrs. Jeffry hedged.
“And from the smell of smoke,” I suggested.
“That’s right,” Mrs. Jeffry said.
“There was ash in the grate, but no fire,” I went on. “If Mr. Bradbury hadn’t been home long, he hadn’t yet built one so the ash was from earlier.”
“I cleaned it out that morning,” Mrs. Jeffry added. “I left the fireplace spotless for his return.”
That explained what had happened to the notebook—the killer burned it.
“Did you wipe off any blood from the balcony door handle?” I asked.
Mrs. Jeffry shook her head. “I didn’t wipe off blood from anything, nor did I get any on me.
I only drew close enough to the body to see what was on the desk, but I didn’t move anything.
I didn’t have time. I’d only been upstairs again for a few minutes when there was another knock on the door.
When I saw another stranger on my doorstep asking to speak to Mr. Bradbury, I thanked God for sending him.
I decided to enact the plan I’d thought about after the pirate’s grandson left.
I told the tall stranger that Mr. Bradbury was out but he could wait for him.
I gave him directions to the study then followed at a distance and waited just outside the study door.
When he re-emerged, I pretended to have just arrived and screamed.
Nobody was in the house, but I wanted to put on a good show, so that the tall stranger would think I truly believed he did it.
If the police believed him innocent, I needed them to also think me innocent.
I wanted him, and therefore the police, to believe that was the first time I’d seen the body. ”
“You have to tell the police he’s innocent,” Miss Gainsborough said. “Go to them now. That poor man.”
“I will.” Mrs. Jeffry gathered up her basket then stood. “I’ll go to Scotland Yard immediately.”
Neither Harry nor I let on that we knew the tall man. Maintaining some distance from him remained necessary until D.I. Latimer truly believed Goliath was innocent. There was still a chance he wouldn’t take Mrs. Jeffry at her word.
We left the flat with both women, then went our separate ways.
Harry and I walked off, somewhat aimlessly, with no particular destination in mind.
I was still thinking through all that we’d learned, and who remained as a suspect.
Eliminating two in one fell swoop felt like winning at the races only to misplace the betting ticket.
Harry’s mind had switched from suspects to the timing. “The murder occurred before twelve-thirty, when Mrs. Jeffry arrived home. The killer had time to burn the notebook in the fireplace. The fire was out by the time Mrs. Jeffry looked in. What do you think, Cleo?”
I glanced up at the dark clouds overheard. “I think I need a strong cup of coffee and a roof over my head before it rains.”
* * *
We stopped in at the Roma Café just as the first drops fell.
By the time we left, coffee cups in hand, the clouds had released their load in a Biblical torrent.
We managed to barrel through the lower door to Harry’s office without getting too wet and were just making our way up the stairs when the door opened again.
Harry’s parents rushed in, water dripping from their umbrellas.
“What are you doing here?” Harry asked.
“Shopping,” Mrs. Hobart said, closing her umbrella and leaning it against the wall near the door.
“At least we were. It started to rain when we were not far from here, so your father suggested we take refuge in your office until the worst passes.” She smiled at me.
“What a pleasure it is to see you again, Miss Fox.” Although her greeting was formal, it held genuine warmth.
She’d put aside her initial dislike of me and was more accepting now that Harry had informed his parents that we were together.
It was an enormous relief. Although a kind and loving mother to Harry, she could be as forbidding to me as the dark clouds outside. The anticipation of her unleashing a torrent on my head had kept me on edge when in her presence these last few months.
“It’s a pleasure to see you both, too,” I said. “Would like some coffee? You can have these, and I’ll get two more cups from Luigi.”
They declined and followed us up the stairs into Harry’s office.
With D.I. Hobart occupying the brown leather armchair, and Harry sitting behind his desk, there were just enough seats for us all.
Mrs. Hobart inquired after my family, and I inquired after her sister-in-law, the other Mrs. Hobart, the wife of the hotel’s manager.
Formalities over, conversation was in danger of becoming stilted, but I suspected that was by D.I.
Hobart’s design. He didn’t contribute at all to the chitchat, and when there was a lull, he swooped in.
“How is your investigation into the death of the biographer coming along?” he asked.
His wife rolled her eyes. “My apologies, Miss Fox. My husband can’t help himself. He only came shopping with me today when he realized I would be near here. He planned to drop by all along.”
“You’re lucky you caught us,” I said. “We’ve just come from questioning two suspects and simply came back to discuss our next move.” I picked up my cup, frowning. “Whatever that may be.”
D.I. Hobart edged forward in the chair. “Your suspects didn’t yield anything that implicates either of them further?”
Harry removed his notebook from his jacket pocket and flipped through the pages. “The opposite. We no longer think either is guilty. The problem is, there aren’t many suspects left. The main one is now a man I once considered my friend.”
“What’s his motive?” his father asked.
“He was furious with Bradbury for lying to him about knowing the location of the pirate treasure, plus Bradbury was going to steal from his family.”
“Mathers claims he didn’t know that,” I pointed out. “But he could be lying.”
“We can also place him at the crime scene thanks to a shoe imprint in the soil of a potted plant on the balcony.” He fished the photographs of the crime scene from his drawer and placed the one of the shoe print on the desk.
“It’s pointing toward the door, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t also leave that way.
He just avoided stepping in the pot again. ”
D.I. Hobart stood to inspect the photo, as did his wife. Years of marriage to a Scotland Yard detective had exposed her to the ins and outs of investigations, and our discussion didn’t upset her.
In fact, it was she who asked me for my thoughts. “I can see you’re not convinced, Miss Fox.”
I sipped my coffee before responding, giving myself a moment to think.
“Mathers is still my main suspect, too. We found him trying to destroy the shoes that left that print. He also has a strong motive, including what Harry just mentioned, but also the fact that he needs money after being cut off by his family.”
“But?” Mrs. Hobart prompted.
“But Mrs. Jeffry told us she didn’t wipe off blood from the balcony’s door handle.
D.I. Hobart picked up the other photographs. “Perhaps he wiped it off before escaping that way, but I’m not convinced that was his exit.” He placed a photograph on the desk and pointed to a clean area amongst the blood splatter, quite close to the desk. “There’s no blood on the floor here.”
He directed Harry to act as the victim while he played the killer. He stood over Harry, seated at the desk, and picked up the letter opener. He pressed the point to Harry’s throat just above his collar.
“This is a good place to stab, as the victim will bleed out quickly, but it’s also very messy,” he said.
Mrs. Hobart winced. “Stephen,” she chided.
“Sorry, my dear.” D.I. Hobart stepped back and indicated his clothing.
“The killer would have a great deal of blood on him, which is why there’s an absence of it on this spot on the floor.
Some of the spatter went over him. If he left via the balcony, some of it would have rubbed off onto the rail as he climbed over it, not to mention that someone covered in blood would have been noticed as they walked away. ”
“We’ve considered that,” Harry said. “It’s unlikely he wouldn’t have been seen but not impossible. The street isn’t particularly busy. He could have got away with it, especially if he threw a clean coat over his clothes before leaving.”
“Or he may have cleaned himself up inside first,” Mrs. Hobart said. “Could another member of the household have done it? Someone who could put on clean clothes before leaving?”
“We’ve dismissed the landlady and other lodger as suspects,” I said. “We believed her story, and Mr. Symond has an alibi. He and Miss Newman were inspecting a flat together. We checked with the landlord and he verified their alibi.”
D.I. Hobart had been gathering up the photographs but he suddenly stopped. “Newman?”
“Yes. Dorcas Newman. Do you know her?”
“Not her, no. But the Newman family is a notorious gang. Extortion, theft, swindling… We could never pin anything on them, but they were guilty.”
“It’s a common name,” Mrs. Hobart pointed out. “This woman many not be from that family.”
“Do you know if she’s connected to Newman Butchers in Bloomsbury?”
“She is,” Harry told his father.
“Then you need to take a closer look at her. Her father was behind several criminal enterprises before he died, and he taught his sons everything he knew. If she’s anything like the rest of her family, she’s got a criminal mind.”