Chapter 17 #2
“Which is why Scotland Yard would love to blame them for the murder. Finally pinning a hanging offence on them will make the detective inspector’s career. It will make up for all those years of frustration at not convicting your father.”
“This has nothing to do with them! They didn’t murder Bradbury. Nor did I.”
“The false alibi they gave you makes it appear otherwise.”
“They didn’t give me the alibi. They gave him one. My fiancé, Clive.” Her chin wobbled once before hardening. “They did it in exchange for him agreeing to marry me, because apparently that’s the only way anyone like him would marry someone like me.”
A part of me felt sympathy for her. She’d fallen in love with a man who society—and perhaps the man himself—deemed better than her. Discovering that blackmail was the only way to secure him must sting.
“He isn’t that different to me, or my family, as it turned out,” she went on.
“He was going to commit insurance fraud by inflating his clients’ claims then skimming the excess off the top.
He’d had the idea for some time, but never done anything like that and needed reassurance it would work.
He needed to discuss it with someone.” She tapped her chest. “So he confided in me because, as he put it, I’d kept the secrets of my family’s crimes for years and I’d be a good sounding board. ”
“You discussed it on Tuesday,” Harry said. “At his place.”
Miss Newman nodded. “We thought we were alone. Mrs. Jeffry had gone to the market and Mr. Bradbury was supposed to be interviewing Mr. Arkwright. We didn’t know he’d come home early.
There was no indication he was there. We happened to discuss the fraud outside the room Mr. Bradbury used as his study.
The door was closed, but it was always closed, even when he wasn’t at home.
There was no sound coming from inside, not even the infernal click-clacking of his typewriter.
Anyway, I left shortly afterwards. Clive was heading back up the stairs when he heard the typewriter.
He realized Mr. Bradbury was inside and went in to find out what he’d heard.
It turned out that he’d heard everything.
He killed Bradbury to stop him talking. I didn’t know what he’d done until later, after he’d spoken to the police and the two of you.
He begged me to give him an alibi, in the event it became necessary to have one. ”
“And your brothers helped,” I added.
Harry had focused his gaze on the direction her brothers had gone but now he turned to her. “Where did they go?”
She shrugged.
“They closed the shop early. Why?”
Her gaze flicked to the crumpled note in the gutter before meeting his. She shrugged again.
“You told them Mrs. Corrin wanted to meet you,” Harry said, answering his own question. “They wanted to know why, and you suggested it could be because Mr. Symond confided in her about the murder, or the fraud. They’d become lovers, after all, something which you also knew.”
“I didn’t know. I suspected.”
I suddenly realized what Harry had already guessed “They’ve gone to make sure he doesn’t mention your help or theirs.”
Harry set off at a run. “Find a constable, Cleo,” he called back.
Miss Newman sniffed. “You’d better make it more than one, Miss Fox.”
I barged past her and ran into the butcher shop, glad that she hadn’t locked the door when she came out.
There was no telephone in the shop, but there had to be one somewhere—the one the operator had put us through to when we thought we were calling the landlord.
It must be in the office. As I went to push open the internal door I was grabbed by the arm and wrenched backward.
I tumbled to the floor, landing on my backside against the counter wall. Miss Newman stood over me, clutching a meat cleaver, desperation and sadness in her eyes. A potent, dangerous mix.
I put my hands up in surrender and kept my gaze on the weapon in her hand, watching for the slightest movement.
I could roll to my left to get out of the way of a strike, but my right was blocked by the counter.
Scooting backward would only work for a few feet until I hit the display cabinet at the front of the shop. I was as good as trapped.
It was time to employ some of the calm reassurance that was such a feature of Harry’s negotiation tactics. “I’m sorry for confirming your suspicions, Miss Newman. I really didn’t want to use your jealousy to crack this case.”
“I’m not jealous! I’m angry. Angry that the tart turned his head.
Angry that he dragged me into this. Angry that he didn’t do everything in his power to protect me the way my brothers always have.
He shouldn’t have needed blackmailing to marry me!
” The knuckles of the hand clutching the knife became whiter with every sentence she spat.
My heart thundered and my mouth went dry. I swallowed, but it didn’t help.
Despite her denial, jealousy was at the root of her anger, and it had beaten back common sense, making her unpredictable. Her rampaging temper was blinding her to the implications of unleashing her anger on the messenger—me.
The only weapon in my arsenal was my voice. I had to make her see reason before her anger consumed her completely. “I believe you when you say you had nothing to do with the murder, merely the cover-up. Your brothers, too. The ramifications of your involvement won’t be too severe.”
She huffed a humorless laugh. “You are so naive, Miss Fox. Scotland Yard will relish having members of my family in the dock. They’ll twist this to make it look like our involvement was more than it was.
They’ll see that we are made to appear as guilty as Clive.
” She pointed the meat cleaver at me. “If I let you telephone the police, they’ll stop my brothers from silencing him. ”
“If they silence him, and Mr. Armitage, too, they’ll be guilty of more than providing a false alibi. Be smart, Miss Newman, and use this situation to twist the knife into Mr. Symond. Make sure he can’t wriggle out of facing justice by blaming your family.”
“What do you mean?”
What came next wasn’t my proudest moment but needs must. “Tell the police he forced you to provide him with an alibi. You didn’t do it willingly.
I’m sure you can think of something convincing.
But for that tactic to work, your brothers need to be stopped before they do something that’ll make the situation worse for them, and you.
” And before Harry tried to stop them on his own.
Miss Newman lowered the meat cleaver to her side and stepped away. “The telephone is through there.”
* * *
Miss Newman and I took a hansom cab to the lodging house, alighting before it came to a complete stop.
I’d hoped the Newman brothers found Mr. Symond absent, and therefore would leave before Harry even arrived, but it was Saturday and that wasn’t the case.
We found Mr. Symond in the drawing room at the pointy end of a very large butcher’s knife held by the tallest of the Newman brothers.
Harry had the other on the ground, his knee to the small of the man’s back, the man’s knife having fallen a few feet away. He looked as relieved to see me as I was to see him.
“The police are on their way,” I told them all.
“Dorcas!” Mr. Symond cried upon seeing Miss Newman. “Thank God. Dorcas, tell your brother to back away.”
She clamped her hands on her hips. “Why should I do that? You had an affair with that whore. Miss Fox told me so.”
Mr. Symond swallowed heavily. “I-I didn’t! It’s a lie.”
“We can wait for Mrs. Jeffry to return to confirm it,” I said.
“Mrs. Corrin means nothing to me. It’s you I love, Dorcas. It’s you I want to marry.” Mr. Symond stretched out a hand toward her, smiling tentatively, hopefully.
Her top lip lifted with her sneer. “If I had a knife in my hand now, I’d gut you myself.”
I picked up the fallen knife, just in case she decided to follow through on her threat. “Hand me your weapon, Mr. Newman. You don’t want to attract the attention of the police.”
The brother still standing lowered his blade. When I held out my hand, he passed it to me. Harry released the second brother with a warning that it would be foolish to try something now with the police so close.
“We have no need to worry.” Miss Newman addressed her brothers while shooting a triumphant look at Mr. Symond. “I’ll tell the police how my former fiancé forced me to give him an alibi.”
“I didn’t force you to lie for me!”
“You told me you’d hurt me unless I claimed we were together at the time of the murder. You dragged my brothers into your scheme, too.”
“No one will believe that. You’re Newmans. There’s criminal blood flowing through your veins.”
She turned her back on him and ushered her brothers to the side where they exchanged whispers.
I wasn’t concerned about them. The truth of their involvement would come out in court, no matter what they hoped. I was more interested in the murderer. “Miss Newman has told me her version,” I said. “Now is your chance to convince me of yours.”
Mr. Symond stretched his neck out of his collar. Remembering the way he’d murdered Mr. Bradbury perhaps? “I’m innocent. The Newmans murdered him.”
“They were at their shop. There’ll be witnesses.”
“Nor do they live here,” Harry added. “You do. You changed your clothes after the murder because they were covered in blood. A search of your room will find them, or traces of the blood left behind.”
Mr. Symond’s gaze rose to the ceiling. He looked as though he’d race off and try to get to his room before Harry, but then he suddenly broke down in tears. “I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t want to kill him, but he left me no choice.”
“Start at the point where Miss Newman left,” I said, gentling my voice. “You realized Mr. Bradbury was home after all, and had overheard your conversation about defrauding your company.”