Mrs. Jeffries Defends Her Own (22 page)

“You mean Ronald Dearman, that man who was
murdered a few days ago?” Alex took a sip of his gin. “Good Lord, why are you asking questions about that fellow?”

“Let’s just say that in recent years, I’ve frequently found myself in a position to pass along information that helps the police.” He was hedging, not wanting to out and out lie to his friend. “Have you heard anything about him? It’s important.”

“We’ve never sent anyone to work at the Dearman house. But the Sutcliffes have hired us on several occasions.” He frowned. “As a matter of fact, one of the lads mentioned that he’d been on the late train to Birmingham and seen Mr. Sutcliffe.”

“He knew Sutcliffe by sight?” Hatchet pressed.

“Oh yes, Leonard’s worked for them several times recently. He’s a fully trained footman, and they’ve used him when they’ve had large parties and such. He’s very good at putting gentlemen in their cups and single ladies into hansom cabs. He’s a nice boy, too, big as a house and broad shouldered enough so that older ladies frequently request his services when they have to take a late train. That’s what he was doing when he saw Sutcliffe. Mrs. Adamson hired him to carry her packages and escort her to Birmingham.”

“Do you know exactly when this happened?”

“Monday night.” Alex laughed. “I remember because we got the request from Mrs. Adamson as I was leaving and I always leave early on Mondays because it’s my whist night. I was annoyed because the messenger from the hotel came late in the afternoon and I was worried that I wouldn’t get confirmation from Leonard that he could do it. But he’s a reliable lad and got to the office
before I had to leave. There was plenty of time for him to get to Mrs. Adamson’s hotel and get the two of them on the nine o’clock train to Birmingham.”

“Nine o’clock,” Hatchet murmured. He wasn’t certain, but he thought that Sutcliffe was supposed to have left town much earlier in the day. “Would Leonard be willing to tell this to the police?”

Alex drew back. “Uh, I don’t know, Hatchet. I don’t want our customers to think we go tattling about their business.”

“But this is a murder inquiry,” Hatchet said earnestly.

“Can you keep my company name out of it?”

“Should we start interviewing the staff?” Barnes asked as he and Witherspoon left Sutcliffe’s office. “Mr. Sutcliffe said we could use Dearman’s office. It’s empty now, and before I begin calling them in, you can examine it.”

“Yes, I’d like to have a good look at it before we begin.” He started down the hall and then stopped abruptly. “Constable, there’s something I don’t understand. You told me earlier that Inspector Nivens’ reports are being sent to the station. Well, if they’re on the way to the station and you’ve not been back there since before you went to the Yard yesterday, how did you know what was in Constable Morehead’s report?”

“I read it, sir,” he admitted. “I’d taken the fraud report over and stopped to have a word with my friend, Eddie Harwood. You remember him, sir, you recommended him for the position.”

He nodded. “Yes, of course, go on.”

“I happened to see that Nivens’ report was sitting
under the counter, and I was curious. When Eddie nipped to the back to use the water closet, I had quick glance at the statements.”

Witherspoon stared at him for a moment and then shrugged. “Oh well, no harm done, I suppose, and if the truth be told, I suspect we’ve all had a peek at one another’s reports.”

“Thank you, sir.”

They reached the outer office, and Barnes motioned for the chief clerk. “Mr. Dennis,” he said as he approached. “Mr. Sutcliffe said you’re to open Mr. Dearman’s office. We’ll use that to speak to the staff.”

“It’s not locked,” the clerk said. He opened the door and stepped back. “Who should I send in first?”

“No one as yet.” Barnes walked to the window and opened the blinds, flooding the room with pale, gray light. “We want to have a good look around first. I’ll let you know when we’re ready. Close the door on your way out, please.”

When they were alone, Witherspoon looked at the empty chair behind the desk. “He was sitting there when he was killed?”

Barnes nodded. “That’s right. The killer probably stood where you’re standing. According the report I read, he was found slumped over, facedown on the desk. The murder weapon wasn’t here nor anywhere else on the premises.”

“So the murderer took it with him.” He moved closer and grimaced as he saw the bloodstained desk blotter. “We know the approximate time of death?”

“The last employee left the office at six ten.”

“And the office was unlocked at that time?”

“I’m not sure, sir. I didn’t get to read all the witness
accounts,” Barnes said. He had read most of them but didn’t think it wise to know too many details.

Witherspoon sighed glumly. “We might as well get started, then. When we get finished, we may have time to go to the station. I’d like to have a look at Nivens’ reports before I do any additional interviewing. Your jumping in when you did with Mr. Sutcliffe was most helpful, and frankly, I’d like to see what Mrs. Sutcliffe said in her statement before we speak to her tomorrow. It’s going to be awkward enough as it is.”

“Because she’s Mrs. Jeffries’ sister-in-law?” Barnes walked to the office door and took hold of the knob.

The inspector nodded, lifted the bloodstained blotter off the desk, and peeked underneath.

“I understand Mrs. Jeffries hasn’t had much to do with her in the last ten years,” Barnes said.

“I know, but even so, family is family.”

“Luty, this is a wonderful surprise. I didn’t expect to see you here,” a woman’s voice rose above the din of the crowded room. Luty grinned with delight as a tall, red-haired woman wearing an elaborate blue dress charged toward her. Her long rope of pearls swung wildly as she held her loaded plate high and elbowed her way through the throng clustered at the end of the buffet table. “Thank goodness I ran into you,” Alice Wittington exclaimed. “At least now I’ll have someone interesting to talk to.”

“I was just thinkin’ the same thing. Now that you’re here, I’m glad I came.”

Alice chuckled. “Lady Barraclough is an old snob, but she does do a delightful lunch buffet.”

Luty held up her own plate. It was loaded with roast beef, shrimp, a chicken leg, and a huge dollop of duchess potatoes. “Why do you think I’m here? Seein’ as we’ve
both got our grub, let’s go find us a quiet table. I’ve got somethin’ I want to ask you.”

“There’s a couple of vacant ones by the terrace door.” Alice jerked her head. “Follow me.” She turned and used her considerable bulk to clear them a path through the well-dressed women chatting in the aisles and between the closely packed tables. She guided Luty to an empty bistro table for two. They put their plates down and took their seats. Alice waved at a black-coated waiter carrying a tray of champagne, and he hurried over.

“Now don’t say you oughtn’t to drink this.” She handed the flute to Luty. “We’re here to eat, drink, be merry, and gossip.”

“Amen to that.” Luty took a quick sip. “Hmm, this is good.”

Alice took a drink. “Ah, Lady Barraclough’s cellar never disappoints. What was it you wanted to ask me about?” She put the glass down, picked up her fork, and speared a shrimp.

“You know that fellow that was shot a few days back, Ronald Dearman?” she began. At Alice’s nod, she continued. “I was wonderin’ if you knew anythin’ about him or his family.”

Alice chewed her food, her expression thoughtful. “No, I can’t say that I do.”

Luty’s spirits plummeted. “Oh, that’s disa—”

“Wait a minute,” Alice interrupted. “Ronald Dearman married a Sutcliffe.”

“That’s right, Lucretia Sutcliffe.”

“I don’t know much about her, but I was at the announcement of her brother’s engagement.” Alice laughed heartily. “Oh my God, what a scandal that was. I’ll never
forget that day. We were all at the village fete where the Sutcliffes have a country home. I’d gone because my brother Baxter—you remember Baxter don’t you? Tall fellow, looks a lot like me?—well, anyway, he’d insisted I accompany him to a house party in the area.”

“You didn’t stay with the Sutcliffes?” Luty interrupted.

“We were staying with Edmund’s cousin. This was right after Edmund and I had gotten engaged, and Baxter was feeling left out because his friendship with one of the Ordway twins hadn’t worked out as he’d hoped.”

Luty nodded. She’d forgotten that though Alice was a really decent woman, she could talk the paint off a wall. “I’ve met Baxter, he’s a right nice man … Go on, you were at the village fete.”

Alice laughed again. “Oh gracious, it was wonderful. We were standing about listening to some self-important twit go on and on about something or other when all of a sudden, John Sutcliffe appeared and said he had an announcement.” She took another drink.

“Go on.” Luty chugged her own drink. “What happened then?”

Alice frowned. “It gets a bit murky here.”

“Murky, what do you mean, murky?” Luty waved her now-empty glass at the waiter. Hatchet would be righteously annoyed with her for coming home in her cups; perhaps it would have been better if she’d eaten more before downing so much champagne. But Alice was so slow in getting to the point, it would drive a saint to drink.

“Because Baxter suddenly appeared and began nattering on in my ear about some poor Australian fellow. I
finally shushed him so I could hear what Sutcliffe was saying.” She took a swig of champagne and giggled. “He was announcing his engagement, and it was to a woman that worked for them. She was a paid companion to his sister or something like that, but the point is, everyone, including the self-important twit, had been expecting him to announce he was marrying someone else. Someone from his own class.”

Luty smiled her thanks as a waiter appeared and refilled her glass. This was old news. Dang it all, she’d been hoping Alice could give her something new. She tossed the drink back, not caring how perturbed her butler would be when she arrived at their afternoon meeting half drunk.

“But of course,” Alice continued, “people stopped talking about the engagement when they heard about the dead man in the pony cart.”

“Come in,” Inspector Witherspoon called in response to the soft knock on the door. The typewriter girl smiled as she stepped into the office. She was a rather lovely young woman with dark brown hair, brown eyes, high cheekbones, and ivory skin. She was dressed in a gray skirt with a thick black cumberbund around her slender waist, a gray waistcoat, and a pristine white blouse with a cameo broach at the throat. “Please make yourself comfortable. I assure you, this won’t take long.” He motioned toward the chair. “I’m sorry to have to question you again, Miss …”

“Blackburn, Anna Blackburn, and please don’t apologize, Inspector. You’re the first policeman who I’ve spoken with,” she said as she took her seat.

Witherspoon frowned. “Have you only just started working here?”

“No, I’ve been here for three months.”

The inspector didn’t understand. He’d been under the impression that everyone on the staff had been interviewed. Had he misunderstood? He wished Constable Barnes were here to set him straight. But in the interests of efficiency, they’d split the staff list in half and the constable was taking statements in another office.

“You operate one of those typewriting machines, is that correct?”

“That’s right, sir. I type invoices, contracts, letters of credit, and correspondence.”

“Did you type for Mr. Dearman?”

She nodded. “Yes, but not often, sir. Generally I just did correspondence for Mr. Sutcliffe and Mr. Anson. The late Mr. Dearman rarely used my services.”

“Were you in the office this past Monday, the day that Mr. Dearman was murdered?”

“I was, sir,” she said. “I was here until closing time.”

“Did you see anything unusual or hear anything unusual?”

“No sir, I didn’t. Except for Mr. Jones being called into Mr. Dearman’s office just before we packed up to leave, it was a day like any other.”

“Did you like Mr. Dearman?” Witherspoon asked.

“No sir, I didn’t,” she declared. “He tried to replace me, sir, and I thought it most unfair. If Mr. Anson hadn’t intervened on my behalf, I’d have been let go, and there was nothing wrong with my work.” Her hands clenched into fists and a red flush crept up her face. “He told Mr.
Anson that he could find someone cheaper, but that isn’t true. He just wanted to get rid of me.”

“Do you have any idea why he’d want to do such a thing?” Witherspoon asked gently.

“None. I don’t know what I could have done wrong. I work hard. I type invoices and contracts, and once, I even stayed late to do a private letter for him. I’m not supposed to do that, but he asked me so I did, and two days later, he tries to give me the sack. That’s gratitude for you.”

“You’re not supposed to do private correspondence? Not even for the deputy directors?”

“No, Mr. Sutcliffe made it very clear when I was hired that I work for the firm. I’m a typewriter girl, not a private secretary.” She smiled hesitantly. “But we were alone here in the office when Mr. Dearman asked me to do it, and I was afraid to tell him I couldn’t. He claimed the letter was important and that it had to be typed and not written by hand.”