Fleet Street Felony (Piccadilly Ladies Club Mysteries Book 3)

by Bettie Jane

  Frankie complied and handed the file to Julia, who opened it and laid it next to the police file.

  “It appears to be the same Brenda. Harry has an address for her. She lives in Waterloo, not married, no children.”

  Jacob spoke. “I’ll send an officer to her address as a starting point, and we’ll issue a missing person’s report straight away if we don’t locate her at home.”

  She stared at him, simultaneously grateful for his quick action and readiness to believe her and also furious at him for being…well, for being him.

  “Thank you, Inspector.”

  “You are most welcome, Miss Barlow.”

  He picked up his telephone and spoke. “Mr. Abernathy, I need to see you, please.”

  Then he hung up the phone and looked at Julia intensely.

  “Now, if you don’t mind, there’s something I’d like to discuss with you.”

  She stiffened. Not now. She did not want to talk about their personal life right now.

  “What is it?” she asked with caution.

  Mr. Abernathy walked up, and Jacob turned his attention to his assistant.

  “Mr. Abernathy, I need you to pull any files you can find on Walter Smith, a groundskeeper at St. Vincent’s orphanage. Anything at all that you can find and be creative. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir, I do. Anything else?”

  “Yes, send Miller to my office. I need to send an officer to make an inquiry of someone.”

  “Consider it done, sir.”

  He walked away and left Julia and Jacob staring at each other awkwardly, while Frankie stood behind her, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Julia wanted to scream and throw up at the same time.

  “What did you need from me, Inspector Gibbs?”

  “It’s about something found at Harry Jones’ crime scene. A black notebook.”

  “Yes, I recall seeing his notebook on the ground next to him—er, next to the body. I was actually going to ask you if I could review it to see if there is anything relevant in it.”

  “The notebook is yours, Julia.”

  He set that information between them, and they looked at each other while she processed it.

  “What do you mean? He had my notebook? Whatever for?”

  “I was hoping you could elaborate on that for me.”

  “I only noticed it missing last night when we were interviewing the bartender. I didn’t have it then and had to use my backup notebook. I have no idea how he got ahold of it.”

  “When was the last time you had it in your possession?”

  Her mind raced, trying to recall the last time she’d had the notebook in her possession. How had her notebook ended up with Harry?”

  “I used it to make my speech last night at the PLC. That was around seven. Somehow it ended up with Harry Jones at Bower and Co. before half-past nine when he left. How could that be?”

  “That’s a fairly narrow window of time.”

  “Agreed.”

  “There is information in the notebook, Julia, in your handwriting, that is somewhat incriminating.”

  “Incriminating of who?”

  “The information indicates that you had planned to take his job.”

  “What? That is preposterous.”

  “I’m not suggesting that I think you actually murdered Harry Jones’ for his job or any other reason, but there are some here who would like to see you arrested and charged with murder.”

  Julia felt the familiar stomach-turning nausea she’d felt at the orphanage when she learned of the girls being tormented by the groundskeeper. A combination of disgust and confusion pulled at her from insides.

  She didn’t speak and Jacob continued.

  “Quite frankly, without any leads on who the Dock Murderer is, we don’t have much to go in his murder investigation. Besides the Dock Murderer, you are the next best suspect.”

  “That’s preposterous, Inspector,” Frankie defended. “We both know Julia isn’t capable of shooting a man. She doesn’t even have a gun. Why waste your time on her?”

  “We have a murder weapon, Frankie. The certificate of ownership shows Julia Barlow as the owner. With the murder weapon connected to her and the notebook showing motive, she’s looking guiltier by the moment.”

  “When did you find the murder weapon,” Julia asked. “It wasn’t at the crime scene last night.”

  “Someone delivered it anonymously overnight. It was on my desk in a box when I got to work this morning.”

  “How could there be a certificate of ownership for a gun in her name when she doesn’t own one?” Frankie demanded.

  Julia watched the exchange between Frankie and Jacob with a sort of strange distance, like she was in a tunnel and their voices were very far away.

  She said nothing, only stared unseeing at Jacob’s hands where they rested on his desk.

  “Julia?” Frankie asked.

  He rested a hand gently on her back. “Julia?”

  She could hear his voice and it was getting closer, but it felt like she was moving through quicksand to try to reach it.

  “Julia?” Frankie asked again.

  Then Jacob was kneeling in front of her chair. He took her hands in his and spoke to her.

  “Julia. Julia!”

  She swallowed, looking at his hands holding hers, saw the concerned look on his face, and something inside of her snapped her back to the present.

  “Inspector. Thank you for your time. If you could please let me know what you learn about Walter Smith as well as whether you find Brenda McFee, it would be much appreciated. Frankie, shall we go?”

  She stood up, pulling her hands away from his.

  “Julia, did you hear what I said? Someone wants it to look as though you killed Harry Jones.”

  “Yes, Inspector. I heard you. Do you think I killed Harry Jones?”

  “Of course not, Julia, but someone wants us to believe that you did. Can you think of anyone who would want to set you up for this?”

  “No, I cannot. I’ve never met Harry Jones. It’s true that his editor, Mr. Thompson, offered me a position last night at the PLC. However, that was to be a position where I worked alongside Harry, to learn from him. I told you that last night before you decided to—”

  She stopped before she lost complete control over herself. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her upset about his lack of interest in her.

  “As I was saying,” she cleared her throat and continued, “I had not yet decided to take the position. Harry Jones was the only appeal to me making that move. I wasn’t trying to take his job, and even if I was, I already had an offer to work there. It makes no sense for me to kill him. I would like my notebook back, Inspector. If you have nothing else to do, Frankie and I have business to attend to.”

  He shook his head. “Your notebook is evidence. I cannot return it to you at this juncture.” He paused. “There may come a time, in the very near future, Julia, when I have to arrest you for the murder of Harry Jones. If you have the ability to find out who did it before I have to arrest you, I recommend that you pour all of your energy into that task.”

  Her composure was cracking. He looked at her with his big eyes, full of concern for her, and it was simply too much.

  “You’d arrest me, Inspector?”

  “Not because I think you murdered him, Julia. Because the evidence, as of now, shows that you did.”

  “Well, then, I should get busy proving my innocence.” She’d like to give Jacob an earful right now, but didn’t trust herself to remain calm.

  “I can hold back the evidence concerning the gun for a bit, maybe a day, but then I’ll have to officially add it to the case file.

  “A day? Fine. Frankie? We’ve got a day of work ahead of us, shall we?”

  She turned and walked not waiting for a response from Frankie, although she felt like running, from Jacob’s office and back toward her car. She reached her car, willing herself to keep it together and saw Frankie emerge from th
e building and make his way toward her.

  “He doesn’t think you did it, Julia.”

  “I don’t care what he thinks, Frankie.

  “I got you a present.” She didn’t say anything so he kept talking. “When I was gathering up our files from his desk, I slipped the dossier on Harry Jones into the mix. I have it right here. After all, if we have to find who killed him before the police arrest you, then we need this file more than they do, don’t you suppose?”

  She kissed his cheek, feeling some of the life returning to her.

  “Frankie, you are a genius. What would I do without you? Let me see that file.”

  While they sat in her auto, she poured over Harry’s police file. She saw something that took the breath from her.

  “Do you believe in coincidences, Frankie?”

  “Not really, why?”

  “You are never going to believe what I found. Drive us somewhere so you can buy me that drink you promised. I need to think. ”

  He started the auto and pulled out of the lot.

  “What is Julia? What did you find?”

  “Harry was also a resident, if very briefly, of St. Vincent’s.”

  Frankie let out a low whistle. “No kidding?”

  “That’s not all. There’s an arrest record here for Harry. Shortly after he turned eighteen, he was involved in a physical altercation with one Walter Smith, the groundskeeper at St. Vincent’s.”

  8

  Tuesday, February 12th, 1921

  Fleet Street

  London

  Frankie and Julia sat across from each other in a small pub in Fleet Street and spoke quietly over a pint, discussing how to clear Julia’s name and track down Harry’s murderer before it was too late.

  “You said that Harry told the bartender at Bower and Co. that he thought the orphanage was a link between the Dock Girls and whoever killed them?” Frankie asked.

  “Yes. Now I wonder if he suspected that because of personal experience at the orphanage. The police file lists the orphanage as his address for only a few short months in 1912, nearly nine years ago. Did he know any of these girls personally? Is that why he was so invested in discovering who killed them? Or were his motives for his in-depth research strictly professional? I’d give nearly anything to know more about Harry’s time at that orphanage, which seems to be a twisted mess of evil, or at least uncaring, adults and vulnerable children.”

  “We’ll go tonight. We’ll break in, find the files, check out the gardening shed and see what we can find.”

  Julia mulled over his suggestion, trying to find flaws in it, besides the fact that it was illegal.

  “What those children are being subjected to is simply hideous. I’ll break any law necessary to get to the bottom of it. Say, do you think Harry had any idea about what was happening to those girls in the garden shed?”

  “I don’t know, Julia. We don’t even know if Smith worked there when Harry lived there. Maybe nothing like that was going on then? Surely, if he knew about that abuse, once he was in his position as a reporter he would have done something about it.”

  “I suppose that is true. It could have been a whole different environment nine years ago than it is now. Brenda was older than the other girls. Maybe she was there at the same time Harry was. We need to find her and see if she can help us.”

  Frankie agreed. “I do hope she is still alive and that the Dock Murderer hasn’t done something awful to her.”

  “What’s our priority, then? Going to St. Vincent’s or finding Brenda?” Julia wondered aloud.

  “Maybe Inspector Gibbs officers’ have returned from checking on her at home. Shall I call him so you don’t have to talk to him? I know he’s not your favorite person right now.” He pulled over where one of the old wooden phone boxes stood.

  “That would be wonderful, Frankie. You are a lifesaver. You call him, and I’ll make a plan for us tonight at the St. Vincent’s.”

  “Don’t worry too much about how to get inside. Jimmie and I, and Cecil and Oscar, have perfected breaking and entering.” He leaned in and continued in a quiet voice. “Don’t tell your Inspector friend. We even broke into Parliament once.”

  He winked at her and she laughed.

  “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t tell him anyway, but he is most definitely no longer my friend. If I had my way, I’d toss him into the Thames while it was on fire so he could tread water and think about what an arrogant fool he’s being.”

  “I can see that you don’t like him, but you are probably, most definitely, in love with him.”

  “You shut your mouth, Frankie.”

  He chuckled and kissed her cheek on his way to use the telephone.

  She fumed over Frankie and Jacob while he was gone. All of these men were trouble, a disaster waiting to happen. She didn’t think that about Frankie, but it was somehow helpful to lump all men into the same frustrating category. She refused to try and look at Jacob’s positive attributes right now, but she supposed she could give Frankie a break.

  He returned from the phone box, and Julia spoke first.

  “Frankie, I can’t tell you how much it means to me that you are with me today.”

  “Don’t mention it, darling. It’s my pleasure. I’m thrilled to be spending time with you.”

  “Oh! I only now remembered Opal’s event tonight. She’s going to be so frustrated with me for missing another one of her parties. I was also supposed to have dinner with Jacob’s uncle, although I suppose given the circumstances he’s already cancelled that.”

  “She’ll get over it. This is important. We all understand. We tease you about your schedule, but we know you are doing important work.”

  “What did you find out on your call?”

  “I spoke to Jacob. Brenda was not at home. They are searching for her everywhere.”

  “I don’t have a good feeling about this, Frankie. We need to find Brenda. Should we check out the docks?”

  “She wasn’t working as a prostitute, according to Jacob, besides, if she is in fact missing, even if she was working near the docks, she’d already be gone from there. In theory, at least. Don’t you think?” Frankie looked at her for approval.

  “You’re right, of course. I need to think. Why would someone want to frame me for Harry’s murder when I’ve never met him? It doesn’t make any sense. Why me?”

  “Do you think someone in the Fleet Street newspaper business is trying to set you up? Somebody who wants you out of the industry? Or just out of the way of something else?”

  “I have no ties to Harry. Until last night when I met with his editor and was given the job offer, I wasn’t connected to any of it.”

  “Didn’t you write a story about the Dock Murderers?”

  Julia nodded. “Yes, but it wasn’t that significant. Nothing like what Harry was writing. I cannot imagine that my small little article would have attracted that kind of attention. My editor had just put me to task on that story. He said we needed to keep Harry and his paper from getting the best of us.”

  “Do you think your editor killed Harry? To get him out of the way?”

  He smiled, and Julia realized he wasn’t being serious.

  “Hardly. That would be taking things a bit far.”

  “I suppose, but isn’t it the first duty of a private investigator to consider everyone a suspect until they are ruled out?”

  “I’m a reporter, not a private investigator, but generally, yes. It’s good not to rule anyone out prematurely.”

  He nodded. “Whoever killed Harry and framed you had to know you, or at the very least of you. They managed to take your notebook. Can you remember who was at your speech last night?”

  Julia shivered at the thought. “There were over a hundred people there, Frankie.”

  She’d gained a fair amount of notoriety for helping to solve and report on previous high profile murder investigations like the Lady Eliza Withers last Armistice Day. In fact, her editor, Simon Quincy, had applied considerable
pressure for her to duplicate such a situation. She didn’t point out that he was essentially wishing for someone to be murdered in order for his papers to sell copies. Such was the way of the twentieth-century press in Fleet Street.

  “The thought that it was someone at my speech is a bit uncomfortable.”

  Frankie agreed. “Yes, it is. Which is why I’m sticking close to you.”

  She considered. “Harry was killed outside Bower and Co.”

  “That’s a watering hole for journalists, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. Male journalists, of course.” She could barely contain her derision. “We should consider other reporters then, since Harry had just come from Bower and Co. Perhaps someone overheard him talking to the bartender and then followed him out? A reporter that had a reason to kill Harry and a reason to frame me for it. Come to think of it, there was a gaggle of reporters standing around the body last night. It’s possible one of them planted my notebook near Harry Jones’ body, which leads us right back where we started.”

  “Where exactly did we start?” Frankie asked.

  “Here’s what we need to know,” she said, going back to the beginning. “Why would someone want Harry dead? Why would they want to frame me for it? Is it about the Dock Murders? If it’s one of the reporters, why? It doesn’t make any sense. Is Harry’s murder connected to the newest missing girl, or is the fact that Brenda McFee is missing a coincidence? Is Walter Smith the Dock Murderer and likely Harry’s murderer?”

  “That’s quite a few convenient coincidences, don’t you suppose?” Frankie asked.

  Julia nodded. “We keep finding coincidences wherever we look. Eventually everything will add up to a real clue. As of now, my money is on Walter Smith. I think he’s behind the Dock Murders, and I think he killed Harry because Harry was on to him.”