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twit. If you’d married me instead of her, we’d not be in this
fix. I should have hit you hard enough to kill you when I
had the chance.”
Witherspoon leaned Merriman up against the wall.
“Will you be all right here?” he asked anxiously. “I must
help. I’m afraid she’s going to make a run for it.”
“It’s the mother you’ve got to worry about,” Russell
commented. He could see everything. “She just kicked one
of the constables in the knee. Uh-oh, he’s going down. Go
on. I’ll be fine here.”
“I do wish the doctor would hurry,” the inspector complained. He didn’t like leaving a bleeding man propped against a wall, but from the drawing room he could hear
bumps, screams, grunts, and the sound of furniture breaking.
Russell looked at his shoulder. “Don’t worry. It’s only a
flesh wound. I’ll be all right. Go and lend them a hand. I do
believe she’s going to whip all three of them.”
And she almost did. But in the end, they managed to get
Mrs. Turner out of the way and a pair of cuffs on Lucy.
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“Lucy Turner,” Witherspoon said. “You’re under arrest
for the murder of Caroline Merriman Muran and the attempted murder of Russell Merriman.”
“Go to hell,” she said, sneering.
Wiggins and Smythe arrived home a little past four in the
afternoon. “Where have you been?” Betsy demanded. “I’ve
paced so much I’ve almost worn a hole in the floor.”
“We got away as soon as we knew what ’appened.” Wiggins grinned broadly. “Mrs. Jeffries, you ought to be one of them fortune tellers they ’ave at the music hall. Somethin’
did ’appen today, and that’s why we’re so late gettin’ back.”
“Lucy Turner tried to kill Russell Merriman,” Smythe
announced. He grabbed Betsy’s hand and pulled her toward
the table, which had been set for tea. “She confessed to
killing Caroline Muran as well. It was quite a dustup, it was.
Both them Turner women have pretty powerful punches.”
“What happened?” Mrs. Goodge demanded. She and
Ruth Cannonberry were already seated.
“Is Inspector Witherspoon all right?” Ruth asked anxiously.
“He’s fine, but one of the other constables is goin’ to
’ave a black eye,” Wiggins said cheerfully. He slipped into
his chair. “Miss Turner popped him one right in the face,
she did.”
“And Mrs. Turner got another one in the knee, but I expect he’ll be fine in a day or two,” Smythe added.
Mrs. Jeffries, who’d been pacing the floor along with
Betsy, took her seat at the head of the table. “Smythe, tell
us what happened. Start from the time you and Wiggins arrived at the Turner house to keep watch.”
Smythe nodded. “Well, as you know, I was followin’
Russell Merriman this morning, but that didn’t take much
doin’ as both he and Keith Muran were home until half past
twelve. Then they went to the Turner house in Chelsea. I
followed along and met up with Wiggins.”
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“I ’ad us a good hidin’ place all sussed out,” Wiggins interrupted. “The house across the road had one of them tangled overgrown gardens, so we just nipped in behind the bushes. There was no one about, so it was right easy. Mind
you, it did get a bit cold.”
“We watched the men go in and then we settled down to
wait. Just before one o’clock a hansom pulls up. The inspector and Constable Barnes gets out. Nothin’ had ’appened up until then, and I’ve got to tell ya, Constable Barnes looked worried. But just as they was walking to the
door, a shot rang out.”
“How dreadful,” Ruth muttered.
“Inspector Witherspoon and the constable rushed the
door and barged straight in.” Smythe shook his head. “I’ve
got to tell ya, we weren’t sure what to do, so we just stayed
put. A few minutes later, Charlotte came rushing out and ran
down the street like the hounds from hell was at her heels.”
“I went after her,” Wiggins interjected. “But I couldn’t
catch her, she went that fast.”
“She went to fetch more help,” Smythe continued. “We
heard the constable’s whistle blast and knew he was summoning more men. But then all of a sudden we heard a great ruckus comin’ from the house. The girl had left the
door partially open and we could hear all this shoutin’ and
thrashin’ about.” He nodded his thanks as Mrs. Jeffries
handed him a cup of tea. “It went on for a few moments,
and once again we didn’t know whether or not to barge in
and help. But as there weren’t any guns goin’ off, we thought
we’d best stay hid.”
“Then what happened?” Mrs. Jeffries asked.
“Then Charlotte and two more constables came running
back and into the house. A few minutes later, a doctor arrived. But by then they’d led Lucy Turner off in handcuffs.”
“When the ruckus died down a bit, I managed to sneak
around the back of the house and talk to Charlotte. Accordin’ to what the other maid said, Miss Turner went mad 204
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and shot Mr. Merriman and then claimed it was an accident. She thought she’d killed him.”
“But that didn’t work, as Merriman wasn’t dead,”
Smythe added. “Apparently, he didn’t take kindly to being
shot. I’ve got to say, Mrs. Jeffries, I had my doubts today. I
didn’t think anything was goin’ to ’appen.”
“I knew we’d catch the killer,” Wiggins said smugly. He
helped himself to a treacle tart.
“I wasn’t sure,” Mrs. Jeffries admitted. “As a matter of
fact, I didn’t know which of the three had actually done the
murder, but I was fairly confident it had to be either Keith
Muran or one of the Turner women.”
“You really didn’t know?” Betsy asked.
“I’m afraid not,” Mrs. Jeffries replied. She helped herself to a tart. “I was fairly certain it was one of those three, and I was also sure it would happen today.”
“Why today?” Smythe took a sip of his tea.
“Because Russell Merriman was going to sign the contracts to complete the purchase of the row houses. He was going to honor his sister’s wishes. Once those contracts
were signed, all the company’s money would be tied up. I
knew that the killer would strike today because I was sure
that the main reason Caroline had been murdered was to
keep the company’s capital from being spent on worker
housing. I just wasn’t sure who the killer actually was.”
“But how could you know?” Betsy asked. “You only
found out this morning that Merriman had told Muran and
the Turners of his plan.”
“No, I had it confirmed this morning,” Mrs. Jeffries
replied. “Yesterday the inspector said that Merriman had
told him he was going to honor Caroline’s wishes. Once I
realized that Merriman was sharing that sort of information with a policeman, I decided there was a good chance he hadn’t been keeping it a secret. He’d probably told any
number of people, so it seemed logical that the killer might
have already heard of Merriman’s plans.”
“But he only
told Muran last night,” Mrs. Goodge
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insisted. “So how could you know this morning that Merriman was going to be murdered by one of those three?”
“Because Merriman was the key,” she explained. “I kept
asking myself who wanted Caroline Muran dead. Well,
there were a number of people who wanted her dead, but
as Wiggins once said, the killer had to be someone who
wanted her dead and Keith Muran alive. At first glance, you
could make the case that that circumstance was applicable
to all our suspects. But upon closer inspection, it became
obvious to me that Sutter didn’t particularly want Keith
Muran alive. Muran wouldn’t have given him his job back.”
“What about Addison?” Smythe asked. “He made it clear
that the husband was easier to deal with than the wife.”
“Yes, but at the time of Caroline’s murder, everyone
thought Russell Merriman was dead, so that means if Addison was prepared to do murder to acquire the company, why not kill both of the Murans and deal with the estate?
That would have been the easiest of all. No, there were
only three people who wanted her dead and him alive.”
“I’m glad it wasn’t him,” Betsy said. They all knew who
she meant.
“I think Keith Muran loved his wife,” Mrs. Jeffries said.
“And I know that the Turners were angry and bitter over being poor relations. I think Lucy murdered Caroline knowing full well that she’d be the next Mrs. Muran. She wanted it
all. She wanted the man, the house, and the money. Then
Russell Merriman came back, and all of a sudden the house
and the money might not come with marriage to Muran.
The only way to be sure to get it all was to make sure Merriman didn’t sign those contracts. She’d gotten away with murder once; she was sure she could do it again.”
“I still don’t see how she did it that night,” Mrs. Goodge
complained. “I mean, she couldn’t have known that Caroline was going to insist on going to Barrick Street to look at those buildings.”
“But I think she did know,” Mrs. Jeffries countered. “Remember, Caroline’d had a terrible row with her husband 206
Emily Brightwell
that day and neither of them was in a forgiving mood. The
Turners came back to the house that afternoon for tea. Caroline might have mentioned she was thinking of looking over the buildings.”
“But what if she didn’t?” Betsy frowned in confusion.
“How could Lucy have known to be there?”
“She could have walked. Several witnesses mentioned
that the traffic was so bad that night that you could probably
have walked somewhere faster than a hansom would carry
you,” Mrs. Jeffries replied. “We know she left the house that
night after she’d argued with her mother, and we know she
knew where the Murans were going to be. She could easily
have seen them come out of the concert hall and get into a
hansom. She could have followed the cab, seen them get
out, slipped up behind them, and done her worst.”
“That would explain why she knocked him out before
she murdered the wife,” Betsy murmured. “She didn’t want
him to recognize her.”
“She hit him pretty ’ard,” Smythe commented.
“Only hard enough to knock him out,” Mrs. Jeffries
pointed out. “Not hard enough to do any permanent damage.
Another reason I thought of the Turner women—whoever
murdered Caroline Muran probably knew something about
fast death. Mrs. Turner had worked in a field hospital in India, and I’m sure she passed some of her knowledge on to her daughter.”
“Why’d you send me along to talk to Charlotte about
the food?” Wiggins asked.
“Because I wasn’t sure if she’d use a gun or poison,”
Mrs. Jeffries said. “Actually, I was fairly sure it would be
the gun—both women are good shots.”
“Not quite good enough,” Smythe muttered.
“I’m afraid we’ll have to wait until the inspector gets
home to find out the rest,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “And I imagine he’ll be quite late today.”
But oddly enough, he was home before dark and surprised them all by coming directly down to the kitchen.
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207
Fred, who’d reclaimed his favorite spot on the rug near the
stove, leapt up and bounced eagerly around the kitchen.
Samson, who’d been sitting on the footstool, jumped down
and ran off to the safety of the cook’s room.
Witherspoon stared at the departing cat. “Why is Samson running away?”
“It’s not you, sir.” Wiggins rose to his feet. “It’s Fred.
Samson gets a bit nervous whenever Fred starts his bouncing about the kitchen.”
“Sit down, lad.” Witherspoon waved him back to his
chair and slipped into the empty spot next to Mrs. Jeffries.
“I could do with a cup of tea. It’s been a rather extraordinary day.”
“Would you share your news with us, sir?” Mrs. Jeffries
motioned for Betsy to fetch another cup. “You know how
we love hearing about your cases.”
“That’s why I’ve come down,” he exclaimed. “Lucy
Turner has confessed to the murder of Caroline Muran.
Mind you, I don’t think the woman’s sane. She seemed to
think it quite all right to murder someone if they were in the
way of her getting what she wanted. While we were taking
her statement she kept saying over and over that the Merrimans were the cause of all her troubles. She tried to murder Russell Merriman, but she only wounded him in the chest.”
“Gracious, sir.” Mrs. Jeffries handed him his cup. “Does
that mean that Tommy Odell will be released?”
“Indeed it does,” he said. “We’ve sent word to the Home
Office. As soon as the formalities have been attended to,
he’ll be released.” He took a quick sip of tea. “I must say,
we had a bit of luck with this one. It’s amazing how often I
happen to be at the right place at the right time.”
“Whatever do you mean, sir?” Betsy asked.
Witherspoon told them what had happened that afternoon. They listened closely, taking care not to ask too many questions or do anything that would give the game away. “I
must say, it was very fortunate that Constable Barnes’ informant saw Miss Turner leave the house that night.”
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“Otherwise, you’d not have been anywhere near the
Turner house at just the right moment and you wouldn’t
have heard the gunshot,” Wiggins said. “And you’d not
have solved this one so quickly. Good thing you were there,
sir.”
“Yes, quite right.” Witherspoon finished his tea and got
to his feet. “I believe I’ll take Fred for a walk.”
“Why don’t you take him over to Lady Cannonberry’s,”
Mrs. Jeffries suggested. “I’m sure she’d love to hear your
good news, sir.”
“That’s a splendid idea,” Witherspoon agreed. “Come
along, Fred. Let’s go walkies.”
As soon as they were gone, Smythe got up. “I’ve got to
see Blimpey. Now that I know for certain they’re lettin’
Tommy out, I can tell him the g
ood news.”
“We’ll leave the back door unlocked for you,” Mrs. Jeffries said.
“I’ll walk you to the door.” Betsy grabbed his hand and
they disappeared down the hall.
“I’d best get that roast out of the oven,” Mrs. Goodge
said as she got up. “The inspector will want his dinner
when he gets back.”
“I expect he’ll eat with Lady Cannonberry,” Mrs. Jeffries muttered. “I think I’ll go up to my room for a rest.”
“I’ll send Betsy up when we’re ready for supper,” Mrs.
Goodge said.
Mrs. Jeffries went upstairs and into her room. She sat
down in her chair by the window and stared out into the twilight. She was glad an innocent man wasn’t going to hang, but something was bothering her.
She hadn’t known until the men had returned which of
the three suspects was the killer. Perhaps that was what was
making her so uneasy. She closed her eyes and told herself
that no one was perfect, that people did the best they could.
And what did it matter? The killer had been caught. So
what was bothering her?
Inspector Nivens.
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Her eyes flew open. That was it. He’d always been a
thorn in their sides, but now that he was going to have his
conviction rescinded, it would be much, much worse. He
would be out to get Witherspoon.
He’d watch their inspector’s every move, and she suspected he’d have his minions watch the household. But what could be done about it?
Mrs. Jeffries sighed heavily. She’d worry about Nivens
on their next case. For right now, she simply needed a nap.
Smythe was grinning from ear to ear when he walked into
the Dirty Duck. Blimpey waved him over. “I take it you’ve
got good news for me.”
“Don’t be daft, man. Who do you think you’re foolin’.”
He sat down. “You already know. I’ve just come along to
confirm it and make it official like. Your boy ought to be
gettin’ out in a few days.”
Blimpey laughed. “It’s good news, Smythe. Good news
indeed. I knew I could count on you lot.” He waved at the
barmaid.
“I can’t stay long,” Smythe protested.
“You can stay long enough to celebrate with me,”
Blimpey replied. “And to tell me what you lot want.”
“We’re not wantin’ anythin’.” Smythe smiled at the