by Jane, Bettie
“Hopefully what won’t be a problem?” Jacob asked, rounding the corner and standing next to Jimmie with an expectant look on his face.
“I’ve gotten some information from Penelope about Beatrice’s boyfriend.” She briefed him on Penelope’s statement and then continued. “I want to interview her boyfriend and her family. May we join you on your next of kin notification and ask a few questions? I know the drill, don’t worry. Nothing on the record until you say so.”
He leaned in, kissed her on the cheek, and smiled. “Of course, darling. Would you like a ride?”
She was shocked, but pleasantly. “I’ll ride over with Jimmie since I don’t know where I’ll need to go next, but I appreciate the offer. We’ll follow you.”
Their excessive politeness was getting a bit annoying, but it sure beat fighting with Jacob. She’d take extra polite any day of the week and twice on Sunday in place of rude, flippant Jacob. She hoped not to have a repeat of that brief phase of their relationship any time soon. She grasped the Valentine key he’d given to her, turning it over and over in her hands as she walked with Jimmie toward his car, smiling at the possibilities.
She’d wanted to update Jacob on her decision about Charing Cross, but there really hadn’t been time for that, plus she didn’t want to flavor her announcement with the murder of a young woman, even if it was technically going to be her and Frankie’s very first case. He’d been supportive when she’d announced her plans to start her own detective agency and she’d already run through all the details of the three properties that made the list of finalists. He probably wouldn’t be that surprised to know she’d decided to go with the Charing Cross property.
He hadn’t even batted an eye when she’d said that if laws surrounding property ownership for women didn’t change, she saw no reason to marry. She needed more rights as a woman, not less. Either he didn’t have a problem with the prospect of marriage being removed or he didn’t feel like arguing about something that hadn’t even been discussed yet. It was probably the latter. Jacob was relatively progressive, but still she imagined that he would want a traditional wedding and marriage. Although, maybe she needed to give him more credit since he seemed not to be scared off by her yet. That should count for something.
8
7:00 am
February 22, 1921
William Cooper Residence
Stratford, East London
Jimmie followed Jacob expertly, staying on his tail for the duration of the nearly 6-mile drive from Marble Arch to Stratford in East London, and soon they were parked outside a row of terraced brick homes. She and Jimmie followed Jacob to the front door and stood behind him while he knocked.
A middle-aged woman in a plain but tidy dress, opened the door. “Can I help you?”
“I’m Inspector Gibbs from Scotland Yard, these are my associates Julia Gibbs and Jimmie Hutchins. Are you Mrs. Cooper?”
“I am. Would you like to come in, Inspector?”
“That might be best. Thank you.”
She made a welcoming gesture and showed them into her tiny kitchen, offering them chairs. Julia sat, as did Mrs. Cooper, and Jacob. Jimmie took the fourth chair and sat awkwardly. She remembered that he hadn’t done many of these visits to notify a family a loved one had passed. Not that she’d had loads of experience, but slightly more than he had.
“Are you Beatrice’s mother, Mrs. Cooper?” Jacob plunged right it. It did seem best to get straight to it and not drag out the nauseating dread of the impending task.
“Call me Carol. Mother? Oh goodness no. I’m not quite old enough to have a daughter at marrying age, not that I ever had any children of my own. Best, I suppose, since my William’s been laid up from a back injury from his time at the factory. We can barely keep food on the table for the two of us, let alone a house full of children. She’s my niece, by marriage. My husband William is her father’s brother. What shenanigans is she up to now? We haven’t heard from her since she sequestered herself in the Tyburn Convent, which was quite out of the blue, as is typical for that Beatrice. Her mother is—was, she’s dead now—a Protestant and would have rolled over in her grave if she’d known her Beatrice was following her father’s inclination of morality. None of us understood why she up and joined with the papists.”
Julia made discreet notes in her book and Jimmie just looked at his hands. They all knew, everyone but Mrs. Cooper, that Jacob was about to deliver life-changing news, and it felt kind to let her natter on with the lightness that currently was present in her voice. Julia was getting a fair amount of what could be considered helpful information from Mrs. Cooper’s voluntary monologue.
“I’m sorry to tell you, Mrs. Cooper, but something’s happened to Beatrice. She passed on in the early hours of this morning near the convent.”
Mrs. Cooper’s eyes widened, then she blinked a few times. She stood up suddenly. “Oh dear. William will be heart-broken. I suppose I might shed a tear for the rebel child as well,” she said matter-of-factly, almost, but not quite, coldly.
Julia noted her apparent lack of great distress at the news of her niece’s passing.
“Beatrice was always a bit eccentric, marched to the beat of her own drum, you know, but, ah, I never thought she’d meet her end at such a young age.”
She stopped speaking but began to pace back and forth in the small kitchen. A few moments of silence passed while she paced, then she stopped abruptly and faced Jacob.
“How did she die? At the convent? I should have thought she’d be safe enough there, even in the company of papists. Oh, I fear William’s temper will get the best of him. He’s got nothing good to say about any Catholic.”
“Where is your husband, Mrs. Cooper?”
“He’s not awake yet, and I’ll not wake him for this terrible news. She’ll still be gone when he wakes. I suppose I’ll put on tea. I suspect we’ll all be needing some, and perhaps a dram of whisky while we’re at it.”
She busied herself filling the kettle with water, then selecting cups from her worn cupboards.
Julia noticed that Mrs. Cooper didn’t sound at all flippant about Beatrice’s death, just very logical and realistic. One thing she’d always admired about those who grew up outside the shadow of aristocracy, that sort of folk always seemed to take life—and death—as it was handed to them. They were a practical people. The elites on the West End could learn a thing or two from someone like Mrs. Cooper.
Jacob continued his questioning now that Mrs. Cooper seemed to regain the bit of composure she’d lost at his news and busied herself in the kitchen.
“The sisters at the convent mentioned that Beatrice left the convent about a month gone. You didn’t know that?”
She shook her head. “No, but she was always a stubborn girl. She wouldn’t have wanted us to know that she’d failed at something. She was always trying new things. Becoming a nun seemed like one of the safest of her hare-brained schemes.”
“You didn’t see her this month?”
Mrs. Cooper shook her head. “No.”
The front door opened and a man, tall despite the hunch in his back, walked into the kitchen. He stopped short when he saw the visitors sitting at the kitchen table.
“William? Whatever are you doing up and about at this hour? I thought you were still in bed sleeping.”
He grimaced. “I went out for a walk. My back was aching and I couldn’t sleep.”
He kissed her on the cheek and pressed a newspaper into her hands. “Brought you the paper, dear wife.”
Julia thought he looked to be somewhere in his mid-forties, but the state of his broken-down, bent body gave him the appearance of a man who was closer to seventy.
“Thank you, William. Come and sit. Meet our guests. This is Inspector Gibbs. I’m afraid he’s brought us unfortunate news.”
William sat down obediently and looked expectantly at Inspector Gibbs, but Carol Cooper saved him from having to deliver the same devastating news twice in one sitting.
; “It’s Beatrice, dearie. She’s died.”
William stared at Beatrice. His face was blank.
“Beatrice is dead?”
It was the Inspector’s turn to bail out Mrs. Cooper.
“We found her this morning near Marble Arch. Did you know Beatrice moved out of the convent?”
He nodded, and Carol gasped. “You knew she left the convent? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I only just found out yesterday. I saw Peter and he told me. He was angry about it.”
“Why on earth would he be angry? I thought he wanted to marry her. He had no hope of marrying her if she’d hung on to her fool notion of nunnery.”
“Something isn’t right with that young man. I don’t understand him either. What fool would encourage his girlfriend to enter life as a nun? Fool papists. They’ve all got a screw loose.”
He turned his attention back to Jacob.
“How did my Beatrice die?”
“We don’t have the results yet from the coroner. Her body was found, pardon the graphic description, Mrs. Cooper, hanging from the gallows that were constructed for the Tyburn Tree memorial outside Marble Arch, but it was clear that she was dead before she was hanged. I hope to know more soon. In fact, if you’d be so kind later today as to drop by Scotland Yard headquarters, I’ll take you down to the coroner’s office so you can officially identify her.”
He spoke so matter-of-factly but the words he used were horrific. Julia couldn’t imagine what it was like for Mr. and Mrs. Cooper to receive such news. As she’d come to expect from her short association with Mrs. Cooper, however, Mr. Cooper seemed to have the same practical outlook about Beatrice’s demise.
“It’s a blessing her parents aren’t here to witness this terrible day. We’ll be down to the station after lunch, Inspector Gibbs. Thank you for your notification.”
“Mr. Cooper, what is Peter’s last name and home address?”
Julia continued scratching notes as Mr. Cooper answered. “His last name is Peterson. He lives a couple streets over.”
Julia wrote down the address that Mr. Cooper rattled off along with a basic description of the boy when Jacob asked for it.
Jacob responded. “Thank you for that information. Mrs. Cooper, thank you for your hospitality. I’ll see you this afternoon.”
Mr. and Mrs. Cooper saw them to the door and once it was closed behind them, Julia practically burst with the comment she was holding.
“Beatrice’s boyfriend’s name is Peter Peterson?! What an unimaginative mother he must have.”
“That’s your takeaway?” Jimmie asked. “You might be losing your notable investigative skills, Julia Barlow.”
She laughed out loud and then shook her head, instantly contrite as the three of them walked to their autos. “No, of course not. Rather, I suppose it’s only one of the things that occurred to me. I shouldn’t joke at a time like this, it’s just—what a funny thing to name your child.” She gathered herself. “I think it’s odd that Mr. Cooper knew that Beatrice had left the convent, but he didn’t tell Mrs. Cooper, and also that he was out of the house this morning during the time that Beatrice likely died, without Mrs. Cooper knowing. Seems suspicious to me. Especially when you consider his loathing of Catholics. Perhaps he killed Beatrice and is behind the disappearance of Mother Marie.”
Jimmie shrugged. “He doesn’t have an alibi, true, but he seemed like a kind old fellow. I don’t know that I can imagine him as a killer or a person who would kidnap an old woman.”
“All solid points, Jimmie,” Julia said. “Given his back injury, I also doubt that he would have the physical strength to get an already-dead Beatrice strung up on the gallows. Certainly not without help.”
Jimmie nodded. “Even in the case of a grown man having the best strength and optimal physical health, it would have taken at least two people to get Beatrice up with that rope.”
Julia and Jacob both nodded in agreement.
“We are looking for at least two assailants then,” Julia said. “Jacob, shall we interview the Peterson boy now?”
“Yes, then we’ll talk to my uncle and discover if he’s learned anything from his post-mortem examination.”
“Sounds good. Then I’ll talk to Frankie and see what he learned from his interrogation of the sisters. We need to hurry. I’d like to be back to Tyburn Tree in time for the memorial to support Penelope.”
9
8:00 am
February 22, 1921
Peterson Residence
Stratford, East London
“Mr. Peterson,” Jacob inquired once they were seated in the modest kitchen of the Peterson residence. “Do you know where your son Peter is? I need to locate him and ask him a few questions.”
Mr. Peterson sat with his arms folded across his chest, a smirk on his face, and a gruff sound to his voice. “It’s none of your business where Peter is. What type of questions do you need to ask him?”
“Were you acquainted with Peter’s friend Beatrice?”
“What’s she got to do with anything? I haven’t seen the two of them together in weeks, not since the little chit joined the convent. She betrayed us, all of us Protestants that have been standing up against the papists. With her joining up with them, I told Peter she wasn’t welcome around here anymore, not after that.”
“You weren’t aware that Beatrice left the convent nearly a month past?”
Mr. Peterson shook his head. “I didn’t know that.”
“Do you have any idea why she joined the convent in the first place? According to her aunt and uncle, Beatrice didn’t generally align herself with the Catholics. Her joining in the first place seems quite bizarre.”
“I couldn’t tell you. We don’t hold to those papists. Bunch of hypocrites. Holding their own memorial, you know, at Tyburn. Those Catholics, they only honor their own dead. What about the thousands who died so brutally on that spot? We are related to one of the famous highwaymen who was killed at Tyburn Tree. That’s right, the infamous Jack Sheppard.”
His voice and attitude grated on Julia’s nerves. He was hostile, agitated, and arrogant, talking as though they should already know the facts about his ancestry.
“I see,” Jacob said. “That’s interesting. So I take it that you won’t be attending the memorial service this morning?”
“We don’t need the Catholic Church to acknowledge our ancestors. We could remember Mr. Sheppard all on our own, but that stubborn boy insisted on making his statement his own way.”
“Oh?”
Mr. Peterson bit back a swear, but he relented. “Peter’s attending. Plans to protest. I told him it was a foolish cause. Those Catholics only care about themselves.”
“If you see him, please let him know that I’d like to speak with him. Beatrice was found dead this morning near the convent, and I’m hoping he can provide any helpful information for our investigation.”
“Dead?”
“Yes.”
“My boy had nothing to do with that. He’s stubborn, but he’s not violent.” His outrage was obvious in his tone and his expression.
Jacob let it pass. “He may be able to provide us with information that will help us learn what happened.”
Jacob handed Mr. Peterson a business card with his office address and phone number. “Contact me here if you hear from Peter, please.”
Mr. Peterson didn’t take the card, so Jacob left it on the table.
The three left the Peterson residence and made their way to Scotland Yard. It was time to touch base with Dr. Lockley and see what additional information they could find about how Beatrice actually died. This time Julia rode with Jacob.
“He was rather nasty,” Julia observed. Jacob didn’t comment, so she changed the subject. “I decided on the Charing Cross building, by the way. Your aunt Penelope is my first official client. She seems to be quite broken up about Beatrice. She worries that she talked Beatrice out of being a nun and that’s why she left. Penelope is convinced that if she
hadn’t offered her advice, Beatrice might still be safe in the convent.”
“Congratulations on your first client, Julia. I do wish Penelope would have spoken with me before hiring you, but I’m happy for both you and Frankie.”
“I hope you don’t expect to grant permission to each one of my clients, Jacob Gibbs.”
He shook his head. “No, of course not. It’s just that I’d have given you a stellar recommendation.”
He winked at her, satisfying her about his intentions, then continued.
“I’ll formally interview Penelope. Maybe she knows something that she doesn’t realize is important. Did she mention to you if she’d ever met Beatrice’s boyfriend?”
“She didn’t say, but I got the impression that Beatrice and Penelope had only spoken about him, not that your aunt had interacted with Peter at all. Maybe there will be time to talk to Penelope before the memorial. Let’s go see what your uncle has determined.”
They made their way through the Scotland Yard headquarters and into the basement where Dr. Lockley’s offices were. He was washing up when they entered.
“Uncle.”
“Jacob, Julia. Good timing on your part. Beatrice was definitely dead before she was ever strung up on those gallows.”
“Cause of death?” Jacob asked.
“I found needle marks in her arm. I believe she overdosed from heroin, and I don’t believe this was her first encounter with the substance given the number of needle tracks. If she’d been found in an alley with the needle still in her arm, I might call this an accidental overdose. However, there were no signs of drug paraphernalia at or near the gallows. If she died on her own, someone still went to the trouble of moving her body, not an easy feat, and hanging her…and that’s after they removed the needle that would have killed her.”
“If she’d been using for a while, it’s possible that a few of the other sisters would have caught her or suspected something. We need to find her boyfriend, Peter. I’d like to know if he was aware of her drug use. Her aunt and uncle didn’t mention anything about that, and I suspect they would have mentioned it had they known.”
