Mrs. Jeffries Appeals the Verdict by Emily Brightwell (lightest ebook reader txt) 📕

dark and you were in a hurry. You were in the middle of an industrial neighborhood and you’d not find a cab easily in that neighborhood. Yet you didn’t ask the hansom cab to wait for you.”

“But I did, Inspector,” he said quickly. “I do remember

that. I specifically told him to wait for us. But as soon as I’d

paid him and we’d gone up the street a bit, he drove off.

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I remember being annoyed, but Caroline said not to worry,

that we’d find another one near the bridge. The building was

close to Waterloo Bridge.” He sighed again. “Not that it mattered all that much; traffic was so awful that night we could have walked home faster than the hansoms were moving.”

“I see,” Barnes said.

“Do you know of anyone who might have wanted to

harm your wife?” the inspector asked. “Did she have any

enemies?”

“Enemies?” Muran looked down at the carpet. “She was

a kind and decent woman. No one would want to hurt her.

It was a robbery, Inspector. We were stupidly at the wrong

place at the wrong time and that’s all there was to it. It’s

my fault. I should have put my foot down and insisted we

go home. But it was hard for me to deny Caroline anything.

I loved her very much.”

“You weren’t to know there was danger about, sir,”

Witherspoon said kindly.

Muran looked up. “Wait. Now that I’ve thought about it,

there is someone who was very angry at Caroline.”

“And who would that be, sir?” Barnes asked, relieved

that they might actually be making progress.

“I’m not saying a word against my wife,” he replied.

“But Caroline could be very hard when she considered a

principle was at stake.”

“Meaning what, sir?” Witherspoon prompted.

“Meaning she sacked her factory manager just a few days

before she was murdered. His name is Roderick Sutter. Yee

Gods, that’s right. I’d quite forgotten. Caroline had sacked

the fellow, and as I recall, he’d not taken it very well at all.”

“Russell Merriman must have plenty of influence to get the

police to have another look,” Blimpey Groggins said to

Smythe. “Looks like we caught us a bit of luck on that one.”

“What do you know about him?” Smythe asked. He

took a quick sip of his beer and tried not to make a face. It

was a bit early in the day for him, but after their meeting

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this morning, it had become important they learn what

they could about Merriman. The Dirty Duck was closed,

but as Blimpey was probably the owner of the establishment, they were having a quick pint anyway.

“Don’t you worry, old mate, I’ve already got my sources

on it,” Blimpey replied. “What I know so far is that he’s a

bit of a ne’er-do-well, bit of a drinker and a gambler. He’s

not much good at holdin’ the liquor or handlin’ the cards.”

“We know that much,” Smythe retorted. “What we need

to know now is whether or not he might have ’ad anything

to do with his sister’s murder.”

“You’re wantin’ to know if he was in London at the time

of the murder and livin’ under another identity,” Blimpey

said shrewdly. “He wasn’t.”

“You know that for a fact?”

“If he’d been ’ere, he’d have let Tommy Odell hang, and

as ’e’s the one stirring it up at the Home Office, I think you

can safely say he’d nothin’ to do with it.”

“That’s what we thought as well.” Smythe sighed, remembering the rather heated discussion they’d had on the subject at breakfast. “But it doesn’t hurt to make sure about

the fellow. There’s a chance that even if he didn’t do it, he

might have put one of his mates up to doin’ the deed for

him.”

Blimpey shook his head. “I’m one step ahead of ya. Russell Merriman didn’t have the sort of mates that’d do murder for him. He and his kind are usually gutless, upper-class toffs that don’t get their hands dirty. Besides, ever since I

come back to London and found out Tommy was in the

nick, I’ve had my sources out gatherin’ information, and

I’ve not heard any hints that Merriman was back in England

or that he had anything to do with his sister’s death. By all

accounts, the two of ’em were right fond of each other.”

“Exceptin’ for the fact that he was a drunk,” Smythe retorted.

“So what?” Blimpey shrugged. “Just because someone

drinks don’t mean their kin stops carin’ about ’em.”

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“Have you found out anything else that might be useful?” Smythe looked down at his beer glass, a bit embarrassed to be asking this kind of question. But though it pleased his vanity to tell himself he’d do all his own investigating from now on, the truth was, Blimpey did have incredibly good sources of information and a man’s life was at stake.

“Well, I’m a bit annoyed that I didn’t catch this earlier,

but about a week before she was killed, Mrs. Muran sacked

her factory manager. Seems he’d been helpin’ himself to

her money. My sources tell me she was tryin’ to decide

whether or not to set the law on the man.”

“I knew she’d sacked her manager,” Smythe said. “But I

haven’t had time to find out his name yet.”

“His name is Roderick Sutter. He lives at forty-two

Landry Place in Fulham.”

“What do you think, sir?” Barnes asked as they climbed into

a hansom.

Witherspoon sighed. “I think we’re in a bit of a mess,” he

said, grabbing the handhold as the cab lurched forward,

“and I’m not in the least sure what to do about it. I suppose

we’d best just carry on as if the trial hadn’t already taken

place and the verdict been given. But honestly, it does make

getting information out of people a bit difficult. Did we get

some police constables set up to do a round of the neighborhood?”

They’d asked Chief Inspector Barrows for a few men to

go around to Barrick Street and see if they could find any

witnesses. After reading the file, even Barrows had admitted

the original investigation had been woefully incompetent.

“I’ve got several lads assigned to it, sir,” Barnes replied.

“But as you said earlier, the trail’s gone cold and those streets

are pretty empty once the businesses close. But we’ll see if

we can find something. What do you think we’ll learn by

speaking