‘MOST FOLKS IS too wrapped up in themselves to pay attention to what’s goin’ on right under their noses,’ Luty Belle Crookshank insisted. ‘But I ain’t most people. And I know Scotland Yard would still be lookin’ for Slocum’s murderer if it weren’t for you lot. That’s why I need your help.’
Mrs Jeffries, the housekeeper for Inspector Gerald Witherspoon of Scotland Yard, wasn’t sure she should let Luty’s statement pass unchallenged. To be sure, if not for herself and the other servants at Upper Edmonton Gardens, Inspector Witherspoon probably couldn’t have solved the Slocum case as quickly as he had, but she had no doubt he would have solved it eventually.
‘Now, Luty Belle,’ Mrs Jeffries chided. ‘That’s not precisely true. Inspector Witherspoon had matters well in hand.’ She broke off and gestured towards the other servants around the kitchen table. ‘We merely helped out a bit.’
‘ ’Course you did.’ Luty gave them a wide, conspiratorial grin. ‘I ain’t asking you to admit anything, I’m just wantin’ a little help.’
Mrs Jeffries glanced at the others. For the first time in three weeks, they didn’t look bored. Betsy, the maid, was hanging on Luty Belle’s every word. Smythe, the coachman, was grinning from ear to ear. Wiggins, the footman, was leaning forward in his chair so far that Mrs Jeffries was sure if he wasn’t careful he’d knock it out from under himself, and Mrs Goodge, the cook, was nodding her head vigorously up and down.
Mrs Jeffries had the distinct impression she’d have a mutiny on her hands if she refused Luty Belle Crookshank a hearing. Whatever was bothering the elderly American woman, the others wanted to help.
For that matter, so did she. ‘All right, Luty Belle. Why don’t you tell us what this is all about?’
‘Like I said,’ Luty began. ‘I’ve got me a problem.’
What kind of problem?’ Betsy asked. She cocked her chin to one side so that one of her blonde curls spilled coquettishly onto her shoulder.
Luty put her teacup on the table. Beneath the fabric of the bright blue-and-lavender-striped dress she wore, her shoulders slumped. ‘A real bad one,’ she replied slowly, her white head shaking sadly. ‘A friend of mine is missing.’
‘Someone’s missing? Have you reported it to the police?’ Mrs Jeffries queried softly.
‘Nah, I didn’t git worried over the girl until a couple of days ago. Besides, I ain’t one to go runnin’ to the law about every least little thing. Not that I think that Mary’s disappearin’ ain’t important; it is. But I reckoned you all could do a better job of findin’ out what happened to her than the police could. If’n I went to them, they’d just say that Mary’s probably run off with some man, and I knows that ain’t true.’
‘Very wise,’ mumbled Mrs Goodge.
‘You’re right to come ta us,’ Smythe added. ‘We can find out what happened to yer friend faster than the police.’ He flicked a quick glance at Mrs Jeffries. ‘No disrespect intended to our inspector,’ he explained quickly. ‘He’s a good copper.’
‘Smythe’s right,’ Betsy interjected. ‘You just tell us all about it; we can find her for ya. We’re right good at solvin’ mysteries.’
‘What mystery?’ Wiggins asked. He gazed in confusion around the table.
‘Haven’t you been listenin’, boy?’ Mrs Goodge admonished. ‘Luty’s friend ’as disappeared.’
‘Oh, sorry.’ Wiggins grinned sheepishly. ‘I thought she said her friend went visitin’. Guess my mind wandered a bit.’
Luty gave him a sharp look, Smythe and Betsy rolled their eyes, and even Mrs Jeffries had to stifle an impatient sigh. The footman, no doubt, had been daydreaming about his newest infatuation.
‘Yes, well perhaps you’d better pay a bit more attention to the conversation, Wiggins,’ Mrs Jeffries said firmly. ‘And the rest of us had better not make Mrs Crookshank any rash promises. We’d better find out exactly what this is all about before we decide we can resolve the matter.’ She turned to Luty Belle. ‘Now, who, exactly, is missing?’
‘Mary Sparks. She used to be a housemaid at the Lutterbank house. They’re my neighbours. They live down at the other end of the gardens. Mary’s just a girl, only nineteen, and I’m real worried about her.’
‘We can see that.’ Mrs Jeffries nodded. ‘How long has she been gone?’
Luty sighed. ‘Two months.’
‘And you’re just now startin’ to look fer her?’ Smythe asked in disbelief. ‘Cor, anythin’ could have ’appened to ’er by now.’
‘That’s a long time for a body to be lost,’ Wiggins added thoughtfully.
‘If it’s been two months,’ Betsy put in sombrely, ‘she in’t missing, she’s dead.’
‘For goodness’ sake,’ Mrs Jeffries exclaimed as she saw the elderly woman turn pale, ‘will you all please stop scaring Luty? We can’t make any assumptions about what has or has not happened to Mary Sparks until we hear the rest of the story.’
Luty Belle smiled gratefully and took a deep breath. ‘I reckon I’d better start at the beginning. About two months ago, I was fixin’ to go to Venice. As it turned out, I shouldn’a bothered. Smelly place. Waste of money, but that’s neither here nor there. But you need to know what took me so long to start frettin’ over the girl.’ She paused. Anyhows, a few days before I was leavin’, Mary come over and she was cryin’ and carryin’ on like she’d just lost her best friend. When I got her calmed down, she told me the Lutterbanks had let her go. Seems they accused her of stealing a silver brooch.’
‘Had she stolen the brooch?’ Mrs Jeffries asked quickly.
Luty shook her head. ‘Nah. The girl’s no thief. I know that for a fact.’
Smythe raised an eyebrow. ‘What makes ya so sure?’
‘ ’Cause that’s how me and Mary became friends,’ Luty replied tartly. ‘I got acquainted with the girl when she returned my fur muff. I’d dropped it in the gardens, and furthermore, young man, that muff was stuffed with money. Now if’n Mary Sparks was a thief, she wouldn’t have bothered to give the danged thing back to me, would she?’
‘Nah, if’n she were a thief, she’d ’ave kept it,’ he agreed.
‘What happened then?’ Betsy said hastily.
‘I told Mary she could stay at my place until I got back and then we’d sort everything out. But Mary wasn’t one for acceptin’ charity. All she wanted me to do was to write her a letter of reference to one of them domestic employment agencies. She’d heard about a position with some preacher’s family over in Putney. So that’s what I did.’ Luty grasped her hands together. ‘The next day, the agency give her the job. She come back to my place, picked up her carpetbag and said goodbye. I went on to Venice. It wasn’t until a few days ago, when I realized that I hadn’t received any letters from her, that I got worried.’
‘Mary could read and write?’ Betsy asked.
‘Yup, that’s one of the reasons we became friends. Mary and I both liked to read. I used to loan her some of my books.’ The harsh set of Luty’s jaw softened as she smiled. Then the moment passed and she continued. ‘But that’s neither here nor there. As I was sayin’, I started to fret over not hearin’ from Mary, so I sent my butler to the Everdene house, that’s the place where Mary was goin’ to work, to check on the girl. But when Hatchet got back, he told me the Everdenes claim Mary up and quit the day after she arrived.’
‘Could she have gone back to her family?’ Mrs Goodge asked. She pushed another plate of buns towards Luty Belle.
‘Nah. Mary didn’t have no family. She’d been on her own since she was fourteen.’ Luty Belle picked up a currant bun and put it on her plate. Mrs Jeffries nodded thoughtfully. ‘Did the Everdenes say where she’d gone?’
‘Hatchet didn’t think to ask,’ Luty replied in disgust. ‘I was thinkin’ of going there myself and seein’ what I could find out.’
‘I think you’d better let one o’ us do that,’ Smythe said quickly.
‘Why?’ Luty’s black eyes narrowed dangerously. ‘You think I couldn’t get that toffee-nosed bunch to answer my questions?’
‘Of course you could,’ Mrs Jeffries said soothingly. ‘But I’m afraid I must agree with Smythe. You should leave the task to us. If they’ve lied to your butler, they’ll probably lie to you as well. We’ve got better ways of finding out the truth.’
Yeah, I reckon you’re right at that. There’s no tellin’ what kind of tales that preacher might make up.’ Luty snorted. ‘Never did much trust preachers.’
‘Have you asked the Lutterbanks if they’ve heard from her?’ Mrs Jeffries asked.
‘Nah,’ Luty said grimly. ‘I knows that bunch too well to bother talkin’ to them. Old Mrs Lutterbank is as crazy as a bedbug, Mr Lutterbank is a pompous windbag, Fiona wouldn’t know the truth if’n it walked up and pinched her on the cheek, and Andrew is such a slippery varmint, I wouldn’t trust him to tell me the sun rose in the east and set in the west.’
‘Gracious, you certainly don’t sound as though you care for them overly much.’ Mrs Jeffries cocked her head to one side. ‘Do you think they may have had something to do with Mary’s disappearance?’
‘I’m not sure. But I’ve seen the likes of Andrew Lutterbank before. He’s a mean, vicious bastard, and I know he had a right yen for Mary. But she weren’t havin’ none of that. Mary’s a good girl, and she was too smart to risk her employment by prettyin’ up to a no-count varmint like him.’ Luty shrugged. ‘But much as I dislike that bunch, I don’t think they had anythin’ to do with Mary bein’ missin’. From what I’ve heard, Andrew’s walkin’ a fine line these days. The last time he got a housemaid in trouble, it cost him five hundred pounds and a trip to Australia. Nah, he might have had his eye on Mary, but I reckon he left her alone.’
Betsy gazed at Luty Belle sympathetically. ‘Did Mary have any other friends? Did she go out on her day off with any of the other housemaids?’
‘Well,’ Luty Belle replied thoughtfully, ‘she was friendly with Garrett, the groundskeeper’s assistant. But he’s three years younger than her, and she’s practically engaged to his older brother, Mark. But Mark’s away at sea, so I knows she didn’t go to him. Sometimes, I’d see her walkin’ about in the gardens with Cassie Yates.’
‘Where could we find this Cassie Yates?’ Smythe asked. He leaned forward on his elbows and clasped his big hands together under his chin.
‘Cassie’s a shop assistant at MacLeod’s. They’re on the King’s Road. I reckon you can find her there.’ Luty Belle shook her head. ‘Other than those two and myself, Mary kept pretty much to herself. She’s a quiet little thing.’ She fixed her gaze on the far wall, and her lower lip started to tremble. ‘I’m so scared somethin’ awful’s happened to Mary.’ Luty blinked furiously and got ahold of herself when she realized they were all staring at her sympathetically.
‘Perhaps,’ Mrs Jeffries suggested gently, ‘she’s found a . . . well, sweetheart, and eloped?’
‘She’d have let me know,’ Luty Belle insisted. ‘Don’t you git it? Mary and me was friends. She promised to write, to keep in touch. But I ain’t heard a peep from her. And even if’n she decided she didn’t love Mark McGraw and had gone off with some smooth-talkin’ man, she’d have written me.’
Betsy reached over and touched the old lady’s arm. ‘Mrs Crookshank.’
‘I told ya to call me Luty Belle.’
‘Sorry, Luty Belle, Mary may have gone off with someone and, well, been ashamed to let you know about it. Especially, if’n he didn’t marry ’er. It ’appens, you know.’
Mrs Goodge nodded wisely and Wiggins blushed.
‘Nah. Mary wouldn’t have been ashamed. Not with me.’
‘On the day that Mary came to you, did you give her any money?’ Mrs Jeffries asked briskly.
‘I tried to, but she wouldn’t take a penny. All she wanted was one night’s lodgin’ and a letter of reference.’ Luty Belle suddenly stood up. ‘Are you goin’ to help me or not?’ she demanded. ‘ ’Causin’ if you ain’t, I reckon I’ll have to start lookin’ myself or hire me one of them private inquiry agents. But come hell or high water, I’m goin’ to find out what happened to Mary Sparks.’
Mrs Jeffries gazed around the table. Each time her eyes met one of the others’, there was a barely perceptible nod to show accord. They all wanted her to say yes.
‘Of course we’re going to help you,’ Mrs Jeffries stated calmly.
‘I ain’t askin’ any of you to do it fer free,’ Luty Belle announced. When they all started to protest, she held up her hand. ‘Quit your caterwaulin’. I ain’t goin’ to insult anyone by offering you money. Agreed?’
Betsy’s eyebrows lifted, Smythe looked amused, Mrs Goodge pursed her lips, and Wiggins grinned happily. Mrs Jeffries cleared her throat. They all turned and stared at her expectantly, waiting for her to speak for them. Mrs Jeffries wasn’t quite sure what to say. She opened her mouth and then closed it. She could hardly refuse Luty’s offer. If she did, she was sure the American woman wouldn’t let them help. Luty Belle was too proud for that. And she knew that if the household lost this chance to do a bit of detective work, they’d all be utterly miserable.
‘Um, Luty,’ she began, trying to think of a delicate way to tell her payment of any kind would be rather uncomfortable.
‘You look like a gaping fish, Hepzibah.’ Luty put her hands on her hips. ‘Now, I knows you’re all proud as pikestaffs, and I told you I ain’t offerin’ you money. Let’s just say that no matter what you find out, I’ll do what’s right and we’ll leave it at that.
Mrs Jeffries smiled. ‘That will be just fine, Luty.’
They got a few more details about Mary Sparks out of Luty Belle, and then she left. As soon as the kitchen door had closed behind her, they all started talking at once.
‘The girl’s probably run off with some man,’ Mrs Goodge said darkly as she began to gather up the tea things.
‘Or she could have been sold into white slavery,’ Betsy said.
‘If the girl’s been missin’ for two months,’ Smythe added, ‘she’s probably at the bottom of the Thames.’
‘Maybe she’s gone to America,’ Wiggins said cheerfully.
‘Really,’ Mrs Jeffries said. ‘You all have most appalling ideas. I’m glad you managed to keep some of those rather depressing opinions to yourself. Poor Luty Belle’s worried enough.’
What do you think ’appened to her, then?’ Betsy stuffed the last bite of currant bun into her mouth and then nimbly got to her feet and took the plate to the sink.
‘That’s impossible to say right now,’ Mrs Jeffries replied. ‘But we’ll do our best to find out. Wiggins, I want you to get over to Knightsbridge and talk to Garrett McGraw.’
Wiggins’s round face creased in worry as he pursed his lips. ‘What should I ask?’
‘Find out everything you can about Mary Sparks and about the Lutterbank family.’ Mrs Jeffries turned to Betsy. ‘Would you like to go shopping?’
‘Want me to question Cassie Yates, do ya?’ Betsy grinned from ear to ear, her blue eyes sparkling with the thrill of the hunt. ‘I’ll find out anythin’ I can.’
Smythe cleared his throat and crossed his arms over his massive chest. His big brutal face was set in an expression of feigned boredom, but his dark brown eyes were sparkling as brightly as Betsy’s. ‘I suppose you want me to go back to them miserable pubs in Knightsbridge.’
‘If you wouldn’t mind,’ Mrs Jeffries replied sweetly. She knew Smythe was teasing her a little. He’d got an enormous amount of information on the murder of Dr Slocum from hanging about those Knightsbridge pubs. For all his complaints, Mrs Jeffries knew he enjoyed his forays.
She turned to Mrs Goodge. The cook gazed back at her knowingly. ‘I expect I can remember a bit of gossip about the Lutterbanks,’ she said calmly. ‘But you’d better give me a few hours. The name hasn’t rung any bells yet.’
Mrs Jeffries nodded. Mrs Goodge knew every morsel of gossip about every important family in London. Like Smythe, she too had come up with some invaluable bits and pieces during the Slocum investigation.
‘Are we goin’ to mention the girl to the inspector?’ Betsy asked as she pulled on her gloves.
‘Not right away,’ Mrs Jeffries replied. ‘We may have to eventually, but for right now, we’ll see what we can come up with on our own. We don’t want to bother him unless it becomes absolutely necessary.’
The inspector was kept completely in the dark about their activities. None of them wanted the dear man to think they lacked confidence in his skills as a dectective. ‘But I will ask him some discreet questions when he gets home,’ she continued. ‘He should be able to tell us if any young female bodies have turned up in the last two months.’
Betsy made a face. She was turning into an excellent detective, but she was really quite squeamish.
Mrs Jeffries waited until everyone had left and then she sighed in satisfaction. There was nothing like a mystery to lift one’s spirits.
Magpie Lane had been almost obliterated. Where there had once been a row of tiny redbrick houses, there were now only piles of rubble and debris. The one house that hadn’t been torn down stood alone at the end of the street, a forlorn shell with no windows and the doors haphazardly boarded over. On the other side of the road was an abandoned brewery enclosed by a twelve-foot wall.
Inspector Gerald Witherspoon slowed his steps as he followed Constable Barnes to the far end of the street. Three workmen and two uniformed police constables were standing over an open trench. ‘She’s in there, sir,’ the taller of two constables called. He pointed down into what had once been the cellar of a house. ‘We sent for CID as soon as we realized the remains were human, sir.’
‘Thank you, Constable.’ Witherspoon gulped and studiously avoided looking down. ‘Constable Barnes,’ he ordered, ‘you’d best see to it.’
Barnes hurried down the ladder someone had stuck at the side. A moment later, Witherspoon’s worst fears were confirmed.
‘It’s a body, all right, Inspector,’ Barnes called cheerfully. ‘You’d best come down and see for yourself.’
There was no hope for it, he had to look at the corpse. Witherspoon didn’t like dead bodies. Despite his being a police officer, his stomach was really quite delicate. As he descended the ladder, he found himself hoping that this body would be as tidy as his last one, but considering it had been in the ground, he thought that was rather a faint hope. He was right.
He stopped at the bottom of the ladder, took a deep breath and then walked over to stand next to Barnes. Keeping his gaze level with the top of the trench, he silently prayed he wouldn’t be sick or, even worse, that he wouldn’t disgrace himself by fainting. He took another deep breath and then immediately wished he hadn’t. Now that the remains had been exposed, the smell was awful. The air in the confined space was filled with the sickeningly sweet stench of decaying flesh.
Witherspoon’s stomach turned over.
‘Looks like it’s a woman,’ Barnes said. He stepped back to give his inspector room. Witherspoon was trapped now. He had to look.
The corpse was lying on its side, the face turned into the flat dirt of the trench. He could see that she was wearing a dark blue dress and that her hair, which had once been blonde, was tangled with matted earth.
‘Yes,’ the inspector mumbled, ‘so it appears.’ He knelt down and held his breath.
‘Shouldn’t we turn ’er over?’ Barnes asked.
Witherspoon shuddered as he forced his hands to touch the dead shoulders. Keeping his head down so no one would see that his eyes were closed, he pulled the body onto its back.
Barnes made a funny choking noise. ‘Cor, this one’s bad.’
A wave of nausea washed through the inspector, but he grimly reminded himself of his duty. ‘Get out your notebook, Constable,’ Witherspoon ordered. Perhaps, he thought, it would be best to get this over with as quickly as possible.
‘Right, sir.’
‘Uhmm, well. The body is that of a woman.’ He forced himself to open his eyes and then almost gagged. ‘The face is black and bloated. Virtually unrecognizable.’
‘Blimey, don’t you want to put a handkerchief over your nose?’ Barnes asked the inspector. ‘She’s gettin’ riper by the minute.’
‘No, no, I’m quite all right,’ Witherspoon lied. He knew if he didn’t get this done quickly, he’d never be able to force himself back into this hole. ‘The deceased is wearing a heavy . . .’ he broke off and tentatively touched the material of the dress, ‘. . . wool dress. It’s a dark blue.’
Any sign of what killed her, sir?’ Barnes glanced down at the body, and his lips curled in disgust. ‘Cor, that’s obvious, isn’t it? Looks like there’s a great big gapin’ hole in her chest. Think she’s been stabbed, sir?’
‘Yes, Constable,’ the inspector replied faintly, ‘it certainly seems so.’ He quickly averted his gaze from the wound. ‘We must be sure and have our lads do more digging to see if the weapon is here as well.’
‘What kind of knife do you think it was, sir?’ the Constable asked cheerfully.
‘I really shouldn’t like to say at this point in the investigation.’
‘Right, sir. She got a weddin’ ring on?’
Witherspoon glanced at what was left of her hands, then quickly looked away. ‘Difficult to tell, Constable. But we must make sure we instruct the searchers to look for one. It could have slipped off when the flesh was . . .’ He broke off, wondering just how to phrase the truly horrendous thought. When the flesh was eaten by rats or decomposed or whatever wretched force of nature had caused the poor girl’s hands to be nothing but bones.
‘She must have had money,’ Barnes said. ‘Look, that brooch on her dress looks like silver.’
Witherspoon hadn’t even noticed the jewellery. He glanced at the horseshoe-shaped silver pin, saw that it was so encrusted with dirt and mud that it was impossible to identify the small stones set along the top of the curve, and then looked away. ‘Not necessarily, Constable. Someone may have given it to her. For all we know, the poor woman may have been as poor as a church mouse. It’s a bit too early to start making assumptions.’
Barnes knelt down and pointed at the feet. ‘You’re probably right, sir,’ he said. ‘But them shoes look like good quality.’ He leaned to one side, stared at the corpse’s foot and then reached over and began brushing the dirt away from the sole. ‘Inspector, these shoes are new.’
‘Really?’ Witherspoon answered curiously. ‘How can you tell?’
The constable continued his assault on the shoes. ‘Because this dirt here is from being buried, but when you brush it away, these soles look like new. See, look ’ere, there isn’t even a scuff mark.’
‘Yes,’ Witherspoon replied weakly, after one fast look at the shoes, ‘I see what you mean. Good observation, Constable.’ Actually, he didn’t have any idea whether it was a good observation or not, but he felt he must say something.
‘Cor, she’s got right big feet for someone her size, hasn’t she?’
‘Someone her size,’ Witherspoon mumbled. Oh dear, if he didn’t get out of this pit, he really would faint.
‘Sure, she’s a little thing. Doesn’t look more than a bit over five foot.’
Abruptly, Witherspoon stood up and headed for the ladder. ‘See to the body, Constable,’ he called as he climbed out into the blessed fresh air. ‘I’m going to talk to the man who found her.’
Witherspoon took a few moments to catch his breath before advancing on the three workmen who stood a few feet away, their shovels and picks sticking straight up out of the soft ground.
‘Which of you gentlemen found the er . . . body?’ he asked.
‘It were me,’ the largest of the three said. He took off his cap and stepped forward. ‘I be the leadman. Jack Cawley.’
‘Er . . . yes. Could you tell me precisely how you happened upon the er . . . deceased.’
‘Well, I were diggin’, weren’t I. Mind you, I wouldn’t have been diggin’ if them fools hadn’t flooded out that trench over on Ormond Street. We’d a never been here if them stupid engineers knew what they was doing.’ Cawley snorted in disgust.
‘Inspector,’ Barnes called excitedly as he came out of the pit. ‘I found this around her neck. It’s a necklace of some kind.’ He held the dirt-encrusted object out to the inspector. ‘And it’s got a ring on it. Maybe she was married after all.’
Wrinkling his nose, Witherspoon took the necklace and examined the ring. ‘A married woman wouldn’t wear her wedding ring around her neck,’ he said. He flaked a bit more dirt off the ring and held it up to the light. ‘I don’t think this is a wedding ring.’
Through the layers of grime, he could see the dull yellow glint of gold. Scraping more dirt off, he saw three dark blue stones set between filigreed patterns on the metal. The ring was valuable. He suspected the stones might be sapphires. Drat, whoever had murdered the girl hadn’t robbed her. Witherspoon sighed deeply. A dead girl and an expensive ring usually meant trouble. Complications. A nasty case. Perhaps even a crime of passion.
‘Could it be a betrothal ring?’ Barnes asked.
‘A what?’
‘A betrothal ring. Engaged couples wear ’em. Though I don’t know why. Seems to me a good plain weddin’ band should be enough for most folks. But that don’t seem to be good enough for young people these days,’ the constable said as he shook his head.
‘Yes, I suppose it could be.’ Witherspoon turned back to the workman he’d been talking with. ‘Now, as you were saying.’
‘I were saying if it hadn’t been for them fool engineers, we’d never have found ’er.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Witherspoon said. ‘I don’t really follow you. What do the engineers have to do with your finding the body?’
Cawley’s bushy eyebrows rose. ‘It’s got everythin’ to do with it. We wouldn’t have been diggin’ up Magpie Lane if they hadn’t flooded the other trench.’ He pointed towards the body. ‘We wouldn’t have been here fer another six months if they hadn’t flooded out Ormond Street. With all the damp and the vermin down where she’s been layin’, she’d’ve been dust by the time we’d got here – if we’d stuck to our schedule. Probably wouldn’t have even been the shoes left.’
‘Exactly what are you digging?’ Witherspoon asked. He wasn’t sure that was a particularly pertinent question, but he felt he should ask.
‘A new Underground line. The Underground were supposed to be under Ormond Street and a new road here on Magpie Lane. But them fools made a mistake ’cause Ormond Street sits on a bleedin’ buried stream.’ Cawley shook his head. ‘So at the last minute, they change their bloomin’ minds and send us over here to start hacking up Magpie Lane. This here’s the first trench – this time, they decided they wanted to make sure there weren’t no water before they brought in the heavy diggers.’
‘I see.’ Witherspoon nodded. ‘And you’re the one that actually found the er . . . remains?’
Cawley grunted. ‘Not very pretty either. ’Ere I was, diggin’ away and me shovel all of a sudden hits her foot. Well, I weren’t sure what it was when I first hit it, so me and the blokes just kept on going diggin’. You can see what we found. As soon as we realized it were a body, we sent for the coppers.’
‘Inspector,’ Barnes called again. ‘How deep should I have the lads dig? Whoever killed her may have buried the weapon under the body.’
Witherspoon had no idea. He took a wild guess. ‘Oh, have them go down another foot or so. And be sure to do a house-to-house as soon as you’re finished searching the trench.’
‘House-to-house?’ Barnes asked in confusion.
Witherspoon remembered there weren’t any houses. ‘I meant, a house-to-house up on the main road.’
‘And what will they be asking, sir?’
‘On second thoughts, Constable, I think we’d better delay that part of the investigation until after we’ve identified the victim.’ He hurriedly turned back to Cawley. ‘You don’t, by any chance, happen to know when the houses on this street were demolished, do you?’
‘ ’Fraid not,’ the workman replied. ‘I don’t live around these parts. But Fred might know. He lives ’round ’ere.’ Turning, he called to one of the two workmen standing a few yards away. ‘Get over here, Fred. The copper wants to ask you some questions.’
The small, wiry man didn’t look pleased, but he pushed away from the shovel he was leaning on and walked towards the inspector.
‘What is your name?’ the inspector asked.
‘Fred Tompkins.’
‘And I understand you live nearby. Could you please tell me when these houses were torn down?’
‘About a month ago,’ he replied sullenly. ‘Everyone who lived here was evicted, thrown out on the streets just so they could tear down some perfectly good ’omes. It were a crime, that’s what it was. A crime. Throwing people out of their ’omes just so some toff could tear ’em down and sell the land to build a bloody road.’
Witherspoon watched the man sympathetically. ‘I take it the locals weren’t too pleased,’ he said softly.
‘We hated it. Me own sister lost her ’ome.’ He turned and pointed towards the one remaining house. ‘She used to live right next to that one. Nice little place it was. Good solid redbrick, plenty of space in the back for her vegetable plot, and she gets tossed out, without so much as a by-your-leave. They only give her a few days to pack up her belongings. She had to move to a grotty set of rooms in Lambeth. And her with three kids and a sick ’usband.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Witherspoon said sincerely. ‘So the residents were suddenly told they had to leave. Do you happen to know who owns these properties?’
Tompkins’s lips curled in disgust. ‘Weren’t no owners, leastways, not like real landlords. This whole street was owned by a property company, so there weren’t even someone to complain to.’ He kicked at a loose stone and sent it flying. ‘Hard-hearted bastards.’
‘Do you know the name of the company?’ Witherspoon wished the police surgeon would get there. The smell of the corpse was getting stronger.
‘No. But I can ask my sister. She got a letter from ’em and the name were written right at the top.’
‘Thank you. That would be most helpful.’ He pulled out his notebook and took down the man’s address. ‘I’ll send a constable around tomorrow for the information.’
There was a tap on Witherspoon’s shoulder. Startled, he whirled around and found himself staring into the familiar face of Inspector Nigel Nivens.
‘Goodness, Inspector Nivens, you gave me such a shock. What are you doing down here?’
Nigel Nivens was a sharp-nosed, pale-faced man with cool grey eyes, slicked-back dark blond hair and a thin mouth. He gave Witherspoon a weak smile. ‘I thought I’d come down and see if you needed any assistance. I understand you’ve been given another murder.’
‘I’d hardly put it in those terms, Inspector,’ Witherspoon said lightly, ‘I really don’t feel like I’ve been given anything.’ Then he silently chided himself. Inspector Nivens’s turn of phrase was no doubt unintentional. Perhaps he was even being sympathetic. But dear, he did make it sound so odd. Witherspoon knew he was being given another wretched murder to solve; not a nice present for Christmas.
Inspector Nivens looked towards the open trench. ‘Is it in there?’
‘Yes, I’m afraid so. It’s a woman.’
‘Definitely murdered?’
‘Yes. She’s been stabbed.’ Witherspoon sighed. ‘It’s jolly kind of you to offer your assistance, but I’m afraid I can’t allow you to help. You know how the Chief Inspector feels, one senior officer to a case. Gracious, if two inspectors are tied up on one case, he’d be most annoyed.’
‘Humph, I suppose you’re right.’ Nivens looked longingly towards the trench. ‘But it doesn’t really seem fair. After all, this is your second murder in a row. I should think, Witherspoon, that it would be only sporting to give someone else a chance.’ He mumbled something under his breath. Inspector Witherspoon couldn’t quite make out what he said, but he did hear the word ‘competent’.
‘It really isn’t my decision, now, is it?’ Witherspoon said soothingly. ‘Perhaps if you had a word with the Chief Inspector . . .’
Wouldn’t do any good. For some reason, he thinks you’re a genius when it comes to murder.’ Nivens smiled coolly. ‘It’ll be interesting to see how you do with this one. Perhaps it won’t be as simple as the Slocum murder.’
Witherspoon was slightly offended. Finding the murderer of Dr Bartholomew Slocum had been anything but simple. And he didn’t really understand what Inspector Nivens was complaining about. The fellow always got good, clean burglaries. Lucky man.