02 - Mrs. Jeffries Dusts for Clues (7 page)

“Was Mary there?”

“No. Mary was never anywhere near Andrew if she could help it.”

Mrs. Jeffries leaned forward as the cab drew to a halt. “Was anyone else nearby? Any other neighbors or servants?”

The cab stopped, and the driver leapt down and helped the ladies out. Luty handed the man a few coins, ignored his effusive thanks for the generous tip she’d included and grabbed Mrs. Jeffries’s arm.

“Garrett was weeding one of the flower beds,” Luty continued thoughtfully. “And one of the other gardeners was plantin’ some early bulbs. I recall that because Mrs. Lutterbank come out of her stupor long enough to yell at the boys to go work somewhere else. Well, I can tell you I told her quick enough that those boys were workin’ where they’d been told to work and if’n she didn’t like it, to take it up with the head gardener and not be shoutin’ at them like they was dirt under her feet.”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure you did. Quickly, before we reach the inspector’s office, tell me everything you heard about Magpie Lane.”

“All I heard Clements talk about was them houses bein’ empty and him losin’ his precious rent,” Luty replied as they climbed the steps and went inside.

“So every one of the people at the party knew that there were empty houses on Magpie Lane.”

“Yup. A body would’ve had to be deaf not to hear Clements’s voice. He’s louder than a mule with a burr under its blanket.”

Mrs. Jeffries nodded and suddenly remembered something else. “Why would Garrett be nervous to talk about Mary Sparks?”

Luty stopped abruptly. The uniformed constable behind the counter at the far end of the room stared at them curiously.

“I don’t rightly know,” Luty replied slowly. “There shouldn’t be any reason for him to shy away from talking about Mary. I could see him not wanting to talk about Cassie Yates, but exceptin’ for him bein’ a bit sweet on Mary, there ain’t no
reason for him to not want to talk about her.”

The constable came out from behind his desk and headed in their direction. Mrs. Jeffries ignored him. “Why would Garrett not want to talk about Cassie Yates?”

“Because that time she was bein’ pawed behind the oak tree, well, Garrett happened to see it. He blushed so hard I was scared he was goin’ to pass out from it.” She cackled. “And we weren’t the only ones to see her carryin’ on either. Andrew Lutterbank was watching the whole thing from one of the upstairs windows. Come to think of it, it was right after that that Cassie left the Lutterbanks and went to work in that shop.”

Mrs. Jeffries turned to the approaching constable and gave him a dazzling smile. “Good morning, Constable. Could you direct us to Inspector Witherspoon?”

* * *

The mortuary at St. Thomas’s Hospital was one of Inspector Witherspoon’s least favorite places. As he escorted the two ladies into the huge room, he tried not to wince. He loathed the peculiar trick of lighting that cast a faint, greenish glow on everything. Every time he set foot in this horrid place, he could feel the blood rushing from his head to his toes. He hoped he wouldn’t become ill. It would simply be too embarrassing if he were to disgrace himself in front of Mrs. Crookshank and his own housekeeper. He glanced at them out of the corner of his eye.

Both women were looking around the room with avid curiosity.

Dr. Potter, who’d done the postmortem on the body found in Magpie Lane, came forward to greet them. He was holding in his hand a dark red, wet object the size of a potato. Witherspoon cringed as the man paused next to a table and dropped the ominous-looking thing in a jar of liquid.

“What are you doing here, Inspector?” Dr. Potter asked, smiling politely at the two ladies. “I didn’t expect to see you until the coroner’s inquest.”

“Good day, Doctor.” Witherspoon tried not to breathe too
deeply. The smell was appalling. “I know the inquest isn’t until day after tomorrow. But as we already know we’re dealing with a murder, we’re not waiting until it’s official before we start investigating.”

Potter’s bushy black eyebrows rose. He was a heavyset man of medium height, with thick black hair and a florid complexion.

“Allow me to introduce you to these ladies.” The inspector gestured to Luty. “This is Mrs. Crookshank, and this is my housekeeper, Mrs. Jeffries.”

Dr. Potter nodded politely.

“Mrs. Crookshank would like to view the er…deceased,” Witherspoon explained hastily. “She may be able to help in the identification.”

The doctor looked surprised. He turned to Luty Belle. “You want to view the body, madam?”

“Unless you know of any other way I kin tell if’n it’s Mary Sparks, I reckon I’ll have to.” Luty gave him a long, hard stare.

“Mary Sparks?” the doctor repeated.

“That’s a young friend of Mrs. Crookshank’s,” the inspector said. “She’d like to insure that the body isn’t that of Miss Sparks.”

“But, madam,” Potter protested, “I doubt you’ll be able to tell. The remains are in an advanced state of decomposition.”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that? If’n it’s Mary, I’ll be able to tell, all right.”

Dr. Potter wasn’t used to having his judgment questioned. He drew himself up to his full height and fixed Luty with an intimidating glare. “In my opinion, madam, I hardly think that’s likely. The girl’s own mother wouldn’t be able to identify her. If you’d like, you may look at the victim’s clothing. That may help tell who she was.”

“Dang and blast, man,” Luty cried in exasperation. “This is no time for social niceties. I want to look at that corpse. It may be someone I know. I ain’t squeamish and I ain’t gonna faint, if’n that’s what you’re frettin’ on.”

“Well, really,” Dr. Potter said huffily. He turned and gestured toward one of his assistants, and the young man had to hastily wipe a wide smile off his face. “If you insist, Dr. Bosworth will take you into the morgue. Good day to you.”

“Oh, dear,” Witherspoon murmured. “I believe he’s offended.”

“Stupid fool,” Luty muttered. She marched behind the assistant like the Queen of Sheba. “Men! What did the man expect me to do, faint or have a fit? It’s a wonder the police ever git anyone identified. I’ve seen worse than anything they have here.”

As they walked down a long hallway, Luty kept up a long litany of various horrors and dead people she’d dealt with in her long life. By the time Bosworth ushered them through the door and into the morgue, the poor young man’s eyes were bulging. Mrs. Jeffries noticed that Inspector Witherspoon had gone pale. Wanting to spare the doctor and the inspector further assaults on their sensibilities, she tugged on Luty’s arm. “Luty, please. You’re making me quite ill.”

Luty broke off and stared at her suspiciously. She knew Hepzibah Jeffries wouldn’t turn a hair over some of the things she’d been tellin’. Then she glanced at the inspector and the young physician. Seeing they were both pale, she nodded.

Bosworth gestured for them to come inside. They stepped into the dim, eerily quiet room. There were three tables, and on the center one a shroud-draped corpse rested in silent dignity. As they walked farther into the room, Mrs. Jeffries realized that the temperature was very low. She wondered how the hospital kept this room so cold.

“It’s not a very pretty sight,” Bosworth warned as he drew back the covering. Mrs. Jeffries steeled herself, Luty took a deep breath, and Inspector Witherspoon stepped back a pace.

The face was unrecognizable. Black, bloated and without color, it could be identified as female only by the long blond hair.

“Humph,” Luty snorted. “The hair is the right color, but I can’t tell anything from looking at the face.”

Mrs. Jeffries nodded. “Did Mary have any distinguishing marks or scars upon her person?”

“Not that I know of.” Luty gestured for Bosworth to lower the covering. She turned to the inspector. “Where’s her clothes?”

Witherspoon, who was trying not to look at anything except the floor, didn’t realize that Mrs. Crookshank was addressing him.

“He gone deaf or something?” Luty asked irritably when the inspector didn’t reply.

“Inspector Witherspoon,” Mrs. Jeffries said gently, “Luty would like to see the victim’s clothing.”

“Huh. Oh. Certainly. Uh, I believe they’re…” He broke off because he didn’t quite remember where they were.

Bosworth finally spoke up. “They’re still here. The police haven’t taken them into evidence yet. We don’t like to let them go until after the coroner’s verdict.”

Witherspoon, who’d never heard of such nonsense, shook his head. “All right, then. Go and get them. We’ll wait, uh, well, out in the hallway.”

They moved into the corridor, and Witherspoon took several long, deep breaths of air. After a few seconds he began to feel better.

“How come they took her clothes off anyways?” Luty wanted to know. “Seems downright disrespectful if you ask me.”

“Dear lady, nothing could be further from the truth,” Witherspoon assured her quickly. “But the doctors can hardly determine causes of death if they can’t examine the victims, and the only way to do that is to undress them.”

“Here’s the victim’s things, sir,” Bosworth said, handing a cloth bag to Inspector Witherspoon.

Gritting his teeth, the inspector put the bag on the floor and reached inside. He pulled out a tattered, dark blue dress with a silver broach pinned to the lapel.

Luty Belle gasped. Then she reached over and lifted the right
sleeve. A small moan of distress escaped her as she studied the inside lining of the wrist.

“I take it the dress is familiar to you?” Mrs. Jeffries said gently. Her heart went out to Luty. One look at the woman’s face was enough to assure her that the dress had, indeed, belonged to Mary Sparks.

Numbly, Luty nodded her head.

“But how can you be sure?” Mrs. Jeffries persisted.

Luty didn’t answer right away. Her throat worked convulsively for a moment, and her breathing was harsh. “Because I told her to sew this here little pocket into the lining.” She held the sleeve toward Mrs. Jeffries. “Mary didn’t like to get out and about much. She was always scared of pickpockets and the like. Last summer, I showed her this old trick from when me and Archie used to hang about the Barbary Coast.” She blinked furiously to hold back the tears. “See, the pocket’s just big enough to hold a few coins. But Mary never carried more than a shilling or two.”

Witherspoon knew he should be relieved now that the body had been positively identified. But he felt awful. Poor Mrs. Crookshank, despite her eccentricities, was dreadfully upset.

“There, there,” he said. “Don’t distress yourself, madam. You have my assurances that Scotland Yard will find the evil perpetrator that foully ended this young woman’s life.”

Luty gave him an incredulous stare. Mrs. Jeffries quickly said, “Of course, Inspector. We have every confidence in the police.”

Witherspoon’s chest expanded. Luty snorted.

“Now,” the inspector said. “Why don’t you take Mrs. Crookshank outside for a bit of fresh air? I wouldn’t want to question her until she’s quite recovered herself.”

“I ain’t lost,” Luty interrupted, “and you can ask me any questions you want. There’s only one thing that’s important now and that’s findin’ Mary’s killer.”

“Are you going to keep the bag of clothes?” Bosworth asked. He was staring at Luty Belle in morbid fascination.

“Yes, yes. Of course I’m going to keep the clothes. This
is evidence, man.” Witherspoon made a mental note to speak to Constable Barnes. The deceased’s effects should have been taken into evidence at once.

“Luty,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “Can you identify the pin?” She pointed to the silver broach.

“Yup. It’s Fiona Lutterbank’s all right, but I can’t figure how it comes to be on Mary’s dress.” She pursed her lips. “I knows Mary didn’t steal it.”

“Are you saying this broach is stolen property?” Witherspoon asked curiously.

“According to Fiona Lutterbank it is.” Luty shrugged her shoulders. “But I wouldn’t believe her if she told me that dogs have fleas and cows eat grass. Girl’s a god-awful liar. She probably give Mary the pin and then told her father Mary stole it.”

“Oh, dear,” Witherspoon said. He didn’t much like the way this was going. Mrs. Crookshank didn’t seem the type of lady who would stand back and let the police handle this murder in a tactful and diplomatic manner. He certainly hoped she wouldn’t go about making wild accusations and calling people liars. That could make things most awkward. Most awkward, indeed.

“Are you absolutely certain that Mary didn’t steal that broach?” Mrs. Jeffries wasn’t sure why she was pressing the point, but her instincts were telling her it was important.

“Hepzibah. I’m a very old woman, and I’ve spent my life learning to judge a person’s character. That’s the only way you survive in a wild place like Colorado.” Luty crossed her arms over her chest. “And I’m tellin’ you, that girl was no thief. She’d have starved to death before she ever took something that didn’t belong to her. I don’t know whys that danged pin is on her dress, but I do know that however it got there, Mary Sparks didn’t steal it.”

“But nonetheless, the pin is there.”

“Bosworth,” Dr. Potter shouted from the other end of the corrider. “Would you mind getting back to work?”

Bosworth started and then reluctantly excused himself. He
continued to look longingly at the three of them as he trudged off.

“Now, now, Mrs. Crookshank,” Witherspoon said. “I don’t question that you’re an excellent judge of character, but sometimes even the best of us are fooled.”

The inspector refused to let go of the idea that Mary Sparks was a thief. Well, it would explain so very much. Yes, yes, he could see it now. No doubt Mary Sparks was part of a ring of thieves. Masquerading as a housemaid, she obtained positions in fine homes and took to stealing. There was probably a man in the situation as well, he decided. Someone she passed the goods on to. No doubt he’d stabbed her when she demanded a bigger share of the booty.

Luty glared at him. “Speak for yurself, Inspector. I ain’t wrong about Mary. And if’n you’re fixin’ to pass her murder off as a fallin’ out among thieves, you’d best just think agin.”

For one horrid moment, Witherspoon thought she’d read his mind. “No, no,” he assured her quickly. “I’m sure Miss Sparks was of the very finest character. You have my solemn word, madam. Regardless of the circumstances under which the unfortunate young woman was slain, I won’t rest until her killer is brought to justice.”