“Tea is ready.” Phyllis brought the big brown teapot to the table and then went to the cupboard to grab the mugs.
Mrs. Jeffries stood up. “Everyone sit down, please. We’re dying to hear what happened but, please, do it so we can understand.”
Smythe, his arm around his wife, gave her a squeeze as they headed for their seats. “We’re just excited, Mrs. Jeffries. Hatchet needs to go first— ’e’s the one who started it all.”
“Just my danged luck.” Luty shot a quick glance at her butler. “You always git to have the fun. You okay?”
“I’m fine, madam.” He grinned broadly as he took the chair next to her. He waited until everyone settled into their chairs and had a steaming mug of tea in front of them. “First of all, Mrs. Jeffries, credit to you for having the foresight to send me to keep watch on the Nivens house. That’s the only reason this case came to a head without a great deal of blood being shed.”
“I’m glad no one was hurt,” she murmured.
“So am I,” he replied. “I’ll admit, after I’d been in Belgravia for what seemed hours, I was beginning to think you were wrong, but then Nivens showed up and that’s when things got interesting.” He told them what happened. He took his time, making certain to include each and every detail so the sequence of events would make sense. “Luckily, even though I hadn’t expected Inspector Witherspoon to still be at the Leman Street Station, he and the constable were.”
“But they were supposed to see Mrs. O’Dwyer this morning,” Mrs. Goodge said.
“They were delayed because the Santorini file had gone missing,” Hatchet explained. “Constable Barnes spotted me hovering at the edge of the crowd gathered in front of the pub. Apparently, police activity attracts people very quickly in that part of London.”
“Don’t be a snob, Hatchet. It attracts people in every part of London,” Luty interrupted. “But go on.”
“As I was saying, Constable Barnes saw me, and when the inspector and the other constables were occupied putting Mrs. Callahan in the police wagon, he was able to spend a few minutes telling me what had transpired.” He told them the details Barnes had shared with him, including the fact that Nivens had been at the station.
“Nivens was there?” Phyllis exclaimed when he finished. “But wasn’t he on some sort of leave?”
“He was, but he came into the station this morning with the excuse that he needed to water his plant. Apparently, he’s been coming in most days and has been reading the Santorini file all along. It was the file that sent Nivens to the East End and his confrontation with Mrs. Callahan.”
“He realized she was the killer from reading the file?” Mrs. Jeffries mused. “Right?”
Hatchet nodded. “It appears that way, but again, I don’t know all the details, only that she admitted to murdering Santorini and to creating the circumstances so Inspector Nivens would get the blame for it.”
“But why did she kill him?” Ruth asked. “Was it because she was jealous of Alberta Miller, the barmaid at that other pub?”
Hatchet sat back and folded his arms over his chest. “I believe I’ll let Mrs. Jeffries answer that question.”
Mrs. Jeffries hesitated. She didn’t want to steal his thunder, but he simply smiled at her and nodded. “Go on, Mrs. Jeffries—tell us why you sent everyone to the Crying Crows and me to watching Nivens.”
“Two things. One, Dickie Stiles’ statement that he put a note in Nivens’ pocket; and two, the alcohol Santorini kept locked up in his box. Up until last night, I was certain that Fiona O’Dwyer was the killer.” Mrs. Jeffries took a quick sip of her tea. “It appeared she was the only person to have a reason for both hating Inspector Nivens and wanting Santorini dead. Then last night I realized I was looking at the facts incorrectly. Susan Callahan could also have had a reason. She was afraid of losing her pub.”
“How’d you come to that conclusion?” Phyllis exclaimed.
“I almost didn’t until it was too late. But when Wiggins reported that Susan Callahan had banned Mr. Dinsworth from her pub merely because he kept insisting she was Millie Slavik, I realized that her reaction was extreme. Mr. Dinsworth was known to be senile, so why go to such lengths?”
“Because she really was Millie Slavik.” Phyllis nodded her head in understanding. “I should have realized that as well.”
“What about the alcohol?” Luty asked.
“I suspect we’re going to find out it was those beer and whisky samples that signed Santorini’s death warrant,” Mrs. Jeffries replied. “Remember, he dated both of the vials, and those dates were from when he was actually in residence at the Crying Crows. My theory was that he witnessed Susan watering Bryson’s beer and whisky. Perhaps by then things weren’t going well between them as a couple, and he wanted a bit of insurance to have the upper hand.”
“Oh, my goodness,” Ruth said. “Of course. Mr. Bryson himself went on and on about how they called in loans from people who watered the liquor.”
“And she had a loan from Bryson’s,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “What’s more, years earlier, she was a known pickpocket, and I suspect that she didn’t want that coming out as well.” She glanced at Phyllis. “Another reason that I thought she might be the killer was because of what Janice Everly told you. After the pub closed on Saturday night, she supposedly went upstairs to lie down, leaving Alex Parker and Janice to close up. Before they left, Alex shouted that the pub was almost out of gin and for her to order more; but come Monday, the gin wasn’t with the order, and Susan got furious. But Alex insisted that he’d shouted loud enough for her to hear him.”
“She didn’t hear him because she’d left to go to Belgravia,” Phyllis cried. “Goodness gracious, it’s so obvious now. She must have followed Inspector Nivens home to find out where he lived.”
“That’s what I suspect must have happened. Then on Sunday night, after her pub was closed, she went back to Belgravia and broke into Niven’s house,” Mrs. Jeffries explained.
“That’s when she stole the gun and the pillow.” Phyllis nodded.
“And Tuesday morning after she’d murdered Mr. Santorini, she put them back,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “At least, that’s what I think happened. We’ll have to confirm the details with Inspector Witherspoon.”
“I thought she was just a pickpocket,” the cook muttered. “But if you’re right, she can pick locks as well.”
“I think so, but, once again, we’ll have to hear what the inspector says about the situation,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “And it was her skill as a pickpocket that set her plan in motion. She used the excuse of giving two customers, who were sitting at the table behind Inspector Nivens, beer on the house, something she’d never done before. That was when she picked Nivens’ pocket—I think we can assume she spotted Dickie Stiles that night and saw him slip the note in Nivens’ coat. Once she read the note, she came up with a plan for getting rid of Santorini and Inspector Nivens.”
“She thinks fast, I’ll give ’er that,” Smythe muttered.
Mrs. Jeffries looked at the coachman. “She does, and that’s one of the reasons she was always able to stay one step ahead. I think that the hansom cabdriver that told you he’d picked up the same woman twice on Saturday night was right. It was her. She used the time in Belgravia to get a look at the lay of the land, so to speak, and probably had a good snoop around Nivens’ property. Nivens was getting close to recognizing her as Millie Slavik, and, according to what Betsy learned today, she had even paid her barman to pass along everything he overheard either about Nivens or from Nivens when he was at the pub.”
“That’s why the note was so important,” Ruth said. “Once she knew that Santorini was to meet Inspector Nivens, she knew she could arrange the situation to make it look as if Nivens was the killer.”
“Thus killing two birds with one stone,” Mrs. Jeffries concluded. “But we’ll have to find out the rest of the details
when the inspector gets home.”
“My source thinks she killed her husband,” Betsy murmured. “With him out of the way, she had free rein to do what she liked with the pub.”
Mrs. Jeffries nodded. “That’s certainly possible.” She looked at the carriage clock on the sideboard. “The inspector might be late tonight. Murder always involves a lot of paperwork.”
But for once, he wasn’t particularly late. Betsy and Smythe had taken Amanda and left, but Luty, Hatchet, and Ruth, along with the others, were still there discussing the case when the inspector arrived home.
The visitors started to leave when his hansom pulled up outside, but Mrs. Jeffries waved them back to their chairs. “Stay. I know you want to hear what he has to say. Ruth, can you feed the inspector dinner tonight?”
“Of course, I’d love to. Cook won’t mind—she loves it when we have a guest, even one at short notice.”
“Excellent.” She dashed upstairs and met him as he came through the front door. “Goodness, sir, you’re home a bit early.”
“We’ve had a very exciting day, Mrs. Jeffries, and even better, we’ve solved this case.” He grinned broadly as he handed her his hat and slipped off his coat. “You’ll never guess who we’ve arrested.”
“Oh, don’t tell me, sir.” She hung up the hat and coat. “Lady Cannonberry is here. She came to invite you to supper tonight, and then Luty stopped in with Hatchet because they wanted to borrow one of Mrs. Goodge’s cake recipes for a birthday celebration. You know how much all of us love hearing about your cases, especially as you’ve just solved this one. They’ll be thrilled to hear it directly from you.”
“Ruth is here?” If possible, his smile got wider. “And I’ve not seen Luty nor Hatchet in ages. Gracious, how lovely.”
They went downstairs, and, after the greetings were exchanged, Witherspoon took a seat at the head of the table while Phyllis made another pot of tea for all of them.
“Well, where to begin?” Witherspoon beamed proudly. “It was quite startling—this young lad came running into the Leman Street Station and shouted that we’d best get some police to the Crying Crows Pub.” He told them much of what they already knew, but all of them played their parts well and reacted appropriately as he explained the sequence of events.
But everyone leaned just that bit closer when he got to the point in his narrative where he and the other police constables were inside the Crying Crows. “So, being as quiet as possible, we crept up to the side door, which leads into the pub proper, and we could hear Susan Callahan, who is really Millie Slavik, practically bragging that she’d murdered Santorini and had manipulated the evidence to ensure the police thought Inspector Nivens had done the crime.”
“How did she do that, sir?” Phyllis asked.
“She was very clever.” He took a sip of tea. “She’d kept her widow’s weeds, including the veil, from when her husband died. That’s a very pertinent point, as it allowed her to use hansom cabs from the East End to Belgravia without being identified.”
“Hansom cabs, sir?” Mrs. Goodge gave the housekeeper a quick, congratulatory smile.
“Indeed, she used one to follow Inspector Nivens home on Saturday night—this, of course, is after she’d taken the note that Dickie Stiles had slipped into Nivens’ pocket out and read it. She then came back to the Nivens home on Sunday night, picked the lock, and stole Inspector Nivens’ dueling pistol and the pillow from his study. She used them on Monday evening when she murdered Santorini. She didn’t want to lose her pub or keep paying Santorini. She saw this as an opportunity to rid herself of Inspector Nivens.” He continued with his narrative, making certain he explained all the pertinent details of the case.
“Let me make sure I understand,” Luty said. “She was worried that he was gettin’ too close to recognizin’ her as Millie Slavik, right?”
“Correct.” He smiled at the elderly American. “Unfortunately, Inspector Nivens’ behavior wasn’t very good, though I must say, he does have a bit of an excuse, as she tried to shoot him. But luckily, I’d instructed Constable Mayhew to heave a rock at the door just to buy us a bit of a distraction, as we didn’t know what we were going to face once we got inside. Because of that, we were able to stop her from shooting the inspector.”
“It was your ‘inner voice,’ Inspector,” Mrs. Jeffries assured him. For once, she wasn’t saying it to bolster his confidence. This time, she was absolutely certain she was right.
“Thank you, Mrs. Jeffries.” He told them the rest of it—how Susan Callahan had boasted she’d use the press and the local community to make the case that the police arrested her to save one of their own, and that, if it hadn’t been for the barman, Nivens might have committed murder himself. “But the inspector came to his senses once he realized Alex Parker was going to tell the truth.”
“Why was it only Inspector Nivens who recognized her?” Mrs. Goodge asked, though in truth, Enoch Dinsworth and Mattie Mitchell had both seen through the woman’s disguise.
“That’s an interesting observation,” Witherspoon acknowledged. “But she left the East End twenty-five years ago, and when she came back, she spoke differently, was married to a respected member of the community, and disguised herself to some extent. Also, I suspect some people are just better at recognition than others.”
“I’m amazed that she was so forthcoming when she was being questioned,” Hatchet said.
“As was I, but once we had her at the station, she was quite candid as to what she’d done, how she’d done it, and why she’d done it.”
“Doesn’t she know she’ll face the ’angman?” Wiggins exclaimed. “Cor blimey, she killed Bert Santorini and tried to kill Inspector Nivens.”
Witherspoon thought for a moment. “I don’t think she does.” He frowned slightly. “As I was leaving, she looked at me and gave me the oddest smile. Then she said, ‘I’m not done yet, Inspector. You think you’ve won, but there’s something you don’t know.’ When I asked her what it was, she said, ‘Don’t worry, you’ll find out soon enough. But know this, I’ve got friends in very high places.’”
“Was she threatening you?” Ruth asked, her expression worried.
Witherspoon patted her hand. “Don’t worry, Ruth dear. I’m not in the least concerned. As a police officer, I’ve heard that, or words very much like it, many times. Once arrested, a lot of criminals are full of nonsense and bravado. But it’s all empty talk. No matter how many important friends she thinks she has, she’ll not escape justice.”
“What about Inspector Nivens, sir?” Mrs. Jeffries asked. “What’s going to happen to him?”
Witherspoon sighed. “I’m not sure. When we went back to the station, as we were busy questioning Mrs. Callahan, Inspector Havers took his statement and then he left. One of the constables said they saw him getting into a hansom cab.”
“Surely he’ll be taken off the force permanently, won’t he?” Ruth said. “He tried to take the law into his own hands. That’s not right.”
“True, it’s not the sort of behavior that can be overlooked,” Witherspoon replied. “Especially in light of some of the other charges levied against him. But I suspect that Chief Superintendent Barrows will give him an opportunity to resign rather than sacking him outright.”
“I think they should arrest him,” Mrs. Goodge declared. “He’s tried to harm you and interfere in your investigations more than once, and he’s as bad as the criminals he’s supposed to be catching.”
“Now, now, Mrs. Goodge. We’ll let justice take its proper course. Being sacked will be punishment enough. But I appreciate your sentiments, and I am always delighted with the way my household looks after me.”
“There’s one thing I don’t understand, sir,” Phyllis said. “If Susan Callahan took the note out of Nivens’ coat pocket, that means he never saw it, so he never knew he was to meet Santorini Monday night at the mews. Right?”
“That’s right.”
“Then why did Inspector Nivens lie about the time he had dinner on Monday night? You said he told the staff he needed to eat because he had ‘an important appointment.’”
Witherspoon smiled faintly. “According to what he told Inspector Havers, Nivens said it because he was hungry and wanted to eat what he called, ‘a decent meal.’ He was afraid they wouldn’t let him into the restaurant because it hadn’t opened yet, so he made up that story about having an important appointment. When he arrived at the Leman Street Station on Tuesday morning, as soon as Chief Inspector Boney and Inspector Havers began to question him, he realized he needed an alibi for Santorini’s murder, so he lied about the time he was actually at the restaurant.”
“Didn’t he know you’d confirm his story?” Ruth asked.
Witherspoon shrugged. “I don’t think he realized Mr. Caladini, the maître d’, was so observant and so eager to cooperate with the police.”
“So what did he do after leaving the restaurant?” Hatchet asked.
“He went to his mother’s house and availed himself of her very good whisky. It was only when he got to the station on Tuesday morning that he realized he was a murder suspect.”
* * *
* * *
The letter was delivered by messenger at nine o’clock the following morning. Mrs. Vickers carried it into the dining room on a silver tray. “This just came for you, sir. Shall I put it in your study or would you like it now?”
“I’ll take it now.” Nivens took the envelope and stared at it for a moment before sliding his finger under the flap and tearing it open. He knew who it was from and what it would say.
Mrs. Jeffries Demands Justice Page 27