by L. A. Nisula
Kate handed me the kettle. “Perhaps Miss Babbet got her balance problem solved. The steam velocycle, you know,” she added for my benefit. “I wouldn’t put it past her to feign some terrible illness to stay in town and work on it. I’ll go see.”
Ada and I finished putting out the breakfast service and sat debating whether or not to wait for Kate until Kate returned with a police constable in tow. “Cassie, do you know Constable Jackson?”
“We’ve met. Hello.” I had met him a few times in passing at Scotland Yard when I’d been delivering typing. He generally worked with Inspector Fulson through no fault of his own, so I generally avoided the offices he was normally in.
Ada poured out a cup of tea for him. “I assume this isn’t a social call?” She held out the cup and plate of muffins.
“I’m afraid not.” He looked at the cup as if he were wondering whether or not it was all right to take it while on duty. Kate grabbed it from Ada and pressed it into his hand, leaving him no choice. He accepted the cup and sat down. “I’m asking about this fellow.” He put the paper he was holding in the middle of the table. “Do any of you recognize him?” He sipped his tea while we studied the sketch.
“Is he meant to be a resident, employed in the area, frequent patron?” Ada asked. “A bit of context would help jog the memory.”
“Connected to the general area,” Constable Jackson said.
“How general?” I asked as I leaned over to have a look.
Constable Jackson gave us a rueful smile. “Nearby is all I can say.”
“This street, this building, this neighborhood?” Kate asked.
“We had a disturbance the other night,” I explained. “Perhaps Constable Polwarth mentioned it?”
“I saw the broken window. I suppose I can tell you the connection is close by, but not on this block.”
I was certain Constable Jackson knew us well enough to know that giving us that bit of information wasn’t going to satisfy us. And if he didn’t, Ada’s next question certainly informed him of that. “And are we looking at someone alive or dead?”
“Inspector Fulson isn’t going to be happy with what I’ve told you already.”
“Inspector Fulson is never happy,” I pointed out.
“Still, I don’t think...”
But I recognized the style of the drawing as belonging to one of the artists in the coroner’s office. “How did he die?”
Constable Jackson looked taken aback. “I’m not sure I should...”
“Nonsense,” Kate said. “Of course you should tell us. Besides, if he was coshed over the head, it will affect the accuracy of the drawing.”
“And if he is known in the neighborhood,” Ada added, “we need to have accurate information.”
Constable Jackson laughed. “All right, you win. But don’t tell Fulson how much I told you. Miss Ferris is correct; it was a blow to the head. We believe he was knocked down in the course of a fight, and not where he was found, but whether he was moved there or dragged himself there before he died, we don’t know yet.”
“And where is that?” Ada asked.
“Behind the chemist’s on Clifford Street.”
Kate pulled the drawing towards herself. “Why on earth would he be there? That place has been empty for months.”
“Probate problems,” Ada explained for my benefit. “The owner died a good eight months ago, I think, and it’s been empty ever since. The heirs are fighting over the shop.”
“By the time they figure out who gets it, there won’t be enough customers left to make it worthwhile.” Kate handed the drawing to Ada. “He doesn’t look familiar.”
“Not to me either,” Ada said and passed the drawing along to me.
I shook my head and handed it back to Constable Jackson.
He put the drawing back in its folder. “And why do I think you could have told me that before I answered all of your questions?”
“It gave you time to finish your tea,” Kate pointed out.
Constable Jackson laughed. “Another thing we won’t tell Inspector Fulson. So none of you heard anything that could have been a fight Tuesday night?”
We all shook our heads. “We were too occupied with the window,” Kate explained.
“And the alarms would have covered any other sounds in the area,” Ada added.
“Well, if you think of anything, you know where to find us. Good afternoon.”
After Constable Jackson had left, we all turned back to our tea. Kate grabbed another muffin and smothered it with butter. “Why on earth would someone come to Mayfair to get murdered?”
“I don’t suppose he came here to be murdered,” Ada said reasonably, “or even to get into a fight. But I am glad we kept the remains of the mug now.”
“It was quite an active night, wasn’t it? Cassie, you don’t suppose Inspector Wainwright is right and you attract every strange Scotland Yard case to you, do you?”
I snorted and grabbed the last muffin before she could get it.
Chapter 2
ONCE THE EXCITEMENT OVER Constable Jackson’s body was thoroughly discussed and speculated over, we returned to the inventory, and I spent most of the rest of the morning counting up the tinkering kits Kate had displayed in the front of the store. As they were all neatly and uniformly boxed with a printed sketch of the finished item on the front, it was quite easy to count one row, then compare the others to it, and quickly figure out how many there were across the shelf. It only took a small part of my mind to see there were six boxes at the end, then one less in the next, so five, then two more in the next, so seven, and on and on. That meant that a large part of my mind was free to consider other things. Like the fact that there had been a murder just down the road from the shop on the same night that a shaving mug had been thrown through the window.
It wasn’t that unusual for there to be two crimes so close together in London, but this was Mayfair, and a quiet street besides. It was unusual, to say the least. And if I rejected Inspector Wainwright’s contention that I attracted unusual cases, then it was more than possible that the two cases were connected. And that was what was worrying me. If the killer had thrown the mug, did he know which building he’d hit, or even that he’d hit one? Would he notice that Kate and Ada’s was the only shop with a broken window? Would he wonder if we’d kept the mug as evidence? And most importantly, would he try to get it back?
I forced my mind to tally up the numbers on the page in front of me. It was most likely nothing more than coincidence, I told myself, and eventually, I would learn that the murder had nothing to do with us and that the mug had been some silly prank, but even I didn’t believe that. Inspector Fulson wasn’t about to let us know what had happened in his murder case, and unless the prankster decided to come and apologize in person, we would never know why the window had been broken or if there was a connection.
Of course, it was possible that it wasn’t as much of a connection as it seemed. The murder could have happened hours before the window. In fact, it was likely; with all of Kate’s alarms going off and waking everyone within hearing and sending them all to their windows to see what the racket was, a person would have to be desperate or a fool to do anything criminal in the area. Pity we hadn’t thought to ask about the time of death when we’d had Constable Jackson in the shop. I wondered if he’d be coming back or if it would be possible to see him without Inspector Fulson around.
I kept the question in the back of my mind and glanced outside every time I passed the front windows. I’d finished counting the kits and was going to put the tally sheet on Ada’s desk when I spotted Constable Jackson across the street, still going from shop to shop with his sketch. Apparently, Inspector Fulson wasn’t even going to offer him a tea break. I went to the back room and collected up a cup of tea and a scone, as that seemed easier to eat than the spice cake we had for our tea, and went to bring it across to him.
Constable Jackson noticed me almost as soon as I came out of the shop. When I was clos
e enough for him to hear me, I asked, “Don’t you even get time to eat something?”
“I was going to buy something at the shop around the corner there.”
“Mrs. Gillington’s. You’ll get a nice bit of gossip with it, and be expected to share some in return. You might as well save yourself the trouble and have this. It seems Kate thought we’d be feeding half the block when she bought the scones.” I held out the tea I’d brought him.
He chuckled. “Very considerate of you.”
I gave him a moment to get himself settled, then asked, “So how is your brother? Last time we spoke, he was getting ready to visit your aunt.”
Constable Jackson smiled. “He arrived at Aunt Hetty’s safely. We’ve had several letters. They’re just outside of Mombasa, so the international post isn’t as long as it might be. He’s having a grand time. Lots of ideas for his projects. He’s working on some improvements to Auntie’s well that he thinks will be revolutionary. Of course, he thinks his manner of making a cup of tea is revolutionary, but it does sound interesting. When he tells it, if the changes he’s making to the pump don’t get him promoted at the gearworks, nothing will.”
Knowing his employers from some typing I’d done there, I had the feeling nothing will was more likely, but I didn’t say anything. Constable Jackson was always very optimistic about his brother’s chances, and I suspected his brother needed that kind of encouragement on occasion.
“I thought if I had a minute, I would see if Miss Ferris has any books on wells in the shop. I thought I’d get him one for his birthday next week. He’ll be back by then.”
“I’m sure she does. She has books on everything. I’ll ask her when I go back.”
“Thank you, that’s very kind of you. Now, what did you really come here to ask me?”
I smiled at him. “I thought you’d like a bit of tea. What makes you think I had any ulterior motive?”
“So now I suppose you’ll wait for me to finish so you can return the cup?”
“Well, it will save you the trouble of coming back to the shop.”
“Most kind of you, then, especially as I was coming to get the books later.” He went back to eating his scone but kept watching me with a bit of a grin. So he knew I had questions. That made it easier to simply blurt out what I wanted to know.
“What time did the murder happen?”
“Don’t tell me you’re poking around in Inspector Fulson’s case?” I could tell from the way he asked that that he wouldn’t be poking around Inspector Fulson’s case if he could avoid it.
“No, but I am concerned about what happened at Kate and Ada’s shop. Until you showed up this morning, we thought it was a drunken student behind it.”
“And you want to see if there’s a killer connected to it. I quite understand. What would help?”
“I thought if I could sort out the timeline, that might tell me if they could be related or not.”
Constable Jackson nodded. “Unfortunately, we haven’t found any witnesses who can tell us the time of the murder or of the fight we think caused it. The coroner examined the body, but the time frame he gave won’t help you much. It extends well before and after the time your window was broken.”
I was surprised that he knew the time of our little crime as we hadn’t had time to tell him that morning, and I hadn’t thought Inspector Fulson would take our concerns seriously.
My surprise must have shown on my face as he added, “Constable Polwarth was by a little while ago. He gave me all the details that Inspector Fulson didn’t want. As I said, our murder timeline is disappointingly vague.”
“I was afraid of that. So our window could have been broken by a murderer.”
“If it’s any consolation, Inspector Fulson thinks the two crimes are unrelated.”
“Thank you,” I said to acknowledge the information. It certainly didn’t make me feel any safer; Inspector Fulson would say that to avoid any complications in his own case.
“And thank you for the tea.” He handed back the empty mug. “If we do find a witness that can give us a more accurate time of death, I’ll try to let you know. Or tell Constable Polwarth, which is more or less the same thing.”
So he knew that he wasn’t as comforting as he could be. “Thank you.” I turned to go back to the shop when I thought of something. “Did the victim have a watch?”
“He did indeed, working and keeping decent time. Off by one minute twelve seconds. Not helpful enough to have broken in the fight and given us the time of something.”
I smiled. While I doubted Inspector Fulson’s abilities, it seemed Constable Jackson had things well in hand. “I’ll ask Kate about the book.” Constable Jackson thanked me again, and I started back to the shop.
I knew I shouldn’t be disappointed that Constable Jackson hadn’t had a proper time of death. Our original theory was most likely correct, and the mug was the spoils of some student prank, discarded when said student sobered up enough to realize he had incriminating evidence but not so much so that he could throw straight. It was unusual for there to be so many incidents on a small street in Mayfair, but not unheard of.
Of course, I had managed to reconstruct a good bit of the logo. I could always try to find out what barber shop it had come from and see if it was in the sort of area a student might go to get drunk and initiate pranks. It would set my mind at ease if nothing else.
I was so occupied considering how to go about finding a shop with only a partial logo and part of the name, that I didn’t notice the small brown terrier until I almost tripped over him. He didn’t seem to mind and wagged his tail at me. “Hello, sweetie. Do you have a name?”
The dog didn’t answer but continued to try to make friends, which to him meant tangling my skirts up in his leash. I looked up to ask the owner his name and found the last person I wanted to see after days spent dealing with Kate’s alarms and a morning spent on a murder I wouldn’t know the solution to. “Inspector Wainwright. Good afternoon.”
“Miss Pengear, are you determined to push yourself into all of my boring cases?”
“Really now, why would I do that? Inspector Burrows’s boring ones are far more interesting than yours. Although you do have a dog.”
The little fellow knew I was talking about him and looked up at me expectantly. I felt quite bad that I didn’t have something to offer him.
“They do help with missing persons cases.”
“Who’s missing?” I asked before I remembered that I didn’t want to be talking to him.
“A barber.” Inspector Wainwright looked ready to turn away and keep walking.
But I’d already seen the connection. “Oh no.”
Inspector Wainwright stopped and sighed. “I don’t want to know.”
“I know you don’t.” I gave him a moment just in case he was serious, then told him, “Tuesday night, someone threw a barber’s shaving mug through Kate and Ada’s shop window.”
“Who did you report it to?”
“Constable Polwarth first, then to Constable Jackson when he started asking questions about a body found in the area, but Inspector Fulson wasn’t interested.”
“Neither am I. Who has the cup now?”
“We kept the pieces. They’re at the shop.”
“All right. Come along, Lupo, let’s see what you think.”
The dog heard his name and trotted happily alongside Inspector Wainwright. I hurried to follow them. There was no way I was forcing Kate and Ada to deal with Inspector Wainwright alone, even if he did happen to have an adorable dog with him.
We didn’t say anything until we got to the shop. As I was letting us in, I said, “The mug is behind the counter. I’ll get it for you,” more as a way for Kate and Ada to know I was there and there was someone with me than to give Inspector Wainwright the information.
Kate came out of the back room as the door was closing behind us. “If you want a bacon sandwich, I made some from the leftovers. And have you seen... Oh.”
&nbs
p; Inspector Wainwright ignored her.
I got the box with the mug from behind the counter and put it on the table near Inspector Wainwright. He looked down at it at once, using it as an excuse to avoid talking to us, I assumed. I turned back to Kate to explain. “He’s here to look at the mug. They’re working on a missing persons case.”
“They?” Kate had been trying to ignore Inspector Wainwright, but she glanced over to see whom he was with. Lupo knew he was about to get some attention and pounced on Kate, wagging his tail. “Who’s a good dog? Are you a good dog?” She knelt down and started to scratch under his collar. “If you greet people so nicely, how do they know when you’ve found something incriminating, hmm?”
I knelt down next to her and gave Lupo another pat on the head. “I assume they teach him something that looks nothing like his I-can-tell-you-had-bacon-for-breakfast reaction, like point or lie down.”
Kate had already pulled part of her bacon sandwich from her pocket and was feeding the filling to Lupo. “Is that what you do, you clever dog?”
Inspector Wainwright picked up the box and turned towards the door. “Obviously, he stands on one leg, turns around, and says, ‘Here.’ Come along, Lupo. We’re working.” While Kate and I stared in shock, trying to figure out if Inspector Wainwright had actually made a joke or if Lupo was unnaturally talented, Lupo inhaled the rest of Kate’s sandwich and trotted off after Inspector Wainwright, leaving most of the bread on the shop floor.
But I wasn’t letting Inspector Wainwright get away without telling me what was going on. I followed Lupo to the door. “I take it that’s from the missing barber’s shop, then?”
“It is.” Inspector Wainwright paused to figure out how to unlock the door. Kate had set it to lock automatically when it shut so no customers could wander in while the shop was closed, and as the lock had some of her modifications, it took a bit of getting used to. It also worked well to keep people in the shop until you were done questioning them.