Free The Testimony of the Hanged Man (Lizzie Martin 5) by Granger Ann Page A

exist.’ Here, I thought, I had put up an insurmountable obstacle.
    My wife smiled at me. ‘Oh, I can find out if it exists. When did this suspicious death occur? The fifteenth of June, eighteen fifty-two, I think you said.’
    ‘I did. Mills informed me it was a Tuesday. It is one of the details that makes me think he did see something. He might, of course, have been mistaken in what he thought he saw.’ As I spoke, I resigned myself to the inevitable.
    ‘Then my first visit must be to Somerset House. They have records of all deaths, don’t they?’
    ‘Well, don’t let Dunn find out, at least!’ I begged.
    ‘Oh, Superintendent Dunn,’ said Lizzie. ‘He’s such a nice man but he does fuss so.’
    Fuss? The image of Dunn, scarlet with rage, was hardly conveyed by such a mild term. But there was a more urgent consideration than Dunn’s fury should he learn that Lizzie had once again involved herself in police business.
    ‘Listen to me,’ I begged her, ‘for once, at least! Let us suppose you would not be going on a wild goose chase. Let’s accept there was a murder done and witnessed by Mills. He says the killer was a young – very young – woman. That means she is today probably no more than forty years of age. Let us say she is still living in the house with the running fox weathervane and you manage to find it. Then you also find her , my dearest Lizzie, and she is a murderess.’
    ‘Ben, do have a little confidence in me! I am not likely to forget that,’ she said, clearly put out.
    ‘Do, please, be tactful, Lizzie,’ I begged. ‘And don’t let Bessie out of your sight. Or Slater, come to that. The three of you can’t just run round talking of murder.’
    ‘As if we would,’ retorted my wife, affronted.
    ‘In Bessie’s case, as if she wouldn’t!’

Chapter Five
     
    Elizabeth Martin Ross
     
    I UNDERSTOOD Ben’s dilemma. He had once told me that any police officer should try and keep a personal distance from the case he was investigating. That he must concentrate on the facts. That he must not let his emotions take over. But Ben cared about other people’s suffering. He had seen too much of it as a child. If he could help, he would. Only if convinced he could not, would he reluctantly accept that he must set the matter aside.
    Now, in addition to the case of Mills, he had that of a missing woman and child to think about. He felt he had failed to help the woman when he found her sleeping beneath the arches. So that, too, preyed on his mind.
    It was time for me to take a hand. I could do nothing about the case of Jane Canning. But I might be able to find out something about the background to the story Mills, the murderer, had spun. If I could discover anything, even if it indicated Mills had invented the whole tale, it would help set Ben’s mind at rest. Frankly, to find Mills had lied would be the most helpful result of my inquiries. Ben would gain peace of mind. To learn that Mills might have spoken the truth could be unbearable. But I would do my best. ‘And you have not yet begun, Lizzie!’ I told myself optimistically.
    When Ben departed for Scotland Yard the following morning, I sought out Bessie in the kitchen where she was washing up with the usual vigour. I wondered we had an unchipped plate left.
    ‘I am about to tell you something in confidence, Bessie,’ I informed her.
    Bessie abandoned the dishes, wiped her hands on her apron and positioned herself before me with shining eyes. ‘Yes, missis?’
    I told her what I had omitted to tell her before: Mills’s account of what he claimed had happened sixteen years earlier at Putney.
    ‘Cor,’ said Bessie with a deep sigh.
    ‘You don’t tell anyone else about this,’ I reminded her.
    ‘You know I won’t, missis.’ She sounded affronted.
    I did know I could trust her. ‘There are difficulties in the way of the inspector looking into this story.’
    ‘We can do it!’ said Bessie promptly.
    ‘It may not be necessary,’ I