Free Mrs. Jeffries and the One Who Got Away by Emily Brightwell

women. “She was a killer and I’m not going to be losing a lot of sleep over the fact that she was dispatched to meet her Maker by someone of her own ilk. So I can understand how the inspector feels.”
    â€œNot just the inspector,” Mrs. Goodge muttered. “I’m havin’ a hard time with it as well. Maybe that woman did get what she deserved. She might have been murdered, but she’s had years of freedom and happiness that her victims didn’t have. Maybe this is the Lord’s way of doin’ justice.”
    â€œIf this were the Lord’s justice,” Mrs. Jeffries murmured thoughtfully, “he’d not have dumped the woman’s body right under our noses unless, of course, he was testing our own commitment to doing what was right.” She wasn’t sure she meant the words coming out of her mouth.
    â€œWe’ll do what’s right, Mrs. Jeffries,” Barnes protested. “Investigating this murder is our job and we’ll do it properly. No one has the right to take the law into his or her own hands. I’m just sayin’ I can understand how the inspector feels.”
    As was his habit, Barnes had stopped in to have a quick word with them before getting out with the inspector. He did it every time there was a murder to be investigated. During the course of his work with Witherspoon, it hadn’t taken Barnes long to suss out that the inspector had help with his cases, and being a clever sort, he’d soon figured out precisely how his superior was being assisted. But Barnes was a wily old fox, and he’d also realized that the household of Upper Edmonton Gardens and their friends had access to information that the police might never get.
    People who’d die before they spoke to a copper would tell them all manner of useful bits and pieces. Even better, they could worm information out of confidential sources such as bankers and even solicitors. So Barnes had made the decision to help them, and now they had a system in place where they passed facts, rumors, and gossip back and forth.
    â€œThere was never any doubt that you’d both do your best,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “Speaking of which, the inspector was, well, let’s just say not overly concerned with the details of the crime scene when we talked last night. What can you tell us?”
    â€œSo far, there’s not much to go on. Durant owned a lodging house in Highgate and has been there for about two years.” He shook his head and frowned. “I can’t believe she was that close and none of us spotted her.”
    â€œThe inspector said she’d changed her appearance,” Mrs. Jeffries said.
    â€œTrue, her hair was a darker color and she wore spectacles, but you could see that it was still her.” He told them what they knew thus far, taking care not to leave out anything, no matter how insignificant it might sound. “So far, the lads haven’t found anyone in the cemetery who remembers seeing her or who saw anyone else, so we’ve no witnesses, but we’ll keep trying.”
    â€œDeath by strangulation isn’t pleasant,” Mrs. Jeffries murmured. “Putting your hands on someone’s throat is a very personal way to kill.”
    â€œThe killer didn’t use his hands. She was strangled by a red cord,” he corrected.
    â€œA red cord? What kind?”
    â€œWe’re not sure. It’s about as thick as my thumb. The only other fact we know is that when we searched the body, we found a gun. A derringer, to be precise.”

CHAPTER 3

    â€œMrs. Rivers, we understand how shocked you must have been when you discovered Mrs. Robinson’s body,” Witherspoon said to the small, frail-looking woman dressed from head to toe in widow’s black. He and Barnes were in the front parlor of the lady’s Highgate town house. She sat in the center of a medallion-back sofa upholstered in gold and brown stripes.