Free Mrs. Jeffries Defends Her Own by Emily Brightwell

her.”
    “If he was the one who always locked up at night, then that might help us narrow down the suspects,” Hatchet mused. “Generally, the only people who would know such a detail would be either the workers at the office orsomeone close to the victim who knew his comings and goings.”
    “Or someone who just stood across the road and watched the place,” Luty said. “If Dearman was always the last one to leave the office, it wouldn’t be long before the killer figured out he was the one who locked up in the evenings. We know the office was locked when the body was discovered, because Mrs. Sutcliffe had to get the porter to let her and Mrs. Dearman into the office.”
    “Which means that Dearman’s keys should have been in his possession,” Mrs. Jeffries murmured.
    “Can we get Constable Barnes to confirm that?” Hatchet asked. “If they were in his pocket, they’ll have been collected into evidence along with anything else that he had on him.”
    “I’ll ask him,” she replied. “And I’ll ask Fiona who else had keys to the office. If she doesn’t know the answer, she can ask her husband. But I think it’s important we find out.”
    Phyllis got to her feet. “If that’s it then, I’ll be going. I’ll try the nearest shops to Whipple Road, and as the Dearmans lived close to the Sutcliffes, maybe I’ll catch two birds with one stone.”
    “While I’m at the Sutcliffe offices, I’ll see if I can find a clerk who likes to chat.” Wiggins rose from his chair.
    “I’ll check in with some of my financial sources to see if they know anythin’ about Dearman’s finances,” Luty offered. The elderly American knew everyone important in London. Despite her lack of formal education and her blunt manner, she was regarded as an excellent businesswoman as well as a colorful personality.Bankers, financiers, and aristocrats numbered amongst her friends. She was as comfortable chatting with a countess as she was buying a beggar a meal. “I always say, there’s generally two things people get killed over, love or money, and it don’t seem like Dearman was loved by anyone.”
    “I’ve a meeting of my women’s group today,” Ruth said. “I’ll see what I can find out there. But I do wish we had more names. Oh, Gerald is coming to my house for an early dinner tonight, so if anyone needs to nip out and take care of anything, you’ll have a chance.”
    Mrs. Goodge smiled gratefully at Ruth. “Thank you. Now I can get my baking done for my sources without having to worry about cooking a fancy dinner for the inspector.”
    “What about our dinner?” Wiggins asked. “Don’t we get any supper?”
    “Have I ever not fed you?” The cook frowned at him. “But we can eat somethin’ simple.”
    “Anything you cook for us is wonderful,” Phyllis said quickly. “Are we meeting this afternoon as well?”
    “We are indeed,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “I need to pass along whatever I’ve learned from Fiona today, and I want to hear what you’ve all found out. I’m not certain our usual methods are going to be as useful as in our previous cases.”
    “Why wouldn’t they?” the cook demanded. “The only thing really different is Smythe and Betsy are gone. We’ve solved the problem of findin’ out what the police know. Constable Barnes has agreed to help with that, so we should do just fine.”
    Mrs. Jeffries didn’t want to infect the others with herpessimism, so she said nothing. But she knew that catching this killer wasn’t going to be easy. Constable Barnes could find out what was written in the reports, but there were other, more subtle clues they’d lose. Handwriting on a sheet of paper gave only the cold, hard facts; a report couldn’t include a policeman’s intuition or analyze the way a witness suddenly stiffened when asked certain questions. No, she wasn’t going to fool herself; without all the others this was going to be a tough case to crack. Furthermore, one of Smythe’s sources