Free The Corpse of St James's by Jeanne M. Dams

hiding something important. What did you tell him when you called?’
    â€˜Only that you wanted to see him about the body in the park. He’s quite capable of drawing inferences.’
    â€˜Well, all I can say is, I’m glad I wasn’t a criminal facing him. I felt quite guilty enough as it was.’
    â€˜What did you tell him?’
    â€˜Essentially nothing. I didn’t lie, if that’s what you mean. Actually, it was you who turned the tide.’
    â€˜I! I said only that you wanted to see him. I told you.’
    â€˜No, it was nothing you said, it was you, yourself. He said he had great respect for you, and apparently my connection with you was enough to satisfy him I was trustworthy. He took his time about it, though, and for a while there I really thought I was going to have to make up some reasonable story.’
    It was perhaps a good thing that the doorbell rang just then, and Alan went to admit Jonathan and his aunt while I hastened to switch on the kettle.
    When I came in with the tea, Jonathan was sitting on one side of the fire and his aunt on the other. They both looked a bit pinched, and as if they were glad of the warmth.
    I studied Letty covertly under cover of pouring and handing out tea. She was a small woman, probably undernourished as a child in those difficult years of austerity following the war. In fact, she looked exactly like the dauntless English ladies one meets everywhere. Her short hair, just beginning to go grey, had a tendency to curl in unexpected places. She wore a no-nonsense skirt and blouse, with no-nonsense shoes. I had seen her double on every market day in Sherebury, carrying what used to be a string bag and was now plastic or canvas, walking everywhere, buying with careful thrift, stopping now and then for a word with a friend. She was the backbone of England, strong, purposeful, dependable. Her exterior was rather severe, even rigid, but there was something about those curls that hinted at a softer core.
    Jonathan started to stand, and I made a gesture. ‘You’re comfortable, Jonathan. Please don’t get up.’
    â€˜Then let me introduce my Aunt Letty. Letty Higgins, Dorothy Martin.’
    â€˜I’m happy to meet you, Mrs Martin. And you know Jonathan and I are no relation, really. It’s a courtesy title.’
    â€˜It’s a title of great affection, or so I understand. I’m Dorothy, please, and may I call you Letty? I confess, after all Jonathan has told us, I’d find “Mrs Higgins” a terrible strain.’
    â€˜Please do. Jonathan has been telling me how kind you’ve been to him, over the years and especially now.’
    â€˜Letty, I hope you know how sorry we are, Alan and I, for your terrible loss. Nothing we can say will help, I know.’
    â€˜Thank you,’ she said with great dignity.
    I was sure she said no more because she was afraid of breaking down. I looked at Alan, uncertain of what to say or do next.
    He cleared his throat. ‘Mrs Higgins—’
    â€˜Letty.’
    â€˜Letty, then – I imagine Jonathan has told you the awkward position he’s been placed in.’
    â€˜A sworn police officer with information he dare not give the police. Yes.’
    â€˜Quite. And he has therefore enlisted our aid, Dorothy’s and mine, to try to uncover the truth behind this terrible crime.’
    â€˜He has told me. I must say I don’t altogether approve. It seems to me he has no right to ask you to undertake actions that are questionable, if not downright illegal.’
    â€˜I understand and honour your objections,’ said Alan, his stately language cutting off my protest. ‘But we have talked this out, the three of us, and decided there really is no choice. Jonathan and I are no longer officially with the force, and Dorothy never had any official standing. Within limits, we feel we can act according to our consciences.’
    â€˜In other words,’ I