02 - Mrs. Jeffries Dusts for Clues (13 page)

Witherspoon straightened his spine and trailed the clerk into the inner office. Constable Barnes, who’d been hovering by the front door, followed.

A tall, heavyset gentleman dressed in a beautifully tailored black frock coat, gray vest and white shirt, with a narrow tie under a wing-tipped collar, rose from behind a mahogany desk. He had brown hair, a neat beard topped with a handlebar mustache and a florid complexion.

“Good morning, Inspector. I’m Emery Clements. My clerk says you’d like to talk to me. I must say I’m a bit mystified,” he began, not bothering to hide his irritation at the interruption. “I can’t imagine what interest the police could possibly have in me.”

“Good morning, sir,” Witherspoon replied. “I’m Inspector Gerald Witherspoon and this is Constable Barnes.”

Clements acknowledged the constable with a barely perceptible nod and then turned his attention back to Inspector Witherspoon.

“Please sit down.” Clements motioned to the one chair in front of the desk. The inspector sat. “Now, sir, why don’t you tell me what this is all about?”

“I understand, Mr. Clements, that you’ve an account at Broghan’s on Holland Park Road. Is that correct?” Witherspoon tried to infuse his voice with authority. He hadn’t liked the way his constable had been treated. Surely it wouldn’t have been too much trouble to find a chair for Barnes as well.

Clements arched one bushy eyebrow. “That’s correct, but I can’t see why that’s any concern of Scotland Yard.”

“I assure you, sir, it is our concern.” The inspector reached into his pocket, drew out a small cloth bag, opened it, lifted out the betrothal ring and laid it on the top of the desk. “The manager at Broghan’s said this ring was charged to your
account. That was on September 9th. Would you mind telling us the name of the lady you gave it to? It is, as you can see, a betrothal ring.”

For a moment, Clements stared at the ring. When he lifted his chin and gazed at the inspector, he looked genuinely puzzled. “There’s obviously been some sort of a mistake here. I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve never seen this ring in my life.”

Witherspoon’s heart sank. The Chief Inspector wasn’t going to be pleased. “But it was charged to your account. The manager was quite sure about that.”

“Yes, well, I’ll have to have a word with the manager about his shoddy record-keeping practices, won’t I? I certainly would remember if I purchased something like this.” He tapped his finger at the ring. “An engagement is generally a rather important event in one’s life, Inspector. I assure you, it isn’t the sort of occasion I’d forget.”

“So you can tell us nothing about it?” Witherspoon asked.

“I’m afraid not. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve a rather busy day planned…” Clements broke off and then suddenly smiled. “Wait a moment. Now I know what happened. Of course, how stupid of me not to remember.”

“Remember what?” Witherspoon glanced at Barnes to make sure he was taking notes. He was.

“Inspector, you’re quite right, that ring was charged to my account.” Clements gave a hearty laugh. “But I wasn’t the one who actually purchased it. I allowed a friend of mine who’d just become engaged to a lovely lady to use my account. He was in a, shall we say, somewhat embarrassing financial position.”

The inspector thought it odd that one could forget allowing a friend to use one’s account at a very expensive jeweler’s. He wondered if there were anything else Emery Clements had forgotten. Perhaps the man had forgotten any number of important facts. “What’s this friend’s name?” Witherspoon asked.

Clements’s smile disappeared. “Would you mind telling me what this is all about? I’ve no wish to appear uncooperative,
but really, sir, you have started asking what I consider most impertinent questions. Who I allow to use my accounts is my concern and my concern only.”

Witherspoon felt a blush creep up his cheeks. By all rights, Mr. Clements did deserve an explanation. Generally, he always told people straight off why he’d come to see them, but with this particular gentleman, he’d had a strong feeling that keeping silent would net some results. He’d been hoping for some sort of reaction when he produced the ring, yet all he’d seen was genuine puzzlement. Drat.

“We’ve no wish to intrude upon your privacy, Mr. Clements,” Witherspoon explained. “But unfortunately, we’ve no choice in this case. We must find out who owned this ring. It was found on the body of a murdered woman.”

Clements jerked back as if he’d been shot. “Good Lord. Murder? I take it this isn’t a joke.” His brows drew together into one line across his face. “I do believe, sir, you should have informed me you were investigating a murder before I began answering any of your questions.”

“Why?” the inspector asked honestly, briefly wondering if there’d been some new judges’ rules issued lately that he’d missed.

“Why?” Clements was incredulous. “Why, you ask. My dear sir, I’d no idea when you popped in here asking questions that you were investigating a murder.”

“Would you have answered differently if you had known?” Witherspoon asked. He wondered why the man was making such a fuss. He either knew something about the ring or he didn’t. But perhaps, he thought craftily, Mr. Clements knew something after all. Something he didn’t want the police to know.

“Of course not.” Clements clamped his mouth shut and took a deep breath. “I’m not sure but that I shouldn’t have my solicitor present before I answer any more questions.”

“That is your right,” Witherspoon answered. He watched him carefully for a few seconds, looking for signs of distress or guilt. But the man didn’t look in the least guilty. He merely
appeared annoyed. But why should he be angry if he hadn’t bought the wretched ring? Oh, dear. The inspector felt another one of those nasty headaches coming on. He thought longingly of his former job in the records room. Then he remembered his duty and the poor young woman who’d had her life so brutally ended. He also remembered where her body had been found. Witherspoon stopped worrying about whether or not he was irritating Emery Clements. There were a few more questions that needed to be answered here. “We’ll be happy to wait while you send one of your clerks for your solicitor.”

Clements gazed at Witherspoon uncertainly. Then he held up his hand. “Actually, there’s no need to bother him. My solicitor and I are both very busy men. Frankly, I don’t want to take any more time on this matter than is absolutely necessary. I’ve no idea how that ring ended up on the hand of a murdered woman, but I can assure you, it’s nothing to do with me or the gentleman I allowed to use my account.”

“Good. Then we’ll carry on, shall we?” The inspector smiled politely.

Clements nodded stiffly. He took a long, deep breath and asked, “Who was the victim?”

“We’re not sure,” Witherspoon replied.

“You’re not sure?” Clements repeated. “What does that mean?”

“It means, sir, that when the body was found, it was decomposed to the point where it was impossible to make any identification whatsoever.” He watched Clements’ face go pale.

“My God.” Clements looked down at his desk. “Decomposed,” he mumbled. “How dreadful. How awful.”

The inspector noticed that the man’s hands, which had been lying flat on the desk, were now balled into tight fists. The inspector cleared his throat. “I know this is rather shocking news,” he said softly, “but you can see why it’s rather important we trace the ring.”

“Yes, yes. Of course I can.” Clements took another deep breath and seemed to get ahold of himself. “I’m afraid what I’ve got to tell you won’t be of much use.”

“Why don’t you let us be the judge of that? We’d still like that name.”

Clements ignored him and instead asked a question of his own. “Could you tell me, when was this unfortunate woman murdered?”

Witherspoon saw no reason not to answer. “Approximately two months ago.”

Clements’s mouth turned down in disgust. “Two months ago? That doesn’t sound very nice.”

“Yes, well, that’s why the victim was decomposed, you see. The murderer buried her in a cellar, and the body was only found two days ago,” Witherspoon explained.

“Then obviously, there has been a mistake. I’ve seen the young woman my friend purchased the betrothal ring for, and I can assure you, that as of yesterday she was alive and well. So quite obviously, there’s been some sort of muddle in the identification of the ring.”

Witherspoon knew there hadn’t been any mistakes. The jeweler who’d made the ring had been positive. But he saw no reason to share that information with Emery Clements. “May I please have their names?” he asked patiently.

“Malcolm Farnsworth is the person I allowed to use my account,” Clements admitted grudgingly. “He’s engaged to a Miss Antonia Everdene.”

“The engagement was recent?” The inspector decided to ask any question that popped into his head. It seemed as good a way as any to get the man talking…

“No,” Clements answered quickly. “They became engaged in September. But I’ve already told you. There’s obviously been a terrible mistake. Malcolm’s fiancée is alive and well. I’ve told you, I saw the lady myself.”

Witherspoon regarded him thoughtfully. “I understand you own the property on Magpie Lane.”

“My company does. Why?” His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What’s that got to do with it?”

“The body was found buried in the cellar of one of those houses. Your own clerk has confirmed the houses were sitting
empty for several months without tenants before they were demolished.” Witherspoon leaned forward. “Tell me, sir, have you any idea what that young woman was doing wearing a ring bought on your account and in one of the properties your company owns?”

“Certainly not,” Clements exclaimed, “and I must say, I don’t like your attitude or the implications of your questions.”

Witherspoon caught himself. “My question wasn’t meant to imply anything. I was merely wondering if perhaps you knew of any reason a young woman would ensconce herself in an abandoned house.”

“How should I know?” Clements leaned on his elbows and twined his fingers together. “As you said, those houses had been sitting empty for a long time. There was a dispute between the local authority and the underground rail builders. The land was originally cleared for the purpose of widening the road. But there was some kind of argument, and at the last minute everything changed and it was decided to build the underground.”

“I see,” Witherspoon said slowly. He gazed steadily at Emery Clements. “You know, sir, that’s how the body was found. She was buried in the cellar. The workers digging the exploratory trench found her.”

Clements closed his eyes briefly. Witherspoon began to revise his first impression of the man. He actually seemed genuinely moved by this poor woman’s murder. Perhaps Mr. Clements hadn’t invited Constable Barnes to sit down because he didn’t think police constables were supposed to be seated while they took notes.

“How was she killed?” Clements asked softly.

As that information had already been ferreted out by the press, the inspector could see no reason not to answer. “She was stabbed.”

“Appalling.”

“Very.” The inspector got to his feet. “Could you please give me Malcolm Farnsworth’s address? Naturally, we’ll need to talk with him.”

“He lives with me,” Clements replied. “We’ve been friends since our school days together. When he came to London a few years ago, I invited him to stay with my mother and me.” He started to write the address on a piece of paper.

“We have your address,” Witherspoon told him. “Is Mr. Farnsworth at home now?”

“I’ve no idea.”

Witherspoon smiled slightly. “Can you tell us where he works?”

“Mr. Farnsworth has a private income,” Clements said. “His job is managing his investments. Naturally, he works at home. If he isn’t there, you can try his club.”

“And which club would that be, sir?” Constable Barnes interjected softly.

Clements appeared to be surprised that the constable could speak. “Picketts. It’s near Regent’s Park.”

“We know where it is, sir,” Witherspoon said quickly.

They left the office shortly after that. Barnes waited till they’d turned the corner onto Wellington Street before he began asking questions. “What did you think of him, sir?” he asked with a half smile.

“I’m not sure, Barnes,” Witherspoon replied. He frowned at the heavy traffic and then turned and walked toward Waterloo Bridge and the river. A tram on its way to Temple Station momentarily obscured his view of the river. Sighing, he said, “Not a likable fellow, but he did seem genuinely distressed by the murder. Still, I don’t suppose the man has any reason to lie to us…”

“He does if he’s the killer,” Barnes muttered. He was still smarting over having to stand and take notes. “And his acting all concerned about the poor girl bein’ done in and buried in that cellar could be an act.”

“Hmmm. Well, yes, but we’ve no evidence he is the killer, do we? But still, there’s something decidedly peculiar about his story,” Witherspoon said.

“Like what, sir?”

“I didn’t like the way he hedged over giving us those names.
Surely, when a man hears there’s been a murder committed, he immediately wants to tell the police everything he knows.” Witherspoon increased his pace. “But that wasn’t how Mr. Clements reacted at all. Even after he knew why we were there, he didn’t want to tell us who had used his account at Broghan’s to buy that ring.”

“And then, of course, there’s the body bein’ found on his property,” Barnes added.

“Right, Constable. I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.” Witherspoon jabbed his finger in the air for emphasis. “There’s more to this case than meets the eye, I can tell you that.”

“Where to now, sir?” Barnes was practically having to run to keep up with the inspector.

“To the tramway,” the inspector replied. “I want to stop in at the Yard and go over those workmen’s statements before we pay a call on Mr. Malcolm Farnsworth.”

* * *

Mrs. Jeffries, Betsy, Smythe and Mrs. Goodge were halfheartedly tending to their chores. Betsy was polishing the silver, Mrs. Goodge was leafing through her recipe book, Smythe was filling the coal bins and Mrs. Jeffries was counting sheets.