Mrs. Jeffries Appeals the Verdict by Emily Brightwell (black authors fiction .TXT) 📗

on my mind something fierce.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“I was afraid to tell the truth. I didn’t know who you

worked for, did I? You might work for the company. They

send out people to watch us every now and again, and the

company has strict rules about strandin’ passengers. I was

scared I’d lose my job.” Fletcher took another quick drink.

“I wanted to get back to the West End and pick up another

fare. There was a music hall that was lettin’ out, and I

didn’t want to miss a chance to make a few more coppers.

When he had me drop ’em off on Barrick Street, I thought

he were just larkin’ about and I wasn’t in the mood to put

up with it. But ever since I found out what happened to that

poor woman, my conscience has bothered me something

fierce. I keep thinkin’ it’s my fault, that if I’d been sittin’

there in my rig waitin’ for them, maybe the killer would

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have left them alone.” He looked at Smythe, his eyes filling

with tears. “I’ve not had a decent night’s sleep since I talked

to that copper and found out that lady had been shot.”

Witherspoon closed the file in front of him and shoved it to

one side. “It’s not very good, is it,” he muttered to Barnes,

who was sitting at the other desk. They were in a small, unused office at the Ladbroke Road police station. As this was the closest station to Witherspoon’s home, they had let

him set up an office so he wouldn’t have to go all the way

into the Yard.

“No, sir, it’s not,” Barnes agreed. “Let’s face it, sir, no

matter how many times you go through that file, you’ll not

find any evidence that’s useful.” He got to his feet. “Why

don’t I go get us a cup of tea.”

“That’s an excellent idea.” Witherspoon reached for another stack of papers. “While you’re gone, I’ll start reading these statements. Maybe something useful will pop out at me.”

Barnes left and the inspector began reading the top

sheet. He heard the door open and without looking up said,

“That was fast. Was the tea trolley in the hallway?”

“I’m not here to bring you your tea,” Nigel Nivens

snapped.

Witherspoon jerked his head up. “Gracious, Inspector

Nivens, I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“No, I’m sure you didn’t.” He took off one of his

gloves. “I’m not going to beat around the bush, Witherspoon. I don’t care what kind of mandate you think you have from the chief inspector; you’d better be careful here.

I’ll not have you getting my conviction overturned.”

“I’m not trying to get your conviction overturned. I’m

trying to find out the truth,” Witherspoon protested. This

was a decidedly awkward situation. “I can understand that

having a murder conviction on your record might seem to

be advantageous, but surely you’d not want to see an innocent man hanged.”

Mrs. Jeffries Appeals the Verdict

167

Nivens laughed harshly and took off his other glove. “I

don’t give a toss about the likes of Tommy Odell. He’s a

bloody thief.”

“But that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s a murderer.”

“You’ve got everyone fooled, don’t you,” Nivens snarled.

“You act so modest and humble, as though the last thing on

your mind is recognition or advancement. But I know

what you’re up to. You’ve not got me fooled.”

“Inspector Nivens, I assure you I’ve no idea what you’re

talking about,” Witherspoon replied. He wished the constable would return. Nivens face was going a very peculiar shade of purple. “I’m simply doing my job as best I can.”

“Your job doesn’t include getting my conviction overturned,” Nivens cried.

“It’s not your conviction. It’s the Crown’s,” the inspector shot back.

“It’s mine,” Nivens shouted. “And I earned it fair and

square. Tommy Odell is a murderer. He killed Caroline Mu-

ran.”

“What did he do with the gun?” Witherspoon jabbed his

finger on the closed file. “You searched his home but you

couldn’t find the weapon used in the crime. Where was it?”

“He tossed it in the river or gave it to one of his mates.

The gun isn’t important. He had Muran’s watch.”

“He lifted that watch from Keith Muran earlier that evening,” Witherspoon replied. “That’s what Odell does. He’s a pickpocket, not a robber or a killer.”

Nivens eyes narrowed dangerously. “I’m warning you,

Witherspoon, I’ll not have you undermining me. I have

friends in high places as well, and Chief Inspector Barrows

won’t always be around to protect you.”

Witherspoon refused to be intimidated. “It makes no

difference to me how many friends you may or may not

have. I’ll continue to do my job to the best of my ability.”

“Your ability!” Nivens laughed harshly. “Don’t be ridiculous. You don’t seriously believe that you’ve managed to pull the wool over my eyes as well. Others may be foolish

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enough to think you’ve solved all your cases on your own,

but I know the truth.”

“What on earth are you talking about?” Witherspoon

gaped at him in amazement.

“Oh, come now, stop playing the innocent. You know as

well as I do that you’re not solving all these murders on

your own.” He smiled maliciously. “I promise you, Witherspoon, if you blot my record with a bad conviction, I’ll expose your secret to the whole world.”

“What secret? I’ve no secret.”

“Don’t play me for a fool,” Nivens shouted. “I’m on to

you. If you harm my service record, I’ll find out who is

helping you if it takes me the rest of my life.”

“Is everything all right, sir?” Barnes followed by two

uniformed lads had quietly entered the room. The constable was holding two cups of tea, but his attention was focused on Nivens. “We heard shouting out in the hall.”

“Everything is fine, Constable,” Nivens snapped out the

words, turned on his heel, and stalked toward the door. The

two constables standing behind Barnes moved aside to let

him pass.

“Are you all right, sir?” one of the younger lads asked as

soon as the door had slammed shut behind Nivens. “We

heard the voices and we weren’t sure what to do so we

went and fetched Constable Barnes.

“I’m fine.” Witherspoon forced a smile. In truth, the

confrontation had upset him dreadfully. “Inspector Nivens

and I were simply having a difference of opinion.”

“Yes, sir.” They nodded and turned to leave.

“Thanks, lads,” Barnes called over his shoulder. He

handed a cup