Mrs. Jeffries Appeals the Verdict Emily Brightwell (great books for teens TXT) 📖

“I want to discuss a case that’s already been solved.”

Barnes raised an eyebrow but made no comment.

“Oh dear, this is more difficult than I anticipated.” She

took a deep breath. “We’ve reason to believe an innocent

man is going to be hanged.”

“What man?” The constable’s expression didn’t change.

“Tommy Odell. He was convicted of murdering a woman

named Caroline Muran, but he may not have done it. If

he’s executed, there might be a huge miscarriage of justice.”

“I’m familiar with the case,” Barnes replied. “Why do

you think he’s innocent?”

She hesitated, not sure precisely how many details she

ought to share. After all, Blimpey Groggins might not want

his name bandied about to policemen. “Someone came to

us, someone I’m unfortunately not at liberty to reveal, but I

assure you, his credentials are good and his reasons for believing in Odell’s innocence are quite compelling.” Taking care not to reveal Blimpey’s name, she told Barnes what

she knew. When she was finished, she picked up her tea

and took a quick sip.

Barnes said nothing for a long moment. “I take it you’d

like my help.” It was a statement, not a question.

She nodded. “I know there’s not really much you can

do, but I was hoping you might at least be able to give us

some guidance on what to do if we come across evidence

that Tommy is innocent.” She was a bit surprised at how

easy this was going. After her rather disappointing conversation with Inspector Witherspoon, she’d been afraid the constable would share his convictions that justice had already been served.

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Barnes grinned. “Come on, now, Mrs. Jeffries. You’re

wantin’ more than just a bit of advice.”

She smiled sheepishly. “You’re right, of course. I do want

more. But I’m not sure it’s even right for me to ask it of

you.”

“Let me be the judge of that,” he replied. “I know that

Tommy Odell isn’t pure as driven snow, but I don’t think

being a pickpocket is the same as murder.” As the words

came out of his mouth, Barnes was actually a bit surprised.

He’d always considered himself a decent man who did his

job and earned a reasonable living. He’d become a policeman because he’d needed work and the Metropolitan Police had been hiring. He’d never worried overmuch about the pursuit of justice; he’d simply concentrated on doing

the best he could. But something had changed in the past

few years. He wasn’t sure if it was because he’d been

working exclusively with the inspector or whether it had

happened because he was getting older and closer to meeting his maker, but justice had become important.

“You’ll help us?” she asked.

“I’ll do what I can,” he replied. “But that’s probably not

near as much as your lot can do. I can’t go about asking too

many questions on a case that’s closed. But I can pass on any

bits and pieces I might pick up, and I’ve got a few sources I

can tap. As a matter of fact, I saw something yesterday that

might be of interest to you.”

“What was it?” she asked.

“The victim’s husband came to the Yard yesterday to collect his pocket watch,” Barnes replied. “Apparently, it had been kept in evidence and was only just returned.” He took

care to give her all the details of the encounter, except, of

course, for the fact that he’d been blatantly eavesdropping.

After he’d finished, she said nothing for a moment.

“You were already suspicious about this case.” It was a

comment, not a question.

“This case was handled badly from the start,” he replied

softly. “But there was naught I could do about it.”

Mrs. Jeffries Appeals the Verdict

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“Maybe there is now, Constable,” she said. “And thank

you for the information.” She’d no idea what, if anything, it

might mean.

“You’d best be careful with the inspector,” Barnes

warned. “He’s a good man, but he doesn’t want to believe

there’s been a mistake in this case. Especially as it would

mean he’d have to go up against Inspector Nivens.”

“I’ll make sure we’re discreet,” she promised.

“I’ll try and have a quick look at the case file,” he said.

“See if there’s anything there that might be of help. If I

find anything, I’ll send a street Arab along with a message,

but it might take me a day or two to get my hands on the

report.”

“Don’t do anything that might get you into trouble,” she

said quickly. “We don’t want you taking any risks.”

“Don’t worry.” He grinned. “I’m a sly old dog. I can

manage it without raising so much as an eyebrow.”

“Please be careful.”

“No one will think anything of it if they see me with a

case file. Policemen read files all the time, Mrs. Jeffries.

It’s our job. Don’t worry, I’m not going to go borrowing

trouble. I’ll make sure neither of the inspectors are around

when I’m having a gander at the murder file.”

Betsy strolled up Cedar Road for the third time. How on

earth did Wiggins ever learn anything by just hanging about

a neighborhood and hoping someone would pop out so you

could have a chat? She’d walked the length of the road three

times now and hadn’t gotten so much as a smile from anyone. So far she’d seen two women sweeping their front door stoops, three boys playing a game of tag, and a cat sitting in

a front window licking its paws. Though the train station

was less than a quarter mile away, there weren’t any shops

or businesses here. Her estimation of Wiggins’ investigative

methods went up quite a bit. He must be a blooming genius.

It wasn’t a particularly pretty area, either. The street was

narrow, badly paved, and it curved around in a half circle.

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Both sides of the road were lined with identical redbrick

row houses that had tiny patches of earth for front gardens.

She reached the end of the street and stopped. She didn’t

think she ought to go up and back again; someone was

bound to notice. She glanced over her shoulder at number

18, but the door remained firmly closed.

Betsy stepped off the pavement. She might as well go

back to the Muran neighborhood and see what she could

learn. She started to cross, when suddenly a woman appeared. She was wearing a short brown jacket with a matching brown hat and carrying a shopping basket over her arm.

Betsy stared at the woman