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

beautifully cut black suit with a gray waistcoat, black and gray cravat, and a pristine white

shirt. But despite the expensive clothes and the manicured

fingernails, Barnes noted the faint pallor of Merriman’s pale

skin. “Prison pallor” is what coppers generally called it.

“How do you do, sir,” Witherspoon said respectfully.

Constable Barnes nodded.

Russell Merriman rose to his feet and held out his hand.

“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, sir,” he said

softly as the two men shook hands, “and I’m hoping you

can help me.”

“I’ll certainly try, sir,” Witherspoon replied, his expression a bit confused. He didn’t have a clue who Russell Merriman might be.

To Barnes’ surprise, Merriman extended a hand toward

him as well, nodded in acknowledgement of the introduction as they shook hands, and then sank back into his chair.

“I expect you’re wondering what this is all about,” Barrows said to the inspector.

“I am a bit curious, sir.”

“Mr. Merriman has come to us about his late sister,”

Barrows explained. “I’m sure you recall the case, Inspector. Mrs. Muran and her husband were accosted by a robber on their way home. Unfortunately, she was killed during the course of the crime.”

“I’m familiar with the case, sir,” Witherspoon said,

turning to Merriman, “and I’m terribly sorry for your loss.”

“The man responsible for Mrs. Muran’s death is sentenced to hang,” Barrows continued. “But Mr. Merriman isn’t sure that all the facts of the matter have been brought

to light. He’d like us to have another look into the case.”

Barnes wondered if heaven had actually intervened in

this case. First the inspector had come around and now this.

He knew that getting the police to even admit the possibility

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of a mistake meant that Merriman had some serious political connections.

“I’ve no wish to embarrass the police, but I don’t feel

there was a sufficient investigation,” Merriman said. “And

I’ll not rest until I know what really happened that night.”

“I assume that you think her death wasn’t the result of

the robbery,” Witherspoon said.

“You assume correctly,” Merriman replied. “My sister

was no fool. If someone waving a gun around had accosted

them, she’d have given them anything they wanted. Things

didn’t mean much to her: people did. She would never have

risked her life or her husband’s life for a pocket watch and

a piece of jewelry.”

“So if you don’t believe it was simply a robbery gone

bad, do you have reason to believe there was someone who

wished to harm your sister?” Witherspon pressed. He wished

he’d read more about the case when it was actually happening, but he’d been busy himself at the time.

Merriman smiled bitterly. “There were any number of

people who might have wished her harm. Caroline was a

good woman. She was kind and gentle, but if she thought

something was right, she wouldn’t let anyone move her

from her course. I’m not explaining this very well, but I

know what she was like. She’d help anyone who needed assistance, but at the same time, she wouldn’t let anything or anyone stop her from doing what she thought was morally

right.” He sighed heavily. “I suspect she had ruffled quite a

few feathers with some of her social ideas. She believed in

things like employer responsibility and that the welfare of

the workers was as important as profits.”

“Why have you waited so long to come forward with

your suspicions, sir?” Barnes asked.

Barrows looked at the Constable sharply but said nothing.

“I was out of the country when she was murdered,” Merriman replied. “Specifically, I was in jail in Los Angeles.

That’s a rat hole of a town in California. It’s a miserable

place, gentleman, and I rue the day I ended up there.”

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“You were incarcerated?” Barrows asked in surprise.

“On what charge?”

“Being drunk and disorderly.” Merriman closed his eyes

briefly. “My sister and I were very different. She was industrious, hardworking, and thrifty. She began helping our father run the family business when she was in her late

teens. I’ve always been a bit too free with the drink, and

before I knew it, it had me in its grip and showed no signs

of letting go. When our parents died, my father left control

of the estate to Caroline. He knew I wasn’t responsible

enough to handle money or the company. I’d just drink it

away.” He paused and looked at the floor for a brief moment. “Even though Father tried to let me save a bit of my pride by leaving me the family home, it was still humiliating. Caroline gave me a generous allowance and did her best not to nag me over my dissolute ways. Then she married Keith Muran and I felt a bit awkward staying on in what had now become their household. So I left.”

“Your sister provided you the funds to go?” Barnes

asked again. He knew that Barrows was probably more than

a bit shocked he was asking questions in the presence of senior officers, but that was one of the reasons Witherspoon was so successful: he didn’t rigidly adhere to old-fashioned

ways of doing things. Besides, Barnes knew that with the

trail this cold, they were going to need all the information

they could get. Every fact, even background facts, could be

important.

“Everyone thought she did,” Merriman smiled grimly.

“As a matter of fact, Caroline insisted that we tell everyone

that she had bought out my share of the estate. But she

didn’t. She loaned me a few thousand pounds and I left.”

“Why did she want people to think she’d bought your

part of the estate?” Witherspoon asked.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But she insisted that’s

what we do. At the time, I was so intent on getting away

that I didn’t care enough to ask any questions. I simply

took the letter of credit and left. I knew I’d let her down. I

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knew I’d let the whole family down with my behavior, but

Caroline still loved me.”

“So you went to America,” Barrows prompted. He

glanced at the clock on the wall.

“I went to Paris first,” Merriman explained. “My luck

was very good to begin with and I made a lot of money. But

that never lasts. So I took a ship to New York and from there

I went west. I thought I was having a great adventure, but I

wasn’t; I was