02 - Mrs. Jeffries Dusts for Clues Read Online Free

the blokes just kept on going diggin’. You can see what we found. As soon as we realized it were a body, we sent for the coppers.”
    “Inspector,” Barnes called again. “How deep should I have the lads dig? Whoever killed her may have buried the weapon under the body.”
    Witherspoon had no idea. He took a wild guess. “Oh, have them go down another foot or so. And be sure to do a house-to-house as soon as you’re finished searching the trench.”
    “House-to-house?” Barnes asked in confusion.
    Witherspoon remembered there weren’t any houses. “I meant, a house-to-house up on the main road.”
    “And what will they be asking, sir?”
    “On second thought, Constable, I think we’d better delay that part of the investigation until after we’ve identified the victim.” He hurriedly turned back to Cawley. “You don’t, by any chance, happen to know when the houses on this street were demolished, do you?”
    “’Fraid not,” the workman replied. “I don’t live around these parts. But Fred might know. He lives ’round ’ere.” Turning, he called to one of the two workmen standing a few yards away. “Get over here, Fred. The copper wants to ask you some questions.”
    The small, wiry man didn’t look pleased, but he pushed away from the shovel he was leaning on and walked toward the inspector.
    “What is your name?” the inspector asked.
    “Fred Tompkins.”
    “And I understand you live nearby. Could you please tell me when these houses were torn down?”
    “About a month ago,” he replied sullenly. “Everyone who lived here was evicted, thrown out on the streets just so they could tear down some perfectly good ’omes. It were a crime,that’s what it was. A crime. Throwing people out of their ’omes just so some toff could tear ’em down and sell the land to build a bloody road.”
    Witherspoon watched the man sympathetically. “I take it the locals weren’t too pleased,” he said softly.
    “We hated it. Me own sister lost her ’ome.” He turned and pointed toward the one remaining house. “She used to live right next to that one. Nice little place it was. Good solid redbrick, plenty of space in the back for her vegetable plot, and she gets tossed out, without so much as a by-your-leave. They only give her a few days to pack up her belongings. She had to move to a grotty set of rooms in Lambeth. And her with three kids and a sick ’usband.”
    “I’m sorry,” Witherspoon said sincerely. “So the residents were suddenly told they had to leave. Do you happen to know who owns these properties?”
    Tompkins’s lips curled in disgust. “Weren’t no owners, leastways, not like real landlords. This whole street was owned by a property company, so there weren’t even someone to complain to.” He kicked at a loose stone and sent it flying. “Hard-hearted bastards.”
    “Do you know the name of the company?” Witherspoon wished the police surgeon would get there. The smell of the corpse was getting stronger.
    “No. But I can ask my sister. She got a letter from ’em and the name were written right at the top.”
    “Thank you. That would be most helpful.” He pulled out his notebook and took down the man’s address. “I’ll send a constable around tomorrow for the information.”
    There was a tap on Witherspoon’s shoulder. Startled, he whirled around and found himself staring into the familiar face of Inspector Nigel Nivens.
    “Goodness, Inspector Nivens, you gave me such a shock. What are you doing down here?”
    Nigel Nivens was a sharp-nosed, pale-faced man with cool gray eyes, slicked back dark blond hair and a thin mouth. He gave Witherspoon a weak smile. “I thought I’d come downand see if you needed any assistance. I understand you’ve been given another murder.”
    “I’d hardly put it in those terms, Inspector,” Witherspoon said lightly, “I really don’t feel like I’ve been given anything.” Then he silently chided himself. Inspector Nivens’s turn