Mrs. Jeffries Rocks the Boat Read Free Page B

been dead long.
    “She’s not got any rings on sir.” Barnes pointed to her hands, both of which were splayed out to one side of the body. “So unless the killer stole them, I think we can assume she’s not married.”
    “But the killer may very well have stolen her jewelry,” the inspector said. “As you can see, she’s not got a purse ora reticule with her. Not unless it’s underneath the body.”
    Taking a deep breath, he squatted down next to her. Barnes did the same. “Let’s turn her over,” Witherspoon instructed. Gently, the two men turned her on her side. The inspector winced. “She’s been stabbed. I rather thought that might be the case.”
    “Poor woman.” Barnes shook his head in disgust. “And from the looks of that wound, it weren’t a clean, quick kill either.”
    Witherspoon forced himself to examine the wounds more closely. The constable was right, the woman’s dress was in ribbons, and it was obvious, even to his untrained eye, that she’d been stabbed several times before she died.
    “How many times do you reckon?” Barnes asked.
    “It’s impossible to tell. The police surgeon ought to be able to give us an answer after he’s done the post mortem.”
    “She might have screamed some,” Barnes said grimly. “As it looks like the first thrust didn’t kill her, maybe someone heard something.”
    “Let’s hope so,” Witherspoon mumbled. “But I don’t have much hope for that. There’s a constable less than a quarter mile from here. Why didn’t someone go get him if they heard a woman screaming?”
    Barnes shrugged. “You know how folks are, sir. Lots of them don’t want to get involved.”
    Together, they gently lowered the body back down. Witherspoon stared at the poor woman and offered a silent prayer for her. There was nothing more they could learn from her. She’d gone to her final rest in the most heinous, awful manner possible. Now it was up to him to see that her killer was brought to justice.
    Witherspoon cared passionately about justice.
    “There’s nothing on her to identify her, sir.” Barnes stated. He stood up. “Nothing in her pockets and no purse or muff.”
    “Hmmm.” The inspector frowned heavily. “We must find out who she is. Let’s give the garden a good search. There may be a clue here. You know what I always say, Barnes,even the most clever of murderers leaves something behind.”
    Barnes blinked in surprise. He’d never heard the inspector say anything of the sort. “Right, sir.”
    “We’d best send a lad back to the station to see if there are reports of any missing persons matching the victim’s description.”
    “Right, sir.”
    “And I suppose I ought to send a message home”—Witherspoon stroked his chin thoughtfully—“and let them know I’m probably going to be late.” Drat. Tonight he’d planned on sitting in the communal gardens with Lady Cannonberry, his neighbor. But duty, unfortunately, must come before pleasure. “You’d better let your good wife know as well, Constable. Can’t have people worrying about us when we’re late for supper.”
    “I’ll take care of it, sir.” Barnes replied with a grateful smile. He was touched by Witherspoon’s thoughtfulness. His good wife would worry if he was late.
    They spent the next half an hour searching the area, but even with the help of five additional policemen, they found nothing in the square that gave them any indication of who their victim might be.
    When the body had been readied for transport to the morgue, Witherspoon and Barnes followed it out to the street. They left two constables inside to guard the area and also to keep an eye out for who came and went in this garden.
    The attendants loaded her into the van and trundled off. Witherspoon turned to his constable. “Right, we’ve a murder to solve, then. Let’s get cracking. Send some lads around on a house to house to see if anyone heard or saw anything.” His gaze swept the area. “I daresay, this is