credit, he’d ended up in a situation that if Witherspoon had been a nastier person he could have taken action that might have cost Nivens his job. But Gerald Witherspoon was a decent man and hadn’t told anyone, least of all their superiors, about Nivens’ lapse in judgment.
Nivens hated being obligated to anyone, especially someone he didn’t like. He was sure Witherspoon had help in solving his cases. The man had an almost perfect record and Nivens knew that no one was that brilliant a detective. Nonetheless, he owed him. He certainly wasn’t going to repay Witherspoon by sticking him with Lionel. Ye gods, the lad was his own flesh and blood and he could barely stand the sight of him. “I did help solve that murder, but you’ll learn that you earn more respect by keeping your accomplishments quiet than by bragging about them to all and sundry. Besides, even if I could convince the inspector to ask the chief inspector to put you on the case, you’ve no guarantee Barrows would do it. Not everyone thinks Gerald Witherspoon walks on water.”
“Let me worry about that,” Lionel interrupted. “Won’t you at least speak to him? I could learn so much from an officer like him. He’s well over twenty solved homicides to his credit. I know we’re not supposed to think that such things matter, that keeping the peace in general is supposed to be reward enough, but we all know that’s not true. Real advancement comes from solving the most serious cases. In other words, from solving murders.”
Nivens had no intention of helping his nephew. “Sorry Lionel, but I really can’t see my way clear to intervening on your behalf. Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s late and I’m on duty early tomorrow.”
Lionel started to argue then seemed to think the better of it. He clamped his mouth shut. “Very well, Uncle. Good night.” He turned and walked away.
Nivens’ eyes narrowed as he watched Lionel make his way across the room. It wasn’t like his nephew to give up so easily, but then again, perhaps this time he’d understood nagging or whining wasn’t going to work.
Everyone in the inspector’s household was up very early the next day. They wanted to get their household chores completed and be ready for their morning meeting as soon as the inspector had left the house. As was his habit, Constable Barnes had come to the house to accompany Witherspoon to the station before going on to the murder scene. But as Barnes had figured out a long time ago that the household helped in their employer’s investigations, he’d stopped in the kitchen and had a quick word with Mrs. Jeffries before going upstairs to get the inspector.
The housekeeper was extremely grateful for Barnes’ assistance. Despite her best efforts in getting the details out of Witherspoon, there was often some information that Barnes was able to add.
As soon as the two men were out of the house, Mrs. Jeffries scooped up the wooden tray with the empty breakfast dishes on them and hurried downstairs. “He’s gone,” she announced as she hurried over to the counter by the sink and put down her burden. “What time will Luty and Hatchet be here?”
“It should be any moment now.” Mrs. Goodge put a pot of fresh tea on the table. “Wiggins left to fetch them over an hour ago.”
Betsy put clean cups on the table in front of the empty chairs. “They might have already had plans.” From the corner of her eye, she saw Fred, the household’s brown and white mongrel dog, leap to his feet and charge for the back door.
“Havin’ plans wouldn’t stop either of them,” Smythe said with a laugh. He was trailing behind her with a pitcher of fresh milk. “Luty would send regrets to breakfast with the Queen rather than miss a murder.”
“You’re darned right I would,” Luty Belle Crookshank said as she swept into the kitchen. She was an elderly, white-haired American woman with a love of bright colors and more money than most banks. Today she
Nivens hated being obligated to anyone, especially someone he didn’t like. He was sure Witherspoon had help in solving his cases. The man had an almost perfect record and Nivens knew that no one was that brilliant a detective. Nonetheless, he owed him. He certainly wasn’t going to repay Witherspoon by sticking him with Lionel. Ye gods, the lad was his own flesh and blood and he could barely stand the sight of him. “I did help solve that murder, but you’ll learn that you earn more respect by keeping your accomplishments quiet than by bragging about them to all and sundry. Besides, even if I could convince the inspector to ask the chief inspector to put you on the case, you’ve no guarantee Barrows would do it. Not everyone thinks Gerald Witherspoon walks on water.”
“Let me worry about that,” Lionel interrupted. “Won’t you at least speak to him? I could learn so much from an officer like him. He’s well over twenty solved homicides to his credit. I know we’re not supposed to think that such things matter, that keeping the peace in general is supposed to be reward enough, but we all know that’s not true. Real advancement comes from solving the most serious cases. In other words, from solving murders.”
Nivens had no intention of helping his nephew. “Sorry Lionel, but I really can’t see my way clear to intervening on your behalf. Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s late and I’m on duty early tomorrow.”
Lionel started to argue then seemed to think the better of it. He clamped his mouth shut. “Very well, Uncle. Good night.” He turned and walked away.
Nivens’ eyes narrowed as he watched Lionel make his way across the room. It wasn’t like his nephew to give up so easily, but then again, perhaps this time he’d understood nagging or whining wasn’t going to work.
Everyone in the inspector’s household was up very early the next day. They wanted to get their household chores completed and be ready for their morning meeting as soon as the inspector had left the house. As was his habit, Constable Barnes had come to the house to accompany Witherspoon to the station before going on to the murder scene. But as Barnes had figured out a long time ago that the household helped in their employer’s investigations, he’d stopped in the kitchen and had a quick word with Mrs. Jeffries before going upstairs to get the inspector.
The housekeeper was extremely grateful for Barnes’ assistance. Despite her best efforts in getting the details out of Witherspoon, there was often some information that Barnes was able to add.
As soon as the two men were out of the house, Mrs. Jeffries scooped up the wooden tray with the empty breakfast dishes on them and hurried downstairs. “He’s gone,” she announced as she hurried over to the counter by the sink and put down her burden. “What time will Luty and Hatchet be here?”
“It should be any moment now.” Mrs. Goodge put a pot of fresh tea on the table. “Wiggins left to fetch them over an hour ago.”
Betsy put clean cups on the table in front of the empty chairs. “They might have already had plans.” From the corner of her eye, she saw Fred, the household’s brown and white mongrel dog, leap to his feet and charge for the back door.
“Havin’ plans wouldn’t stop either of them,” Smythe said with a laugh. He was trailing behind her with a pitcher of fresh milk. “Luty would send regrets to breakfast with the Queen rather than miss a murder.”
“You’re darned right I would,” Luty Belle Crookshank said as she swept into the kitchen. She was an elderly, white-haired American woman with a love of bright colors and more money than most banks. Today she
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