Page 69 of Murder on the Brighton Express
“Not for certain, but I have a strong inkling. Come on. It’s getting late and we still have a lot of work to do.”
Chapter15
Harry and I made it outside without being spotted by any of the tenement’s occupants. The moment we set foot in the court, however, he peppered me with questions.
“Did West kill Ruth?”
“I think so, but he didn’t act alone.”
“Who helped him? And why?”
Movement in the pile of firewood caught my eye. A rat darted out before disappearing among the broken crates and books. There was one piece of evidence that, if found, would be damning enough for prosecutors to use against Jack West. And I suspected it was hiding in the rat-infested pile.
Harry was growing impatient. “Are you going to tell me, or do I have to guess?”
“I’ll tell you. But first, you have to fish out all the journals and notebooks you can find in there.”
He looked at the pile. He looked back at me. “You’re not going to help?”
“I would, but I have a mortal fear of vermin.”
“Mortal?”
I gave him a little shove toward the pile. “I will cheer you on from the sidelines.”
“And if I get bitten by something and catch a disease?”
“You’re wearing gloves. Besides, this is your chance to impress me with your bravery.”
He looked at the pile again. Then he sighed. “You modern women are hard to please. I remember when ladies preferred flowers.”
“I doubt you’ve ever bothered with flowers, Harry. A smile and a wink would have most women swooning.”
He tilted his head to the side and regarded me. “Do you want me to do this or not?” He didn’t wait for an answer but strode up to the pile with all the determination of a knight charging into battle. He didn’t ask me what he was looking for. He already knew.
He picked up some books only to discard them again after reading the first page. There were more books poking out from beneath some rags. He took a piece of wood and used it to remove the rags one by one. Something scurried out near his foot only to disappear again.
If it had happened to me, I would have screamed. Harry simply worked faster.
At last, he brandished a soft leather-bound volume.
“My hero,” I said, accepting it from him.
He threw the piece of wood back on the pile. The noise startled an entire family of rats that scurried out before returning to their home. “I deserve a kiss for that.”
“I’m not going anywhere near you, Harry. You’ve been inches from rat-infested rubbish.”
I flipped open the journal, thankful that I also wore gloves. Ruth Price’s name appeared in neat writing on the inside front cover above the address forThe Evening Bulletin. She’d written the date at the top of each page and noted times down the side followed by an observation.
I continued to turn the pages. “It’s a timeline of her days and what she saw or heard in relation to her various investigations.” I stopped at the last written page. It was dated the day she arrived in Brighton, which was the same day Beecroft arrived. The following pages had been torn out.
I swore under my breath. “This was supposed to prove West’s guilt.”
Harry looked back at the tenement building. “West would have destroyed any pages with his name on them. Finding this here proveshetook it from her. He’s guilty. Well done, Cleo.”
“Thank you.” I held the book out to him. When he didn’t take it, I added, “It was very sweet of you to look through the rubbish for me.”
He accepted the book with an arch look to say he saw through my attempt to charm him into holding on to the filthy journal.
