Anne Perry - Belgrave Square

“Is that the same acquaintance who will have informed Lord Byam of Weems’s death?” Pitt asked.

Drummond hesitated. “No, not the same person; but another with the same interests-which I assure you are beneficent.”

“Who do I report to?”

“Me-to me.”

“If this usurer was blackmailing Lord Byam, I assume there may be other men of importance he was also blackmailing.”

Drummond stiffened. Apparently the thought had not occurred to him.

“I suppose so,” he said quickly. “For God’s sake be discreet, Pitt!”

Pitt smiled with self-mockery. “It’s the most discreet job of all, isn’t it-tidying up after their lordships’ indiscretions?”

“That’s unfair, Pitt,” Drummond said quietly. “The man was a victim of circumstance. He complimented a beautiful woman, and she became infatuated with him. She must have been of a fragile and melancholy disposition to begin with, poor creature, and could not cope with a refusal. One can understand his wanting to keep the matter private, not only for himself but for Lord Anstiss’s sake as well. It can benefit no one to have the whole tragedy raked over again after twenty years.”

Pitt did not argue. He had considerable pity for Byam, but he was uneasy about the certainty with which Byam had called on Drummond and had manipulated the placing of a police inspector sympathetic to him to take charge of the case. It was a mere few hours since the body had been found and already Drummond had removed Pitt from his current case, called upon Byam at his home, and now they were going to Clerkenwell to override the local man and take over the case themselves.

They rode the rest of the way without resuming the conversation. Pitt could think of nothing else relevant to say. To have made polite conversation was beneath the respect they had for each other, and Drummond was apparently consumed with his own thoughts, which to judge from his face were far from comfortable.

At Clerkenwell they alighted and Drummond went in ahead of Pitt, introduced himself, and requested to see the senior officer in charge. He was conducted upstairs almost immediately, leaving Pitt to wait by the duty desk, and it was some ten or twelve minutes before he returned looking grim but less ill at ease. He met Pitt’s eyes squarely.

“It’s settled, Pitt. You are to take over the case. Sergeant Innes will work with you, show you what they have so far, and do any local investigations you may wish. Report your progress to me.”

Pitt understood him perfectly. He also knew him well enough not to doubt his integrity. If it proved that Byam had killed his blackmailer, Drummond would be distressed and deeply embarrassed, but he would not defend him or seek to conceal it.

“Yes sir,” Pitt agreed with a bare smile. “Does Sergeant Innes know I am coming?”

“He will in another five minutes,” Drummond answered with a flicker of humor in his eyes. “If you wait here he will join you. Fortunately he was here at the station-or perhaps it was not fortune…” He left the rest unsaid. Such a thing had become possible with the invention of the telephone, a magnificent and sometimes erratic instrument which made immediate communication possible between those possessed of one, as was Byam, and presumably someone in the Clerkenwell station.

Drummond took his leave, back to Bow Street, and Pitt waited in the shabby, overused hallway until Sergeant Innes should appear, which he did in a little more than the five minutes promised. He was a small, wiry man with a very large nose and a sudden smile which showed crooked white teeth. Pitt liked him straightaway, and was acutely aware of the indignity of the position he had been put in.

“Sergeant Innes.” Innes announced himself a trifle stiffly, not yet knowing what to make of Pitt, but having appreciated from his rank that it was not Pitt who had engineered this sudden overtaking of his case.

“Pitt,” Pitt replied, holding out his hand. “I apologize for this-the powers that be…” He left it unfinished. He did not feel at liberty to tell Innes more; that was presumably the reason the local station was not permitted to conduct the affair themselves.

“Understood,” Innes acknowledged briefly. “Can’t think why, very ordinary squalid little affair-so far. Miserable usurer shot in his own offices.” His expressive face registered disgust. “Probably some poor beggar he was squeezing dry ’Oo couldn’t take it anymore. Filthy occupation. Vampires!”

Pitt agreed with him heartily and was happy to say so.

“What do you have?” he went on.

“Not much. No witnesses, but then that would be too much to hope for.” Innes flashed his amiable smile. “Usury is a secret sort of business anyway. ’Oo wants the world to know ’e’s borrowin’ money from a swine like that? You got to be pretty desperate to go to one o’ them.” He started to walk towards the door and Pitt followed. “Easiest ter see the corpse first,” Innes went on. “Got ’im in the morgue just down the road. Then we can go to Cyrus Street, that’s where ’E lived. ‘Aven’t really ’ad much time to look ’round that yet. Just got started when a constable came flyin’ ’round ter tell us ter stop everythin’ and come back ter the station. Left the place locked and a man on duty, o’ course.”

Pitt went down the steps outside and onto the busy pavement. The air was still warm and heavy, sharp with the smell of horse dung. They walked side by side, Pitt’s long, easy stride and Innes’s shorter, brisker march.

“Just begun to question the local people,” Innes went on. “All know nothing about it, o’ course.”

“Of course,” Pitt agreed dryly. “I imagine no one is particularly grieved to see him dead.”

Innes grinned and glanced at Pitt with sidelong amusement. “No one’s even pretending so far. A lot of debts written off there.”

“No heir?” Pitt was surprised.

“No one claimed to be so far.” Innes’s face darkened. His own feelings in the matter were transparent. Pitt would not be surprised if a few of the records of debt were kept overlong by the police in their investigations, important evidence, not to be released too soon. Personally if they were misplaced he would not be overduly concerned himself. He had sharp enough memories of hunger and cold and the gnawing anxiety of poverty from his own childhood to understand the despair of debt and wish it on no one.

They strode along between busy women with bales of cloth, baskets of bread and vegetables and small goods to sell. Costermongers pushed barrows along the cobbles close to the curbs, crying out their wares; peddlers stood on corners and proffered matches, bootlaces, clockwork toys and a dozen other trivial items. Someone had a cart with cold peppermint to drink, and was doing an excellent trade. A running patterer’s singsong voice recited the latest scandal in easy doggerel.

The morgue was grim and there was a musty carbolic smell as soon as they were in the door. The attendant recognized Innes immediately but looked at Pitt with some suspicion.

Innes introduced him laconically and explained his presence.

“I suppose you want to see Weems?” the attendant said with a grimace, pushing his hand over his head, and smoothing off his brow a single strand of fairish hair. “Disagreeable,” he said conversationally. “Most disagreeable. Come with me, gentlemen.” He turned around and led the way to a room at the back of the building, stone floored with tiled walls and two large sinks along the far end. A stone table stood in the middle with guttering leading away from it to the drain. There were gas jets on the walls, and one pendant lamp from the center of the ceiling. On the table, covered by a sheet, Pitt saw the very clear outline of a body.