Anne Perry - Death On Blackheath

‘And why?’ Pitt added with a touch of sarcasm.

‘I can work that out for myself,’ Talbot said tartly. ‘Report to me any significant progress that you make, and do so discreetly. I need all details. Do not stop until you have them.’

‘Exactly what is Kynaston doing that is so important?’ Pitt asked.

‘You do not need to know that,’ Talbot answered immediately, his eyes hard and angry.

‘I’m head of Special Branch!’ Pitt snapped, his temper rising at the annoyance, and even more the stupidity, of ordering him to search for answers and then keeping him half blind. ‘If you want me to do my job, then tell me what I need to know.’

‘You need to know what your instructions are,’ Talbot retorted. ‘If this is a piece of dramatic stupidity, we will deal with it accordingly. Thank you for coming so soon. Good day.’

Pitt did not move. He opened his eyes very wide. ‘Stupidity?’ he repeated the word as if it were meaningless. ‘Someone beat a young woman to death, concealed her body for three weeks, mutilated her face until it was unrecognisable, then dumped her in a gravel pit for wild animals to destroy. If that is regarded by Her Majesty’s Government as stupid, what does one have to do to be regarded as criminal?’

Talbot paled, but he did not flinch. ‘You have your instructions, Commander Pitt. Find the truth, sooner rather than later, and report it to me. Dispensing justice is not your job.’

‘I wish that were true,’ Pitt said bitterly. ‘Too often it is exactly my job. There is no time, and no discreet or legal way of doing it and allowing me to walk away and keep my conscience clear. Or perhaps that is something you were not aware of?’

Talbot’s face was white, mouth pinched at the corners. ‘Kynaston is of great importance to the Government, and his work is both secret and sensitive. It may even be the key to our survival in any future war. That is sufficient information for you. It is also highly confidential. If your staff don’t obey you without asking questions, then you have not the command of them that you should have. Now stop arguing the issue and making excuses. Do your job. Again, Commander Pitt, good day to you.’

‘Good day, Mr Talbot,’ Pitt replied with some satisfaction, even if it lasted no longer than it took him to reach the street. Regardless of what Talbot said, he needed all the information he could gather regarding Dudley Kynaston’s value to the Government, not only to find out what Kitty Ryder might have learned that made her dangerous, but who else might profit from Kynaston’s downfall, for any reason. And if he were actually innocent, then who had engineered his appearance of guilt? There was only one man to ask, and that was Victor Narraway. He would prefer to consult him without others, particularly Talbot, knowing he had done so.

Narraway, like himself, was one of the few people who owned a telephone in his own home. Since his forced retirement from the leadership of Special Branch, he had been elevated to the House of Lords, but that was more of a sop to his reputation than any opportunity to be of use. Previously he would not have been at home at this hour, but now there was a reasonable chance he would not have gone to the House of Lords, or to one of his clubs for luncheon. Such things grew stale quite quickly to a man of Narraway’s intelligence. Also, since he had no part in political affairs, he felt side-lined, no more of interest to those who used to hold him in awe. He had never said as much, but Pitt had heard it in his silences.

As it turned out, Pitt had to wait about half an hour for Narraway to return from a brief walk. Considering the weather, Pitt imagined he had gone at all only as a matter of discipline. Narraway had begun his career in the Indian Army, and the virtues of abstinence and hard, strict self-mastery had never entirely left him.

Narraway’s manservant offered Pitt a late luncheon, which he accepted gratefully, realising that he was actually quite hungry. He was just finishing an excellent slice of hot apple pie, served with cream, when he heard the sound of the front door closing, then Narraway’s voice in the hall.

Narraway came into the sitting room, having removed his overcoat. His thick hair was flattened a little where his hat had been, and his lean, dark face coloured by the cold.

He glanced at the plate where the apple pie had been, and which now held only Pitt’s folded spoon and fork.

‘You came for more than luncheon, I presume?’ he said with a slight lift of curiosity. He walked towards the fire, which was burning strongly where the manservant had added fresh coals. He stood in front of it from habit, holding his hands out to catch the heat.

‘Luncheon seemed like a good idea,’ Pitt replied with a tight smile. ‘Since I spent my own luncheon time being hauled over the coals in Downing Street by a rather officious man by the name of Talbot.’

Narraway straightened up, forgetting the fire. He stared at Pitt with interest. ‘I imagine you are at liberty to tell me what about, or you would not have come here? And it is both urgent and discreet, or you would have suggested luncheon at some restaurant. Please don’t disappoint me …’ He said it lightly, but Pitt caught the flash of emotion in it, the sincerity there, and then concealed again.

‘It seems a shame not to have you deduce what it’s about,’ Pitt said drily, in part to cover the fact that he had caught the moment’s vulnerability.

Narraway sat down in the chair opposite and crossed his legs elegantly, hitching the knee of his trousers not to spoil the line. ‘Have you got time to wait for that?’ he asked, his eyes bright with amusement.

Pitt smiled back. ‘No, I haven’t. Did you read about the young woman’s body found in the gravel pit on Shooters Hill?’

‘Of course. Why? Ah! I see.’ He sat forward again. ‘Is that what Somerset Carlisle was referring to in his questions to the House yesterday? I saw that headline on the sandwich boards as I passed. I admit I didn’t make the connection. Why the hell would Carlisle think a dead woman on Shooters Hill was anything to do with Kynaston, or might endanger him and his family? What danger? Who was the woman? What had she to do with him?’

‘Probably nothing,’ Pitt replied. ‘But his wife’s maid is missing, and she answers the description.’

‘Bit thin, isn’t it? Wouldn’t half the young women in Greenwich or Blackheath answer it?’ Narraway was looking at him steadily, waiting for the missing facts that made sense of it.

‘Taller than average, handsomely built and with thick auburn hair?’ Pitt asked. ‘Gone missing in the last three weeks? No, they wouldn’t. And the gravel pit is only a short walk from Kynaston’s house.’

Narraway nodded. It was so slight a movement it was barely visible. ‘I see. Are we supposing Kynaston was having an affair with this maid? Or that she learned something about either Mr or Mrs Kynaston so potentially damaging that Kynaston killed her? Seems a little drastic, and honestly pretty unlikely. But I suppose those are the ones that catch us out.’

‘Why does Carlisle care?’ Pitt countered. ‘Has he changed so much that he’d go after a man simply to make a point? What point could be worth that to him? And why Kynaston? We have far more vulnerable members of the Government than that! I could name half a dozen whose private lives would be open to question — if that were his purpose.’

Narraway’s mouth twisted in a wry smile, his black eyes bright. ‘Only half a dozen. For God’s sake, Pitt, where are your eyes?’

‘All right, a couple of dozen,’ Pitt conceded. ‘Why Kynaston?’

‘Opportunity,’ Narraway answered. ‘He was the one near whose house the corpse turned up?’ He pulled his mouth into a thin line. ‘I’m slipping. That isn’t a reason to raise the subject publicly. The real question is what for? What does he want?’ He thought in silence for a few moments before looking up at Pitt again. ‘Kynaston works for the War Office. But that’s extremely vague. I think we need to know a lot more precisely than that. If he’s open to blackmail because of some idiotic domestic affair, seemingly gone very badly wrong, then we should know about it. At least you should,’ he corrected himself. ‘And you need to know a lot more about Kynaston professionally.’