Anne Perry - Callander Square

“What about strength?” Pitt asked.

“Strength?” The doctor considered for a moment. He reached down and moved the knife experimentally. “No bones cut,” he observed. “Clean between the ribs. Nothing but cartilage, and a little muscle; straight to the heart. Average adult could do it quite competently. Too high a wound for a short person. Blow seems to be a downward one, so your murderer was at least five foot six or seven, probably more.”

Pitt picked up one of Freddie’s hands.

“No gloves,” he said, frowning a little. “He must have come out in a hurry, and possibly not expected to be long. Coming to meet someone he knew, I should think.” He looked at the nails and knuckles. “Spotless. He can’t have made much of a struggle.”

“Caught by surprise,” the doctor replied. “Only knew for a second before unconsciousness overtook him.”

“Surprise,” Pitt said slowly. “From the front. That means he knew his murderer, the surprise was that he should strike. Dr. Bolsover considered him safe, a friend.”

“Or acquaintance,” the doctor added.

“Does one go out to meet a mere acquaintance in the middle of the square, at night?”

“I didn’t say he was killed during the night,” the doctor shook his head. “Can’t tell. This weather, body would freeze in a very short time. Makes time of death a bit difficult.”

“Hardly risk murdering someone in the middle of the square in daylight,” Pitt said gently. “Too risky. Servants spend too much time near the windows, too big a chance someone would see you walking into the middle of the gardens. After dark, muffled up in scarf with collar up, which would be reasonable enough in this weather, as soon as you’re out of the arc of the gaslight you’re invisible. Could have gone up the steps to the front door, or into an areaway, off to get a cab-anything.”

“Quite,” the doctor agreed a little stiffly. “So take it they met after dark. Bit of an odd thing to do, wasn’t it? Go to meet someone in the pitch dark in a frozen waste like this? Could fall and break your neck, never mind being stabbed. Hardly see a foot in front of you.”

“Raises a lot of questions in the mind, doesn’t it?” Pitt stared down at the body again.

The doctor grunted.

“Must have been wishing to discuss something very urgent, and very private indeed.”

“Or have an intent to murder,” Pitt said softly.

The doctor said nothing.

Pitt climbed to his feet, a little stiff in the bitter cold.

“It occurs to me that I have rather a lot to ask Mr. Reggie Southeron. See to having Bolsover taken to the morgue, will you? You’d better do your post mortem thoroughly, in spite of the obvious. I don’t believe there will be anything else, but it’s always possible.”

The doctor gave him a sour look, and stumped back toward the constable, slapping his hands together to get the circulation moving again.

Pitt did not want to give Reggie any advance warning this time. He went straight to the front door and when the footman answered, announced that he wished to see Mr. Southeron with all possible speed. He imagined that on a bitter morning like this Reggie would not have risen before nine, and would certainly not have breakfasted and been ready to depart for the city before ten.

He was correct. Reggie was still at the table, and about to expostulate at the footman’s unseemly interruption, and to tell him rather sharply that the police could wait, when he glanced past the man’s sober figure to see the enormous caped figure of Pitt who had followed him in; precisely to avoid being dismissed in such a fashion.

“Really!” Reggie glared at him. “I appreciate that you have a difficult job to do, but a little unpleasantness in the square does not absolve you from all need to follow the ordinary dictates of good manners. I shall see you when I have finished my breakfast! You may wait until then in the morning room, if you wish.”

Pitt eyed the footman, and found to his satisfaction that the man’s fear of the police was greater than his fear of his employer. He retreated like water going down a sink, flowing outward with a somewhat circular motion and disappearing down the passage.

“The matter is too urgent to admit of delay,” Pitt said firmly. “Dr. Bolsover has been murdered.”

Reggie stared at him glassily.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Dr. Bolsover has been murdered,” Pitt repeated. “His body was found this morning, at a few minutes after eight o’clock.”

“Good God!” Reggie dropped his fork laden with food and it fell with a clatter, upsetting his knife and sliding to the floor, taking bacon and sausage with it. “Good God,” he said again. “What a frightful thing.”

“Yes,” Pitt agreed, watching him closely. Did he really have the wit to act so well? He seemed stupefied with shock. “Murder is always frightful,” he went on. “One way and another. Of course many people who are murdered rather bring it upon themselves.”

“What in blazes do you mean?” Reggie’s heavy face flushed scarlet. “I call that damned impertinent! Damned bad taste! Poor old Freddie lying dead somewhere, and you stand there saying he deserved it!”

“No,” Pitt corrected carefully. “You leaped to that conclusion. What I said was that some people who are murdered bring it upon themselves; blackmailers, and so on,” he leaned a little forward, watching Reggie’s face minutely. He saw what he was looking for, the ebb of color, the nervous spasm of muscles.

“Blackmailers?” Reggie repeated hoarsely, his eyes unfocused like a stuffed doll’s.

“Yes,” Pitt pulled up a chair and sat down. “Blackmailers rather often get murdered. Victim sees it as his only way out. Blackmailers don’t seem to realize when they’ve reached the critical point. They press too far.” He opened his hands wide to express an explosion, an eruption.

Reggie swallowed convulsively, his eyes fixed on Pitt as if mesmerized. He seemed to be unable to speak.

Pitt gambled.

“That is what happened to Dr. Bolsover, isn’t it, sir?”

“Dr.-Bolsover-?”

“Yes. He was blackmailing you, wasn’t he?”

“No-no! I told you! It-it was Jemima, the governess. I said that to you before.”

“So you did: you said that the governess was blackmailing you over the fact that you have had a passing affair with your parlormaid. I wouldn’t have thought that was worth paying for, sir, since I knew about it, the servants knew, I would be surprised if the neighbors had not guessed; and I imagine your wife also knows, even if she prefers to pretend that she does not.”

“What the hell do you mean?” Reggie tried to look affronted.

“No more than I say, sir: that I find it hard to believe that you would submit to blackmail over something which is a subject of general knowledge, even though it is not mentioned; and which is a little sordid, but not by any means an infrequent offense; and hardly a crime.”

“I–I told you-of course it is not a crime! But right now it could be misunderstood! People could think-”

“You mean the police could think-?” Pitt raised his eyebrows sardonically.

A tide of color swept up Reggie’s face as he realized his lie was ridiculous. Pitt could almost see his brain racing. Should he catch him now, in panic, or wait till his tongue betrayed him further?

“Er-” Reggie tried to fill in until he invented something, “-well-yes, it does sound-”

“A bit thin,” Pitt finished for him. “Suppose you tell me the truth?”

“Er-truth!”

“Yes, sir. Why was Dr. Bolsover really blackmailing you?”

“I-” Reggie seemed frozen.

“If I have to ask others in order to find out, it will be a lot more uncomfortable for you,” Pitt pointed out. “If you tell me, providing there is no crime involved, I shall be as discreet as I can. Time is important. We have a murderer somewhere in this square: and he may not be finished yet!”