Anne Perry - Callander Square

“You are marvelous,” Jemima smiled rather weakly. “Are you so used to murders, that they do not frighten you anymore?”

“Oh no!” The horror of Cater Street came back to her with all its terror and grief. She felt a quick prickle of tears for Sarah. “Oh no,” she said quietly. “They frighten me very much, not just murder, but all the other dark things it stirs in even those who are barely involved in the first crime. It seems so often one crime begets another. People do such strange things to cover guilt. We can become so cruel and so selfish when we are afraid. Murder and investigation reveal to us so many things about each other which we would rather not have known. Believe me, I am frightened by it. But I think I would prefer that it should always frighten me. Not to be frightened would mean that I had lost the understanding of it. But it is my nature to fight, and we shall discover the truth of this yet, whomever it may involve!”

When Pitt arrived home late that evening he was only mildly surprised to see Jemima sitting with Charlotte by the fire. She was both embarrassed and nervous to begin with, but he went to some effort to put her at ease, even though he was appallingly tired, and by the time she retired, she looked as if she might sleep.

After she had gone, he told Charlotte that Reggie had accused her of the murder of Freddie also, and was relieved that Charlotte did not blaze up in temper, nor dissolve in tears, although he had never considered the latter likely.

In the morning he set out again to Callander Square, walking some part of the distance, the better to enable himself to think.

He did not doubt for a moment that Freddie Bolsover had been murdered because he was a blackmailer. He was inclined to think that it was not Reggie Southeron, if only because he lacked the nerve, and had seemed to be totally shocked by the news of the discovery of the body. Surely if he had known anything about it, he would have been prepared with a more plausible story.

But if it was not Reggie, then who were the other suspects? Surely in Callander Square there were enough secrets worth paying to keep!

He would begin with Balantyne.

He found him at home and quite willing to see him. He was shown into the morning room and a moment later the general came in, still looking grave from the news of Freddie’s murder the day before.

“Good morning, Inspector. Have you discovered something further about poor Freddie?”

“Yes, quite a lot, sir. None of it very pleasant, I’m afraid.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t. Wretched business, poor fellow. You said yesterday he was stabbed. Was there something else?”

“Perhaps I didn’t explain myself very well. I meant that what I had discovered was about Dr. Bolsover himself, not the murder; although I believe it was the cause.”

“Oh?” Balantyne frowned slightly. “What do you mean? Not something to do with the babies in the square, surely? Always thought Freddie was a pretty sober sort of chap, not given to playing the fool with other women.”

“Not directly to do with the babies, but perhaps indirectly. He was a blackmailer.”

Balantyne stared at him.

“Blackmailer?” he repeated foolishly. “Whatever makes you think anything-so-vile?”

“One of his victims.”

“Must be lying! Fellow who would do something fit to be blackmailed for could well be a liar as well. In fact must be! Or others would know about his crimes.”

“Doesn’t have to be a crime, sir,” Pitt said gently. “Could be something he merely preferred kept private, an indiscretion or misfortune. Perhaps like his daughter having an affair with a footman, and being with child before she was married, or-” he stopped. It was unnecessary to go on, Balantyne’s face was scarlet. Pitt waited.

“I’d see the fellow in hell before I’d pay him,” Balantyne said very quietly. “Believe me!”

“Would you?” Pitt asked, his voice mild, not a challenge, but a soft probing. “Your only daughter, just before her marriage to a most suitable man? Are you sure? Would you not perhaps consider it worth a small expense to protect her?”

Balantyne stared at him, his eyes wavering.

Pitt said nothing.

“I don’t know,” Balantyne said at last. “Possibly you’re right. But it didn’t happen. Freddie never came anywhere near me.” He looked down at the carpet. “Poor Sophie. I suppose she had no idea. Often wondered how Freddie managed to live so high on the hog. I had some knowledge of the size of his practice. Never occurred to me in the wildest moment-what a wretched business. Do you suppose he knew whose the babies were?”

“Perhaps,” Pitt replied. “But I rather doubt it. If he were pressing on that one, I think he might well have been killed a good deal earlier than this. Of course he may have known something without realizing its importance. I don’t know, that’s why I must question all the people upon whom he may have put pressure.”

“Nautrally. Of course you must. Well, I had no idea. I would regret having to do so, but if I could help you, I should.”

“Thank you. May I speak with Lady Augusta, please, and then with young Mr. Balantyne?”

Again Balantyne flushed uncomfortably.

“Lady Augusta can tell you nothing, I assure you, she has most certainly never done anything in her life to make blackmail possible! And she is not the manner of woman to be intimidated.”

Pitt agreed with this last observation, but if she had done anything, then in all probability it would be the general from whom she wished to keep it secret. He forbore pointing this out; it would only embarrass without serving any purpose.

“All the same, sir, she might be able to help me. I’m sure she is not a woman to gossip, but we are dealing with murder. I need any help I may be able to obtain.”

“Yes-yes, I suppose so. Very well.” Perhaps he also knew that the request was only a formality. Pitt could not be refused; he came with official power.

Augusta received him in the withdrawing room, still chilly with a newmade fire.

“Good morning, my lady,” Pitt began formally as the footman closed the door behind him.

“Good morning,” Augusta replied. She was a handsome woman, and she looked, if anything, a little more relaxed than when he had seen her last. “What can I do for you, Inspector? I have no idea who killed Freddie Bolsover, or why.”

“Why is not difficult,” Pitt replied, facing her squarely. “He was a blackmailer.”

“Indeed?” she raised her eyebrows slightly. “How very unpleasant. I had no idea. I suppose you are quite sure.”

“Quite,” he waited, wondering what she would say next.

“Then surely his victim is the one who murdered him? You cannot need me to tell you that!”

He smiled very slightly.

“That is to presume he had only one victim, my lady. Why should I presume that?”

She looked at him and the corners of her mouth curled upward very faintly.

“Quite. I should have thought of that myself. When you remark it, it is quite obvious. What is it you imagine I can tell you? I assure you, Freddie Bolsover was not blackmailing me.”

“Not over Miss Christina’s unfortunate business with the footman?”

She barely flickered.

“It is hardly police business, I would have thought.”

“Not at all. Its discovery was incidental. But you haven’t answered my question-did Dr. Bolsover not approach you on the matter?”

“Certainly not,” she smiled very faintly and looked at him without dislike. “I should not have paid him. I should have found some other way of dealing with him; as I did with Max, who did try it. I have more brain, and more imagination, Inspector, than to resort to violence.”