Bluegate Fields (22 page)

Gillivray shook his head as if brushing away flies—something irritating but of no consequence. “Why should he lie?”

“People seldom want to admit to an acquaintance with a murder victim. I don’t think that needs any explanation.”

“But what about Jerome?” Gillivray’s face was earnest. “He identified Jerome!”

“How did he recognize him? How do you know?”

“Because I showed him photographs, of course!”

“And can you be sure, absolutely sure, that you didn’t say or do anything at all, even by an expression on your face—a lift in your voice, maybe—to indicate which picture you wanted him to choose?”

“Of course I’m sure!” Gillivray said instantly. Then he hesitated; he did not knowingly lie to himself, still less to others. “I don’t think so.”

“But you believed it was Jerome?”

“Yes, of course I did.”

“Are you sure you didn’t somehow betray that—in tone or look? Albie’s very quick—he’d have seen it. He’s used to picking up the nuance, the unspoken word. He earns his living by pleasing people.”

Gillivray was offended by the comparison, but he saw the purpose of it.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t think so.”

“But you could have?” Pitt pressed.

“I don’t think so.”

“But we didn’t test Albie for disease!”

“No!” Gillivray flicked his hand to dispel the irritant again. “Why should we have? Arthur had the disease, and Arthur never had any relationship with Albie! It was Jerome who had the relationship with Albie, and Jerome was clean! If Albie had it, then presumably Jerome would have it too!” That was an excellent piece of reasoning, and Gillivray was pleased with it. He sat back in the chair again, his body relaxing.

“That is presuming that everyone is telling the truth except Jerome,” Pitt pointed out. “But if Jerome is telling the truth, and someone else is lying, then it would be quite different. And, by the same line of logic you just put forward, since Arthur had it, then Jerome should have it also—shouldn’t he? And we didn’t think of that either, did we?”

Gillivray stared. “He didn’t have it!”

“Precisely! Why not?”

“I don’t know! Perhaps it just doesn’t show yet!” He shook his head. “Perhaps he hasn’t molested Arthur since he got it from the woman. How do I know? But if Jerome is telling the truth, then that means everyone else is lying, and that’s preposterous. Why should they? And anyway, even if the relationship included Albie and all three boys, that still doesn’t answer who killed Arthur, or why. And that’s all that matters to us. We are back to Jerome just the same. You’ve told me yourself not to torture the facts to fit them into an unlikely theory—just take them as they are and see what they say.” He looked satisfied, as if he had scored some minor victory.

“Quite,” Pit agreed. “But
all
the facts. That’s the point—all of them, not just most of them. And in this case we haven’t taken the trouble to discover all the facts. We should have tested Albie and the other boys as well.”

“You can’t!” Gillivray was incredulous. “You can’t possibly mean to go to the Waybournes now and ask to test their younger son for syphilis? They’d throw you out—and probably protest to the Commissioner as well, if not all the way to Parliament!”

“Maybe. But that doesn’t alter the fact that we should.”

Gillivray snorted and stood up. “Well, I think you’re wasting your time—sir. Jerome is guilty and will be hanged. You know, with respect, sir—sometimes I think you allow your concern for justice, and what you imagine to be equality, to override common sense. People are not all equal. They never have been, and they never will be—morally, socially, physically, or—”

“I know that!” Pitt interrupted. “I have no delusions about equality, brought about by man or nature. But I don’t believe in privilege before the law—that’s quite a different thing. Jerome doesn’t deserve to be hanged for something he didn’t do, whatever we think of him personally. And if you prefer to look at it from the other side, we don’t deserve to hang him if he’s innocent, and let the guilty man go free. At least I don’t! If you’re the kind of man who can walk away from that, then you should be in another job, not the police.”

“Mr. Pitt, that is quite uncalled for! You are being unjust. I didn’t say anything like that. I think it’s blinding your judgment—that’s what I said, and that’s what I mean! I think you lean over so far to be fair that you are in grave danger of falling over backwards.” He squared his shoulders. “That’s what you’re doing this time. Well, if you want to go to Mr. Athelstan and ask for a warrant to test Godfrey Waybourne for venereal disease—go ahead. But I’m not coming with you. I don’t believe in it, and I shall say so if Mr. Athelstan asks me! The case is closed.” And he stood up and walked to the door, turning when he reached it. “Is that all you wanted me for?”

“Yes.” Pitt stayed in his seat, sliding even farther down till his knees bent and touched the bottom of the desk drawer. “I suppose you’d better go and look at that arson—see if it really is. More probably some fool with a leaking lamp.”

“Yes, sir.” Gillivray opened the door and went out, closing it after him with a snap. Pitt sat for quarter of an hour arguing himself out of it and back in again before he finally accepted the inevitable and went up the stairs to Athelstan’s office. He knocked and waited.

“Come!” Athelstan said cheerfully.

Pitt opened it and went in. Athelstan’s face fell as soon as he saw him.

“Pitt? What is it now? Can’t you handle it yourself, man? I’m extremely busy. Got to see a member of Parliament in an hour, most important matter.”

“No, sir, I can’t. I shall need some sort of authority.”

“For what? If you want to search something, go ahead and search it! You ought to know how to go about your business by now! Heaven knows you’ve been at it long enough.”

“No, I don’t want to search anything—not a house,” Pitt replied. He was cold inside. He knew Athelstan would be furious, caught in a trap of necessity, and he would blame Pitt for it. And that would be fair. Pitt was the one who should have thought of it at the right time. Not, of course, that it would have been allowed then either.

“Well, what do you want?” Athelstan said irritably, his face creased into a frown. “For heaven’s sake, explain yourself! Don’t just stand there like a fool, moving from one foot to the other!”

Pitt could feel his skin flush hot, and it seemed suddenly as if the room were getting smaller and if he moved at all he would knock against something with his elbows or his feet.

“We should have tested Albert Frobisher to see if he had syphilis,” he began.

Athelstan’s head jerked up, his face dark with suspicion.

“Why? Who cares if he has? Perverted men who patronize that sort of place deserve all they get! We’re not the keepers of the public morals, Pitt—or of public health. None of our business. Homosexuality is a crime, and so it should be, but we haven’t the men to prosecute it. Need to catch them at it if we’re going to take it to court.” He snorted with distaste. “If you haven’t got enough to do, I’ll find you something more. London’s teeming with crime. Go out any door and follow your nose, you’ll find thieves and blackguards all over the place.” He bent down again over the letters in front of him, dismissing Pitt by implication.

Pitt stood motionless on the bright carpet.

“And Godfrey Waybourne and Titus Swynford also, sir.”

For a second there was silence; then Athelstan raised his eyes very slowly. His face was purple; veins appeared that Pitt had never noticed before, plum-colored, on his nose.

“What did you say?” he demanded, sounding every word distinctly, as though he were talking to someone slow-witted.

Pitt took a deep breath. “I want to make sure that no other people have been infected by the disease,” he said, rephrasing it more tactfully. “Not only Frobisher, but the other two boys.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Athelstan’s voice rose, a note of hysteria creeping into it. “Where on earth would boys like that contract such a disease? We’re talking about decent families, Pitt—not something out of your bloody rookeries. Absolutely not! The very idea is an insult!”

“Arthur Waybourne had it,” Pitt pointed out quietly.

“Of course he did!” Athelstan’s face was suffusing with blood. “That perverted animal Jerome took him to a damned prostitute! We’ve proved that! The whole damnable affair is closed! Now get on with your job—get out and leave me to do some work myself!”

“Sir,” Pitt persisted. “If Arthur had it—and he did—how do we know he didn’t give it to his brother, or his friend? Boys of that age are full of curiosity.”

Athelstan stared at him. “Possibly,” he said coldly. “But no doubt their fathers are better acquainted with their aberrations than we are, and it is most certainly their business! There is no conceivable way, Pitt, in which it is yours!”

“It would put rather a different light on Arthur Waybourne, sir!”

“I have no desire to put any light on him whatever!” Athelstan snapped. “The case is closed!”

“But if Arthur had relationships with the other two boys, it would open up all kinds of possibilities!” Pitt pressed, taking a step forward to lean over the desk.

Athelstan sat as far away as he could, resting against the back of his chair.

“The private—habits—of the gentry are no business of ours, Pitt. You will leave them alone!” He spat out the words. “Do you understand me? I don’t care if every one of them got into bed with every other one—it doesn’t alter the fact that Maurice Jerome murdered Arthur Waybourne. That is all that matters to us. We have done our duty and what happens now is their own concern—not yours and not mine!”

“But what if Arthur had relationships with the other boys?” Pitt clenched his fist on the desk, feeling the nails dig into his flesh. “Maybe it had nothing to do with Jerome.”

“Rubbish! Absolute nonsense! Of course it was Jerome—there’s evidence! And don’t tell me we haven’t proved where he did it. He could have hired a room anywhere. We’ll never find it and no one expects us to. He is homosexual! He had every reason to kill the boy. If it came out, the best he could hope would be to be thrown onto the street without a job or a good reputation. He’d be ruined.”

“But who says he is homosexual?” Pitt demanded, his voice rising as loudly as Athelstan’s.

Athelstan’s eyes were wide. There was a bead of sweat on his lip—and another.

“Both boys,” he said with a catch in his voice. He cleared his throat. “Both boys,” he repeated, “and Albert Frobisher. That’s three witnesses. Good God, man, how many do you want? Do you imagine the creature went about exhibiting his perversion?”

“Both boys?” Pitt said again. “And what if they were involved themselves, wouldn’t that be just the lie they would tell? And Albie Frobisher—would you take the word of a seventeen-year-old male prostitute against that of a respectable scholastic tutor at any other time? Would you?”

“No!” Athelstan was on his feet now, his face only a hand-span from Pitt’s, his knuckles white, arms shaking. “Yes!” he contradicted himself. “Yes—if it fits with all the other evidence. And it does! He identified him from photographs—that proves Jerome was there.”

“Can we be sure?” Pitt urged. “Can we be sure we didn’t put the idea into his mind, prompt him? Did we suggest the answer we wanted by the way we asked the questions?”

“No, of course we didn’t!” Athelstan’s voice dropped a little. He was regaining control of himself. “Gillivray is a professional.” He took a deep breath. “Really, Pitt, you are allowing your resentment to warp you. I said Gillivray was treading on your heels, and now you’re trying to discredit him. It’s not worthy of you.” He sat down again, straightening his jacket and stretching his neck to ease his collar.

“Jerome is guilty,” Athelstan said. “He has been found guilty by the courts, and he will be hanged.” He cleared his throat again. “Don’t stand over me like that, Pitt—it’s insolent! And the health of Godfrey Waybourne is his father’s affair—similarly Titus Swynford. As far as the prostitute is concerned, he’s lucky we didn’t prosecute him for his filthy trade. He’ll probably die of some disease or other in the end anyway. If he hasn’t got it now, he soon will have! Now I warn you, Pitt, this matter is closed. If you insist on pursuing it any further, you will be jeopardizing your own career. Do you understand me? These people have suffered enough tragedy in their lives. You will now pursue the job you are paid for—and leave them alone. Have I made myself clear?”

“But, sir—”

“I forbid it! You do not have permission to harass the Waybournes any further, Pitt! The case is closed—finished! Jerome is guilty and that is the end of it. I don’t want you to mention it again—to me or to anyone else. Gillivray is an excellent officer and his conduct is not open to question. I am perfectly satisfied he did everything necessary to determine the truth, and that he did determine it! I don’t know how to make it any plainer to you. Now get on with your job—if you want to keep it.” He stared at Pitt in challenge.

Suddenly it had become a test between them whose will would prevail, and Athelstan could not afford to let it be Pitt’s. Pitt was dangerous because he was unpredictable; he did not give respect where he ought to, and when his sympathies were engaged, his good sense, even his self-preservation, went out the window. He was a most uncomfortable person to have about; at the first available opportunity, Athelstan decided, he would promote him to someone else’s area. Unless, of course, Pitt were to press on in this wretched business of the Waybourne case, in which event he could be reduced to walking the beat again and Athelstan would be as easily rid of him.

Pitt stood still as the seconds ticked by. The room was so silent he imagined he could hear the workings of the gold watch hanging from Athelstan’s waistcoat on the thick, gold link chain.

To Athelstan, Pitt was a disturbing person because he did not understand him. Pitt had married above himself, and that was offensive as well as incomprehensible. What did a wellborn woman like Charlotte want with an untidy, erratic, and imaginative paradox like Pitt? A woman with any dignity would have stuck to her own class!