Belgrave Square - Anne Perry [118]
“Only of corruption,” she said bluntly, still sitting without moving.
“I don’t even know that,” he argued. “I only believe it from the case notes. They could all be misjudgments, or simply errors. If anyone went through all my cases they would find a lot that is open to criticism, and perhaps worse, if they wished to see it that way.”
Charlotte seldom thought of things like means and opportunity, weapons, forensic evidence, but she understood motive, emotions, lies, all that was concerned purely with people.
“Rubbish,” she said with a smile full of gentleness, her eyes so soft he could not take hurt. “Superintendent Latimer is corrupt, and you are afraid that Micah Drummond is too, or may become so. But you cannot make the choice for him, Thomas, you must give him the chance to do the right thing, whatever the consequences.”
“The consequences may be very ugly.” He shifted a little, sitting lower in his chair. “The Inner Circle is secret, powerful and ruthless. They have no forgiveness.”
“Do you admire them?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I despise them more than almost anything else. They are worse than a simple garroter who kills people in the street; they seduce and corrupt minds and turn ambitious and foolish men into liars and corrupters of others.” He stopped; his voice had become harsh and his hands were clenched on his knees with the violence of his feelings. He stared at Charlotte and saw her face intensely clearly in the lamplight, its high cheekbones and soft mouth, her eyes steady on his.
“Do you not think that Micah Drummond might hate them too, if he understood what they are?” she asked him. “Perhaps even more strongly than you do, since they have tried to soil him too.”
“Perhaps,” he agreed slowly.
“Then you must give him the opportunity to fight them.” She leaned forward a little. “You cannot protect him from it, and I don’t believe you should try. I should not thank you if you removed from me the chance to redeem myself from a terrible mistake of judgment.”
He took her hand in his and held it gently.
“All right. You don’t need to argue any further. I understand. I shall tell him tomorrow.”
She lifted her other hand and touched his face very softly, smiling, her eyes bright. It was not necessary that she should speak.
However the following morning Pitt’s intention was balked by a furore of excitement when he reached Bow Street. There were newspapers being passed from one person to another and cries of indignation and anger all around the entrance and the desk and the corridors.
“It’s downright dishonest!” the desk sergeant said, his face bright pink.
“It’s monstrous, that’s what it is!” a constable said heatedly, holding the offending newspaper out in front of him. “It’s lies! How do they get away with printing such things?”
“It’s a conspiracy!” another constable agreed with outrage in his voice. “Ever since the Whitechapel murders they’ve been out to get us!”
“I wouldn’t wonder if there’s anarchists behind it,” the desk sergeant added.
“What is it?” Pitt demanded, snatching one of the newspapers from a constable.
“There.” The constable pointed with a rigid forefinger. “Look at that.”
Pitt looked.
“ ‘Police brutality’!” he read. “ ‘Miss Beulah Giles, a victim of police harassment and brutal interrogation, was yesterday taken forcibly from her home to Scotland Yard where she was secretly interrogated by Superintendent Latimer in police attempts to defend themselves against charges of perjury on the park bench case.’ ” And it went on in the same vein about the shock and dismay to an innocent girl’s feelings as she was removed from her home and family and subjected to insult and degradation in a desperate effort to force her to change her testimony and incriminate her friend.
Pitt pushed the paper back at the constable and reached for one of the others. The words were a trifle different, but the meaning was essentially the same. Beulah