Belgrave Square - Anne Perry [86]
“Anyone have a good word for him?” Pitt said dryly.
“Tradesmen,” Innes replied with a meaningful look. “ ’E paid ’is bills in time, and to the penny.”
“Bravo.” Pitt was sarcastic. “No one else?”
“Not a soul.”
Pitt looked around the room. “So what happened to this blunderbuss? I suppose the murderer took it away with him. It certainly wasn’t here when you found Weems.”
“I’m sure o’ that,” Innes said decisively.
“You’d better start a search specifically for a blunderbuss,” Pitt instructed. “But don’t waste much time on it. It could be anywhere, and it wouldn’t give us much idea who used it, even if we did by some miracle come up with it. I’ve got some other ideas to follow up—and some more people on his list.”
“Nobs?”
“Yes. So far we’ve got two who could have done it, and certainly had cause, and so far as I can see, opportunity. And now it seems pretty well anyone who came that night had the means, since it was sitting here in the office.”
“Nasty one, sir,” Innes agreed.
“Yes.” Pitt knew that Innes hoped it was a “nob,” not one of his own people, some Clerkenwell debtor pressed beyond his bearing. Pitt was inclined to agree, except he did not wish it to be Carswell. He could imagine his desperation vividly; it made him real, and painfully immediate. But why on earth had Carswell dismissed the case of Horatio Osmar without even hearing Beulah Giles’s evidence? It made no sense.
And it would be almost worse if it were Urban. He could imagine the scandal, and the injury to the already unpopular police force, still suffering from the ignominy of not having caught the Whitechapel murderer known as Jack the Ripper only last autumn. He must find the last name—Clarence Latimer. It was his only escape from tragedy.
Or was it Byam after all? That thought was no better. And Drummond would take it very hard.
And that was another problem that needed to be faced. Why had Micah Drummond interfered in the case at all? Why had he been so quick to defend Byam?
Innes was busy tidying up, closing drawers to leave the place as they found it.
Pitt would have staked his career that Drummond was utterly honest and would not have altered the course of an investigation on a friend’s behalf, however close. And it had not seemed that Byam was more than an acquaintance anyway.
There was no point in asking him, trying to press. His attitude had already made it plain he did not feel free to discuss it. It must be some debt of honor; that was all that would hold a man like Drummond so obviously against his wishes. He was suffering—Pitt had known that from the beginning. He hated doing it, and yet he felt unavoidably compelled.
Why? For what?
“I’m going back to Bow Street,” Pitt said aloud. “I’ve got to look into the other people on the list. Do what you can about the blunderbuss, and anything else you can think of. Have you found all the debtors on the first list?”
“Almost sir. Poor bastards!”
“Then you’d better finish it. Sorry.”
“Yes sir.” Innes smiled lopsidedly. “Not that it’s any worse than what you’ve got ter do.”
Pitt looked at him with a sudden warmth.
“No,” he agreed. “No it isn’t.”
But when he arrived at Bow Street the immediate problem of asking Urban about Weems was temporarily put out of his mind by the news given him by the desk sergeant.
“No sir, I think Mr. Urban is busy with the solicitors, Mr. Pitt. Can’t interrupt ’im now.”
“Solicitors?” Pitt was taken aback. Knowing his own errand, views of prosecution flashed into his mind and he felt a chill of both apprehension and pity.
“Yes sir.” The desk sergeant’s pink face was full of confusion. “ ’E’s got a very important gennelman in