Belgrave Square - Anne Perry [9]
Drummond took his leave, back to Bow Street, and Pitt waited in the shabby, overused hallway until Sergeant Innes should appear, which he did in a little more than the five minutes promised. He was a small, wiry man with a very large nose and a sudden smile which showed crooked white teeth. Pitt liked him straightaway, and was acutely aware of the indignity of the position he had been put in.
“Sergeant Innes.” Innes announced himself a trifle stiffly, not yet knowing what to make of Pitt, but having appreciated from his rank that it was not Pitt who had engineered this sudden overtaking of his case.
“Pitt,” Pitt replied, holding out his hand. “I apologize for this—the powers that be …” He left it unfinished. He did not feel at liberty to tell Innes more; that was presumably the reason the local station was not permitted to conduct the affair themselves.
“Understood,” Innes acknowledged briefly. “Can’t think why, very ordinary squalid little affair—so far. Miserable usurer shot in his own offices.” His expressive face registered disgust. “Probably some poor beggar he was squeezing dry ’Oo couldn’t take it anymore. Filthy occupation. Vampires!”
Pitt agreed with him heartily and was happy to say so.
“What do you have?” he went on.
“Not much. No witnesses, but then that would be too much to hope for.” Innes flashed his amiable smile. “Usury is a secret sort of business anyway. ’Oo wants the world to know ’e’s borrowin’ money from a swine like that? You got to be pretty desperate to go to one o’ them.” He started to walk towards the door and Pitt followed. “Easiest ter see the corpse first,” Innes went on. “Got ’im in the morgue just down the road. Then we can go to Cyrus Street, that’s where ’E lived. ‘Aven’t really ’ad much time to look ’round that yet. Just got started when a constable came flyin’ ’round ter tell us ter stop everythin’ and come back ter the station. Left the place locked and a man on duty, o’ course.”
Pitt went down the steps outside and onto the busy pavement. The air was still warm and heavy, sharp with the smell of horse dung. They walked side by side, Pitt’s long, easy stride and Innes’s shorter, brisker march.
“Just begun to question the local people,” Innes went on. “All know nothing about it, o’ course.”
“Of course,” Pitt agreed dryly. “I imagine no one is particularly grieved to see him dead.”
Innes grinned and glanced at Pitt with sidelong amusement. “No one’s even pretending so far. A lot of debts written off there.”
“No heir?” Pitt was surprised.
“No one claimed to be so far.” Innes’s face darkened. His own feelings in the matter were transparent. Pitt would not be surprised if a few of the records of debt were kept overlong by the police in their investigations, important evidence, not to be released too soon. Personally if they were misplaced he would not be overduly concerned himself. He had sharp enough memories of hunger and cold and the gnawing anxiety of poverty from his own childhood to understand the despair of debt and wish it on no one.
They strode along between busy women with bales of cloth, baskets of bread and vegetables and small goods to sell. Costermongers pushed barrows along the cobbles close to the curbs, crying out their wares; peddlers stood on corners and proffered matches, bootlaces, clockwork toys and a dozen other trivial items. Someone had a cart with cold peppermint to drink, and was doing an excellent trade. A running patterer’s singsong voice recited the latest scandal in easy doggerel.
The morgue was grim and there was a musty carbolic smell as soon as they were in the door. The attendant recognized Innes immediately but looked at Pitt with some suspicion.
Innes introduced him laconically and explained his presence.
“I suppose you want to see Weems?” the attendant