Bluegate Fields - Anne Perry [119]
But, looking at Athelstan’s purpled face, he knew that some measure of its importance to him was very well understood. Athelstan meant to frighten him, meant to cow him into obeying.
It had to be Albie again, and Arthur Waybourne. There was nothing else important enough.
Athelstan suddenly reached out his hand and slapped the flat of his palm across Pitt’s cheek. It stung sharply; but Pitt felt foolish to have been surprised. He stood perfectly still, hands by his sides.
“Yes, sir?” he said steadily. “What is it that has happened?”
Athelstan seemed to realize he had lost every shred of dignity, that he had allowed himself to indulge in uncontrolled emotion in front of a subordinate. His skin was still suffused with blood, but he drew in his breath slowly and stopped shaking.
“You have been back to the Deptford police station,” he said in a much lower voice. “You have been interfering in their inquiries, and asking for information about the death of the boy prostitute Frobisher.”
“I went in my own time, sir,” Pitt replied, “to see if I could offer them any help, since we already know a good deal about him and they do not. He lived nearer our area, if you remember?”
“Don’t be insolent! Of course I remember! He was the perverted whore that that man Jerome patronized in his filthy habits! He deserved to die. He brought it on himself! The more vermin like that that kill each other off, the better for the decent people of this city. And it is the decent people we are paid to protect, Pitt! And don’t you forget it!”
Pitt spoke before he thought. “The decent ones being those who sleep only with their wives, sir?” He allowed the sarcasm to creep into his voice, although he had intended it to sound nave. “And how shall I know which ones those are, sir?”
Athelstan stared at him, the blood ebbing and flowing in his face.
“You are dismissed, Pitt,” he said at last. “You are no longer in the force!”
Pitt felt the ice drench over him as if he had toppled and fallen into the river. His voice replied like a stranger’s, involuntarily, full of bravado he did not feel.
“Perhaps that’s just as well, sir. I could never have made the suitable judgments as to whom we should protect and whom we should allow to be killed. I was under the misapprehension that we were to prevent crime or to arrest criminals whenever possible, and that the social standing or the moral habits of the victim and the offender were quite irrelevant—that we should seek to enforce the law—something about ‘without malice, fear, or favor.’ ”
A hot tide rose again in Athelstan’s face.
“Are you accusing me of favor, Pitt? Are you saying that I am corrupt?”
“No, sir. You said it,” Pitt replied. He had nothing to lose now. Everything that Athelstan could give or take had already gone. He had used all his power.
Athelstan swallowed. “You misunderstood!” he said with tight fury, but softly, suddenly startled into control again. “Sometimes I think you are deliberately stupid! I said nothing of the sort. All I meant was that people like Albie Frobisher are bound to come to a bad end, and there is nothing we can do about it, that’s all.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I thought you said that there was nothing we ought to do.”
“Nonsense!” Athelstan waved his hands as if to obliterate the idea. “I never said anything of the kind. Of course we must try! It is just that it is hopeless. We cannot waste good police time on something that has no chance of success! That is only common sense. You will never make a good administrator, Pitt, if you do not understand how best to use the limited forces at your disposal! Let it be a lesson to you.”
“I am hardly likely to make an administrator of any sort, since I have