Bluegate Fields - Anne Perry [74]
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.