Buckingham Palace Gardens - Anne Perry [116]
“Perhaps you might notice its absence?” Pitt suggested. “Since the servants of the guest wing cleared away the pieces, but none of them will admit to it, it has to have been in this wing, and to have been important.”
“I can’t imagine why.” The Prince was annoyed. “A domestic accident, and a servant trying to cover it, are hardly the concern of Special Branch.” There was finality in his tone and he seemed about to turn and walk away.
“Was it in your room, sir?” Pitt said abruptly. “That would explain why the servants don’t recognize it, except Mr. Tyndale, and he is afraid to tell anyone where it was. I shall have to work it out by a process of elimination.”
The Prince froze. “You exceed your duty, Inspector.” His voice was icy now, but it lacked the firmness Pitt would have expected. He stared, blinking, the sweat beaded on his forehead. “You know who killed both the prostitute and poor Mrs. Sorokine. Arrest and remove him. That is all that is required of you. I thought that was made clear. If it was not, then allow me to do so now.”
“What was explained to me, sir, is that a prostitute had been found hacked to death here in the Palace, and it was my duty toward Her Majesty to find out what had happened, who was responsible, and to deal with it with both speed and discretion. I cannot believe that Her Majesty would not also require that it be dealt with justly. That was not said because I assume it was not considered necessary to say it. And justice is also very practical. Injustice does not lie down quietly.”
They stared at each other, the Prince’s face mottled with ugly color, and loathing bright in his eyes. “What was this dish like?”
“I think it was probably a pedestal dish, sir, Limoges,” Pitt repeated. “There was a lot of white and blue on it, and some gold lattice.”
“I had one something like that in my own rooms. Perhaps it did come from there.” The Prince hesitated, as Pitt made no response. “I dare say the woman took it. Later, when she quarreled with Sorokine, it got broken.”
“Is anything else missing, or broken, sir?”
“No.” There was total finality in the single word.
“Obviously you did not see her leave, sir,” Pitt pointed out. “She could hardly have taken a pedestal dish and hidden it on her person without your noticing.”
The Prince said nothing. He could not argue with such a conclusion without appearing ridiculous.
“Could Mr. Sorokine have come for her?” Pitt went on relentlessly. “How was the arrangement made for them to meet? Why would she take the dish? Surely there are other things of beauty and value in your rooms, sir? Possibly easier to carry or conceal.”
“Of course I didn’t see her take it!” the Prince snapped. “And I have no idea how she managed to meet Sorokine, or even if she did. I can’t see that it matters. It happened. She’s dead.”
“Where are her clothes, sir?”
“What?”
“She was found in the cupboard completely naked.”
The Prince’s face was ashen, his eyes blazing. “For God’s sake, man! I have no idea! Ask Sorokine. Search his rooms. Although he’s had plenty of time to get rid of them by now. Who knows what a madman does?”
“Is it possible, sir, that you were deeply asleep, and he could have fought with her in your room, broken the dish there, and even torn her clothes there?”
“I…” He thought about it for a moment or two, and realized that Pitt was using a polite term for asking if he could have been so drunk that he had been insensible. But it was still an escape. “I suppose so,” he said grudgingly.
“Then may I look and see if he left any trace, sir, any evidence that would prove it?”
“I can’t see why it matters. I’ve told you, it could have happened,” the Prince said crossly.
“It is a matter of justice, sir.”
They stood facing each other, staring. Perhaps it was the reference to justice that broke the stalemate.
“Very well, if you insist,” the Prince snapped.
“Thank you, sir,” Pitt accepted.
But he found nothing of any interest whatever in the Prince of Wales’s rooms. There was not even