Buckingham Palace Gardens - Anne Perry [143]
Narraway’s face was bleak, his mouth tight. “The newspapers will have a field day with that! It’ll never come to trial, Pitt. Dunkeld knows it, and so do I. Perhaps we could prove it, with the dish, the box; we can’t prove that he brought the port bottles in full of blood. Certainly someone did a lot of cleaning up in the Queen’s room, and Sorokine’s never been in the Palace before. But it’s all academic. Dunkeld has us. The best we can do is at least not charge Sorokine.”
“No, sir,” Pitt said in a hard, quiet voice. “Dunkeld was going to blackmail the Prince of Wales, the heir to the throne. If he didn’t do it explicitly, it was always implicit, for the rest of his life.”
“I didn’t think you’d be a royalist after all this, Pitt,” Narraway said with irony and confusion in his voice.
“I don’t have much respect for the man, but I do for the office,” Pitt snapped. “But that isn’t the point.”
Narraway opened his eyes wide. “Blackmail is a filthy crime.”
“Not blackmail,” Pitt said tartly. “Treason.”
“Treason?” Then in a flash of fire in the mind, Narraway understood. “Of course. We charge him and try him for treason. Secrets of the State—a closed court. Thank you, Pitt. I am profoundly obliged.”
Pitt smiled, the blood warming his face again.
Gracie gave a long sigh of relief.
“Who killed the poor woman in the linen cupboard?” Narraway asked almost casually.
“God knows,” Pitt admitted. “Maybe He is the only one who ever will. She might be just some murder victim of the night.”
“Exactly like the one in Africa?” Narraway asked sarcastically. “Who the hell brought her?”
“I’ve no idea.”
Narraway raised his eyebrows. “I imagine you would like to find out?”
“Yes, I would. First I would like to go and release Sorokine.” Pitt smiled. “I’d take help for Dunkeld, if I were you. He’s a big man with a very violent temper.”
Narraway looked at him coldly. “I have no intention of going alone, Pitt! Do you take me for an idiot?”
They reached the door together, then Pitt turned to Gracie. “Which one do you want to see?” he asked. “You deserve to take your choice.”
“Thanks,” she said primly. “I think as I’ll come with you and tell Mr. Sorokine ’e’s free. ’E were real nice ter me. Let me read in a book by Oscar Wilde, like I were a real sort o’ person as could understand it.”
“You are,” Pitt told her. “How perceptive of him. When we get home, I shall buy you a copy for yourself.”
“Thank you,” she accepted.
They went downstairs together and found Mr. Tyndale, who gave them the key to Julius’s room.
“I’m very glad, sir,” he said gravely. “Mr. Sorokine was always very civil.” He glanced only briefly at Gracie, confused now as to exactly what her status was.
She avoided his eyes too, so as not to make it even harder for him.
Up the stairs again Pitt knocked on Julius’s door, then opened it and went in.
“Your courtesy is very pleasant, if a trifle absurd,” Julius said quietly. He was fully dressed but ashen-faced. His hands were clenched by his sides and he stood so stiffly he swayed very little, concentrating on keeping his composure.
Pitt held out the door key in his open hand, offering it.
“I apologize, Mr. Sorokine. I am now perfectly certain that your account of events was a true one. I regret the extreme distress you have been caused.”
Julius stared at him, then at the key in his hand. Then slowly he reached for it, took it and held it, smoothing his fingers over it as if to assure himself it was real. Then he looked up at Pitt again.
“Cahoon?” he asked hoarsely. “Why? He’s the only one of us who couldn’t have killed the poor woman.”
Very briefly Pitt explained the main outline of the case to him.
Julius sat down on the bed. “God Almighty!” He breathed out the words so they sounded more like a prayer than a blasphemy.
“If you will excuse me, sir, I need to go and help Mr. Narraway. Arresting Mr. Dunkeld may not be easy. If there is anything you need, Gracie will get it for you.”
Gracie moved forward. “Yes, sir,” she said with great satisfaction. “’Ow