Buckingham Palace Gardens - Anne Perry [37]
First he thanked Dunkeld, then looked appraisingly at Pitt.
Pitt felt uncomfortable, like livestock at a market, but he remained motionless.
“Oh, hello…Pitt, isn’t it?” the Prince said at last. “Is everybody giving you the assistance you need?”
“Yes, sir, thank you,” Pitt replied.
“It’s not an inquiry for your health, man,” Dunkeld growled. “What progress have you made?”
Pitt was not an equal, and he was acutely aware that he could only lose by behaving as if he were, no matter how Dunkeld provoked him. He smiled. He could be utterly charming, when he wished. “It was an inquiry for my professional needs,” he said calmly. “His Royal Highness’s help is necessary for our success, and I am grateful for it.”
The Prince glanced at Dunkeld, a cold, puzzled look, then back at Pitt. “Well taken, sir,” he said quietly. It was a reminder to Dunkeld not to assume too many liberties. Pitt glanced at Dunkeld’s face and saw the burning humiliation in it, for an instant, and wished that he had not. Worse, he knew Dunkeld had understood it.
“I am quite satisfied, sir, that none of your domestic staff could be guilty.” Pitt forced himself to speak gravely, addressing the Prince. “Two people were where they could observe the servants’ staircase at the relevant time. No one came or went.”
“And one of those two couldn’t have done it?” the Prince said hopefully.
“No, sir. One of them was Mr. Dunkeld, and the other was his manservant.”
The Prince swiveled to stare balefully at Dunkeld. “You didn’t say so!” he accused him.
Dunkeld stood his ground, the anger momentarily vanished. “I did not realize it was the relevant time, sir. I assume Mr. Pitt has worked that out somehow?”
The Prince turned to Pitt, his eyes cold.
“Yes, sir,” Pitt answered. “The woman was last seen alive sometime between midnight and one o’clock, and from the rigidity of the body when we found it, she must have died before half-past two in the morning, when Mr. Dunkeld’s manservant left the landing and could no longer observe the bottom of the staircase up to the servants’ sleeping quarters.”
Dunkeld shifted his weight from one foot to the other, tense and impatient.
Pitt ignored him. “I learned of an old man who came into the Palace with the delivery of a box for Mr. Dunkeld,” he went on. “But he was observed for all except a few minutes, which would not have been long enough to commit this crime.”
The Prince’s rather protruding eyes widened. “Wouldn’t it? Are you certain?”
“Yes, sir. Also his hands and clothes were clean of any blood.”
The Prince paled visibly. Perhaps Dunkeld had given him some idea of how much blood there had been. Now he turned to Dunkeld again. Pitt would like to have asked to leave, but he did not dare to. He was ashamed of himself for yielding to the pressure. This was his profession, and Dunkeld was no one of importance to Special Branch. He held no office in the Palace, only the power of his personality and the need the Prince seemed to feel for his presence. What was the Prince afraid of? Scandal? Another crime? Or that something hideous would be exposed? Did he know who it was, and dared not say?
Pitt felt a loathing for his own helplessness.
“Sir,” he said firmly. “We are left with the only conclusion possible, which is that one of the gentleman guests here killed this unfortunate woman.”
“Oh, no!” the Prince said immediately, shaking his head several times. “You must be mistaken. There is some alternative you have not investigated. Dunkeld, explain it to him!” He shrugged, as if Pitt were a problem Dunkeld should deal with.
Pitt clenched his fists at his sides, nails biting into his palms. This time he must not allow Dunkeld to dominate him. He drew in his breath to speak, but Dunkeld cut in before him.
“I’m sorry,