Death in the Devil's Acre - Anne Perry [40]
“To go into the Devil’s Acre?” Pitt finished for him, smiling.
Athelstan grunted. “It’s all very well for you to be pious, Pitt. You don’t have to explain yourself to these people—thank God!—or we’d have the whole police force thrown out on its ear! Some very influential men find the odd entertainment in establishments like Max Burton’s. They accept the risk of being overcharged, even robbed outright in the street, or the occasional roughing up. But being murdered and emasculated! God—it doesn’t bear thinking of! And the scandal, the shame!”
“Perhaps it’s an ardent reformer trying to put the whorehouses out of business,” Pitt said, his tongue in his cheek.
“Damn your impertinence,” Athelstan replied without heat. “This is no time for levity, Pitt.” He ran his fingers inside his collar to ease it. “I’ve got to get this solved and the maniac responsible in Bedlam, where he belongs. And I don’t care if he’s a demented clergyman trying to clear up hell single-handed, or a greedy pimp who thinks he can carve himself an empire. What have you got so far?”
“Very little, sir—”
“Don’t make excuses, damn it! Facts, witnesses—what do we know?”
Pitt repeated the few medical facts.
“That’s not much use!” Athelstan said desperately.
“No witnesses,” Pitt added.
“None at all?”
Pitt shrugged with a faint smile. “Did you expect any? Do any of your outraged correspondents say they were there?”
Athelstan gave him a filthy look. “What about other pimps—whores, vagrants—anyone?”
“No.”
Athelstan shut his eyes. “Damn! Damn! Damn! We’ve got to get this tidied up, Pitt.” He put his hands to his face. “Can you imagine what they’ll do to us if the next victim is one of the nobility, or a member of Parliament? They’ll crucify us!”
“What do they expect us to do? Patrol the streets of the Acre where the whorehouses are?”
“Don’t be idiotic! They want us to get rid of this lunatic and get things back to normal.” He stared at Pitt, his eyes pleading. “And we’ve got to do it! Find your snouts, your informers—use money if necessary. Not much, mind! Don’t lose your head! Someone’ll talk, someone knows. Look for motives, rivalries, jealousy. See who was losing money. My advice is find who killed the pimp Max, and the rest will follow. What is the connection between Max and this Dr. Pinchin?”
“We haven’t found one yet.” Pitt, aware of his failure, felt his face tighten.
“Well, get out there and look for it!” Athelstan clenched his fists. “And for God’s sake find it, Pitt! Lock someone up. We’ve got to stop this—this—” His hand knocked the nearest newspaper onto the floor, exposing a pile of letters on embossed notepaper. “They’re panicking! Important people are very upset!”
Pitt shoved his hands into his pockets. “Yes—I’m sure they are.”
“Well, get on with it!” Athelstan shouted in exasperation. “Get out there and do something!”
“Yes, sir.”
Accordingly, Pitt went back to the Devil’s Acre to question Ambrose Mercutt more precisely over his rivalry with Max. He found him dressed in a scarlet robe with velvet collar and cuffs, and in a remarkably ill humor.
“I don’t know what on earth you expect of me!” he said exasperatedly. “I’ve no idea who killed the wretched man! I’ve already told you everything I can think of. Good heavens, he had enough enemies!”
“You seem to be the most obvious among them, Mr. Mercutt.” Pitt was armed with the additional research of two more constables, and was in no frame of mind to be patronized by an effete pimp dressed in a red robe at ten o’clock in the morning. “Max Burton had taken a considerable amount of your custom, and at least four of your best whores. He was a very great threat to your livelihood.”
“Nonsense!” With a wave of his long fingers, Ambrose dismissed the idea as ludicrous. “I told you before, women come and go. And in time they’d have left Burton and gone to someone else anyway. It was nothing out of the ordinary. If you were remotely