Farriers' Lane - Anne Perry [135]
Forgive me writing you like this, but I have learned something terrible which I have to tell you, or I cannot rest with myself a night longer. I know you are a very busy man, but this is more important than anything, I swear it. I dare tell no one else.
Please answer me when I can speak to you about it,
Your humble servant,
D. Paterson, P.C.
“And you don’t know what it was that troubled him so much, or why he wouldn’t simply tell Inspector Lambert?” Pitt asked.
“No, I’m afraid I don’t,” Livesey replied, lowering his voice still further so Lambert would not hear him in the next room. “But the suggestion implicit is not a pleasant one. I must say, poor Lambert does look very shaken. I assume it is some case Paterson is presently engaged in, and which was a great deal more serious than he at first supposed.” He winced, his heavy face looking tired and shocked. “I fear it may involve some possible misbehavior or corruption. I refuse to speculate further and possibly do someone a profound injustice.”
“Why did he choose you, Mr. Livesey?” Pitt asked, endeavoring to make his tone so courteous as to rob the words of any rudeness. “Did he know you?”
“By repute, I suppose,” Livesey replied with profound unhappiness. “Certainly to the best of my knowledge I had never met him. Of course I knew his name, because I read his evidence at the trial of Aaron Godman. Similarly, he may have known that I sat on the appeal. But not personally, no. We had never met.”
Pitt was still puzzled.
“That does not really answer the question.”
“I agree,” Livesey said, shaking his head. “It is extraordinary. I can only suppose that the poor young man discovered, or thought he had discovered, something which he dared not take to his own superiors, and he chose someone whose name he knew, with the position, and the integrity, to help him. I feel appallingly guilty that I did not come last night, when I could have saved his life.”
There was no comment Pitt could make that would be helpful. He could not deny it. To do so would be condescending, and neither of them would believe it. Livesey did not deserve that, instead he walked over to the body, still hanging from its rope, regarded the noose, then pulled one of the chairs over to see if it would give him enough height to lift the body down at last and lay it where it could rest decently until the medical examiner came and took it away.
That was something Lambert could do, send for the appropriate people Presumably Livesey had not done so. He turned to look at him.
“Do you—do you need a little help?” Livesey said, swallowing and stepping forward. “I …” He cleared his throat. “What would you like me to do?”
“I was going to ask you if you had called the medical examiner,” Pitt answered,
“No—no, I just sent the boy for the police. I thought …”
“Lambert can do that,” Pitt said quickly. “I can’t untie the rope, his weight will have pulled it tight. I’ll need a knife.”
“Er …” Livesey was beginning to look ill, as if his years had caught up with him. “I’ll go and see if the landlady has one. You’ll need to preserve the rope, I imagine. Evidence.”
“Thank you. Ask Lambert to send for the medical examiner, will you?”
“Yes. Yes, of course.” And as if escaping the room and its fearful burden, Livesey turned on his heel and went out of the door. A moment later Pitt heard his steps heavy in the passage outside, and then on the stairs.
Pitt went back and stood in the room until Livesey returned with the knife.
Livesey was too shaken to touch the corpse. His face was pale and there was sweat on his brow and lip and his hands were clumsy, as if he could no longer coordinate them. Pitt held the body up as far as he could to ease the weight. Livesey cut the rope, taking several seconds to saw it through, then Pitt felt the full weight of Paterson suddenly collapse on him.
Livesey swore, his voice choking, and together they laid the body on the floor.
“There’s nothing else to do here,” Pitt said quietly, moved by pity for Livesey, and anxiety in case he could not bear the horror any longer. “Come.