Farriers' Lane - Anne Perry [138]
“What were the grounds for the appeal, sir?” Pitt asked, as if he had had no idea.
“Oh—medical. A formality really. Had to have something.”
“And did you treat it like that—as a formality?”
Oswyn’s face was aghast and he dropped his hands instantly. “Good heavens, no! Of course not. A man’s life was at stake, and even more, the whole principle of British justice. Must not only be done, but be seen to be done, and to the satisfaction of everyone. Or else justice ceases to be upheld, and then it works for no one. Oh, we examined the case in minute detail. There was no flaw in it, none at all.” He screwed up his eyes, looking at Pitt anxiously.
“Did Judge Stafford mention it to you lately?” Pitt felt his way, seeking for the question which would probe between the certainties of the obvious answers.
Oswyn hesitated only minutely, a moment of indecision, but it was there, and Pitt saw it. Oswyn smiled, understanding the expression in Pitt’s eyes, knowing he had seen.
“Well, yes, he did say something.” He shrugged. “But it was—not serious, if you know what I mean.”
“No,” Pitt said unhelpfully. “How could such a matter not be serious?”
But Oswyn had had time to think now. His answer came with assurance. “It was a nuisance. The poor Macaulay woman was still troubling him, trying to find someone to believe her and reopen the matter. And Stafford, poor devil, was the man she was directing her efforts towards.” He shrugged and smiled, attempting to look at ease. “He merely mentioned that. It was an embarrassment. Surely you can understand that, Inspector?” He laughed very slightly, but there was no nervousness in it, and no humor.
“In case there had been an omission, or an error?” Pitt asked.
“No!” Oswyn leaned forward, banging his hand down on the surface of the desk. His face was a little pink, his eyes earnest. “There was no …” He shook his head. “There was no error. The matter was very simple.” He stared at Pitt earnestly. “The appeal was raised on the grounds of the medical evidence. Yardley said originally that he thought the wound that killed Blaine had been caused by some sort of dagger. Then on examination he admitted that it could have been a particularly long farrier’s nail.”
“Farriers’ nails only come in certain lengths,” Pitt argued. “They have to go into horses’ hooves. There’s a limit to how long they can be, even though they are clipped off.”
“Yes, of course.” Oswyn waved the thought away impatiently. “All right, then an ordinary nail. The man is a surgeon, not a blacksmith. Perhaps it was just a loose piece of metal ’round the yard. The point is, it did not have to have been a dagger.”
“Were there any nails like that, or longer pieces of metal ’round the yard?” Pitt asked. “Surely a bloodstained piece would have been easy enough to find.”
Oswyn looked startled. “I have no idea. For heaven’s sake, man, we sat on the appeal. That was weeks after the trial, which itself was weeks after the crime. Every man and his father could have been through the yard by then, and probably had.”
“So whatever the weapon was, it was never found?”
“I suppose not. Perhaps it was one of the nails he used to hang him up by.” With an effort he lowered his voice. “But whatever it was, Inspector, it is far too late now to shed any light on it. Poor Stafford could hardly have been investigating that, could he?” He had scored a point of logic and he knew it.
“Nevertheless,” Pitt argued. “If Yardley changed his mind, then there was an element of uncertainty in the evidence. It seems to have been considered sufficient to take it to appeal.”
“A desperate measure.” Oswyn screwed up his face, his broad, mobile mouth rueful. “A man will try anything to avoid the rope, and who is to blame him?”
“Do you remember P.C. Paterson?” Pitt changed the subject abruptly.