Farriers' Lane - Anne Perry [188]
“I’ve told you, sir, I have not moved it,” Hobbs said furiously. “It is exactly where it was when I came here. Do you wish me to take my oath upon it? I will.”
Pitt rose to his feet. “No, thank you, I don’t think it will be necessary, but if it is, I shall call upon you to do so.”
“Why? What does it mean?” Hobbs was pale with agitation and mounting fear.
“It means, I think, that Constable Paterson moved this piece of furniture out of its place in order to climb up and take down the chandelier, then place his noose over the hook, and jump,” Pitt answered him.
“You mean his—murderer!” Hobbs gasped.
“No, Mr. Hobbs,” Pitt corrected. “I mean Paterson himself, when he realized what he had done to Aaron Godman; when he realized how he had allowed his horror and his rage at the time to blind him not only to the truth but to both honor and justice. He not only reached the wrong conclusion, he reached it by dishonest means. He did not listen to the flower seller; he made up his mind what had happened and coerced her into believing it. He was so sure he was right he forced the issue—and he was wrong.”
“Stop it,” Hobbs said in anguish. “I don’t want to hear it. It is quite terrible! I know what you are talking about—that murder in Farriers’ Lane. I remember when they hanged Godman. If what you are saying is true, then what hope is there for any of us? It can’t be! Godman was tried and found guilty, the judges all said so. You must be wrong.” He was wringing his hands in consternation. “They haven’t convicted Harrimore yet—and they won’t. You’ll see. British justice is the best in the world. I know that, even if you don’t.”
“I don’t know whether it is or not,” Pitt said evenly. “It doesn’t really matter.”
“How can you say that?” Hobbs was beside himself, his face white but for two hectic spots of color high in his cheeks. “That is monstrous. What matters on earth, if that doesn’t?”
“It doesn’t matter whether other people’s justice is better or worse,” Pitt explained with an effort at patience. “It matters that in this case we were wrong. You may find it painful. So will many others. That won’t change it. The only choice we have now is whether we will lie about it still and try to conceal it, condoning the act, becoming party to Godman’s death, or if we will uncover it and make damnably sure it doesn’t happen again—at least not easily. Which would you rather, Mr. Hobbs?”
“I—I, er …” Hobbs fell silent, staring at Pitt as if he had changed shape in front of him into something hideous. But he had neither spirit nor conviction to argue. Something in him knew Pitt was right.
Pitt said nothing more. He tipped his hat very slightly and went out past Hobbs, thanking him, and left.
“I haven’t got your exhumation order yet,” Drummond said quickly as soon as Pitt came into the office. “I’m still trying.”
Pitt threw himself down in the chair by the fire without waiting to be asked.
“Paterson committed suicide,” he said.
“You told me he couldn’t have,” Drummond replied. “And anyway, why on earth should he?”
“Wouldn’t it cross your mind, if you realized you had manufactured evidence that had hanged an innocent man?” Pitt demanded. He sank farther into the chair. “Paterson wasn’t a bad man. The Farriers’ Lane murder sickened him. He let his emotions govern his behavior. He was outraged, and frightened. He needed to find whoever was guilty, not just for the law but for himself, because he could not live with the idea that whoever it was was beyond the law to catch.”
“Not a weakness I fail to understand,” Drummond said quietly, standing looking down at Pitt. “I think a few of us suffer from that. It frightens me to think that such crimes can happen at all. We need to believe we can find the killers and prove their guilt. We need to believe in our own superiority, because the alternative is too dreadful.” He pushed his hands deep into his pockets. “Poor Paterson.”
Pitt said nothing. His mind was darkened by pity for him, imagining what he must have thought that last day of his life as he stood in his bedroom, bitterly alone, facing