Farriers' Lane - Anne Perry [214]
Pitt fixed Grover with a cold eye. “Time of death, Constable,” he said levelly. “That would be more instructive to know. And was he killed in the boat or brought there afterwards?”
Grover’s face fell. “Oh, I don’t think we know that, sir. Not yet. Bit of a risky thing to do, though, chop a man’s ’ead orf right there in the park. Could ’ave bin seen by anyone out for a walk.”
“And how many people were out for a walk at that hour, Grover?”
Grover shifted his feet.
“Oh, well, don’t seem as if there were nobody but them two as found ’im. But your murderer couldn’t ’ave counted on that, could ’e.” It was a statement rather than a question. “Could’ve been anyone out for a morning ride,” he went on reasonably. “Or even someone comin’ home late from a party, or a night out, takin’ the air …”
“That is if it was done in daylight,” Pitt pointed out. “Perhaps it was done long before that. Have you found anyone else who was in the park yet?”
“No sir, not yet. We came to report it to you, Mr. Pitt, as soon as we realized as it were someone important.” It was his ultimate justification, and he knew it was sufficient.
“Right,” Pitt agreed. “By the way, did you find the head?”
“Yes sir, it was right there in the boat beside ’im, like,” Grover replied, blinking.
“I see. Thank you. Send Mr. Tellman up, will you.”
“Yes, sir.” Grover stood to attention momentarily. “Thank you, sir.” And he turned on his heel and went out, closing the door softly behind him.
It was less than three minutes before Tellman knocked, and Pitt told him to enter. He was a lean man with a narrow aquiline face, hollow cheeks and a tight sarcastic mouth. He had come up through the ranks with hard work and ruthless application. Six months ago he had been Pitt’s equal, now he was his junior, and resented it bitterly. He stood to attention in front of the large leather-inlaid desk, and Pitt sitting in the easy chair behind it.
“Yes, sir,” he said coldly.
Pitt refused to acknowledge he had heard the tone in Tellman’s voice. He looked across at him with innocent eyes. “There’s been a murder in Hyde Park,” he said calmly. “A man by the name of Oakley Winthrop, Captain the Honorable, R.N. Found a little after dawn in one of the pleasure boats on the Serpentine. Beheaded.”
“Unpleasant,” Tellman said laconically. “Important, was he, this Winthrop?”
“I don’t know,” Pitt said honestly. “But his parents are titled, so we can assume he was, at least in some people’s eyes.”
Tellman pulled a face. He despised those he considered passengers in society. Privilege stirred in him a raw, bitter anger that stretched far back into his childhood memories of hunger, cold, and endless weariness and anxiety, a father beaten by circumstances till he had no pride left, a mother who worked till she was too tired to talk to her children or laugh with them.
“I suppose we will all be trudging holes in our boots so we can get the beggar who did it,” he said sourly. “Sounds like a madman to me. I mean, why would anyone do anything so—” He stopped, uncertain what word he wanted. “Was his head there? You didn’t say.”
“Yes it was. There was no attempt to hide his identity.”
Tellman pulled a face. “Like I said, a madman. What the hell was a naval captain doing in a pleasure boat on the Serpentine anyway?” A smile lit his face quite suddenly, showing a totally different side to his nature. “Bit of a comedown, isn’t it? Fellow like that’d be more used to a battleship.” He cleared his throat. “Wonder if he was there with a woman. Someone else’s wife, maybe?”
“Possibly,” Pitt agreed. “But keep such speculation to yourself for the time being. First of all find out all the physical facts you can.” He saw Tellman wince at being told something he considered so obvious. He disregarded the man’s expression and continued. “Get all the material details. I want