Farriers' Lane - Anne Perry [26]
“Devlin O’Neil?” Livesey’s eyes widened; they were an unusually clear blue for a man of his years. “Certainly they had a disagreement, but quarrel is too large a word for it. There was a difference over who had won or lost a trivial wager.” He waved a heavy, powerful hand, dismissing it. “The sum involved was only a few pounds, which either of them could well afford. It was not an issue over which a man murders his friend.”
“How do you know?” Pitt asked, equally pleasantly.
“I was one of the judges of appeal,” Livesey said with a slight frown. “Naturally I studied the evidence of the trial very closely.” Pitt’s question perplexed him; the answer seemed so obvious.
Pitt smiled patiently. “I appreciate that, Mr. Livesey. I meant whose testimony do we have for it? O’Neil’s?”
“Of course.”
“Not proof of a great deal.”
A shadow of darkness and surprise crossed Livesey’s face. Obviously he had not considered it in that light.
“There was no cause to doubt him,” he said with a trace of irritation. “The difference of opinion was observed by others, and told to the police when they investigated the murder. O’Neil was asked to explain it, which he did—to everyone’s satisfaction, except, apparently, yours.”
“Or possibly Mr. Stafford’s; he wished to see O’Neil again.”
“That does not mean that he doubted him, Mr. Pitt.” He lifted his broad shoulders a little. “As I have already said to you, Stafford had no intention whatever of reopening the Blaine/Godman case. There are no grounds to question any part of it. The conduct of the original trial was exemplary, and there is no new evidence whatever.” He smiled, drumming his fingers on the leather desk top. “Stafford had no new evidence. He spoke to me yesterday himself. His intention was to prove Godman’s guilt yet again, beyond even Tamar Macaulay’s ability to question.” He looked at Pitt fixedly. “It is for everyone’s benefit, even Miss Macaulay herself, that she should at last accept the truth and allow herself to turn her attention to her own life, her career, or whatever she counts of value. For the rest of us, we should stop doubting the law and calling into question its efficacy or integrity.”
“He told you this?” Pitt asked, uncertainty in his mind, weighing what Juniper Stafford had said, and Pryce. “As late as yesterday?”
“Not entirely yesterday,” Livesey said patiently. “Over a period of time, and yesterday he did not change any part of it. He reaffirmed it, both by what he said and what he omitted to say. There was no change in his mind, and he certainly had discovered nothing new.”
“I see.” Pitt spoke only to acknowledge that he had heard. In truth, he did not see at all. Pryce had seemed so certain Stafford intended to reopen the case, and why should he have any interest in wishing Pitt to believe that, were it not true? Pryce had prosecuted, and seemed to feel a certain responsibility for the conviction. He would not want it overturned now.
And yet if Stafford had had no intention of reopening the case, why should anyone kill him?
Perhaps they had not, and it was some obscure disease with poisonlike symptoms, and either he was unaware of it himself or he had chosen not to tell his wife, possibly not realizing how serious it was.
Livesey seemed to seize Pitt’s thoughts. The judge’s face was grave, all the impatience washed away as if it had been trivial, a momentary and shallow thing. Now he was returned to reality, which concerned him.
“If he was not reopening the case, why should anyone kill him?” Livesey said quietly. “A justified question, Mr. Pitt. He was not reopening the case, and even if he were, there is no one with anything to fear from it, except Tamar Macaulay herself, because it would have reawakened the public to her brother’s disgrace and raised the whole matter in people’s minds again. She cannot wish that, when there is no hope of exoneration.” He smiled without humor or pleasure, only an awareness of the loss and wasted tears.
“I think the poor woman has been so steeped in her own crusade for these many years