Farriers' Lane - Anne Perry [57]
“Well, put it this way, if they did, either they didn’t see Blaine nailed up to the stable door or they didn’t report it. And I suppose either of those is quite likely. You’d be looking where you were going and in the dark not see him …”
“The stable wasn’t in a direct path.”
“No—no, it was over the far side of the yard.”
“So whoever killed Blaine either lured him across the yard or was strong enough to carry him,” Pitt reasoned.
“I suppose that follows,” Lambert conceded. “But then he knew Godman; it wouldn’t be hard to persuade him to come out of the alley into the yard …”
“Wouldn’t it? I wouldn’t go into a dark stable yard alone with a man whose sister I was seducing, would you?”
Lambert stared at him, his face growing pink with confusion and annoyance.
“I think you have leaped to a conclusion, Pitt, for which there are no grounds. Kingsley Blaine was a good-looking, well-spoken, rather naive young man who became enamored of a very skilled actress, not really all that beautiful, but … magnetic, a woman who knows how to manipulate men.” There was both certainty and contempt in his voice. “If anyone was seduced, it was Blaine, not her. And Godman may have resented that like poison, but he knew it was true.” He shook his head. “No, Pitt, Tamar Macaulay was not an innocent young girl seduced by a callous man. No one who knew the people concerned could have imagined that. I think it is quite easy to believe that Blaine would go to Godman, thinking himself quite safe.”
Pitt thought for a moment, and kept his voice free from the skepticism he felt. “It may be that Tamar Macaulay was the leader in the affair, the seducer, if you wish—but do you suppose she allowed Blaine to realize that?”
“I have no idea.” Lambert was contemptuous. “Does it matter?”
Pitt shifted position a little in the chair. He wished Lambert would open a window. The room was almost airless. “Well, it’s not the truth of the relationship that matters, surely, but what Blaine thought it was,” he pointed out. “If he imagined himself a hell of a fellow, having an affair with an actress, then he would have felt guilty, and wary—however ridiculous that was in fact.”
“I doubt it,” Lambert replied, his face hardening into resentment as he understood the point. “Godman was not a big man, either in height or build. Blaine was not heavy but he was tall. I don’t think it would occur to him to have any physical fear.”
Pitt shifted uncomfortably, instinctively pulling at his collar to ease it from choking him. “Well, if Blaine was a large man, and Godman quite slight, it is unlikely Godman could have carried Blaine once he was dead and lifted him up against the door while he nailed his hands and feet to it,” he reasoned. “By the way, how did he manage that? Do you know?”
The color deepened in Lambert’s face.
“No, I don’t know, nor do I care, Inspector Pitt. The kind of rage he must have been in to do such a thing, maybe he found the strength after all. They say madmen have a superhuman power when the mania is on them.”
“Maybe,” Pitt said, heavy with doubt.
“What on earth could it matter now?” Lambert demanded harshly. “It was done. And he did it—that’s beyond any question. Blaine, poor devil, was nailed up to the stable door.” His face was pale, his voice charged with emotion. “I saw him myself.” He shuddered. “Fixed there by farrier’s nails through his hands and feet—arms wide like the figure of Christ, feet together, and blood all over the place. Godman was seen coming out of the alley with blood on him. He lifted the body up somehow, probably he nailed the hands one at a time.”
“Have you ever tried to lift a dead body, Lambert?” Pitt asked very levelly.
“No—nor have I tried to crucify anyone—or ride a bicycle on a tightrope!” Lambert snapped. “But the fact that I can’t do it doesn’t mean it cannot be done. What are you trying to say, Pitt? That it wasn’t Godman?”
“No. Just trying to understand what happened—and what it could have been that Judge Stafford was thinking when he questioned all the