Highgate Rise - Anne Perry [81]
“Yes—away up in Highgate.”
“Somebody dead?” she asked. She had very little idea what “dead” meant, but she had heard the word many times, and she and Charlotte and Daniel had buried several dead birds in the garden. But she could not remember all that Charlotte had told her, except it was all right and something to do with heaven.
Pitt met Charlotte’s eyes over Jemima’s head. She nodded.
“Yes,” he replied.
“Are you going to solve it?” Jemima continued.
“I hope so.”
“I’m going to be a detective when I grow up,” she said, taking another spoonful of her porridge. “I shall solve cases as well.”
“So shall I,” Daniel added.
Charlotte passed Pitt his porridge and they continued in gentle conversation until it was time for him to leave. He kissed the children—Daniel was still just young enough not to object—kissed Charlotte, who definitely did not object, and put on his boots, which she had remembered to bring in this morning to warm, and took his leave.
Outside it was one of those crisp autumn mornings when the air is cold, tingling in the nostrils, but the sky is blue and the crackle of frost under the feet is a sharp, pleasing sound.
He went first to Bow Street to report to Micah Drummond.
“Another fire?” Drummond frowned, standing by his window looking over the wet rooftops towards the river. The morning sunlight made everything gleam in gray and silver and there was mist only over the water itself. “Still they didn’t get Shaw?” He turned back and met Pitt’s eyes.
“Makes one think.”
“He was very distressed.” Pitt remembered the night before with an ache of pity.
Drummond did not answer that. He knew Pitt felt it un-arguably and they both knew all the possibilities that rose from it.
“I suppose the Highgate police are looking into all the known arsonists in the area, methods and patterns and so on? Made a note of all the people who turned out to watch, in case it’s a pyromaniac who just lights them for the love of it?”
“Very keen,” Pitt said ruefully.
“But you think it’s a deliberate murder?” Drummond eyed him curiously.
“I think so.”
“Bit of pressure to get this cleared up.” Drummond was at his desk now, and his long fingers played idly with the copper-handled paper knife. “Need you back here. They’ve taken half a dozen men for this Whitechapel business. I suppose you’ve seen the newspapers?”
“I saw the letter to Mr. Lusk,” Pitt said grimly. “With the human kidney in it, and purported to come ’from hell.’ I should think he may be right. Anyone who can kill and mutilate repeatedly like this must live in hell, and carry it with him.”
“Pity aside,” Drummond said very seriously, “people are beginning to panic Whitechapel is deserted as soon as it’s dusk, people are calling for the commissioner to resign, the newspapers are getting more and more sensational. One woman died from a heart attack with the latest edition in her hand.” Drummond sighed in a twisted unhappiness, his eyes on Pitt’s. “They don’t joke about it in the music halls, you know. People usually make jokes about what frightens them most—it’s a way of defusing it. But this is too bad even for that.”
“Don’t they?” Curiously, that meant more to Pitt than all the sensational press and posters. It was an indication of the depth of fear in the ordinary people. He smiled lopsidedly. “Haven’t had much time to go to the halls lately.”
Drummond acknowledged the jibe with the good nature with which it was intended.
“Do what you can with this Highgate business, Pitt, and keep me informed.”
“Yes sir.”
This time instead of taking a hansom, Pitt walked briskly down to the Embankment and caught a train. He got off at the Highgate Road station, putting the few pence difference aside towards Charlotte’s holiday. It was a beginning. He walked up Highgate Rise to the police station.
He was greeted with very guarded civility.
“Mornin’ sir.” Their faces were grave and resentful, and yet there was a certain satisfaction in them.
“Good morning,” he replied, waiting for the explanation. “Discovered something?