Long Spoon Lane - Anne Perry [109]
He changed the subject. “We have to connect the bombing to Wetron,” he said aloud. “There’s no good getting Simbister alone. Wetron will proclaim his horror, take credit for getting rid of corruption, and find someone else to put in Simbister’s place, with a strict warning to be more careful about getting caught.”
“I know that!” Narraway said abruptly. He was staring towards the window, his face turned in profile. “We need to use everything we have. We can’t afford to protect those we like, or be squeamish about using those we don’t.”
“I know,” Pitt acknowledged. “If I could think of an effective way to do it, I would.”
“Who killed Magnus Landsborough, and why?” Narraway asked. “Was it in order to put one of their own in charge? The bombing in Scarborough Street was completely different from Myrdle Street. It wasn’t amateur exhibitionism to make a point; it was a very professional, indiscriminate murder.”
“It’s possible,” Pitt admitted. “From what I’ve learned of Magnus, he was an idealist, but neither vicious nor a complete fool. Whoever shot him was someone who knew their plans and expected them at Long Spoon Lane.”
“Obviously,” Narraway said bitterly. “Good name for it. Seems they have been dealing with the devil. Nobody’s spoon is long enough for that. Be careful, Pitt. Use Voisey, don’t trust him—not in anything!”
Pitt thought of the evidence against Voisey’s sister. Would it be enough? Was Voisey’s love for her greater than his hunger to have power again, and revenge on those who had robbed him of it once?
Pitt had made the mistake before of assuming that people always act in their own interest. It was not so. Passion, fear, rage prompted all kinds of acts that were stupid and self-destructive, and the perpetrators saw that only when it was too late.
“Pitt,” Narraway interrupted his thoughts.
“Yes, sir. I’ll be as careful of Voisey as I can.”
“Good. Get on with it. And no more dips in the river. I can’t afford to have you with pneumonia.”
“Thank you for your solicitude,” Pitt said sarcastically and went out before Narraway replied.
Pitt arrived home early that evening, and although he had considered for over an hour how he would confront the subject of Voisey with Charlotte, and how much to say about the talk he had with Narraway, he had still reached no satisfactory decision when he walked into the kitchen.
Charlotte met him with a bright, innocent smile that proclaimed to him her total guilt. She knew precisely what she had done, and had no intention of telling him. That settled it. At least for the time being he would say nothing, because it required new thought before he could decide anything in the changed circumstances.
Charlotte held out a letter to him. “This was delivered by hand about an hour ago. It’s from Charles Voisey.”
“How do you know?” he demanded, taking it from her.
She opened her eyes very wide. “Because the messenger said so! For heaven’s sake, you don’t think I opened it, do you?”
“I’m sorry,” he apologized, tearing the flap. Narraway’s face with its raw emotion was sharp in his mind. “Of course you didn’t.” He knew she was watching him as he read it.
Pitt,
Hope you are no worse for the ducking. I now know where there is the proof that we need. It is in the possession of the man it implicates, but there is no point whatever in getting the dog and leaving the master free. He will easily acquire another dog, so to speak.
Of course there is a risk involved, especially to the only man in a situation where he can search his master’s house! But I do not see any choice.
Advise me.
Voisey
Charlotte might have meant to control herself, but it was more than she could manage. “What is it?” she said, her voice sharp.
“I have to go and find Tellman,” he replied, going to the stove, opening the top with the bar, and dropping the letter