Long Spoon Lane - Anne Perry [37]
“Oh, yes,” Jack said with feeling. “And he has a lot of backers. In fact, it’s the backers who matter—Tanqueray is merely the spokesman. That’s one of the many things that worry me. I don’t really know who’s the moving force behind it.”
“His bill is not a response to the bomb in Myrdle Street?” Pitt asked.
Jack smiled with a downward twist of his mouth. “They are using it, certainly, but they are far better prepared than anyone could be in a day or two. The bill still needs drafting, but they have all their promises and the main arguments to support them. They are testing opinion, but there’s a lot of agreement already. Crime in the street has been increasing over the last year or so.” He looked sideways at Pitt, his eyes narrowed against the sun. “Everyone knows somebody who’s been robbed, or experienced a nasty incident, or even simply preferred to go the longer way home because of the threat of violence. Perhaps, being in Special Branch instead of the police, you haven’t noticed it.”
“And police corruption,” Pitt said softly. “I hadn’t noticed that either.”
“Corruption?” Jack asked, frowning. “Where? How do you know?”
“The two anarchists we caught,” Pitt answered, beginning to walk slowly. “That’s presumably why they bombed Myrdle Street. They meant to destroy only the center house—it belongs to a policeman from Cannon Street. They’re apparently not very skilled with the dynamite. They took away three houses at least, and damaged five more so badly they’ll have to be demolished.”
Jack raised his eyebrows. “And you believe them?” He kept pace with Pitt.
“I didn’t at first. I did a little investigating myself. At least part of it is true.”
“And the rest?”
“I don’t know.”
“How high does it go?” They reached the end of the terrace and turned to go back again.
“To the top,” Pitt replied.
Jack was silent for several minutes because there were some M.P.s walking behind them, closely enough to overhear. Two or three spoke to Jack and he replied briefly. He did not introduce Pitt.
“Who do you mean?” he asked at length when he was perfectly sure there was no one within earshot.
“Wetron in Bow Street,” Pitt replied. “Simbister in Cannon Street. Don’t know who else, but it’s Wetron that matters.”
Jack did not ask why. Pitt had previously told him that Wetron was head of the Inner Circle.
“The police are saying that they can’t protect us from theft or random violence unless they have more men.” Jack stood still, staring out across the wind-riffled water. “And now they want more guns, as general protection for their men, and the argument for it is powerful. We haven’t had many police killed in the line of duty yet, but it will happen. We can’t ask them to protect us if we won’t give them the means. When the next policeman gets badly injured there is going to be an uproar. Not to mention that more police will leave the force. People are frightened, Thomas, and they have reason to be.”
“I know.” Pitt leaned on the wall beside him, watching a ferry boat passing under the arches of Westminster Bridge. “But giving us guns isn’t going to help; it will only escalate everything. We already have them if we face a really bad situation, like the siege in Long Spoon Lane. If we have too much power then sooner or later some of us will abuse it. We’ll separate ourselves from the people we’re supposed to be part of.”
Jack chewed on his lip. “There’s worse to come,” he said unhappily. “I don’t know what, not yet.”
“Worse?” Pitt was jolted. “What could be worse than corrupt police with guns and the power to go wherever they want, to search whomever they want simply because they say they have a reason, but don’t have to prove it? It’s license for a private army!”
“I don’t know. It’s only a rumor of an addition to the bill, something no one will specify. But I believe it exists. Or at least, let us say, I fear it.” He straightened up and turned to