Long Spoon Lane - Anne Perry [76]
Voisey turned and missed his step, catching his balance by gripping onto the rail. “Your point is well taken,” he said quietly. “It is a weapon we must use. Next time we will make it Turner’s memorial.”
“Good,” Pitt agreed. “I like Turner.”
Voisey smiled. “Police must earn a better wage than I thought! Have you many Turners at home? Or do you have lots of time to go around to the galleries?”
“Robbery detail,” Pitt replied with a smile. “Not much point in trying to recover a stolen painting you wouldn’t recognize from a forgery.”
“Fascinating,” Voisey said drily. “Police work is obviously more complex than I thought.” He continued up the steps towards the host of people who were gathering, staring around them.
“The house where I grew up had a Turner,” Pitt went on. “I always preferred him to Constable. It’s all in the use of light.” He smiled at Voisey and walked away. It was true; the estate on which his father had been gamekeeper had had several fine paintings. But Pitt let Voisey make his own assumption.
Pitt reported to Narraway briefly. He needed him to know about Piers Denoon and Simbister, not that he expected him to be surprised.
“So Denoon is running with the hare and hunting with the hounds,” Narraway remarked, stretching out in his chair and regarding Pitt. “Or father and son are on different sides? Interesting. What about the Landsboroughs? Were they on different sides also? Sheridan Landsborough used to be extremely liberal in his youth. He had a considerable social conscience and deplored what he perceived as heavy-handed government. ‘Interference’ was the word he used. But then, as they say, every man with a heart is liberal in his youth, and every man with a head is conservative in his old age. What is he now, Pitt? Mature preserver of order, or senile tolerator of license?” He raised his eyebrows. “Wise politician, bereaved father, husband who wants peace in his home? Brother to defend his sister’s son? Or simply a man confused, hurt, and out of his depth?”
“I don’t know,” Pitt admitted. “I’ve been too busy pursuing police corruption.” He said it with defiance, not in anger in case he were attacked, but simply in a statement to Narraway that that was his priority. He cared very much who had killed Magnus Landsborough, but solving that crime would have to wait upon the larger issue. He did not even know if the murder had been personal or political. That was the next thing he intended to learn. He told Narraway about Jones the Pocket, and his plan to make the next collection of extortion money himself.
Narraway sat up straight. “I don’t like it, Pitt,” he said quietly. “I can’t protect you—or Tellman. You’ve left him wide open.”
“I know,” Pitt admitted. It hurt and he was very aware of it.
“What about Voisey? What is his part in this?”
“Anything he can to curb the police bill, particularly the part about questioning servants in secret. He should know enough through his old Inner Circle days to frighten a few people.”
Narraway regarded him soberly. “Any information would be in the hands of people like Wetron, anyway. He wouldn’t use it to destroy his own. The Inner Circle has never turned on one another, except Voisey and Wetron, and Wetron will make damn sure that never happens again. Anyone who even thinks of such a thing will be torn to bits by the others. They survive through loyalty. You should have known that, Pitt.”
“I do,” Pitt replied, sitting down in the chair opposite him. “Do you think that any policeman who is given the power by the act of Parliament is going to pass it on to his superior, then quietly forget it? Most of them are honorable, but corruption begets corruption.” He heard the bitterness he felt very clearly in his voice. “That’s what I hate about it most, the contagion of it. Men who could have been good become tainted, and the more of it there is the harder it is to survive without being touched by it. If you