Pentecost Alley - Anne Perry [103]
Even so, there was something of a different level of reality once it was put into words. All hope was killed, even the faint whisper thread of denial, of not having faced it yet.
“I dunno,” Costigan repeated, staring at the ground between his feet. “I never saw the bleedin’ badge, or the cuff link. I swear ter Gawd.”
“The cuff link was down the back of the chair,” Pitt agreed. “But the badge was underneath her body, on the bed. Come on, Costigan! How long could it have lain there without anyone noticing it? The thing had a pin on it half an inch long, and it was unfastened.”
Costigan’s head came up. “So it were ’er last customer! Stands ter reason. ’Ow do I know ’ow it got there? Mebbe ’e showed it to ’er? Or she were braggin’ as ’ow she nicked it, and were showin’ it ter ’im!”
Pitt thought about it for a moment. The first suggestion was not likely, simply because it required the extraordinary coincidence of someone’s placing Finlay’s belongings in Ada’s room the very night she was murdered, and by Costigan, without premeditation. Costigan’s discovery of her cheating, and his loss of temper, could not have been foreseen.
Or could they? Could someone possibly have paid Fat George to tell Costigan that day, specifically? And then watched Costigan to see what he would do, followed him back to Whitechapel and …
“Wot?” Costigan demanded, watching Pitt’s face. “Wot is it? Wot d’yer know?”
No. No one of power and intelligence, no matter how they hated FitzJames, would place themselves into the hands of Fat George by using him in such a way. It was far too convoluted, depending on too many people: Fat George, Costigan himself, and some other person to place the evidence. No one would take that risk.
“Nothing,” he said aloud. “Did Ada steal? You suggested maybe she was showing the badge to someone. Didn’t you teach her not to steal? It’s dangerous. Bad for business.”
Costigan stared up at him, his skin white, eyes frightened.
“Yeah, course I did. But that don’t mean she always listened, do it? I taught her not to cheat neither, but she still did. Stupid cow!” His face filled with regret, which was more than self-pity. There was a genuine sadness in it. Perhaps old Madge was right and he had been attracted to Ada himself, perhaps even fond of her. That would have made her betrayal hurt the more, a personal issue, not just a financial one. It would explain why his temper had been so violent, the sense of having the emotions he gave so rarely twisted and turned against him. It was truly a domestic affair.
“Did you ever know her to steal before?” Pitt asked, the edge of anger gone from his voice.
Costigan was staring at the floor again. “No. No, she were smart, Ada were, too smart to steal from a customer. Treated ’em well, she did. Lot of ’em came reg’lar. She were fun. Made ’em laugh. She ’ad class.” Tears spilled over his eyes and ran down his cheeks. “She were good, the stupid bitch. I liked ’er. She should never ’a’ cheated me. I were good ter ’er. Why’d she make me do it? Now she’s finished both o’ us.”
Pitt was sorry. It was a stupid, futile tragedy of greed and wounded feelings, the ungoverned temper of a foolish man whose ambitions outstripped his ability. And both of them had been used by a cleverer and crueler man in Fat George, and perhaps an even subtler and more callous man beyond him.
“Do you know FitzJames?” he asked.
“No …” Costigan was too sunk in his misery to be angry. He did not even look up. He was no longer interested.
“Did anyone ever mention him to you? Think!”
“No one ’cept you,” Costigan said wearily. “Wot is it with you an’ FitzJames? I dunno ’ow ’is things got inter Ada’s place. Somebody stole ’em an’ left ’em there, I s’pose. ’Ow do I know? Go ask ’is friends,