Pentecost Alley - Anne Perry [150]
Pitt went to find Lennox. It was just possible there was some fact he might have noticed that he had omitted to mention, some strand of difference, even something he might know about the nature of a man who would do such a thing to another human being.
He found him in a makeshift shelter of half-rotted timber crates by the river stairs. He was treating an old man whose bent body shook with delirium, although whether from fever or the effects of raw alcohol Pitt did not know. Apparently Lennox did not care. He spoke to the man gently, easing him up in his makeshift bed, straightening out the rumpled blankets. He fetched him water and produced from his own pocket half a loaf of bread, which the man took, bit into, then chewed very slowly, barely able to swallow.
Pitt waited until he had finished, and then as he left, walked with him across the alley to the broader street. Every now and then the afternoon sun was overcast by clouds driving up from the east over the river.
“How can I help you, Superintendent?” Lennox asked curiously. He still looked strained, but there was less tension in his body than the last time Pitt had seen him, and less tiredness in his face.
“I’m achieving nothing with this case,” Pitt answered frankly. “You examined both bodies. Were there any differences at all in the way in which they were treated?”
Lennox kept on walking, his eyes straight ahead.
“No.”
“Nothing at all?” Pitt persisted. “I know the stockings used to strangle both women were their own, and tied in the same way. But then there are only a number of ways you tie a noose to strangle someone. What about the fingers and toes? Were they the same ones broken or dislocated?”
“Yes.” Lennox’s face was hard and tight, as if he were still feeling in his own mind the pain it must have inflicted. The corners of his mouth were white. There was a tiny muscle ticking in his temple.
“Exactly the same?” Pitt pressed.
“Yes, exactly. If you are trying to say it was two different men committed the murders, then I am afraid I can’t help you. I know Costigan is hanged, and I’m sorry. I wish I could comfort you … but I can’t.” He was dogged, head forward, eyes almost blind; so absorbed was he by his emotions, he nearly stepped off the footpath into the road. Only Pitt’s hand jerking his arm prevented him. A hansom swept by, the rush of air causing his hair to blow back off his brow.
“What about fingernails?” Pitt said after Lennox had composed himself, but not spoken. The roadway was clear and they set off together, matching step for step until they reached the far side.
“Fingernails?” Lennox asked.
“Yes. One of Ada’s was torn where she tried to get the stocking off her neck. She fought, but only for a few moments. Nora had small bruises, and blood in one nail. She was a much smaller woman, very light, yet she seems to have fought for longer.”
“Is that a question?” Lennox asked, skirting around a pile of refuse on the pavement.
“Yes.” Pitt went around the other side of it. “Why was Nora able to fight longer? That’s a difference!”
“I don’t know.” Lennox looked puzzled, a furrow across his brow. “Maybe he took Ada by surprise? Some people do fight harder than others. No idea why. Same with illness. Some people succumb, die of things you think they should have recovered from quite easily. Others cling onto life and survive illnesses or injuries which should have killed them, would have killed anyone else. It’s to do with will, not physical size or strength.”
Pitt was waiting for him to go on, but he did not.
“But the medical evidence suggests to you that it is the same person who killed them both?” Pitt said after a minute or two.
Lennox stopped and turned to face him. His eyes were shadowed, confusion and pain in them, his mouth pinched with memory.
“I don’t know, Superintendent. All I know is what I see. It is your job to deduce guilt or innocence. I can’t help you any more. If I could, and I could point to someone and say ‘That is the man,’