Pentecost Alley - Anne Perry [2]
The washstand held a single ewer and basin.
On the floor beside the bed were the girl’s high black boots, not side by side, but half over each other. The round, shiny buttons of the left one had been fastened through the buttonholes of the right one. A bone-handled buttonhook lay beside them. It was a ridiculous, distorted gesture, and one that could only have been done deliberately.
Pitt drew in his breath and let it out in a sigh. It was ugly, and sad, but there was nothing in it to cause Ewart to have sent for him. Prostitution was a dangerous way to make a living. Murders were not unique, and certainly not reason for scandal in high places, or even in low ones.
He turned to look at Ewart, whose dark face was unreadable in the light from the bull’s-eye, his eyes black.
“Evidence.” Ewart answered the question he had not asked. “Too much of it to ignore.”
“Saying what?” Pitt felt a chill beginning to eat inside him in spite of the mild night.
“Gentleman,” Ewart replied. “Of a very well connected family.”
Pitt was not surprised. He had feared it would be something of the sort, pointless and destructive, something with which there was no graceful way to deal. He did not ask Ewart why he thought so. It would be better to see the evidence and make his own deductions.
There was a noise along the passageway, a creaking of footsteps, and another man appeared in the doorway. He was twenty years younger than Ewart, no more than thirty at the most. His skin was fresh, his hazel eyes wide, his face thin, aquiline. His features had been formed for humor and tenderness, but the marks of pain had scored them deeply already, and in the flickering light he was haggard. He brushed his hair back off his brow unconsciously and stared first at Ewart, then at Pitt. He carried a brown leather bag in his hand.
“Lennox. Surgeon,” Ewart explained.
“Good morning, sir,” Lennox said a little huskily, then cleared his throat and apologized.
There was no need. Pitt had little regard for a doctor who could look at violent death and feel no shock, no sense of outrage or loss.
He stood back a little so Lennox could see the body better.
“I’ve already examined her,” Lennox declined. “I was called at the same time as Inspector Ewart. I’ve just been with some of the other women in the building. They were a bit … upset.”
“What can you tell me?” Pitt asked.
Lennox cleared his throat again. He looked straight at Pitt, his eyes averted from the woman on the bed, even the spread of her hair and the bright rose on her arm. “She’s been dead several hours,” he answered. “I should say since about ten o’clock last night, not later than midnight. It’s cool in here now, but it must have been warmer then. The ashes in the fire still have a little heat in them, and it’s not really a cold night.”
“You’re very precise about ten o’clock.” Pitt was curious.
Lennox flushed. “Sorry. There was a witness who saw her come in.”
Pitt smiled, or perhaps it was more of a grimace. “And midnight?” he asked. “Another witness?”
“That was when she was found, sir.” Lennox shook his head minutely.
“What else can you tell me about her?” Pitt continued.
“I would guess she was in her mid-twenties, and in good health … so far.”
“Children?” Pitt asked.
“Yes … and …”
“What?”
Lennox’s face was tight with pain. “Her fingers and toes have been broken, sir. Three fingers on her left hand, two on her right. And three toes dislocated. Left foot.”
Pitt felt a shiver of ice inside him as if suddenly the temperature of the room had plummeted.
“Recently?” he asked, although he knew the answer. Had they been old wounds Lennox would not have mentioned them. He would probably not even have noticed them.
“Yes sir, almost certainly within the last few hours. Just before death, in fact. There’s hardly any swelling.”
“I see. Thank you.” Pitt turned back to the bed. He did not want to look at her face, but he knew he must. He must see what and