Resurrection Row - Anne Perry [92]
“And not for long,” Pitt agreed, his amusement vanishing. “A few years on the streets, a few children, and you can’t strip off in front of the camera any more. Unkind thing, the camera; doesn’t tell any comfortable lies. Do you know any of the girls?”
The constable’s back went rigid and his ears burned red. “Who, me, sir?”
“Professionally.” Pitt coughed. “Your profession, not theirs!”
“Oh.” The other constable ran his fingers round his collar. “Yes, sir, I ’ave seen one or two. Cautioned ’em, like. Told ’em to move on, or go ’ome and be’ave theirselves.”
“Good.” Pitt smiled discreetly. “Put them on one side, with names if you remember them. Then give me the best picture of each, and I’ll start checking.”
“The best one, sir?” The constable’s eyes opened wide, his eyebrows almost to the roots of his hair.
“The clearest face!” Pitt snapped.
“Oh—yes, sir.” They both started sorting rapidly and in a few moments handed Pitt about thirty photographs. “That’s all we’re sure of so far, sir. We should ’ave ’em all by lunchtime.”
“Good. Then you can start round the brothels and rooming houses as well. I’ll begin in Resurrection Row, going north. You can go south. Be back here by six o’clock, and we’ll see what we have.”
“Yes, sir. What are we looking for, sir, really?”
“A jealous lover or husband, or more likely a woman who had a great deal to lose if people found out she posed for this sort of picture.”
“Like a society woman?” The constable was dubious, picking up one of the photographs and squinting at it.
“I doubt it,” Pitt agreed. “Possibly middle-class, after something a little daring to do, more likely respectable working-class hard up, or a servant with aspirations.”
“Right, sir. We’ll get this lot sorted and be on our way.”
Pitt left them to it and went out into the Row to begin. The first rooming house got rid of three on his list. They were handsome, professional prostitutes who had been glad of the extra money and rather amused by the whole thing. He was about to leave when, on a sudden chance, he decided to show them the rest of the pictures.
“Oh, now, love.” A big blond one shook her head at him. “You wouldn’t expect me to go around naming other people, would you? What I do meself is one thing, but talkin’ about other girls is something else.”
“I’m going to find them, anyway,” he pointed out.
She grinned. “Then good luck to you, love. You ’ave fun lookin’.”
He did not want to say anything about murder. He had not said anything about it to the landlady, either. It was a crime for hanging, and everyone knew it. The shadow of the gallows closed even the most garrulous moths. If they did not know, so much the better.
“I’m only looking for one girl,” he said reasonably. “Just have to eliminate all the rest.”
She narrowed bright blue painted eyes at him. “Why? What’s she done? Somebody made a complaint?”
“No.” He was perfectly honest, and he hoped it showed. “Not at all. As far as I know, all your customers are perfectly satisfied.”
She gave him a wide smile. “You got a quid to spare then, love?”
“No.” He smiled back good-naturedly. “I want to know how many of the rest of these are regular working girls who don’t have any objection to anyone knowing what they do.”
She was quick. “A touch o’ the black, is it?”
“That’s right.” He was startled by her perception. He must not underrate her again. “Blackmail. Don’t like blackmailers.”
She screwed up her face. “Give us them again, then.”
He passed one over hopefully, then another.
She looked at it, then reached for the next.
“Cor!” She let out her breath. “Bit much of ’er, ain’t there? Don’t ’ardly need a bustle, do she? Backside like the Battersea gasworks!”
“Who is she?” He tried to keep a straight face.
“Dunno. Gimme the next one. Ah, that’s Gertie Tiller. She’d a done that for a laugh. Nobody’ll black ’er for it. Tell ’em where to go, she would.” She handed it back, and Pitt put it in his left pocket with the others he had dismissed. “And that’s Elsie Biddock. Looks better without ’er clothes on than she does with ’em! That’s