The Cater Street Hangman - Anne Perry [50]
“Yes.” Did her voice sound as strained as she felt?
“Where had he been?”
What should she say? Should she repeat what Edward had told her? Or the truth that Dominic had subsequently let slip? She realized as she put the problem to herself that she had not even questioned Dominic’s version! If she told him Edward was at the club the whole evening she would be saying at the same time that Edward had lied to her. It would make it that much harder for him to—to negotiate himself out of the lie. But if she said he had been elsewhere, then she obliged him to explain something he would not, or could not.
Pitt was staring at her with those light, intelligent eyes. She felt transparent, like a child caught in the pantry.
“I believe he said he was at his club,” she said slowly, making her mouth form each word, “although whether he was going on to dine with friends afterwards I don’t remember.”
“And he didn’t tell you?” His enquiry was polite.
Was it extraordinary? Did the careful lie show in her face?
“In view of what we found when we returned home—Charlotte having sent for the police, the distress, our fears—I never thought of it again. It seemed the least important of things.”
“Naturally. However, if you don’t know, I cannot eliminate the possibility that Mr. Ellison may have passed somewhere near the scene of the crime at the appropriate time.” He smiled, showing his teeth, his eyes bright. “And he may have seen something that would help us.”
She swallowed hard.
“Yes, of course. I’m afraid I don’t know.”
“Of course not, Mrs. Ellison. I already know that you passed along Cater Street in a carriage, and in the company of your daughters, and I have spoken to all of you.”
“But you have spoken to my husband also. What more can there be to say?” Could she avoid it, persuade him not to see Edward at all? There could be nothing else to ask him, unless he suspected something, already knew somehow that Edward had lied. “Surely, Mr. Pitt, you cannot doubt that if my husband had seen anything at all, he would have told you?”
“If he knew it was important, but perhaps he saw an odd thing, a small detail that has slipped his memory. And time is important, you know; the exact time, to the minute, may establish someone’s alibi, or break it.”
“Alibi?”
“An account of where a person was at the time of a crime, making it impossible for him or her to have been involved.”
“I know what the word means, Mr. Pitt; I just had not realized—you were—only eliminating people on—on proof of imposs . . . ” she trailed away, afraid of her conclusion, confused.
“Well, when we have suspects, Mrs. Ellison, it will help to whittle them down, cast the impossible out of the picture.”
She wished more than anything that he would leave. He was a policeman, which was almost like a tradesman; it was idiotic to let him dominate her like this. Emily was right; he did have a beautiful voice, resonant and soft. His diction was perfect.
“Quite,” she said awkwardly. “But I’m afraid my husband is not at home this morning, and I cannot help you.”
He smiled gently.
“I shall come back this evening, if Mr. Ellison is expected home?”
“Yes. He is expected to dinner.”
He gave a small bow, and went to the door.
When Edward came home at quarter past six she told him of Pitt’s call, and that he would return.
He stood still, staring at her.
“He’s coming back this evening?”
“Yes.”
“You shouldn’t have told him I would be here, Caroline.” His face was stiff. “I have to go out again—”
“You said this morning—” she stopped, fear suddenly cutting off her voice. He was avoiding Pitt because he was afraid of lying to him!
“Obviously I have made arrangements since this morning,” he snapped. “Anyway, it is quite pointless. I know nothing whatsoever that I have not already told him. You may say that to him, or have Maddock do so.”
“Do you think—” she said hesitantly.
“Good heavens, Caroline, he is a policeman, not someone to be socially entertained. Have Maddock tell him I had made previous arrangements, and I know nothing that would further his