The Hyde Park Headsman - Anne Griffin Perry [145]
“I would have thought that all crime of that sort was rather pointless,” Uttley replied, leaning against the doorpost and smiling. “But it was civil of you to come and tell me you have solved it.” He looked at Pitt, hesitated a moment, then went on. “Was it the Headsman after all, or some chance thief?”
“Neither,” Pitt said, equally calmly. “It was a political opportunist hoping to make a little capital out of the present tragedies in order to gain office for himself. I don’t imagine he intended actually to kill Mr. Radley …”
Uttley paled. He still leaned against the doorway, but now his pose was contrived and his body rigid.
“Indeed.” He swallowed, his eyes on Pitt’s face. “You mean someone wanted to get rid of Radley? Frighten him out of his—candidacy?”
“No, I don’t.” Pitt held his gaze. “I think he wanted to make Radley’s position of defending the police seem absurd and cause him to be laughed at by the public.”
Uttley said nothing.
“Which is not as feasible as it might have seemed,” Pitt continued. “Because it angered a number of people with a great deal of power.”
Uttley swallowed, his throat tight. His hands were clenched by his sides.
“In certain quarters,” Pitt added with a smile. “People with influence more than one might suppose.”
“You mean—” Uttley stopped short.
“Yes, that’s what I mean,” Pitt agreed.
Uttley cleared his throat. “What—what are you going to do about it? I … suppose you have no proof, or you would arrest the fellow, wouldn’t you? After all, it’s an offense—isn’t it!”
“I don’t know whether Mr. Radley will prefer charges or not,” Pitt said offhandedly. “That is up to him. Since he didn’t report it in the regular way, maybe he considers it will rebound upon the perpetrator sufficiently that justice will be served without his taking any hand in it.”
“But you?” Uttley said, taking a step forward. “What about you? You … didn’t say whether you had proof or not.” He was watching Pitt very closely.
“No, I didn’t, did I?” Pitt agreed.
Uttley was beginning to gain confidence. His shoulders straightened a little.
“Sounds rather like guesswork to me, Superintendent,” he said, pushing his hands back into his pockets. “I imagine that is what you would like it to be. The assistant commissioner would be less … critical of your performance.”
Pitt smiled. “Oh, Mr. Farnsworth had very strong feelings about it indeed,” he agreed. “He was furious.”
Uttley froze.
“But I rather think he would like to deal with it in his own way,” Pitt continued lightly. “That is the one reason I have not bothered to make a case. The proof is there. I don’t think Mr. Farnsworth would have accepted my word for it otherwise. After all, it is so incredibly … inept! Isn’t it?”
Uttley forced a sickly smile, but words failed him.
“I thought you should know,” Pitt concluded, smiling back at him. “The next time you write an article, I’m sure you will wish to be fair.” And with that he put his own hands in his pockets. “Good day, Mr. Uttley.” He walked past him and out of the front door into the sun.
Pitt arrived home with no sense of elation. The satisfaction of having bested Uttley had worn off, and all he could think of was Carvell’s shocked and despairing face. Even with his eyes closed he could see his hunched shoulders as he walked out beside Tellman, and the slightly spiky hair at the back of his head when the light caught it as he went down the steps.
For once Charlotte was home. She had been away so often in the last few months, organizing one thing or another for the new house, he had fully expected to find the place silent and nothing but a message on the kitchen table. However, there was the cheerful noise of bustle, kettle hissing, pans bubbling and the clink of china and swish of skirts. When he pushed open the kitchen door the room was bright with late sun and filled with the aroma of fresh