The Hyde Park Headsman - Anne Griffin Perry [147]
“And Arledge?” Pitt insisted. “Where did he kill him, and how did he get him to the bandstand?”
“In a wheelbarrow, or something of the sort,” le Grange replied, attempting to be helpful.
“Whose wheelbarrow?” Pitt pressed. “Not his own. You looked at that: no blood anywhere. Not the park keeper’s either. You looked at that.”
“I don’t know,” Tellman admitted grudgingly. “But we’ll find it.”
“Good! Because without it you are giving the defense an excellent weapon to raise doubt. No wheelbarrow, no murder site, no weapon and no proof of a motive.”
“A quarrel, jealousy. His gig was used for moving Scarborough, and his horse to pull it,” Tellman responded. “Not to mention Scarborough was his butler.”
“Tidy it up,” Pitt commanded. “You aren’t finished yet.”
Bailey could not contain himself any longer.
“ ’E didn’t kill the bus conductor!” he burst out. “ ’E was at the concert, just like ’e said!”
Tellman glared at him.
“I found someone ’oo saw ’im,” Bailey said defiantly. “No mistake. Stood as close to ’im as I am to you, and knew ’im quite well.”
“Who is he?” Tellman asked, doubt heavy in his voice.
“Manager o’ Courts Bank,” Bailey said with profound satisfaction. “They’re bankers to royalty, they are.”
Tellman’s face pinched. “Maybe the bus conductor was done by somebody else,” he said irritably. “We couldn’t work out how he fitted with anyone.”
“Yes,” le Grange agreed. “Perhaps we couldn’t make any connection because there wasn’t one. Maybe it was just a private revenge for something, and whoever did it made it look the same?”
“Maybe they’re all different,” Pitt said sarcastically. “But I doubt it. No, it looks as if Carvell is not the Headsman. Thank you Bailey. An excellent piece of work.”
Bailey flushed with pleasure. “Thank you, sir.”
“You’re not going to let him go, are you?” le Grange asked with wide eyes, forgetting the “sir.”
Tellman made a short, sneering sound, but it seemed to be anger in general, rather than directed specifically at Pitt.
“Yes I am,” Pitt replied. “A good lawyer will force us to anyway. There are too many other possible explanations.”
“It was his gig and his horse,” Tellman said darkly. “He damned well has something to do with it”
“Scarborough could conceivably have taken it himself,” Pitt replied. Then as Tellman’s face showed quite plainly his total disbelief, he added, “A lawyer would point that out, and a jury might very well consider it reasonable doubt. It is not impossible to steal a gig, especially if you have the connivance of the butler, who might well have keys. Carvell has no stable boy.”
“Oh yes?” Tellman said incredulously. “What for? Just to take a midnight spin after a long day ordering the other servants around?”
“Maybe he had a lady friend,” Pitt suggested. “Nice and impressive to roll up in a handsome gig. Much better than an omnibus, and less expensive than a cab, as well as giving him more freedom. A romantic ride in the park, perhaps?”
“With the Headsman around?” Tellman said scornfully. “Very romantic.”
“Or maybe he intended to pick up a prostitute,” Pitt continued.
Tellman gave him a filthy look. “Are we back to that again? I thought we’d dismissed that.”
“We have,” Pitt agreed. “Doesn’t mean to say any lawyer worth his fee couldn’t make a case for it.”
Tellman swung around to Bailey and le Grange.
“Then you’d better start all over again, hadn’t you. God knows where, or with what!”
“With finding where Arledge was killed,” Pitt answered him.
Tellman swore long and viciously and without repeating himself.
Pitt also went back to the beginning. It was a long time since he had thought of Oakley Winthrop and centered his deliberations on Winthrop’s death instead of Arledge’s. That had been the start of it, perhaps the one on which all the rest hung. Who had killed Winthrop, why, and why at that time? Whom had he met in the park that night that he would get into a pleasure boat with? He should have given that more thought. It was the key.
It was an absurd thing to do. It could only have been