The Hyde Park Headsman - Anne Griffin Perry [20]
He swung his feet off the desk and stood up. He could accomplish nothing here, and the sooner this was cleared up the better. Already the newspapers were publishing black headlines about the murder and Winthrop’s name was on everyone’s lips. In a day or two they would be demanding results and asking what the police were doing.
Two hours later Pitt was in the train to Portsmouth, sitting beside the window watching the countryside rush past him in vivid green with giant trees beginning to bud for heavy leaf and the bare branches of the hazels already veiled in a soft mist of color. Willows leaned over water trailing streamers of soft, gauzy, green like women bent forward with clouds of hair around them. Flocks of birds followed the slow plows, wheeling and diving after the worms in the turned earth.
Another three hours and he was standing in a small room close to the Royal Naval Dockyard, awaiting the arrival of Lieutenant Jones, second in command to the late Captain Winthrop. He had already spoken with the harbormaster and learned nothing of value. Everyone was shocked and could only repeat trite expressions of grief and outrage, and the sort of eulogizing remarks which they no doubt felt appropriate, but were what they would have said of anyone.
The door opened and a slender man in his late thirties came in. He was dressed in uniform and carried his hat in his hand.
“Good afternoon, sir. Lieutenant Jones. How may I be of service?” He stood to attention and looked at Pitt anxiously. He was clean-shaven with light eyebrows and fair hair receding considerably. It was a face where strength was not immediately apparent, and only after Pitt had spoken with him for several minutes did he gain any sense of his inner resolve.
“Superintendent Pitt,” Pitt introduced himself. “I regret intruding at a time which must be very difficult for you, but I am sure you will appreciate that you may be able to give me information which will help us find who is responsible for Captain Winthrop’s death.”
“I cannot imagine how, but of course I will give you any assistance I can,” Jones acquiesced, remaining at attention. “What is it you wish to know?” His blue eyes showed total confusion.
Deliberately Pitt sat down in the hard-backed, wooden-armed chair beside the table, and invited Jones to sit as well.
Lieutenant Jones looked a trifle surprised, recognizing that Pitt intended the interview to be of length.
“How long have you served with Captain Winthrop?”
“Nine years, altogether,” Lieutenant Jones replied, taking the chair opposite Pitt and crossing his legs. “I—I suppose I knew him pretty well, if that is what you are going to ask.”
Pitt smiled. “It is. Please bear in mind that your loyalty to Captain Winthrop lies not only in speaking well of him but in telling the truth so that whoever murdered him is caught—” He stopped, seeing the surprise in Jones’s face.
“Surely it was robbery, wasn’t it?” Jones’s brow puckered in consternation. “I had assumed it was some criminal lunatic loose in the park. It is inconceivable it was anyone who knew him, which seems to be what you’re suggesting. Forgive me if I have misunderstood you, Superintendent.”
“No, your understanding is both exact and swift.” Pitt smiled very slightly. “There is some evidence to suggest that he was taken completely by surprise.” He waited for Jones’s reaction.
It was what he had expected. Jones looked startled, then dubious, then very grave as the full implication reached him.
“I see. And you have come to ask me if I know of anyone who may have held a grudge against him.” He shook his head. “I don’t. That is the simple answer. He was a popular man, Superintendent, open, candid, of remarkably good humor, friendly without being overfamiliar, and he did not gamble or run up debts he could not pay. He was certainly not an unjust commander, as no doubt you will ask me. I know of no man who had a quarrel with him.”
“Are you speaking of officers, Lieutenant, or do you include ordinary seamen as well?