The Hyde Park Headsman - Anne Griffin Perry [23]
Tellman’s face flushed a dull red. He glared at Pitt and remained silent.
“We’ll assume it’s the truth unless we find otherwise,” Pitt said pleasantly. “That’s a step forward. What did you find in the boat?”
“No blood, except the bit from the bleeding after he was dead.”
“Any signs of another person there?”
“Such as what? They’re pleasure boats. There could have been a hundred other people in it at one time or another. Even this last week!”
“I am aware of that, Tellman. Maybe one of them killed Winthrop.”
“Without leaving any blood, sir? The man’s head was cut off!”
“What about over the side?”
“What?”
“What if he leaned over the side?” Pitt asked, his voice rising as the picture became clear in his mind. “What if they were in the boat together and the murderer dropped something in the water, drawing Winthrop’s attention to it. Winthrop leaned over, the murderer hit him over the head, then struck his head off—into the water? The blood would all go over the side!”
“Possible,” Tellman said grudgingly, but there was a certain admiration in his voice, and a lift of excitement. “Could have been done like that!”
“Was the hair wet? Think, man! You saw it!” Pitt said eagerly.
“Difficult to tell, sir. Wasn’t much of it. Very thin, almost bald on top.”
“Yes. I know that. But what there was of it. The sides—the whiskers?”
“Yes—yes I think there were. But I’m not sure if there was water in the bottom of the boat—bilges …” He was reluctant yet to grasp the full implications, but he could not keep the urgency and the lift out of his voice.
“In a pleasure boat? Nonsense,” Pitt dismissed it.
“Then yes, sir, the whiskers were wet—I think.”
“Blood?”
“No—not a lot.” Tellman did not take his eyes from Pitt’s.
“Wouldn’t there have been a lot if the head had simply fallen where he was killed?” Pitt asked.
Still Tellman was cautious. “I don’t know, sir. It’s not something I ever experienced before. I would think so, yes. Unless one held the head up to kill him.”
“How?”
“What?”
“How would one hold the head up? He had hardly any habón top.”
Tellman breathed out, his eyes bright. He gave in at last.
“Then I expect you’re right. I daresay he was killed in the boat, leaning over the side, and his head fell in the water. We’ll never prove it.”
“Look at the boat carefully,” Pitt ordered, leaning back in his seat. “There may be a mark in the wood somewhere, a nick or a scratch. It must have been a very powerful blow, not easy to control. It would prove our theory.”
“Yes sir,” Tellman said steadily. “Anything else, sir?”
“Not unless you have something further to report.”
“No sir. What would you like after that, sir?”
“I’d like you to find that weapon, and continue to learn whatever you can about the man’s movements that night. Someone may have seen him.”
“Yes sir.” The old insolence returned as if he could not help it. The resentment was too deep. The truce was over. “And what about Mrs. Winthrop? Are you going to look into her a lot more? See if she had a lover? Or would that be too offensive to the family?”
“If I find out anything relevant, I’ll inform you,” Pitt said coolly. “Offensive or not. Now go and drag the Serpentine.”
“Yes sir.”
Pitt would rather have dragged the Serpentine than do the job he knew he should do next. He had been turning it over in his mind since leaving Portsmouth, debating whether it was really necessary or not. It might well prove useless in that it would turn up no new information, but that was not the only aspect to consider. There was the professional courtesy, and the fact that if he did not, the omission could prove expensive. Above all, he questioned himself, would Micah Drummond have gone; and he knew the answer without hesitation. He would have.
Accordingly, in the late morning Pitt found himself in the library of Lord Marlborough Winthrop’s house in Chelsea, not more than a stone’s throw from the Thames. It was