The Silent Cry - Anne Perry [118]
Evan increased his stride and caught up with Shotts.
“Why did you lie to me?” he said bluntly.
Shotts tripped on the curbstone, then regained his balance and stood still.
“Sir?”
Evan stopped also. “Why did you lie to me?” he repeated, his voice mild, no accusation in it, simply puzzlement and curiosity.
Shotts swallowed. “About what, sir?”
“Lots of things: Where you were last Friday when you told me you were questioning Hattie Burrows. You weren’t, because I learned afterwards where she was, and it was not with you. About Seven Dials and the running patterer, and hearing from him the case Monk was on.”
“That …” Shotts began. “That was a … mistake …” He did not look at Evan as he was speaking.
“Have you a bad memory?” Evan enquired politely, in the same tone as he would have asked if Shotts liked sausages.
Shotts was caught. To say he had would make him an unsuitable policeman. Above all, a policeman needed keen observation and an excellent memory. He had already demonstrated these qualities very effectively.
“Well … pretty good … most of the time … sir,” he said, compromising rather well.
“You need to have a perfect memory to be a good liar.” Evan resumed walking at a level pace, and Shotts kept up, but not looking at him. “Better than yours. Why, Shotts? Do you know something about this murder that you don’t want to tell me? Or is it something else altogether that you are hiding?”
Shotts blushed scarlet. He must have felt the heat flush up his face, because he surrendered.
“It’s nothing agin the law, sir, I swear it! I would never do nothing agin the law!”
“I’m listening.” Evan kept his eyes straight ahead.
“It’s a girl, sir, a woman. I were seein’ ’er w’en I shouldn’t ’ave. It’s me only chance, yer see, wi’ all the extra duty I been pullin’, wi’ the murder. I was … I was tryin’ ter keep ’er fam’ly out o’ it. Not that they’re in it …”
Evan attempted to hide his smile, and only partially succeeded.
“Oh. Why the secrecy?”
“Mr. Runcorn wouldn’t approve, sir. I mean ter marry ’er, but I ’aven’t saved enough money yet, an’ I can’t afford ter lose me job.”
“Then be a little more efficient with your lying, and Mr. Runcorn won’t need to find out. At least be wholehearted in your inventions.”
Shotts stared at him.
Evan kept on walking, coming to the crossroad and, after a brief glance to left and right, striding out, leaving Shotts on the curb as a rag-and-bone cart lumbered between them. Now he was smiling widely.
When Evan reached the police station there was a message that Monk wanted to see him and had information to impart relevant to the Leighton Duff case of a nature which would bring to a conclusion the initial part of the enquiry. That was very strong language for Monk, who never exaggerated, and Evan went out again immediately and took a hansom to Fitzroy Street, and knocked on the door of Monk’s rooms.
It was some time since he had been there, and he was surprised to see how comfortable they were—in fact, even inviting. He was too intent on his purpose for calling to notice more than peripherally, but he was aware of personal touches. It was not something he would have associated with Monk, it was too restful. There were antimacassars on the chair backs and a palm tree of some sort in a large brass pot. The fire was hot, as if it had been lit for some time. He found he was relaxing, in spite of himself.
“What is it?” he asked as soon as his coat was off and even before he sat in the chair opposite Monk’s. “What have you found out? Have you proof?”
“I have witnesses,” Monk replied, crossing his legs and leaning back, his eyes on Evan’s face. “I have several people who saw Rhys Duff in St. Giles leading up to the murder, and a prostitute he used there on several occasions. It was definitely him. She identified him from the picture you gave me, and she knew him by name, also Arthur and Duke Kynaston. I even have the last victim of rape, attacked just before the murder, only a few yards from Water Lane.”
“She identified Rhys Duff?” Evan said incredulously. It was almost too good to