The Whitechapel Conspiracy - Anne Perry [75]
Remus’s footsteps echoed on the hard floor ahead of him, and Tellman’s own seemed like a mockery behind. He wondered that Remus did not turn to see who it was.
Two nurses passed, going in the opposite direction, middle-aged women with tired faces. One carried a pail with a lid on it, and from the angle of her body, it was heavy. The other carried a bundle of soiled sheets and kept stopping to pick up the trailing ends.
Remus turned right, went up a short flight of steps and knocked on a door. It was opened and he went in. A small notice said that it was the records office.
Tellman followed immediately behind. There was nothing to be learned standing outside.
It was a kind of waiting room, and a bald man leaned on a counter. There were shelves of files and paper folders behind him. Three other people were there seeking information of one sort or another. Two were men in dark, ill-fitting suits; from their resemblance to each other they were possibly brothers. The third was an elderly woman with a battered straw hat.
Remus took his place in the queue, shifting from one foot to the other with impatience.
Tellman stood closer to the door, trying to be inconspicuous. He stared at the floor, keeping his head down so his cap fell forward naturally, obscuring his face.
He could still watch Remus’s back, see his shoulders high and tight, his hands clenching and unclenching behind him. What was he seeking that was so important to him he was unaware of being followed? Tellman could almost smell the excitement in him, and he had not even the shred of an idea what it was about, except that it had to do with John Adinett.
The two brothers had learned what they wished and went out together. The woman moved up.
It was several more minutes before she was satisfied and at last it was Remus’s turn.
“Good morning, sir,” he said cheerfully. “I am informed that you are the right person to ask if I have any enquiries about the patients in the infirmary. They say you know more about the place than any other man.”
“Do they?” The man was not thawed so easily. “And what was it yer would be wanting to know, then?” He pushed out his lower lip. “I’m guessin’ it in’t about your own family, or yer’d ’a said so simple enough. Nor about the price of bein’ cared for, which you could find out without the least trouble. You look like far too smart a gentleman to need my help for anything easy.”
Remus was taken aback but he made the best of it very quickly.
“Of course,” he agreed. “I’m trying to trace a man who may be a bigamist, at least that is what a certain lady has told me. I’m not so sure.”
The clerk drew in his breath to make some remark, then apparently thought better of it. “And you think he may be ’ere, sir? I got records of the past, not who’s ’ere now.”
“No, not now,” Remus replied. “I think he may have died here, which closes the matter anyway.”
“So what’s ’is name, then?”
“Crook. William Crook,” Remus replied, his voice shaking a little. He seemed to be short of breath, and Tellman could see the back of his neck, where his stiff collar was so tight it pinched the flesh. “Did he die here, back end of last year?” Remus went on.
“And if’e did?” the clerk questioned.
“Did he?” Remus leaned over the counter, his voice rising, his body rigid. “I … I need to know!”
“Yes, ’e did, poor soul,” the man answered respectfully. “So do scores o’ folk every year. You could find that out by lookin’ in public records.”
“I know!” Remus was not deterred. “What day did he die?”
The man remained motionless.
Remus put half a crown on the counter. “Look up the record for me, and tell me what religion he was.”
“Wot religion?”
“Yes—isn’t that plain enough? And what family: who came to see him, who outlived him.”
The man looked at the half