Bethlehem Road (6 page)

“Would you mind giving the police a list of your property deals in the last twelve months, Mr. Verdun?” Pitt requested, biting his lip. He was predisposed to like this man, but his mild, slightly vague manner might hide far uglier passions. Pitt had liked people before and discovered them to be capable of killing. “And anything proposed for the future,” he added. “It will be treated with as much confidence as possible.”

“My dear fellow, you’ll find it excessively tedious. But if you like. Can’t imagine you’ll catch Lockwood’s killer in the list of semidetached houses in Primrose Hill, Kentish Town, or Highgate, but I suppose you know what you’re doing.”

The neighborhoods he mentioned were all respectable suburban areas. “What about the East End?” Pitt asked. “No properties there?”

Verdun was quicker than Pitt had thought. “Slum landlords? Suppose you were bound to think of that. No. But you can look through the books if you feel it’s your duty.”

Pitt knew it would be pointless, but a clever auditor might find some discrepancy that would point to other books, other deals—even embezzlement? He profoundly hoped not. He would like Verdun to be exactly what he seemed.

“Thank you, sir. Are you acquainted with Lady Hamilton?”

“Amethyst? Yes, slightly. Fine woman. Very quiet. Imagine there’s some sadness there; no family, you know. Not that Lockwood ever mentioned it—very fond of her. Didn’t say much, but it was there. Knew that. Do, if you’ve ever cared for a woman yourself.”

Pitt thought briefly of Charlotte at home, the warmth and the heart of his own life. “Indeed.” He seized the opportunity the subject of family offered him. “But there is a son by Sir Lockwood’s first marriage?”

“Oh, Barclay, yes. Nice fellow. Didn’t see much of him. Never married—no idea why.”

“Was he close to his mother?”

“Beatrice? No idea. Didn’t get on with Amethyst, if that’s what you mean.”

“Do you know why?”

“No idea. Might have resented his father marrying again, I suppose. Bit silly, I always think. Should have been pleased for him he was happy, and Amethyst certainly made him an excellent wife. Supported him in his career, entertained his friends with skill and tact, and kept an excellent house. In fact I would say he was happier with her than with Beatrice.”

“Maybe Mr. Barclay knew that, and resented it on his mother’s behalf,” Pitt suggested.

Verdun’s face dropped. “Good heavens, man, you’re not going to suggest he waited twenty years, then suddenly one night crept up behind his father on Westminster Bridge and cut his throat for it, are you?”

“No, of course not.” It was preposterous. “Is Mr. Barclay Hamilton reasonably well provided for financially?”

“Happen to know that: inherited from his maternal grandfather. Not a lot, but comfortable. Nice house in Chelsea—very nice. Near the Albert Bridge.”

“I suppose you have no idea if there’s any rival or enemy who might have wished Sir Lockwood harm? Any threats you know of?”

Verdun smiled. “I’m sorry. If I did I should have mentioned it, distasteful as it is. After all, you can’t have chaps running around killing people, can you!”

“No sir.” Pitt stood up. “Thank you for your help. If I may look at those records of yours? The last year or so should be sufficient.”

“Of course. I’ll have Telford make a copy for you on that awful contraption, if you like. Might as well do something useful on it. Sounds like a hundred urchins in hobnail boots!”

It was quarter past six when Pitt was finally ushered into the Home Secretary’s office in Whitehall. It was very large and very formal, and the officials in their frock coats and wing collars made it plain that it was a considerable favor granted in extraordinary circumstances that Pitt was even allowed across the threshold, let alone into a Cabinet Minister’s private office. Pitt attempted to straighten his tie, making it worse, and ran his fingers through his hair, which was no improvement either.

“Yes, Inspector?” the Home Secretary said courteously. “I can give you ten minutes. Lockwood Hamilton was my Parliamentary Private Secretary, and very good at it, efficient and discreet. I am deeply sorrowed by his death.”

“Was he ambitious, sir?”

“Naturally. I should not promote a man who was indifferent to his career.”

“How long had he held the position?”

“About six months.”

“And before that?”

“A backbencher, on various committees. Why?” He frowned. “Surely you don’t think this was political?”

“I don’t know, sir. Has Sir Lockwood been involved in any issues or legislation that might arouse strong feelings?”

“He hasn’t proposed anything. For Heaven’s sake, he’s a Parliamentary Private Secretary, not a minister!”

Pitt realized he had made a tactical error. “Before you appointed him to this position, sir,” he went on, “you must have known a considerable amount about him: his past career, his stand on important issues, his private life, reputation, business and financial affairs ...”

“Of course,” the Home Secretary agreed somewhat tartly. Then he realized Pitt’s purpose. “I don’t think I can tell you anything of use. I don’t appoint men I consider likely to be murdered for their private lives, and he wasn’t important enough to be a political target.”

“Probably not, sir,” Pitt was forced to agree. “However, I would be neglecting my duty if I didn’t look at all the possibilities. Someone unbalanced enough to think of murder as a solution to their problems may not be as rational as you or I.”

The Home Secretary gave him a sharp glance, suspecting sarcasm, and he did not like the impertinence of Pitt’s equating a Cabinet Minister with a policeman in an estimate of rationality, but he met Pitt’s bland blue stare and decided the matter was not worth pursuing.

“We may be dealing with the irrational,” he said coldly. “I hope so most profoundly. Any society may be subject to the occasional lunatic. A family or business crime would be unpleasant, but it would be a nine-day scandal, forgotten afterwards. Immeasurably worse would be some conspiracy of anarchists or revolutionaries who were not after poor Hamilton in particular but bent on generally destabilizing the government and causing alarm and public outcry.” His hands tightened imperceptibly. “We must clear up this matter as soon as possible. I assume you have all available men on it?”

Pitt could see his reasoning—and yet there was a coldness in him that Pitt found himself disliking as he stood there in the elegant and well-ordered office, which smelled faintly of beeswax and leather. The Home Secretary would prefer a private tragedy with all its pain and ruined lives to an impersonal plot hatched by hotheads dreaming of power and change in some back room, and he felt no compunction about saying so.

“Well?” the Home Secretary demanded irritably. “Speak up, man!”

“Yes sir, we have. You must have considered other men for the position of your Parliamentary Private Secretary, as well as Sir Lockwood?”

“Naturally.”

“Perhaps your secretary would give me their names.” It was not a question.

“If you think it necessary.” He was reluctant, but he took the point. “Hardly a position a sane man kills to achieve.”

“What sort of position would a sane man kill to achieve, sir?” Pitt asked, his voice as devoid of expression as he could manage.

The Home Secretary shot him a look of chill dislike. “I think you must look outside Her Majesty’s government for your suspect, Inspector!” he said acidly.

Pitt was unruffled: it was faintly satisfying that their dislike was mutual. “Can you tell me Sir Lockwood’s views on the most contentious current issues, sir? For example, Home Rule for Ireland?”

The Home Secretary pushed out his lower lip thoughtfully, his irritation submerged. “I suppose it could be something to do with that, not directed at poor Hamilton so much as at the government in general. Always an issue that raises heated emotions. He was for it, and fairly outspoken. Though if people were going to murder each other because they disagreed over the Irish question, the streets of London would look like the aftermath of Waterloo.”

“What about other issues, sir? Penal reform, the poor laws, factory conditions, slum clearance, women’s suffrage?”

“What?”

“Women’s suffrage,” Pitt repeated.

“Good God, man, we’ve got some strident and misguided women who don’t know where their best interests lie, but they’d hardly cut a man’s throat just to make a plea for the franchise to be extended!”

“Probably not. But what were Sir Lockwood’s opinions?”

The Home Secretary was about to dismiss the subject but seemed grudgingly to realize that it was as valid as any other possibility so far raised. “He wasn’t a reformer,” he replied. “Except in the most moderate terms. He was a very sane man! I wouldn’t have had him as my P.P.S. if I didn’t trust his judgments.”

“And his reputation in his personal life?”

“Impeccable.” The briefest of smiles flickered across the Home Secretary’s face. “And that is not a diplomatic answer. He was extremely fond of his wife, a very fine woman, and he was not a man to seek ... diversions. He had little art of flattery or trivial conversation, and I never observed him to admire another woman.”

Having met Amethyst Hamilton, Pitt did not find it hard to believe. Charles Verdun had said the same.

“The more I hear of him, the less does he sound like a man to have inspired a personal hatred violent enough to incite murder.” Pitt had a faint satisfaction in seeing the Home Secretary’s appreciation of the turn of his argument, little as he liked it.

“Then you had better pursue whatever evidence you have and look into all the agitators and political groups we know of,” he said grimly. “Keep me informed.”

“Yes sir. Thank you.”

“Good day to you.” He was dismissed.

The House of Commons was still sitting; it was too early to attempt to retrace Hamilton’s steps the night before. Pitt was cold and hungry and knew little more than when he had left his home that afternoon after a snatched few hours of sleep. He would go back to Bow Street and have a sandwich and a mug of tea and see if there was any news from the constables out pursuing witnesses.

But when he reached the station the duty sergeant told him that Sir Garnet Royce, M.P., had called to see him.

“Bring him to my office,” Pitt replied. He doubted it would be a helpful visit, but he owed the man the courtesy of seeing him. He pushed some papers off the second chair to make room for Royce to sit down if he wished and went behind his desk, glancing to see if there were any messages or new reports. There was nothing except the pile of house transactions from Verdun, with a note from one of the officers specializing in fraud, saying that as far as he could see they were exactly what they appeared to be; there was nothing to be deduced from them except that the firm conducted fairly efficient dealings in domestic property in several agreeable suburbs.

There was a knock on the door, and a constable showed in Garnet Royce. He was smartly dressed in a velvet-collared coat and carried a silk hat, which he put on the table. He was an imposing figure in this very ordinary gaslit office.

“Good evening, sir,” Pitt said curiously.

“Evening, Inspector.” He declined the chair. He was still holding a silver-headed cane, and he turned it restlessly in his strong hands as he spoke. “I see the newspapers have made headlines of poor Lockwood. Suppose it was to be expected. Distressing for the family. Makes it hard to manage affairs with any dignity; lot of idle people hanging around like ghouls, people one barely knows trying to scrape an acquaintance. Disgusting! Brings out the best and the worst in people. You’ll understand my distress for my sister.”

“Of course, sir.” Pitt meant it.

Royce leaned forward a little. “If it was some random madman, as seems much the likeliest thing, what are your chances of apprehending him, Inspector? Answer me honestly, man to man.”

Pitt looked at his face: the power in the sweep of nose and cheek, the wide mouth and sloping brow. It was not a sensitive face, but there was strength and intelligence in it.

“With luck, sir, quite fair; without a witness of any sort, and if the man doesn’t attack anyone else, not great. But then if he is a madman, he will continue to behave in a way to draw attention to himself, and we will find him.”

“Yes. Yes of course.” Sir Garnet’s hands closed on the cane. “I suppose you have no ideas as yet?”

“No sir. We’re working through the obvious possibilities: business rivalry, political enemies.”

“Lockwood was hardly important enough to earn political enemies.” Royce frowned. “Of course, there were a few people who lost promotions because he gained them, but that’s what one expects, for heaven’s sake. It’s true of anyone in public life.”

“Was there anyone who might have taken it especially hard?”

Royce thought for a moment, searching his memory. “Hanbury was pretty upset over the chairmanship of a parliamentary committee several years ago and seems to have held something of a grudge. And they quarreled over Home Rule—Hanbury was very much against it, and Lockwood was in favor. Rather felt he’d let the side down. But one doesn’t commit murder over such things.”

Pitt regarded the other man’s face in the lamplight. There was no shadow of double-mindedness or deception in it, no irony, no humor. He meant exactly what he said, and Pitt was obliged to agree with him. If the motive for murder was political, it lay in something far deeper than any issue they had touched on yet; it was a rivalry or a betrayal more personal, far more bitter than the question of Irish Home Rule or social reform.

Royce took his leave, and Pitt went upstairs to see Micah Drummond.

“Nothing of much use.” Drummond pushed a pile of papers across his desk towards Pitt. He looked tired, and there were dark patches under his eyes where the skin was thin and delicate. This was only the first day, but already he had felt the pressure, the anger of the people as horror turned to fear, and the alarm of those in power who knew the real danger.

“We’ve narrowed down the time,” he said. “He must have been killed between ten to midnight, when the House rose, and twenty past, when Hetty Milner found him. We ought to be able to cut it down further when we talk to the members when the House rises tonight.”