Belgrave Square (34 page)

“Good morning, Mrs. Latimer. I apologize for disturbing you so early, and without seeking your permission first,” he began with the prepared apology, having nothing else thought of. “But the matter about which I come is urgent, and must be handled with discretion.”

“Indeed?” she said with polite interest. He thought her voice deliberately softer in pitch than nature had intended it. There was a brightness in her eyes and he tried to assess whether it was a flash of hard intelligence or simply the light from the chandeliers, and could not decide.

“Please come into the withdrawing room and tell me of it,” she offered. “My maid said you are of the police, is that correct?”

“Yes ma’am, from Bow Street.”

“I cannot think why you come to us.” She led the way, walking gracefully and with complete assurance. If she had the slightest apprehension or uncertainty she hid it superbly. “We are hardly in your area, and my husband, as you will no doubt be aware, is a superintendent in Scotland Yard.”

“Yes ma’am, I am aware; and it is not to do with any crime in your area that I have come.”

She opened the double doors into the withdrawing room and swept in, her skirts wide behind her, leaving him to follow. The room was as impressive as the hallway: opulent curtains draped well over the floor around Georgian windows looking onto a small, tree-filled garden, its size disguised by the abundance of leaves so the light and shadows were constantly dancing. She allowed him a moment to appreciate the rest of the room, then she invited him to be seated. The furniture was a little ostentatious for his taste, but extremely comfortable. The carpets had no worn patches that he could see, nor indeed did any of the fabric covering the chairs, nor the embroidered antimacassars on their backs. Again there were dried flower ornaments, glass cases with stuffed birds and silver-framed photographs. The pictures on the walls were large and ornately gilded, but a glance told him they were of little intrinsic value as works of art.

She seemed quite happy that he should be so interested in her home, no doubt admiring it, and she made no move to hurry him.

He felt compelled to say something civil; he had stared long enough to make some remark necessary.

“A very handsome room, Mrs. Latimer.”

She smiled, taking it for admiration not untouched by envy. She knew from his card that his rank was merely inspector.

“Thank you, Mr. Pitt. Now what is this matter in which you believe I may help you?”

She was being more businesslike than he had expected. The childlike air would seem to be part a trick of coloring, part an art she wished to enhance, but in no way marking an indecisive or timorous nature.

He began the story he had prepared. “A most unpleasant person has endeavored to impugn the reputations of several men of importance in London.” That was certainly true, whether it had been Weems or not.

Her gaze remained wide and uncommunicative. It did not touch her yet, and she was unconcerned with others.

“He has suggested financial matters of a dubious nature,” he continued. “Debt, usury, and a certain degree of dishonesty.”

“How unpleasant,” she conceded. “Can you not charge him with slander and silence him? It is a criminal offense to speak ill of people in the way you suggest.”

“Unfortunately he is beyond our reach.” Pitt hid the smile that came naturally to his lips.

“If he has slandered people of importance, Mr. Pitt, he is not beyond the law, whoever he is,” she said with slightly condescending patience.

“He is dead, ma’am,” Pitt answered with satisfaction. “Therefore he cannot be made either to explain his charges or to deny them and make apology.”

Her fair face registered confusion.

“Is that not surely the most effective silencer of all?”

“Most certainly. But the charges have been made, and unless they are proved groundless the smear remains. As discreetly as possible, and without spreading them by the very act of proving them wrong, I must find a way to show that they are groundless and malicious.”

Her blue eyes opened very wide. “But why, if he is dead?”

“Because others know of the charges, and the rumors and whispers may still spread. I am sure you see how damaging that would be—to the innocent.”

“I suppose so. Although I cannot imagine why you come to me. I shall certainly not repeat malicious gossip, even assuming I had heard it.”

“One of the names mentioned by this man is that of your husband.” He watched her closely to see even the faintest, most concealed of responses.

There was nothing whatever visible in her face but incomprehension.

“My husband’s? Are you quite sure?”

“There can be no doubt,” he replied. “The address is given as well.”

“But my husband is a member of the police—you know that.” She looked at him as if she doubted his intelligence.

“Not everyone believes the police to be beyond temptation or weakness, Mrs. Latimer. It is against those people we must guard. Which is what I am attempting to do. Does your husband have private income, an inheritance, perhaps?”

“No.” Her face pinched with distaste at the question. “Senior officers earn a considerable amount, Mr. Pitt. Perhaps
you are not aware …” She trailed off; the intrusion of such questions offended her, and confused her. She did not deal in financial matters; it was not a woman’s place.

Pitt had originally intended asking her if she knew of Latimer’s ever having borrowed money, even for a short time to meet some unexpected expense, but looking at her smooth, humorless face he abandoned the idea. Had he been Latimer he would not have told her of anything so mundane or displeasing as financial difficulty, he would simply have handled the matter himself in whatever way he thought best, and presented her with the result. He had seen the glint of purpose in her eye. He doubted she was a stupid woman, for all the carefully cultivated extreme femininity. She was probably capable of intense determination, and acute social judgment; but she seemed to be without any breadth of imagination. The very predictability of the room evidenced that, as did her responses to his statements now.

“I am aware, ma’am,” he answered her half question. “But this man has left written claims that Superintendent Latimer borrowed considerable amounts of money from him. It is my task to disprove that.”

She blinked. “What is wrong with borrowing money, if you repay it?”

“Nothing. It only becomes wrong if you cannot repay—which is what this man has suggested, among other things.”

“What things, Mr. Pitt?”

She had surprised him. He had not expected her to pursue that, only to deny debt. He had been right; it was a flash of steel under all the fair hair and pink-and-white skin.

“Blackmail, Mrs. Latimer.”

That jolted her. She had not flinched with distaste in the outward show she had given earlier, but now her eyes widened a little, and beneath the mannerisms her concentration sharpened.

“Indeed. I think perhaps you had better speak to my husband about this. It appears to involve crime as well as malicious charges.”

“The crime is also being investigated,” he assured her. “It is the charges I am personally concerned with disproving. The reputation of the police force has suffered very gravely
in the last year. It is most important we protect it now. I would greatly appreciate your assistance.”

“I don’t see what I can do.”

“May I speak with your servants?” He wanted to see the rest of the house. It would give him the best opportunity he could desire to estimate their financial standing.

“If you believe it will help,” she conceded reluctantly. “Although I cannot imagine how it could.”

“Thank you, that is most generous of you.” He rose to his feet and she did also, reaching for the bell.

When the parlormaid arrived she gave the necessary instructions and bade him good-day.

He spent a further hour asking all the servants pointless questions about callers, which enabled him to see most of the rest of the house. His ugliest fears were realized. The money had been spent on the front rooms. All the more private areas where no visitor would pass were furnished in castoffs, wood was scratched or blemished, carpets were faded in the sun, worn where feet had passed over them in constant tread, fringes on lamps and chairs were patched and missing tassels, the wallpaper was faded where the light fell on it, curtains were barely to the floor, and unlined. The domestic staff was only the barest number necessary to run such an establishment. When dinner parties were given, as they were quite often, then extra servants were hired in for that occasion, as were the required plates, glasses and silver.

He left late in the afternoon with a heavy feeling of depression. Mrs. Latimer was apparently a woman with considerable social ambition and a driving will to achieve, indeed he was obliged to leave through the servants’ entrance to avoid the guests arriving at the front.

Latimer might well have felt the same ambition, but whatever his own desires he appeared determined to drive himself to the limit, and perhaps beyond. It would be very easy to believe he had borrowed from Weems in order to throw the extra party, feed his guests with the best, serve the best wines and impress all the right people. But how had he expected to repay? His salary was set.

Pitt had taken the very obvious step of learning a superintendent’s salary. He could imagine no way in which it could have maintained the establishment in Beaufort Gardens, even
with the stringent economies practiced in the kitchens, the family bedrooms and the servants’ quarters. Thinking of it in the hansom on the way back to Bow Street he felt oppressed by the anxiety of it, the constant worry, the fear of the letter, the knock on the door, the feeling that everything was temporary, nothing safe, robbing one pocket to pay another, always juggling, thinking, deceiving, covering one lie with a second, spoken or implied.

There was little point in speaking to Latimer directly. If it were untrue he could not prove it; if it were true he would deny it. Neither would mean anything. Proof was all that would stand. He might not have killed Weems, but that was only part of the question, and now not the part that troubled Pitt the most. Whatever the truth of Weems’s murder, he needed to know where Latimer had hoped to acquire the money to repay the loans. He needed to know it was an honest way, although he could think of none.

He would have to have Micah Drummond’s authorization to inquire into Latimer’s cases. They were not in Bow Street but in Scotland Yard, and it would need a very strong explanation before an officer from another station would be permitted to examine them.

It took him many days of close, unhappy reading in a little room off a long corridor, sitting on a hard-backed chair in front of a wooden table piled with papers. He followed case after case of human violence, greed and deceit. Latimer had worked on a wide variety of evils, from murder and arson through to organized fraud and large-scale embezzlement. It was an unhappy catalogue of behavior, probably much the same as would have been found in the records of any other officer of similar rank in a city the size of London, the largest city in the world, the hub of an empire that circled the earth, the financial capital, the industrial and commercial heart, the busiest port, the center for transport and communication, as well as the social pinnacle.

He put aside all those where Latimer had worked closely with other officers and the results were precisely what anyone with experience would have expected. He also took out those where the trail of evidence was obvious and had culminated in arrest and conviction of a known felon.

He read and reread any that ended in an acquittal, but found little that was unusual, and nothing that was unaccountable.

Lastly, tired, eyes aching and fed up with spending his days inside poring over papers instead of out dealing with people, he turned to the cases unsolved. There were three murders over the last five years, and he read them carefully. From the evidence, the statements recorded, he would have done precisely what Latimer had done. His spirits lifted a little. Perhaps after all he was going to find it was simply a case of a man in love with a beautiful and socially ambitious wife who had overextended his means to satisfy her.

But there was no reason to suppose Carswell had borrowed money, and every reason to believe he was being blackmailed. There was sufficient reason to believe that Latimer also was blackmailed. Lord Byam had admitted it from the first. Was Latimer, the third name on the list, really only an innocent observer?

Was he a member of the secret brotherhood, the Inner Circle? He was just the sort of man who would join: young, ambitious, desirous of social status and preferment. Pitt would need not proof that he was, but proof that he was not before he would alter his belief.

He went outside in the hot, close midday to find himself some luncheon. In a noisy public house with a thick sandwich and a glass of cider he sat and watched the faces of the men coming and going, recognizing each other, exchanging whispers and nods, doing quick, secretive business, making acquaintances.

Was it any use trying his underworld sources? If Latimer were assisting the Inner Circle, they would not be the petty thieves and forgers, the pickpockets, fences and pimps of the criminal world, but the practitioners of fraud in business, the corrupt lawyers, the men who gave and took bribes, the financial deceivers and embezzlers of thousands.

He looked at the narrow, foxy face of the man at the table next to his. He was dirty and his teeth were stained, his hands cracked and nails black. He very possibly stole to make his life a little more comfortable. He would almost certainly not be above taking advantage of those weaker or slower-witted
than himself, and might well have abused his wife, if he had one, or his children.

Still Pitt found him less of an offense against his code than the rich men who stole indirectly from strangers in order to become richer still, and who corrupted others to escape the consequences.

He returned to Scotland Yard and his poky little room with the pile of papers, and resumed his study, concentrating on the crimes that involved men he thought likely to be members of the Inner Circle, or to be of interest to its members.