The Hyde Park Headsman (7 page)

“Or a meat cleaver?” he suggested with a husky voice.

Tellman had got Pitt’s vision. A flicker of annoyance crossed his face for not having mentioned it himself. “Yes—or that. Anyway, we’ll know if we find it.”

“When were the latest witnesses you could trace, so far?” Pitt went on.

Tellman looked at him expressionlessly. “How would you suggest we go about that, sir? Not easy to know who crosses Hyde Park of an evening. Could be anyone in London—or out of it, for that matter. Visitors, foreigners …” He left all the possibilities trailing in the air.

“Cabbies,” Pitt said dryly. “They have areas.” He saw Tellman’s face flush, but continued. “Post a man on the paths and on Rotten Row, and along Knightsbridge, and see who passes that way this evening. Some people do things regularly.”

“Yes sir.” Tellman stood very stiffly. It was common-sense police work, and he knew it. “Naturally that will be done, sir. Is that all?”

Pitt thought for a moment. It was his responsibility to set the tone of their relationship and to keep command of it, but he had never considered it could be so difficult. The man had a far more powerful personality than he had imagined. One could order his acts but his attitude was beyond reach, as was his ability to poison the minds of all the other men. Of course there were punishments available, but that would be clumsy, and in the end rebound on Pitt. Drummond had managed it. He had balanced all their differing natures and skills and made them an efficient whole. Pitt must not be beaten when he had little more than begun.

“For the moment,” he replied levelly. “Let me know when you make any progress with witnesses.”

“Yes sir,” Tellman acceded, then turned on his heel and left, closing the door quietly behind him.

Pitt sat back in the chair and thought for a moment, hesitating before putting his feet up on the desk. It was not as comfortable as he had expected, but it was a feeling of command and self-indulgence which was very satisfying. He began to review their knowledge to date, and all of it suggested Winthrop had been murdered not by some chance madman, or by a robber, not that he had ever thought that likely. The only conclusion
consistent with what had emerged was that he had been attacked by someone he knew, someone from whom he was expecting no threat. It might be a colleague or a social acquaintance. It was more likely to be a member of his close family or immediate friends. Until Tellman returned with more physical evidence, he should begin to look for motive.

He swung his feet off the desk and stood up. He could accomplish nothing here, and the sooner this was cleared up the better. Already the newspapers were publishing black headlines about the murder and Winthrop’s name was on everyone’s lips. In a day or two they would be demanding results and asking what the police were doing.

Two hours later Pitt was in the train to Portsmouth, sitting beside the window watching the countryside rush past him in vivid green with giant trees beginning to bud for heavy leaf and the bare branches of the hazels already veiled in a soft mist of color. Willows leaned over water trailing streamers of soft, gauzy, green like women bent forward with clouds of hair around them. Flocks of birds followed the slow plows, wheeling and diving after the worms in the turned earth.

Another three hours and he was standing in a small room close to the Royal Naval Dockyard, awaiting the arrival of Lieutenant Jones, second in command to the late Captain Winthrop. He had already spoken with the harbormaster and learned nothing of value. Everyone was shocked and could only repeat trite expressions of grief and outrage, and the sort of eulogizing remarks which they no doubt felt appropriate, but were what they would have said of anyone.

The door opened and a slender man in his late thirties came in. He was dressed in uniform and carried his hat in his hand.

“Good afternoon, sir. Lieutenant Jones. How may I be of service?” He stood to attention and looked at Pitt anxiously. He was clean-shaven with light eyebrows and fair hair receding considerably. It was a face where strength was not immediately apparent, and only after Pitt had spoken with him for several minutes did he gain any sense of his inner resolve.

“Superintendent Pitt,” Pitt introduced himself. “I regret intruding at a time which must be very difficult for you, but I am sure you will appreciate that you may be able to give me information which will help us find who is responsible for Captain Winthrop’s death.”

“I cannot imagine how, but of course I will give you any assistance
I can,” Jones acquiesced, remaining at attention. “What is it you wish to know?” His blue eyes showed total confusion.

Deliberately Pitt sat down in the hard-backed, wooden-armed chair beside the table, and invited Jones to sit as well.

Lieutenant Jones looked a trifle surprised, recognizing that Pitt intended the interview to be of length.

“How long have you served with Captain Winthrop?”

“Nine years, altogether,” Lieutenant Jones replied, taking the chair opposite Pitt and crossing his legs. “I—I suppose I knew him pretty well, if that is what you are going to ask.”

Pitt smiled. “It is. Please bear in mind that your loyalty to Captain Winthrop lies not only in speaking well of him but in telling the truth so that whoever murdered him is caught—” He stopped, seeing the surprise in Jones’s face.

“Surely it was robbery, wasn’t it?” Jones’s brow puckered in consternation. “I had assumed it was some criminal lunatic loose in the park. It is inconceivable it was anyone who knew him, which seems to be what you’re suggesting. Forgive me if I have misunderstood you, Superintendent.”

“No, your understanding is both exact and swift.” Pitt smiled very slightly. “There is some evidence to suggest that he was taken completely by surprise.” He waited for Jones’s reaction.

It was what he had expected. Jones looked startled, then dubious, then very grave as the full implication reached him.

“I see. And you have come to ask me if I know of anyone who may have held a grudge against him.” He shook his head. “I don’t. That is the simple answer. He was a popular man, Superintendent, open, candid, of remarkably good humor, friendly without being overfamiliar, and he did not gamble or run up debts he could not pay. He was certainly not an unjust commander, as no doubt you will ask me. I know of no man who had a quarrel with him.”

“Are you speaking of officers, Lieutenant, or do you include ordinary seamen as well?”

“What?” Jones’s eyes widened. “Oh. Well, I suppose I did mean officers. He would hardly know seamen personally. But you mean some sort of a grudge?”

“An injustice, real or imagined,” Pitt elaborated.

Jones looked very doubtful. He shifted a little in his chair. “Most ordinary seamen, Superintendent, take their punishment resolutely and with reasonably good grace.” He smiled weakly.
“We don’t keelhaul anymore you know. Discipline is not barbaric, nor is it resented on the whole. No, I really cannot imagine that any man would be—absurd—ill-balanced enough to pursue Captain Winthrop up to London and follow him to the park and do such a thing.” Again he shook his head. “It really would be quite preposterous. No, I am sure beyond any doubt that that is not what happened. As to a fellow officer, I…” He lifted one shoulder fractionally. “I know of no quarrel whatsoever. I suppose jealousy is not inconceivable, but it is highly unlikely. The whole thing is a mystery to me.”

“Jealousy?” Pitt asked. “Professional rivalry, you mean? Or personal jealousy, over a woman perhaps?”

Jones’s face showed surprise. “Oh no, I didn’t mean that. I really don’t know, Superintendent. I am struggling in the dark. If you are correct and it was not a madman or a gang of robbers, then one has to assume it was someone he knew. Please understand, I knew Oakley Winthrop very well. I worked with him for nearly a decade. He was an exemplary officer and a fine man.” He leaned forward. A gull swooped past the window, crying. “Not only honest but genuinely likable,” Jones said earnestly. “He excelled in sports, he played the piano and had a beautiful voice and sang for everyone’s pleasure. He had a rich sense of humor, and I’ve heard him set the whole mess rocking with laughter.”

“Sometimes a dangerous weapon,” Pitt said thoughtfully.

“Oh no.” Jones shook his head. “He was not a wit, if that is what you are thinking. He didn’t make mock of people. It was a very robust, simple sort of fun. Harmless. You are not picturing the man at all, Superintendent, if I may say so. He was uncomplicated, bluff even …” He stopped, seeing Pitt’s expression. “You disagree?” He leaned back in his chair again. “You have been misinformed, I assure you.”

“No one is uncomplicated,” Pitt replied with a wry smile. “But I accept what you say. I have formed no impression of him at all yet.”

Jones’s lips twitched very slightly. “If Captain Winthrop had a secret life he hid it with a subtlety and brilliance he did not display in his ordinary way. Believe me, I do wish I could offer anything of assistance, but I don’t know where to begin.”

“Was he popular with women as well?” Pitt asked.

Jones hesitated. Again the sounds of the yard intruded, the clank of chains, the creak of straining ropes as the water rose and fell, timber against timber, men shouting, and always the
mew of the gulls. “No, not as much as perhaps I might have suggested,” Jones went on. “Inadvertently, I mean. The sort of party I was referring to was strictly officers, not women. He was a seaman. I don’t think he found the company of women easy.” He blushed a delicate pink and his eyes moved away from Pitt. “One has so little social life, one gets out of practice in the sort of light conversation suitable for women.”

Pitt had a vivid picture in his mind of a broad, blunt-faced man, hearty, outwardly confident, totally in command, quick to laughter on the surface, but underneath the superficial bonhomie, perhaps filled with darker emotions, fears, self-doubts, even guilt, a man who spent most of his life in a totally masculine world.

Had he a mistress? He looked at the fair, earnest face opposite him. Lieutenant Jones would not tell him even if he knew. But if it were some love or hate here in Portsmouth, would they have followed him to London, rather than committing the crime here?

“Lieutenant Jones, when did Captain Winthrop leave for London?”

“Er—ten days ago,” Jones replied, watching Pitt’s face again.

It was not necessary for either of them to point out that a quarrel in Portsmouth ten days ago was not likely to have resulted in a violent murder in London nine days afterwards.

“All the same,” Pitt went on. “I’d like you to tell me all you can of his last few days here, whom he saw, anything out of the ordinary that was said or done. Have there been any unusual disciplinary decisions in the last few months?”

“Nothing involving Captain Winthrop,” Jones replied, still a small pucker between his brows. “You are mistaken, Superintendent. The answer to this tragedy does not lie in anything that happened here.”

Pitt was inclined to believe him, and after he had pursued one or two more questions he thanked Lieutenant Jones and excused himself, but he still remained in Portsmouth for several more hours, asking more questions, seeing the local police, public house landlords, even a brothel keeper, before catching his train back to London.

The following morning he found Tellman waiting for him. “Good morning, sir. Learn anything in Portsmouth?” he asked, his hard, bright eyes searching Pitt’s face.

“A little,” Pitt replied, going up the stairs with Tellman behind him. “He left there eleven days ago. Nine days before he was killed. Doesn’t seem likely anyone from there followed him up. Most of his closest associates are accounted for that night anyway.”

“Not surprising,” Tellman said bluntly as Pitt opened his office door and went in. “Could have sent le Grange down to find that out.” He closed the door and stood in front of Pitt’s desk.

Pitt sat down and faced him. “Send him down to check on what everyone says,” he agreed. “I wanted to find out about Winthrop himself.”

“Cheerful sort of person, according to his neighbors,” Tellman said with satisfaction. “Always got a good word. Kept to himself most of the time, family man. Liked his home when he was not at sea.”

“Scandal?”

“Not a breath. Model gentleman in every way.” Tellman looked faintly smug.

“And what have you learned?” Pitt asked, opening his eyes wide. “Where was he killed? Have you got the weapon?”

The satisfaction died in Tellman’s face, and his lips tightened.

“Haven’t found the place yet. Could have been anywhere. We’ve looked for the weapon. We’ll drag the Serpentine tomorrow.” He lifted his head a little. “But we have found several witnesses. Couple of lovers were walking down the path at half past ten. He wasn’t there then. It was still light enough to see that much quite clearly. Cabby going along Knightsbridge towards Hyde Park corner at midnight empty, on his way home, and going pretty slow, saw two people walking along Rotten Row, and is certain both were men. He didn’t see anybody on the water then, although of course it was dark and he was some way from the Serpentine, but there was a good moon.”

“And …” Pitt prompted.

“And another gentleman came home in his own carriage at two in the morning and passed the same way, and saw what he took to be a boat drifting,” Tellman said, staring at Pitt.

“Sober?” Pitt asked.

“He says so.”

“And your judgment?”

“Well, he was certainly sober enough when I spoke to him.”

“Did you find him, or did he come to you?”

Tellman’s face tightened again. “He came to us. But he’s a gentleman. I meant the word exact. Banker in the City.”

“Where had he been that he was away from home at two in the morning?”

Tellman’s shoulders tightened.

“I didn’t ask, sir. I gathered it was private business, an assignation maybe. It isn’t done to press gentlemen of that sort as to where they’ve been, Mr. Pitt. Gets their backs up to no purpose.”

Pitt heard the insolence in his voice and saw the satisfaction of contempt in his face.

“I suppose you did check that he is who he said he is?” he asked.