The Hyde Park Headsman

by Anne Perry

  “Yes, Mr. Pitt. Want ter see ’is clothes? ’E were dressed very smart, like; naval captain, they say. Nice uniform. Pity about the blood. Never seen so much in all me life.”

  “Anything in his pockets?”

  “Only what yer’d expect, a little money, letter from ’is wine merchant, that’s ’ow we knew ’is name, I reckon. A few keys, reckon wine cupboard or desk or the like; domestic anyway. ’Andkerchief, couple o’ callin’ cards, cigar cutter. Nothing interestin’, no threatening letters.” He smiled sepulchrally. “Got another nasty one, Mr. Pitt. I reckon there’s a madman loose somewhere.”

  “Do you,” Pitt said dryly. “Well cover him up and let us know when the coroner has been.”

  “Yes sir. Good night sir!”

  “Good night.”

  Pitt arrived home tired and still unable to shake from himself the smell of the mortuary. He let himself in the door and took his boots off before going along to the warmth and light of the kitchen.

  Charlotte did not turn around immediately; she was busy stirring a steaming pan on the large black cooking range.

  “Hungry?” she asked without looking at him.

  He sat down wearily at the scrubbed wooden table, letting the warmth surround him and breathing in the odor of the clean linen, flour, cooking, the coal and heat of the range, the well-washed floor.

  She swung around, opened her mouth to speak, then saw his face.

  “What?” she said gently. “Something bad, I can see it.”

  “Murder,” he replied. “A beheading, in Hyde Park.”

  “Oh.” She took a deep breath, pushing her hair off her brow. It was bright like polished chestnuts in the lamplight. “Soup?”

  “What?”

  “Soup?” she repeated. “Some hot soup and bread? You look cold.”

  He smiled and nodded, beginning to relax.

  She opened the lid of the pot on the range and ladled some broth out into a dish. She knew he was too overwrought, too clenched with chill and emotion to eat yet. She placed it in front of him, with fresh bread and a pat of butter, then sat down again and waited for him to tell her. It was not courtesy or any form of kindness, he knew that. She would be intensely interested, she always was. No pretense was necessary.

  Briefly, in between spoonfuls of broth, he told her.

  2

  “YES SIR?” Tellman stood in front of Pitt’s desk early the next morning, his face was hard and bleak as stone, his eyes focusing somewhere over Pitt’s left shoulder. “Didn’t come back in time to report to you, sir. Half past ten, it was. You’d gone home.”

  “What have you learned?” Pitt asked. He had done this to Drummond too many times himself to be irritated by Tellman’s implied criticism.

  “Far as the doc can judge, he died some time before midnight,” Tellman answered. “Not sure exactly. Maybe eleven or so. Not much blood in the boat, so it probably wasn’t there. In fact, unless he washed it out, it couldn’t have been.”

  “Shoes?” Pitt asked, imagining carrying a headless body across the grass to the Serpentine before midnight when there were still late partygoers returning home and several hansoms up and down Knightsbridge, any of them liable to let off a fare for a midnight walk.

  “Grass on them, sir,” Tellman said expressionlessly. “Several pieces.”

  “And when was the park grass last cut?” Pitt asked.

  Tellman’s nostrils flared very slightly and his mouth pinched in. “I’ll find out. But it doesn’t matter. He didn’t walk across it without his head.”

  “Maybe he was brought in another boat,” Pitt suggested, as much to annoy Tellman as because he thought it a serious possibility.

  “What for?” Tellman’s eyebrows rose a fraction. “Doesn’t make any sense. What’s different about one boat from another? And not easy to lift a corpse in a boat. Turn yourself over as like as not.” He smiled sourly, his eyes meeting Pitt’s for the first time. “His clothes were quite dry, except a very slight damp in one or two places from the dew. But dry as a bone underneath … sir.”

  Pitt conceded all that without comment.

  “How deep is the water at the edge of the Serpentine?” he asked contentiously.

  Tellman took his point instantly. “Not more than just above the knee,” he agreed, then the smile came back to his lips. “But kind of noticeable, don’t you think, to walk back across the park soaked to the thighs? People might remember that—dangerous.”

  “People might remember seeing a man having his head cut off too,” Pitt said with an answering smile. “Tends to suggest there was no one around. What do you think yourself?”

  That was a question Tellman was not prepared for. He wanted to argue, to mock. His long face tightened and he looked at Pitt with dislike.

  “Too early to say … sir.”

  “Well when you’ve ruled out the impossible, what’s left?” Pitt insisted. “Specifically!”

  Tellman took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh.

  Pitt waited.

  “He was killed somewhere farther along the Serpentine, which we haven’t found yet,” Tellman replied. “And taken to where we found him in the boat. I’ve got Bailey and le Grange looking all along the banks now. I suppose someone could have brought him over the grass in some way. A trap or a cart maybe, but it would be a dreadful risk, not thought out…” He stopped, waiting for Pitt to ask the question that had occurred to both of them.

  “Any feeling as to whether it was planned or a sudden rage?” Pitt put it into words.

  “Too early,” Tellman replied with a faint gleam in his eyes. “Might be clever thinking, might be luck. Know more when we’ve covered all the bank, or nothing. Looks clever, so far. I’ll tell you this, sir—it doesn’t look like any chance madman to me. And we did check, there’s been no maniacs escaped from Bedlam or anywhere else. And we’ve no record of a crime like it before.”

  “Have you got the medical examiner’s report yet?”

  “There’s a wound on the head,” Tellman answered. “He was probably hit to stun him before he was beheaded. Not hard enough to kill, just rob him of his senses for a while.” He looked at Pitt candidly at last. “Looks careful and nasty, doesn’t it … sir.”

  “Yes it does. Is that all?”

  Tellman opened his eyes wide, waiting for Pitt to continue.

  “There was nothing on the rest of the body, so far as I could see,” Pitt said patiently. “No bruises, no scratches on his hands or knuckles. What about his clothes? I didn’t see them. Are they torn or scuffed? Green stains, mud?”

  “No,” Tellman said flatly. “No. He didn’t put up a fight. Nothing at all.”

  “How tall does he estimate him to have been—with his head? Six feet?”

  “About that, as near as we can judge—and big, broad chested.”

  “I know. I saw him. And yes, it does look nasty,” Pitt agreed. “I think we need to know a great deal more about Captain the Honorable Oakley Winthrop.”

  Tellman’s face split into a grin.

  “That’s why it’s your case, Mr. Pitt. The powers that be reckon as you’re good at that sort of thing. You’d better go and mix with the Honorable Winthrops and their kin. See who hated the good captain, and why.” He stood still in front of Pitt’s desk, amused and sharp with resentment. “We’ll get on with finding witnesses and that sort of regular police work. Will that be all, sir?”

  “No it won’t.” Pitt kept the dislike out of his voice with intense difficulty. He must remember he was in command; he had no business indulging in personal irritations and pettiness. He forced it out of his mind. “What did the medical examiner say about a weapon? I assume you haven’t found anything or you would have said so.”

  “No sir, nothing yet.” He preempted Pitt’s repeating the orders. “We’ll drag the Serpentine, of course, but makes sense to look in the easier places first.”

  “What did the medical examiner tell you?”

  “Clean cut Must have be
en quite a heavy weapon to do that in one blow, and with a very sharp blade. Either an ax with a broad head, or more likely a sword of some sort, again a big one, a cutlass or the like.”

  With a wave of sickening memory Pitt saw again in his mind the severed stump of neck, and smelled the overwhelming carbolic and wet stone.

  “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 some
one 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.