Murder on the Serpentine

by Anne Perry

  “I seem to remember he drank very little,” Kendrick replied. “And when he did, it was brandy. Always too careful to be anything but sober. Have to be, when you have so many enemies.”

  “Are we to assume you were one of them?” Pitt asked, watching Kendrick’s face over the top of his glass.

  “Well deduced, Pitt,” Kendrick agreed.

  “Not particularly. You made it the obvious thing to assume. Not that he kept any record of it that I have found. Was he unaware, do you suppose?” He wondered why Kendrick was telling him. Was it a warning or bait?

  “I’m sure he wasn’t,” Kendrick said, taking another sip of his whisky. “It was more personal than professional. And not, I imagine, something he was proud of. And something he would prefer his subordinates not to know.”

  Was that genuine spite, or said to make Pitt lose his temper and respond thoughtlessly?

  Pitt smiled. “Then he would be very upset indeed to think what a man’s servants know of him. Particularly a valet or lady’s maid.”

  The faintest possible irritation crossed Kendrick’s face, and vanished. “You are something above a valet, aren’t you?” he asked with eyebrows raised.

  “A different set of skills,” Pitt said. “And actually I am employed by the Crown, as are all police, Special Branch, diplomats, judges, and other civil servants. And I suppose the army as well.” He glanced at Jack. “And members of Parliament. In fact, one way or another, half the men in this room. I apologize, I forget, what was the point of this conversation?” He was interested. Was Kendrick going to take it back to Narraway again?

  “Your progress, or lack of it, in learning exactly what happened to poor Halberd,” Kendrick replied. “Or possibly we had moved on to how dislikable Narraway was, or maybe ‘feared’ is a more appropriate word. Dislike does not call for any action, except avoidance where it is possible.”

  “I think you were pointing out that men with power are often feared,” Pitt replied. “Something of a truism. No one likes to be afraid. It robs one of…pride, or being free to do as you please, with no one to curb you. The loss of a certain kind of freedom that some people treasure rather a lot.”

  “Is that a kind of threat, Pitt?” Kendrick sounded as if the idea interested him, like a curious new species of insect.

  “Of what?” Pitt raised his eyebrows. “In all the many papers Narraway left, your name was not mentioned.”

  “Really? So he has kept no record of it. How very…indicative.”

  “Indeed. Of what?” Pitt asked.

  “That you would not approve, of course. And he knew that, because he knows you, and your morality.” Now Kendrick was openly smiling. “Which doesn’t make you unique, of course, just a little naïve for a policeman.”

  Pitt felt his temper rising. Perhaps that was exactly what Kendrick wanted. People who lose their temper lose control of the discussion and are more easily manipulated.

  “You make it sound as if you actually know something.” Pitt put his whisky glass down on the table. He had done no more than taste it, which was a shame because it was extremely good. “And I don’t think you do.”

  Kendrick’s eyes were bright, a wash of color in his cheeks. “Oh, yes I do. Do you know how Roland Darnley died? Horse-riding accident?” His expression was bitter. “Hardly. If you looked into it a little further you’d find it was no accident. You are so keen to find out what happened to John Halberd, but you won’t reconsider what happened to Darnley. Why is that? Really—you have no idea? Too unimaginative? Don’t care? Or would very much rather not know?” He leaned forward just an inch or two in his chair, his eyes not leaving Pitt’s face. “And do you know that just after Darnley’s death, Narraway began to pay his widow, quite regularly? And substantially. I see that you don’t. What was it for, do you suppose? An affair? Blackmail? Hardly conscience money. If he paid that, he would be in the workhouse!”

  Pitt was stunned, but he knew he must not show it.

  “I suppose you know all this because she is now your wife?” he said softly, almost as if it amused him. “How disloyal of you to suggest that she is either a whore or a blackmailer. Fortunately, I have not been in a position to think such things of my wife, but if I were, I don’t think I would tell anyone, least of all a man I disliked.” He took a breath. “Or are you hoping I will investigate and prove you wrong? I don’t think it falls within Special Branch’s purview.” It was a mistake, and he knew it the instant the words were said.

  “Not in your purview?” Kendrick said incredulously. “The commander of Special Branch possibly murdered Darnley, and then paid blackmail to his widow, and you don’t think it is your business? Good God, man, then what is? Some meddling idiot falls into the Serpentine while having an affair with a prostitute, in a rowing boat, for God’s sake? And you waste everybody’s time with that instead of drawing a veil over it, for decency. You can’t even blackmail him into doing whatever you want, or telling you his secrets, because he hit his head on the gunwale and drowned. Let him lie in whatever peace there is after death! Stop muckraking.”

  Pitt felt every muscle in his body go rigid until it ached. He must control his temper, not think of his years of friendship with Narraway, all the hours they had spent fighting battles side by side, or of the pain Vespasia would feel if any of this was true, the appalling loss of all her newfound happiness. He must go forward, carefully.

  “And I presume you can tell me how I should investigate it?” he asked as levelly as he could. “You know because your wife told you? Do you just choose to believe it, or is there some proof? You do not have access to Narraway’s bank statements, but you do to hers. I don’t. I have only your word, which is not proof of anything, except that you hate Narraway. Is that because you think he had an affair with your wife before you knew her? So, I believe, did the Prince of Wales. It seems to be common knowledge. Except, of course, I don’t imagine he paid her.”

  A tide of color washed up Kendrick’s face, and Pitt knew that he had made an enemy for life. It was an uncomfortable thought, but that too was part of the price of making decisions and staying with them.

  “Oh, yes, Mr. Pitt, of course I have proof,” Kendrick said between his teeth. “I have her bank statements. It was considerable money, paid regularly. And if you look a little more closely at Darnley’s death, you will see that it was murder, well disguised, cleverly done, but murder all the same. You would not expect Narraway to be clumsy, would you?”

  Pitt kept his voice mild, but it was one of the most difficult acts of self-control he had ever undertaken.

  “And I suppose you know why Narraway killed Darnley? It hardly seems to have been necessary in order to have an affair with his wife. It doesn’t look like he wished to marry her himself.”

  The look in Kendrick’s eyes was pure hatred.

  “I imagine Darnley knew a few of Narraway’s own secrets,” he said, his throat so tight his voice was several tones higher. “I leave that to you to find out, if you have the courage to look!” And with that, he rose to his feet and stalked away without even glancing at Jack Radley.

  Pitt let out his breath slowly.

  Jack was staring at him, his face filled with apprehension.

  “You’ve made a bad enemy,” he said softly.

  “I know. What did you expect me to do? Back away?”

  “No. No, I think I expected you to do exactly what you did. Narraway has been a good friend to you, and regardless of that, he’s Aunt Vespasia’s husband, so we have to defend him all we can. Are you so sure he’s innocent?”

  Pitt’s temper was instant, and evaporated as quickly. This was not the time for quixotic gestures.

  “No, I’m not,” he admitted. “He could have had an affair with Delia. Can’t see it, but who knows? People are attracted to the oddest companions. It was twenty years ago. People change. But I don’t believe he killed Darnley over it. Why the hell would he? She seems to have been available enough, regardless.”

  Jack
did not look away. “Then what did he pay her for? And if you want to think he didn’t, you’re dreaming. Kendrick wouldn’t say that if he couldn’t follow it up.”

  “I know.” Pitt pushed the whisky away from him. “First, I’ll have to investigate Darnley’s death. If it really was an accident, then it has nothing to do with this.”

  “Has it occurred to you that the whole issue is irrelevant to John Halberd’s death, and Kendrick has only raised it to get you off that?”

  “Yes, of course it has. Doesn’t mean I can leave it alone.” Pitt stood up. “Sorry, Jack, I’ve got a whole force at my disposal. I need to do both.”

  “Are you using the whole force?” Jack finished his whisky and rose to his feet also. “Is that wise? It signals that you’re worried that Kendrick could be right. And you can be sure he’ll be watching. He’ll make an issue of it. I would, in his place—so would you.”

  “No. I’ll just use Stoker. I haven’t got anyone else involved in the Halberd affair either. But thanks for the warning. He’s playing with emotions—fear, loyalty. I know that.”

  —

  AS SOON AS PITT got back to Lisson Grove, later than he had intended, he sent for Stoker, and was told that he was out, though no one knew where. Pitt should not have been surprised. He had given him enough to do, and said very specifically that he was to inform no one else, either directly or indirectly.

  He spent the whole afternoon going through all the files he could, dating from the year of Darnley’s death to the previous two years. He did not expect to find anything of use. If Narraway had been having an affair with Delia, there would be no note of it in his office. But Pitt could at least find a good outline of where Narraway himself had been. If it was anywhere near Buckinghamshire, where Darnley had been killed, it was somewhere to start. Although it would be of help only if it was proved he was far enough away that he could not have gone there. It was not so far from London, and the train service was excellent.

  After considerable cross-referencing, Pitt was surprised to find a copy of the police report on Darnley’s death, clearly ruled an accident. In Narraway’s small, handsome, but almost illegible handwriting, he found notes on it. With a magnifying glass he read them all, or as close to all as he could make sense of. He was still struggling with them when there was a brief knock on the door, and before he could answer it, Stoker came through and closed it behind him.

  Pitt looked up, surprised at how pleased he was to see Stoker’s bony face.

  “Tell me what you make of this,” he said, pushing the pages across the desk, along with a magnifying glass and his own notes.

  Stoker read them all before looking up.

  “Seems like he was sure Darnley was murdered, sir. And the note at the end implies he dealt with it, or someone did.”

  “That’s how I read it,” Pitt agreed. “But ‘dealt with’ could mean a number of things. What do you know about Darnley? This was all before your time. Is there anyone who would know?”

  “Lethbridge might. He’d been here for thirty years when I came. But I am not sure how good his memory is. You could ask him, or I will, if you like?”

  “Please do,” Pitt said, “but be careful. I don’t want speculation all over the office, and still less outside it. If Lethbridge asks, or perhaps even if he doesn’t, don’t overexplain. Just tell him the matter has risen again and we need to put it back where it belongs. Report to me as soon as you know.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Pitt would have liked to go home and discuss it with Charlotte. They could have comforted each other, recalled memories of all the times they had sat at the kitchen table with Narraway and Vespasia and struggled to find their way through cases, prove the guilt or innocence they believed, work out what was true or false.

  Everyone who had ever made decisions had been wrong at times. It was whether you owned up to it and how you changed that mattered, the degree of honesty, the courage and the will to face it.

  Was Narraway the man Pitt believed him to be: clever, sarcastic, very private, when necessary manipulative, but still a man of his own integrity, able to feel both pity and guilt, and now deeply vulnerable in his love for Vespasia? How much did people change, for the better or worse?

  It was time he changed and carried this weight of knowledge alone. He was afraid of what he would find, how it would hurt Charlotte—and even more, Vespasia. But would she ever have to know?

  That was a foolish thought. She would know. Pitt’s attitude toward Narraway would be different. The respect would be gone, and it was more than that; it was the kind of trust one has in a father, a man who has taught you his profession, at times exercised a kind of discipline. There was no sentimentality; but it was a kind of love. Either of them would risk his life for the other. Indeed, they had.

  The truth was clear: He was afraid of learning something that would compromise forever his friendship with Narraway, but there was no escape. He knew enough that he could not turn away from the rest. The unanswered questions would always be there, growing darker, heavier, leaking their poison into everything else, as one drop of ink will turn a whole glass of water blue.

  But Charlotte did not need to know that tonight. There might be another reason behind Darnley’s death and Narraway’s payments to Delia. Until he had found it, he would say nothing.

  —

  DETERMINEDLY, PITT STOOD STRAIGHT and smiled as he went in through his own front door that evening, and when Charlotte came out of the parlor to greet him, he kissed her gently, holding her only a single moment too long. When she looked at him more carefully, searching his face, he pretended not to notice.

  He spoke to Daniel and Jemima, asking about their current projects, Jemima in more detail than usual. Daniel was quieter, and Pitt was on the verge of telling him that he had spoken to Dr. Needham, but knew it was still too soon. The answer could be that the charge remained on his record, false or not.

  Daniel did not seem to notice, too withdrawn into himself. Only Charlotte detected a tension in Pitt, but he refused to acknowledge it. He admitted to a weariness after the children had gone to bed, though, and made it the excuse to go upstairs early himself. He avoided talking with her by pretending to fall asleep, when actually his brain was still going over and over the possibilities of why Darnley had been killed, and what on earth had made Narraway regularly pay his widow. He even wondered if Narraway could have been the father of her child.

  —

  IN THE MORNING HE went straight to the hall table to see if the mail had arrived. He knew it as soon as he saw it. He opened it cautiously, then saw the school heading on the paper, and found his hand was shaking.

  Dear Commander Pitt,

  I am pleased to inform you that the matter we discussed has been looked into and resolved. I shall advise Daniel that in future his loyalty to the truth should supersede his loyalty to his comrades. A just man serves a higher cause than concealing another’s fault. One such action can become two, and then a habit. I believe that he will take my point. In the end, it will be the lesser pain. As you pointed out, a leader of men cannot be manipulated by popularity. Such a hard lesson for a child to learn.

  Yours faithfully,

  James Needham

  Pitt folded the letter and put it in his inside pocket, his whole mind flooded with relief. Not only was the matter dealt with, but he was convinced that Daniel was in a school where he would be molded by a leader of both honor and wisdom.

  He walked down the corridor to the kitchen, smiling.

  —

  FOR TWO MISERABLE DAYS Pitt attended to other Special Branch cases, and in any time left read all the reports he had on the current situation in South Africa. The more he learned, the more inevitable it seemed that a second Boer war would begin, possibly before the year was out.

  Sir Alfred Milner might be a brilliant and honorable man, but Pitt could not like him. His view of empire, as a guardian of less advanced peoples and the supposition it should be enforced b
y arms if necessary, was repellent. It held an arrogance that seemed to carry over into every other aspect of life. Law can be administered successfully only with the consent of the people concerned. He had learned that in a very personal way during his years as a policeman. When the majority of people lose trust in you, you can rule only by violence.

  Fortunately, his job had very little to do with the Boer question. It grieved him as a citizen, however.

  When Stoker came in on the third day, it was late in the afternoon and he had obviously been hurrying. He was out of breath when he spoke.

  “Glad you’re still here, sir.” His face was alight with more than satisfaction; it was positively joyful.

  “What?” Pitt demanded. “Any good news would be welcome.”

  “Can’t prove that Darnley was murdered.” Stoker was gasping for breath. He looked at the chair but was too tense to sit in it, and would not have anyway without Pitt’s permission. “The man working on the case at the time was quite sure he was, but it was damn cleverly done. Narraway didn’t seem to want to make much of it, so he let it be—”

  “Stoker!” Pitt’s voice was hard-edged and louder than he meant it to be. “Get to the point, man!”

  “He didn’t look into it because Darnley was working for him when it happened—not regularly, just now and then.”

  Pitt sat upright. “Darnley was working for Narraway?” he said incredulously.

  “Yes.” Stoker glowed with satisfaction. “Narraway could never say so—it was a very discreet piece of work—but that’s why he paid Darnley’s widow. Killed in action, so to speak. The man was a bounder, slippery as an eel in some ways, but useful. This job wasn’t the first one he’d done for Narraway. I came across a fellow who worked at the bank—he saw the money in Darnley’s account. Nobody took Darnley seriously; best disguise there is. But he had nerve, I’ll say that for him. No idea whether Narraway liked him or trusted him, but he stood by his widow. The record is pretty obscure, so it wasn’t regular and there were no government funds to cover it. So it must have been out of his own pocket.”