Twenty-One Days (Daniel Pitt #1)(14)

‘You mean whether you would give it your best shot, fight to the bloody end?’ He meant the bloody metaphorically. ‘Rather than fight a losing cause gallantly, but give in once it looked hopeless?’

‘You’re learning,’ Kitteridge said drily.

The waiter returned with the menu. Kitteridge took his and passed the other to Daniel. They both ordered, and then Daniel went on questioning Kitteridge.

‘So, she was found in her bedroom, her head severely injured, and worse than that, burned? Is there any explanation for that?’

‘No, there isn’t. So, a fall, or any other kind of accident is out. You can’t disfigure a dead woman with fire accidentally.’

‘Male servants in the house?’ Daniel tried another tack.

‘A bootboy, and the elderly butler who doubled as a valet for Graves.’

‘Gardeners?’

‘Well spotted. An old boy of seventy-odd, and a couple of lads here and there. None of them had access to the house.’

‘Maids who might have let someone in?’

‘Highly respectable housekeeper, a woman of “a certain age”.’ Kitteridge’s smile was very brief. ‘A cook and a scullery maid, a parlour maid, and Mrs Graves’ own lady’s maid. All of them accounted for. Of course, someone might be lying, but it would take two telling the same lie. Which could be possible, but if you saw them you’d know it’s unlikely.’

‘That leaves only Graves – or someone he let in?’ Daniel concluded, but he made it a question rather than a statement.

‘Bravo,’ Kitteridge said bitterly.

‘What does he say?’

‘Only that he’s innocent,’ Kitteridge answered, taking another sip of his drink.

‘Doesn’t he offer any alternative?’

‘Not specifically. He has little good to say about his wife. Apparently, to him, she was light-minded, eccentric,’ Kitteridge replied. His gaze did not waver from Daniel’s face. He had clear eyes, pale blue, not what one would have expected, considering that his brows and his hair were quite dark. He was waiting for Daniel to offer an opinion. Was it curiosity? Or was he hoping for help, and concealing how desperately he needed it?

‘What do you plan to do?’ Daniel asked finally.

Kitteridge sighed. ‘I have no idea. Between now and tomorrow morning, we must come up with an alternative answer – and I doubt Graves will be of much use.’

Daniel had not even seen Graves, and already he disliked the man. ‘What do we know about her?’

‘Very little. There’s a photograph of her. Very handsome indeed. Jet-black hair, dark eyes, pale skin. I imagine her parents named her well after she was born. Or else she took the name herself.’

‘What name?’

‘Ebony. Ebony Graves.’ This time Kitteridge really smiled. It altered his face, suggesting a quite different nature: something gentler, and far more vulnerable to being liked, or disliked.

Daniel thought for a moment. ‘Have we got anything at all to go on, really?’

‘No,’ Kitteridge replied.

‘So, what are you going to do?’

‘Reasonable doubt is about all we have left,’ Kitteridge said miserably. ‘We’ll have to think of all the ways someone could have got into the house—’

‘That’s definitely where it happened?’ Daniel interrupted.

‘Yes. There’s blood on the floor and half the carpet is singed or downright burned.’

‘Sounds like hatred.’

‘Looks like it,’ Kitteridge agreed. ‘Whoever did it knew her well enough to have hated her very deeply.’ He sat forward a little. ‘Graves doesn’t appear to be a man who would feel that degree of passion. He’s a cold bastard. If she had a lover and he found out, he’d be more likely to kill the lover than her. If he did that, she’d not stray again in a hurry!’

This was going nowhere. ‘Maybe if we question him again, he has something to give us, or at least another person to suspect,’ Daniel concluded a little desperately. ‘What’s his reputation locally? Anyone willing to speak up for him, more warmly than Major Lydden?’

‘A few,’ Kitteridge replied, but there was no lift in his voice. ‘But he doesn’t . . .’ He raised his shoulder in a slight gesture. ‘He’s good at what he does. He’s honest in his dealings, as far as we can tell. He’s arrogant, and I don’t like him, and I can’t find anyone who does. I don’t know how to make the jury want to acquit him.’

Daniel understood. ‘What do you want me to do . . . as long as I can stay awake . . .?’

‘If I knew, I’d do it myself,’ Kitteridge said tersely.

Daniel did not reply. There was nothing about this case that he liked. He could see no way of defending Russell Graves from the charge of having murdered his wife. There was no defence. There was no alternative suspect. They had only reasonable doubt to suggest, and nothing to support it. Suddenly, he was overwhelmed with sympathy for Kitteridge. ‘Right,’ he agreed. ‘We’d better start thinking.’





Chapter Four


Daniel and Kitteridge began the following morning early by going to see the accused, Russell Graves. They were both tired after a heavy day and then, in Daniel’s case, another night with too little sleep.