Twenty-One Days (Daniel Pitt #1)(28)

Daniel smiled, not because it was either good or funny, but because it made him think well of Ebony. ‘She was a crusader,’ he said.

‘Yes,’ Mercy agreed. ‘But she made many people dream, too. And one man’s dream is another’s nightmare.’

‘Did her husband agree, or not?’

‘He was too busy writing his stories revealing the weaknesses of other people to care, I understand. He believed she would never achieve anything except a degree of unpopularity. At least that is what I think.’

‘And he did not mind that? It did not bother him?’ Then a new thought came to his mind. ‘If he exposed people in his biographies, did she discover any of the facts for him that he used?’

Mercy weighed her answer for so long, he thought she was going to refuse to respond. Then, at last, she spoke. ‘I suppose that is possible. She had opportunities, connections that he could never aspire to. And certainly she was both clever and observant. But I would prefer to think she did not repeat secrets to him. In fact, I choose to believe she despised gossip. Besides, for all I know, she was far too clever to soil her own reputation.’

‘Clever?’

‘Sometimes you are so very young.’ She sighed. ‘My dear, a secret exposed is a secret you can no longer use. It is an opportunity wasted, is it not?’

‘You mean Ebony blackmailed people?’

‘That is an ugly word. But I think she might have made suggestions to people that they help certain causes – in their own interest. I don’t know. As I said, I only met her once. But I have friends who knew her better than I did. Do you want me to make enquiries?’

Daniel was not sure. She had the air of not being in the least discreet, nor able to keep a secret, let alone be inclined to keep one. He looked at her bright dark eyes, and half-smile on her lips, and realised that it all very well might be an act. She had never actually told him anything that was secret, only things that were entertaining. He had thought he knew her well, but perhaps what she presented was a deliberate illusion.

‘Time is short,’ he replied. ‘Very short. Nineteen more days. Ebony was not only killed, but disfigured by fire, deliberately. I don’t want the case closed and her husband hanged, if he was not the man who did this to her.’

‘I will see if I can find information for you,’ Mercy replied. ‘Either about her – or him.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Now, tea?’ she offered. ‘I have the most excellent cake.’





Chapter Seven


Daniel went over all the evidence again, later in the afternoon, and had a brief supper with Kitteridge, who looked tired and disappointed. They sat in the darkest corner of a familiar public house and ate hot cottage pie with plenty of onions.

‘So, what have you got?’ Kitteridge asked miserably. ‘I read and reread the transcript and all my notes. I’m going to start to look up precedent tomorrow, but I don’t think I’ll find anything.’

‘Are you going to look up cases that were appealed and succeeded?’ Daniel asked. He wanted to encourage Kitteridge, but he also thought Kitteridge’s mission was pointless.

‘I don’t think it will help, but there’s nothing else,’ Kitteridge replied. ‘I wish to hell I’d never been given the case.’ He took another mouthful of the mashed potatoes.

‘If fford Croft didn’t put his best man on, Graves would have crucified him,’ Daniel pointed out. ‘For some reason we don’t know, he really wanted to get him off.’

Kitteridge looked up, almost as if he suspected Daniel of being sarcastic.

Daniel held his gaze with complete innocence. ‘He must have reason for defending Graves,’ Daniel argued. ‘He knows something that we don’t, but why wouldn’t he help us if he wants us to succeed?’

‘He knows a lot of things we don’t,’ Kitteridge said with an edge to his voice. He reached for the salt, then changed his mind. ‘That’s why he’s head of chambers, and we are its employees. What have you found out, anyway?’

‘Apparently Ebony Graves was active in fighting for social change,’ Daniel replied. ‘But rather more interesting than that, Russell Graves really is a well-known biographer, if we’re bent on dissecting people rather than recording their lives in an even-handed way. I wanted to find out whether she did any of his research . . . betrayed anyone’s confidence.’

Kitteridge looked more interested.

Daniel went on, ‘I’m going to the house tomorrow morning. I want to see where it happened. Talk to the servants. Hear what they say. I know we’ve got police reports, but they may not be exact. And they don’t tell us expressions, how people looked when they answered. Perhaps they didn’t ask the same questions I’ll ask. I have the advantage of having seen Graves in court. And then afterward, in custody, to see what an intimidating bastard he can be. They might say to me things they would dare not say in his presence.’

‘You don’t think we’ll win, do you?’ That wasn’t a question. Kitteridge’s face was without hope, without its usual energy and black humour.

‘Probably not,’ Daniel agreed with a grimace. ‘But, like you, I have that shred of belief that he really didn’t do it.’ He shrugged. ‘There’s something missing.’