Twenty-One Days (Daniel Pitt #1)(53)

‘No. Except that it was a woman, and it was very violent.’ Why didn’t his father deny it? Why was he asking questions? He must know: it was in his eyes, in every hesitation in his voice. There could not be more than one incident like this . . . surely. He tried to speak, but his voice would not come. He cleared his throat and began again. ‘Do you know what he’s talking about?’ Instantly he wished he had not asked. It was already too late to take it back. He sat while the silence washed around him like waves.

‘Yes,’ Pitt said at last. ‘But I don’t know how Graves came to know anything about it . . . or to think he knows.’

Daniel was stunned. He fought to remain calm. ‘I’ve only read his notes. I have a draft of the manuscript, with a lot of notes in the margins, and crossings out. I haven’t had time to read it. I don’t want to. Unless it wasn’t Graves who killed his wife, and I can . . . raise a reasonable doubt . . .’ He heard his own voice as if it were someone else’s.

‘I know,’ Pitt answered before Daniel could think how to finish. ‘If you can, you must. You must be true to your word, and your obligation. I would never expect anything less from you.’

Daniel flinched. Pitt did not often speak of honour, or duty. It was implicit in everyday life, something that did not need to be given words. Daniel wished he had not come, had not raised anything of the issue. But it was too late to go back. He was now questioning his father’s honesty. Which meant that he was questioning his whole life. He could not deny it.

Pitt was speaking again. ‘I know what Graves is referring to, and in essence what he said is true. A man of high power in Portuguese politics, Luz dos Santos, here in London at the time, had a violent quarrel with his wife in their home. It ended tragically. He struck her hard and killed her. So yes, it was murder. He was a violent man.’

‘You helped him? Why?’ Daniel demanded.

‘It was two years ago, just before the assassination of the King of Portugal.’

‘What does that have to do with it?’

‘It was a very turbulent time in Portugal. It still is. I hope there won’t be any more, but there is a strong chance of another rebellion like the last one, but far worse. There is unrest all over Europe, particularly Socialists uprisings. I can’t say I entirely blame them.’

‘What? Assassinations? Riots?’

‘I am not approving of them, Daniel, I’m saying I understand why they rebel against poverty, oppression, and a rule that has no fairness and no room to appeal.’

‘And was this man’s wife oppressing him?’ Daniel asked, and then wished he could have left the sarcasm out of his voice. Should he apologise? He had not intended the rudeness, but the disbelief was real.

‘You have to follow the exactness of the law,’ Pitt said. He, too, seemed to be keeping his temper with an effort. ‘I can’t always afford the luxury of having what I do dictated by statute. Revolution is essentially about breaking laws.’

‘Murder?’ Daniel challenged. He hated this. He wished he had never begun, but he could not leave it now. His father’s beliefs were the framework of all he believed himself. Fairness, innate decency, following the rules when they suited you, and even more scrupulously when they didn’t. It was what his parents had taught him all his life. How could it be changing now? He felt utterly lost, more than ever before.

‘Daniel!’ Pitt’s voice was sharp.

Daniel looked up.

‘I didn’t kill the woman. I would have saved her if I could, but when I arrived she was already dead. The man knew too many secrets that he would tell if I let him be taken into police custody, and charged, then stand trial. I hated saving him, but the alternative would have cost many lives that I was not too late to save.’

Daniel felt hope surge inside him. He wanted that to be true, wanted it so badly it was like gasping for air when you have been under water. ‘What did you do? Lie to the police?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did anyone else get blamed?’

‘No,’ Pitt said stiffly. ‘Of course not. We managed to disguise it to look like an accident. She fell down the stairs.’

‘And what happened to him?’

‘I got him out of the country.’

‘But the assassination happened anyway?’

‘Yes.’

‘And the people whose deaths he would have caused, they are still alive?’ Daniel asked slowly.

‘Daniel, I’m not trying to change the political situation in other countries,’ Pitt said patiently. ‘I’m trying to stop the violence from coming here. Half the social extremists in Europe – that is, the revolutionaries – are in London, one time or another. Spanish, Italian, German, Russian, they feel safe here, some of them even live here. God knows what they are planning. And I like to know as much of it as I can. That’s what Special Branch is about. Safeguarding us against violence, terrorism, change by force.’ His grimace was something short of a smile.

‘I see . . .’

‘Do you?’

‘I think so. Something, anyway. This biography that Graves is writing – it’s pretty . . . nasty.’

‘I damn well intend to find out,’ Pitt answered. ‘We should have known someone was writing a biography like this. He must have had to do a great deal of research into it. And if someone at Special Branch answered his questions, I will need some good excuse if they expect to keep their job now, and an account of exactly what he asked, and exactly what he was told. They’re going to have to earn their redemption.’ He pushed his hand through his unruly hair, making it worse. ‘It must have been difficult for you to tell me.’