Twenty-One Days (Daniel Pitt #1)(60)

‘What are you looking for?’ fford Croft said slowly. ‘What do you think there is to find?’

‘Miriam says we should find what inflammatory material caused Ebony to burn like that,’ Daniel replied. ‘If it was something that Graves could not have had in the house then it was brought in by an outsider. How did they get in? Who let them in? A servant, or Ebony herself? Why the disfigurement? It’s extreme. It would take a lot of extra time and care – time he could have used to escape. Sir, there’s something here that we don’t understand. The prosecution never offered an answer. We might find one – if we don’t give up.’

‘We didn’t cover this at trial,’ fford Croft pointed out. ‘Was Kitteridge that negligent?’

‘No, sir. We had no other reasonable suspect then. And we tried to find one among their social friends who disliked Ebony Graves enough, but she was actually well liked, if a little . . . over-enthusiastic. And she had had no affairs that we could uncover.’

fford Croft held up his hand. ‘All right! Then if you get permission, which I very much doubt, I shall ask Miriam to perform the autopsy for you. You’ll not get any reputable surgeon to do it! She’ll not contradict the police surgeon, for a start!’

‘I’m sorry to ask, sir. Will Miss fford Croft get into any . . . trouble . . . for it?’

fford Croft’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Trouble? Miriam? She’s even better at getting into trouble than you are! I will ask her – I have no intention of forcing her. But she has no standing or position to lose. And she is damn good at it!’

‘Thank you, sir.’ Daniel gave a brief smile, then excused himself and went out, intending to look for Kitteridge. And he must have time to prepare himself as thoroughly as possible before going back to face Graves again.

Daniel found Kitteridge despondent, and only half-attentive to the solid, leather-bound book he was reading. He looked up at Daniel. ‘If you’re hoping for something, I don’t have it,’ he warned.

‘How about lunch?’ Daniel asked.

‘Can’t afford the time. I’ll get Impney to fetch me a sandwich. I think there’s damn little point in this. There’s no chance on earth that I’ll find a precedent here. If you’ve got to eat, go—’

‘I’ve got to see Graves this afternoon,’ Daniel cut across him. He was determined to find the source who supplied the information to Graves linking Thomas Pitt to the Portuguese incident. He was not ready to share any of this with Kitteridge. ‘And I want to talk to you first. I’m very polite about lunch. I’ll make it an official request, if you like? I’m not in a position to make it an order, or I would.’

‘No, you’re not,’ Kitteridge agreed. ‘But perhaps I can oblige you. This whole thing is a waste of time. And personally, I am happy for the bastard to hang.’ He pushed his chair back and stood up. ‘The usual place?’

They walked in the brisk wind along to the public house, went in and ordered ploughman’s lunches: a big crusty piece of bread with pickles, cheese, and a glass of ale.

‘Well, what have you got that’s worth disturbing me for?’ Kitteridge asked hopefully, when they had found themselves seats.

‘I think Graves really could be innocent, at least of killing Ebony,’ Daniel replied.

Kitteridge froze in amazement, his bread halfway to his mouth. ‘But guilty of what then? You aren’t making a lot of sense. This is no time for fairy stories, Pitt. Their lordships of the court of appeal take a very dim view of it. No sense of humour at all. I should have warned you.’

‘There’s nothing funny about this,’ Daniel answered him. ‘Did you even look at Graves’ notes for his next book?’

‘Not closely. I glanced at it, and what I saw was rather unpleasant. It concerned a chap called Narraway, who’s dead now. And it was pretty scurrilous, but famous men, especially powerful ones, do get grubby things said about them. Was someone else involved?’

‘His wife. And probably loads of other people. Do you know who he was?’

‘Not exactly.’ Kitteridge frowned. ‘Why?’

‘Head of Special Branch.’

‘Oh God!’ He stared at Daniel, aghast, as suddenly the reality of this came to him. ‘So, we could be looking at treason? Stupid sod. Are you saying he was to be judicially silenced? Only they got poor Ebony instead?’

‘I don’t know. He could have been framed for killing Ebony. In which case, it worked – so far.’

Kitteridge looked profoundly troubled. ‘Why didn’t he tell us? It would have been a credible defence. What’s the matter with the man?’

‘I don’t know,’ Daniel said unhappily. ‘I’ve read bits of it, but mostly his notes. If he’s selling it by the word, he’ll make a fortune! Who’s his publisher?’

Kitteridge shrugged. ‘I don’t know. He’s keeping that very close to his chest. I had no reason to think it mattered before, so I didn’t chase it down. Not his usual publisher, is all I know. I can look further. It’s got to be more use than what I’m doing at the moment.’ His eyes narrowed and he looked at Daniel more closely. ‘There’s something else, isn’t there?’

Daniel was torn. He did not want to tell anyone at all, but he could not handle this alone. What if he betrayed his father by telling people who would in turn tell others? His father had trusted him with secrets, never thinking he would repeat them. Certain, in fact, that he never would. And believing Daniel would trust him, as he had all his life.