Twenty-One Days (Daniel Pitt #1)(62)

‘I did,’ Daniel replied. It was almost the truth. In his own mind, he had refused to believe his father had a part in this. But that was an act, and they both knew it. Graves would have expected Pitt to order a junior to do the deed, never that Pitt would have done it himself. He was morally guilty, not stupid.

‘You can’t be as big a fool as you act,’ Graves retorted. ‘Look at his right-hand man. Whom would he trust enough with his dirty work? Someone who wouldn’t betray him. Someone who couldn’t afford to! With the secrets he knows, there must be a good few of those.’

‘A lot of secrets,’ Daniel agreed. ‘Why not some of those people who have actually got evidence stacked up against them, not just a note in a book somewhere?’

Graves faltered for a moment, the absolute certainty drained out of his eyes.

Daniel realised his own failure to get names from Graves would jeopardise any chance of saving him, and of saving Pitt as well. Innuendo would not do much harm in the court of law, but it certainly would in the area of public opinion. If Pitt lost the confidence of the Home Office, he could not do his job.

‘Give me your chief sources,’ Daniel said. ‘Give me the ones you will ruin.’

Graves hesitated and then slowly listed half a dozen names to Daniel, who wrote them down. They were all public figures. The damage would be enormous.

‘It is just word of mouth – where is there proof?’ he asked.

Graves sneered at him. ‘So, you can go and destroy it? There’s proof. What will you do? Sell it back to them? Give it to your father? Or use it yourself to steal my book?’

Daniel allowed his disgust into his voice. ‘There’ll be no book if you’re dead. I want to find the one who killed your wife, you fool. Whoever did that to her deserves to—’ He bit off the end of the sentence. He faced Graves squarely. ‘Names!’

‘You’ll give them to your father, and do you imagine he’s going to go through them and give you the killer? He’ll probably give you some men all right, but are you sure that it’ll be the right ones? God! You’re such a child!’

‘Do you care, as long as you are not hanged?’ Daniel made it sound like a new question.

For a moment, Graves’ face was blank.

‘I thought not,’ Daniel said sourly.

‘So, you imagine you’ll question them? And they’ll tell you?’ Graves asked in disbelief.

‘I’d leave that to Kitteridge. He’s pretty good at it. I’m going to dig up Ebony’s body and do another medical examination, only this time more thoroughly.’

Graves looked aghast. ‘You’re what?’

‘Going to exhume her.’

‘For God’s sake, why? What is it going to prove, that you don’t already know?’

‘Why burn her?’

‘I didn’t do it!’ Graves raised his voice harshly. It was almost a shout. ‘I didn’t bloody well kill her!’

‘How did they burn her like that?’ Daniel went on. ‘It takes a lot of heat to burn flesh.’

Graves’ face went white, and his eyes hollow. ‘What are you saying?’

Daniel leaned forward a bit. ‘If they used something they brought with them, and not from the house, it would indicate premeditation. They are saying you quarrelled and lost your temper. But if what was used was something in the house already, that could have been on the spur of the moment.’

Graves was smiling, very slightly. ‘Like who? The maid and her lover?’

‘Most likely,’ Daniel agreed.

‘Then go and find who’s trying to get the hangman to murder me!’ Graves shouted. ‘Do your job! Is it really your job to let them hang me?’ A look of terror filled his face, and he jerked forward until the manacles stopped him, wrenching his arms. ‘Or is that your job? To get the evidence banned and then let them hang me? They’re good at covering up murder – ask your father! I’ll wager he won’t tell you. Ask him about Amalia dos Santos! What did they do to her? How did he cover that up? Who helped him? He didn’t do all that on his own.’

‘Who put you up to this?’ Daniel demanded. ‘Tell me, or I really will let you hang.’

‘Of course you will! That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? Your father to frame me, and you to make sure I hang!’

‘I’m trying to get you off, you stupid sod! But I can’t if I don’t know all of it.’ And then a sudden idea struck him. ‘You haven’t even sold the book yet, have you?’

‘I have! I’ve got . . . offers . . .’ Slowly Graves sat back on the wooden chair. ‘Is that what you want? You want to know who’s publishing it? Well, I won’t tell you.’

‘Yes, you will, or I’m walking out of here. I’ll suddenly find myself too busy to see you again. Too busy looking for your publisher – in your best interests, of course . . .’

He could see Graves thinking. Would he lie? There would be some record of any money paid in advance. Who would publish an exposé like that?

Then suddenly he realised. ‘Someone who’s on that list! Of course! And the price isn’t money, is it? You don’t need money, with the inheritance you’ve just come into. It’s silence that this person needs. Your silence. He’ll ruin everybody else if he has to, to buy his own safety! And destroy Narraway’s reputation, and my father’s, at the same time!’