With an effort, because he knew he must be careful, Pitt began at the beginning. ‘We do not know whose the body is.’ He measured his words and kept his voice unnaturally calm. ‘It is too far decomposed to be easily recognisable, beyond the fact that she was probably a lady’s maid, or a laundress of sorts.’
‘How do you know that?’ Talbot interrupted, his eyebrows raised.
‘Burn marks on her hands, such as you get in the use of a flat iron,’ Pitt said with satisfaction.
‘I see. Go on! How do you propose to find out who she is, then?’
‘By eliminating the possibility that it is Kitty Ryder, Mrs Kynaston’s maid,’ Pitt replied. ‘I presume that’s all you really want?’
Talbot grunted, but it was vaguely a sound of appreciation.
‘What happened to her is harder to ascertain,’ Pitt continued. ‘How she got there is not known, and may never be. Certainly she did not walk to the place where she was found. She seems to have been dead for some time before she was put there. Probably she was kept somewhere extremely cold. I dislike the thought of it, but it might be the time to examine Mr Kynaston’s cold rooms, ice house and so on, rather more thoroughly.’ He was satisfied with the look of extreme distaste in Talbot’s face.
‘As to what it has to do with Dudley Kynaston,’ Pitt said. ‘I am hoping that we can prove that it had nothing to do with him. And if the body is not that of Kitty Ryder, then there is no connection to him at all.’
‘If it’s as badly decomposed as you say, how the devil do you presume to prove that it is not her?’ Talbot asked, his eyebrows raised so high his forehead was ridged like a ploughed field.
‘By finding her somewhere else, alive and well,’ Pitt told him.
Talbot considered the reply for several moments.
Pitt waited. He had learned the value of silence, requiring the other person to speak first.
‘That would be the best possible outcome,’ Talbot said finally. ‘And the sooner the better. In your opinion, how likely is it that such will be the case?’
Pitt did not need to weigh that before answering. ‘Unlikely,’ he said grimly. ‘We may have to settle for identifying the body as someone else, for which we need luck as well as skill.’
Talbot nodded. He had expected as much. ‘Then what we need from you is that you find out, beyond reasonable doubt, preferably beyond any doubt at all, who this unfortunate woman is and how she met her death. If it has to do with Kynaston then prove it, but do nothing further. Report back to me before you act. Is that understood?’
‘I can’t order the police-’ Pitt began.
‘That is precisely why Special Branch will deal with the case!’ Talbot snapped. ‘Tell them whatever you want! Spies, secret documents, whatever serves the purpose, but keep them out of it.’
‘We’ll be a lot longer finding Kitty Ryder alive without police help,’ Pitt pointed out, with a sharpness to his own voice.
Talbot gave him a long, cold stare. ‘Be realistic, man! The woman is dead. Identify her, or prove the body is someone else’s. And either prove Kynaston’s guilt, or his lack of connection to the whole affair. Report to me. If this woman is not his maid, then find out if this apparent connection to him is bad luck, or someone taking advantage of a miserable coincidence. Or worse than that, a deliberate ploy to implicate him. And if it is that, then we need to know by whom.’
‘And why?’ Pitt added with a touch of sarcasm.
‘I can work that out for myself,’ Talbot said tartly. ‘Report to me any significant progress that you make, and do so discreetly. I need all details. Do not stop until you have them.’
‘Exactly what is Kynaston doing that is so important?’ Pitt asked.
‘You do not need to know that,’ Talbot answered immediately, his eyes hard and angry.
‘I’m head of Special Branch!’ Pitt snapped, his temper rising at the annoyance, and even more the stupidity, of ordering him to search for answers and then keeping him half blind. ‘If you want me to do my job, then tell me what I need to know.’
‘You need to know what your instructions are,’ Talbot retorted. ‘If this is a piece of dramatic stupidity, we will deal with it accordingly. Thank you for coming so soon. Good day.’
Pitt did not move. He opened his eyes very wide. ‘Stupidity?’ he repeated the word as if it were meaningless. ‘Someone beat a young woman to death, concealed her body for three weeks, mutilated her face until it was unrecognisable, then dumped her in a gravel pit for wild animals to destroy. If that is regarded by Her Majesty’s Government as stupid, what does one have to do to be regarded as criminal?’
Talbot paled, but he did not flinch. ‘You have your instructions, Commander Pitt. Find the truth, sooner rather than later, and report it to me. Dispensing justice is not your job.’
‘I wish that were true,’ Pitt said bitterly. ‘Too often it is exactly my job. There is no time, and no discreet or legal way of doing it and allowing me to walk away and keep my conscience clear. Or perhaps that is something you were not aware of?’
Talbot’s face was white, mouth pinched at the corners. ‘Kynaston is of great importance to the Government, and his work is both secret and sensitive. It may even be the key to our survival in any future war. That is sufficient information for you. It is also highly confidential. If your staff don’t obey you without asking questions, then you have not the command of them that you should have. Now stop arguing the issue and making excuses. Do your job. Again, Commander Pitt, good day to you.’
‘Good day, Mr Talbot,’ Pitt replied with some satisfaction, even if it lasted no longer than it took him to reach the street. Regardless of what Talbot said, he needed all the information he could gather regarding Dudley Kynaston’s value to the Government, not only to find out what Kitty Ryder might have learned that made her dangerous, but who else might profit from Kynaston’s downfall, for any reason. And if he were actually innocent, then who had engineered his appearance of guilt? There was only one man to ask, and that was Victor Narraway. He would prefer to consult him without others, particularly Talbot, knowing he had done so.
Narraway, like himself, was one of the few people who owned a telephone in his own home. Since his forced retirement from the leadership of Special Branch, he had been elevated to the House of Lords, but that was more of a sop to his reputation than any opportunity to be of use. Previously he would not have been at home at this hour, but now there was a reasonable chance he would not have gone to the House of Lords, or to one of his clubs for luncheon. Such things grew stale quite quickly to a man of Narraway’s intelligence. Also, since he had no part in political affairs, he felt side-lined, no more of interest to those who used to hold him in awe. He had never said as much, but Pitt had heard it in his silences.
As it turned out, Pitt had to wait about half an hour for Narraway to return from a brief walk. Considering the weather, Pitt imagined he had gone at all only as a matter of discipline. Narraway had begun his career in the Indian Army, and the virtues of abstinence and hard, strict self-mastery had never entirely left him.
Narraway’s manservant offered Pitt a late luncheon, which he accepted gratefully, realising that he was actually quite hungry. He was just finishing an excellent slice of hot apple pie, served with cream, when he heard the sound of the front door closing, then Narraway’s voice in the hall.
Narraway came into the sitting room, having removed his overcoat. His thick hair was flattened a little where his hat had been, and his lean, dark face coloured by the cold.
He glanced at the plate where the apple pie had been, and which now held only Pitt’s folded spoon and fork.