His body stiffened and he shook himself a little. “They think Christ was a blasphemer, and they crucified ’im. I guess some of ’em anyway still ’ate us. An’ Godman was one of ’em. And when ’e found out what ’ad ’appened to ’is sister ’e just went mad.” He shivered and let out his breath sharply, staring at Pitt.
Pitt could feel the emotion in the room, the air still charged with it. Suddenly he perceived, as he had not before, what it had been like in the original investigation, the horror that had soaked everything, the fear of violence and madness, and then the anger. It reached out and touched him now like a sick coldness. He had been trying to understand with his mind. He should have used his imagination, his instinct.
“Why are you so sure it was Godman?” he asked as calmly as he could, but he heard his own voice shake. “Apart from the motive.”
“ ’E were seen,” Paterson answered immediately, his shoulders square, his chin up. “Positively. No shadows, no doubt. ’E stopped to buy flowers, the arrogant bastard! Sort of a celebration o’ what ’e’d done!” His voice was thick with fury. “ ’E stood right under the light. Anyway, the woman knew ’im. Seen ’is face on a poster and recognized ’im straightaway. In So’o Square, less than half a mile from Farriers’ Lane, and a few minutes after it ’appened. ’E lied. Said it were thirty minutes earlier.”
“I see. Yes, you found the flower seller, didn’t you? Good piece of work.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“What was O’Neil doing at the time of the murder?”
“Gambling at a club about a mile and a half away.”
“Witnesses?”
Paterson lifted one shoulder. “More or less. ’E could ’ave stepped out, but ’e’d ’ave been seen when ’e got back. There must ’ave been blood all over the place after a killing like that.” Again his face mirrored his horror and the outrage he still felt even now.
“And Fielding?”
“Went ’ome. No proof, o’ course.” Paterson shrugged. “But no reason to suspect ’im, since Godman was definitely alone. The men at the end o’ Farriers’ Lane swore to that. Fielding may’ve known about it, or guessed afterwards, but ’e definitely weren’t there at the time.”
“Thank you. That’s all very clear.”
“Is that all, sir?”
“I think so.”
Paterson stood up.
“Ah—just one more thing,” Pitt added quickly.
“Yes sir?”
“When Godman came to court he was badly bruised, as if someone had beaten him. Who was that?”
Paterson flushed a hot, dull red. “I—er—well, ’e weren’t an easy prisoner.”
Pitt raised his eyebrows very high. “He resisted?”
Paterson stammered and then fell silent.
“Yes?” Pitt asked again.
Paterson’s face set hard. “If you’d seen what ’e did to Blaine, sir, you wouldn’t ask, cos you’d feel the same.”
“I see. Thank you, Paterson. That’s all.”
“Yes sir.” Paterson stood to attention sharply, then turned on his heel and went out.
Over the next two days Pitt patiently followed Paterson’s footsteps. He found Primrose Walker, Tamar Macaulay’s dresser, very easily. She was still in the company, and still working at the same task. She repeated what she had said originally, that Kingsley Blaine had visited Miss Macaulay frequently, and on that night he had given her a gift of an expensive necklace. She described it quite closely: a diamond scroll set with turquoise. She said Miss Macaulay had accepted it reluctantly, and only to wear that evening, then to return it. Had Miss Walker seen her return it? No, of course not. She did not attend the champagne supper. She could add nothing more.
It was only a formality that Pitt had asked her. It was a foregone conclusion in his mind that she would repeat what she had said before, and it would support Tamar Macaulay, and thus Aaron Godman. The only thing that slightly surprised Pitt was that when speaking of Kingsley Blaine her face had softened and it was obvious her memory of him was gentle. Even now there was no dislike in her, no sense that he had betrayed her mistress.
And Wimbush, the theater doorman, also repeated his original evidence. He was a small, lugubrious man with a long nose.
“No, I didn’t see ’im proper,” he replied when Pitt asked him about the man on the far side of the street who had sent the boy over with the message. “Jus’ looked like a big geezer in the shadow o’ the wall opposite.”
“Can you remember anything about him?” Pitt pressed. “Close your eyes and imagine it again. Go through your mind, exactly as it happened. You were standing at the doorway, making sure everyone left so you could lock up. Kingsley Blaine came out. Was he the last?”
“Oh, yes sir.”
“What about Miss Macaulay?”
“She come out a few minutes before,” Wimbush replied. “Mr. Blaine went back for ’is gloves wot ’e left on the table. I got Miss Macaulay an ’ansom and she was gone before Mr. Blaine came back. I said good-night to ’im, an’ ’e were about ter go and look for a cab ’isself, when this skinny little lad, about eleven or twelve years old, come scarperin’ across the street an’ pulled at ’is sleeve. I were about to tell ’im ter clear orf, when ’e said as ’e’d got a message from a Mr. O’Neil, and to say as ’e were sorry about the quarrel they’d ’ad, and Mr. Blaine were right after all. An’ would Mr. Blaine meet ’im at Dauro’s Club right away and they’d make it up.” He shrugged his thin shoulders. “So Mr. Blaine said yes ’o course ’e would, thanked the lad an’ gave ’im a couple o’ pence, then ’e set orf along the path towards Farriers’ Lane, poor devil. And that’s the last I ever saw of ’im alive.”
“And the man who sent the message? Did he look like Mr. O’Neil to you?”
Wimbush pulled a face. “Can’t say as ’e did. I can’t say as it looked like Mr. Godman neither. It were just a shape in the shadow, big like, with an ’eavy coat on. But I’ll tell you this—either it were a toff or someone got up to look like one.”
“So everyone assumed it was someone who knew Mr. Blaine,” Pitt said as civilly as he could. He should not have been disappointed, but he was.
“Yer asked me what I remembered,” Wimbush said with injured sensibility. “I told yer, ’e were a toff. Top ’at, silk scarf. I remember seein’ the light on it—all white ’round ’is neck.”
“Did Mr. Godman have a top hat and a silk scarf?”
“Not unless ’e were goin’ somewhere special.” Wimbush’s lips curled in a smile heavy with contempt. “ ’E were ’ere to work. Even gents don’t go to work in top ’ats and silk scarves.”
“And that night?” Pitt said, trying to keep the urgency out of his voice. Lambert would already have asked this, even if Paterson had not.
“No ’e didn’t,” the doorman replied. “But then you’ll just say as ’e got one out o’ the dressers’ room or summink. That’s what they said before. Although why ’e should do that no one bothered wi’ askin’! Just make ’im more like to be noticed, I’d say. Them rozzers don’t think like ordinary folks.” He cleared his throat as if he were about to spit, then glanced at Pitt’s face and changed his mind.
“Did you see Mr. Godman leave that night?”
“No, I didn’t. Wish I ’ad. Leastways I spec’ I saw ’im, but I didn’t take any special notice.”