Narraway was watching him intently. “Be prepared for the worst. This may go very deep. If Alexander really believes his friend was innocent-”
“He does,” Pitt interrupted. “Right or wrong, he believes it.”
“Then be prepared for what that means,” Narraway warned.
“He may be right,” Pitt agreed a little tartly. “I know that!”
“Not only that.” Narraway’s face was bleak. “It means the police lied under oath to get Lezant convicted and hanged. That’s not only a particularly terrible and deliberate kind of murder, it’s a perversion of the law that affects everyone in England. It is the safeguard for all of us, of the system itself. Those who offend against it have to be recognized, and punished. Surely I don’t have to explain the core of that to you?”
“No, you don’t!” Pitt heard the sharpness in his own voice and regretted it, but he resented Narraway telling him as if he might not have understood.
“The Lezant case was a couple of years ago,” Narraway went on.
For an instant Pitt thought that he was referring to the fact that Narraway himself had been in charge of Special Branch then, not Pitt. Did that make any difference? Was he saying, obliquely, that he had known something about it?
“Did it involve Special Branch?” Pitt asked sharply. Was this even blacker than he had thought? What could possibly have concerned Special Branch that would have made Narraway connive at such an abysmal miscarriage of justice? What would be important enough to pervert justice to hang an innocent man? Who had Dylan Lezant been that they destroyed him that way?
“No, it bloody well did not!” Narraway was staring at him incredulously. “But if Alexander Duncannon always believed Lezant was innocent then you need to know why, and who he believed was guilty. Is he so far over the edge that he had no reason beyond his own emotions to think so? If that’s true, why didn’t his father have him put away? Or has Godfrey no idea what’s going on? Did Alexander tell him, or not? How is the relationship between them? What does the mother know, and what did she do, if anything?”
“Probably nothing,” Pitt said quietly. “She would have her loyalty to her husband as well…” He tried to imagine the conflict within her. What would Charlotte have done in a similar situation? He knew the answer to that: she would have faced him with it and demanded an answer-for him to resign his position, if necessary.
And what would he have done? Put his family before his career? Yes. But what if the member of his family, his son, were wrong? Then the answer would have to be different. You did not sell your own honor, whatever the cause, or you had nothing left to give anybody. Was that what Narraway was thinking of?
The room seemed suddenly overwhelmingly silent.
“Think hard before you act, Pitt,” Narraway warned. “Alexander has had two years in which to try to get somebody to listen to him. Setting a bomb off that killed three policemen, and badly injured two more, is the very last resort, even of a man desperate and emotionally unbalanced. You met him; you liked him. Was he a raving lunatic?”
“No…at least I thought not…”
Pitt swallowed hard. His throat felt tight. What the hell had made him take this job? He was not fit for it, not prepared. The decisions were too wide and deep. He had not the knowledge, or the connections, to survive it. He had made enemies who would be only too happy to see him brought down.
“I can’t let it go.” The moment the words were out of his mouth he realized that he had done exactly what he had believed he would not. He had placed his job before his family. If he were destroyed, how would they survive?
But if he backed away because he was afraid, how would he survive that? Charlotte would probably be loyal to him. Love would survive, but respect would turn into pity. The whole balance of their relationship would change. And he would hate himself.
A wave of fury boiled up inside him against Ednam, or whoever was responsible. How dare they create a corruption that was going to drown all of them in its tide of poison?
“I can’t let it go,” he repeated, but this time his voice was almost strangled in his throat.
“I know you can’t,” Narraway said gently. “Neither can I, now that I know. But for God’s sake be careful! Know everything you can about what you’re dealing with before you take the cover off, even if you have to lie as to what you’re looking into, and why.”
Pitt said nothing. The enormity of it overwhelmed him. It was like a dark storm on the horizon racing toward him. The first wind of it was tingling on his skin already; the first needles of ice began to hurt.
He slept badly, even though he was exhausted. His dreams were full of dark passages that led nowhere, locked doors, paths through grass that crumbled under his feet and slid away.
He was glad to get up early and take a quick breakfast. Minnie Maude was busy already, clearing out the ash in the oven and piling in more coal. She was good at it, and the kettle boiled in a matter of minutes.
She had grown used to Pitt’s manner, and his odd hours, and made him tea and toast without surprise. She offered to cook more, but he declined. The bread was fresh and she made the toast crispy, as he liked it. There was new marmalade, tart, with a real bite to it, almost aromatic. It was a good start to a cold, unwelcoming day. Two days to go until Christmas. He would take that one day off. He had chosen a gift for Charlotte some time ago, so that was taken care of. He had agreed to share with Charlotte and get both Jemima and Daniel something special. Charlotte would shop, wrap, and deliver gifts to all the other people to whom they gave presents too. But perhaps he should remind her to do something nice for Minnie Maude as well. Or would she have thought of it already?
He finished breakfast, thanked her, and collected his coat, hat, and scarf from the hooks in the hall. He went out and closed the front door gently, then turned into the wind and walked to Russell Square. From there he would catch a hansom to the Public Record Office and begin by searching the records of the trial of Dylan Lezant. He would read the account carefully, note who had presided, who prosecuted, and who defended. He would find and note all the witnesses and what they had said. He would consider finding Alexander Duncannon and asking him who he had consulted in trying to get justice for Lezant, but that was a decision he would leave until later. This side of Christmas, many people had already left the city, and nobody’s mind would be on an old case that was ugly and tragic but long since considered closed.
It was afternoon by the time Pitt had read and noted all that he had set out to find. Reading the trial transcripts was a long and miserable job, but he became so absorbed in it that when he finally reached the end and stood up his back was stiff. His neck ached, too, and he realized his mouth was as dry as the dust he disturbed when he put the mounds of papers back where he had found them.
“Thank you,” he said to the clerk as he was leaving.
“You’re welcome, sir,” the man replied, pushing his spectacles back up his nose. They slid again immediately.
Pitt turned back. “Oh…by the way, has anyone else had those out recently, do you know?”
“No, sir. And I’d know. No one has had this lot out in close to two years.”
“You’d know the name of whoever read them?” Suddenly Pitt did not wish to have it known he had inquired, let alone taken the transcripts. “Who took them?”
“Not took them, sir, just read and put them back again. Can’t take them off the premises.”
Pitt had produced his identification to get them in the first place. The clerk would have read his name, along with his rank.