Twenty-One Days

by Anne Perry

  ‘Then let me find the truth. I’m not afraid that my father is behind it!’ That was not entirely true. The sick fear still churned in his stomach that somehow, even in mistaken duty, Pitt would be drawn into it, if only to turn the other way, to disprove evidence of collusion. ‘I’m not!’ he reiterated, not moving his eyes from fford Croft’s.

  ‘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.

  But on the other hand, what if Pitt were destroyed by this because Daniel was too proud, and too afraid, to trust anyone who perhaps could really help?

  ‘Pitt!’ Kitteridge said sharply. ‘We can’t fight in the dark. What’s the matter with you, man?’

  What should he say? Daniel couldn’t decide. He could not see clearly enough. ‘I’m not sure what Graves wants . . .’ he began.

  ‘Well, he doesn’t want to hang, I’m bloody sure of that!’ Kitteridge said tartly. ‘Start there, and move on.’

  ‘Which means he really thinks Special Branch could be behind Ebony’s murder,’ Daniel reasoned.

  ‘Why should they care enough to go to those lengths to protect the reputation of their leader in the past?’ Kitteridge continued. Then his voice dropped a little and was suddenly gentler. ‘Or is it worse than that? Is he saying your father engineered it? Is it covering up something he was involved in, too? Is that what’s got you pulling your hair out?’

  Daniel did not need to admit it. The understanding was in Kitteridge’s face, and surprisingly without judgement.

  ‘Personal, or Special Branch business?’ Kitteridge asked.

  ‘Special Branch business. To do with a Portuguese political dissident of some sort, apparently very well connected.’ There was no point in telling less than the truth now. ‘Killed his wife in a fit of rage, and then panicked. Asked my father to get him out of the country. He did, I think because the man knew too much about Special Branch . . . and knew too much to stand trial over here.’

  Kitteridge nodded, and then seemed to stop himself before asking anything further, as if understanding that Daniel didn’t know any more. ‘I understand about the political unrest all over Europe. I suppose your father’s got to care about that, when the dissidents land up in London. Damn Graves!’

  ‘Do you think he’s got anything to do with politics?’ Daniel asked doubtfully.

  ‘Not a thing,’ Kitteridge replied. ‘He’s all about money.’

  ‘I think he’s genuinely frightened now,’ Daniel said. ‘I . . . I wish I didn’t, but I honestly think he might not be guilty.’

  ‘You think it was Special Branch? Really?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Then we’d better
prove who it was,’ Kitteridge said earnestly.

  ‘Can I tell Graves you cannot find any cause for appeal?’

  ‘Certainly. Looking is a total waste of time. I’d rather try and help you. Save the Empire, what?’

  Daniel stiffened, then saw Kitteridge’s face and realised he was teasing him, and also very seriously offering to help. ‘Yes, please,’ he accepted. ‘Find the bloody publisher.’

  Daniel went back to the prison and, after the briefest of questioning by the guard, was again permitted to see Graves alone. As they locked the door behind him, he sat down in the chair at the other side of the warped table, and looked at Graves. Daniel had the sudden, awful feeling that he had a glimpse of the corpse he could so soon become.

  Hope flared for a second in Graves’ eyes, then he looked at Daniel, and it died again.

  Daniel wished that he could have brought better news. He even felt guilty that there was not much pity inside him.

  ‘What do you want?’ Graves asked. His voice was strained, as if lack of use had left his throat dry.

  ‘I have looked further into the possibility that someone else is creating evidence against you, as you suggested . . .’ Daniel began.

  Suddenly Graves’ body was rigid. ‘Who? Who is it? What proof do you have?’

  ‘I don’t have proof who it is,’ Daniel answered levelly. ‘But I believe you that it is possible. The reasons are powerful enough to be believable. I will be able to prove more when I know where you got your information for the book on Lord Narraway. I imagine you kept the sources for all, because it might be necessary to consult them again? And you must have been aware that there were those who would try to stop you – up to and including causing your disgrace, and death.’

  ‘A believer,’ Graves said sarcastically. ‘I’d applaud you – if I weren’t in chains!’

  Daniel ignored his tone. ‘Why didn’t you mention it earlier? It would have given us more time.’

  ‘Because I didn’t kill her! I thought you had enough skill to get me off before the court,’ Graves said accusingly.

  ‘That was nearly a week ago,’ Daniel snapped.

  ‘I thought Kitteridge would find some legal loophole. Has fford Croft got up off his arse and done anything? He owes me, and he’s going to walk away and let me hang!’ The hatred was so deep in him, he all but choked on it. ‘You’ve still got two weeks left.’ His look at Daniel was torn between loathing for his mention of having to beg, and the conviction that he was in the right.

  Daniel disliked him even more, were it possible. He also believed him more. It was a ragged, powerful feeling inside him.

  Was it worth wasting time answering? Probably not.

  ‘Where did you get your information?’ He went back to the original question. ‘Papers? Letters? Face-to-face interviews? Confessions? You think someone betrayed you? Who?’

  ‘Start with your own father!’ Graves snarled. He looked straight into Daniel’s eyes and, for a moment, all that was there was hatred.

  ‘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!’

  Graves was white and his chest was heaving. There was a sweat of terror on his face, and showing wet on his neck and chest, where Daniel could see his skin. ‘God help me, I didn’t kill her!’ His voice was almost strangled. ‘But you’re going to be guilty of my death. You’ll wear that for the rest of your life. Connive at murder, just like your father!’

  Daniel looked at him with sudden chill. ‘You are in the wrong place to be abusing me. I’m the only thing between you and the rope. You want me on your side. And you are calling me stupid?’

  Graves looked as if he had been struck, and a dull tide of colour swept up his face. His eyes burned with hatred. ‘You’re going to let me hang?’

  Daniel leaned forward over the table. ‘Someone hated you enough to kill your wife, burn her face off and get you hanged for it. Please God, there aren’t many people with that potential for hatred around! Concentrate. We’ve got to find who it is.’

  ‘You? And who else? fford Croft? Kitteridge?’

  ‘If my father still has Narraway’s list of people, I’ll let him do it,’ Daniel replied. ‘He’ll know just how dangerous any of them really are. If there actually is such a list, we should make it work for us, shouldn’t we?’

  Graves was seething with anger, but he was trapped, and he knew it.

  ‘Yes.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Daniel went straight from the prison back to Lincoln’s Inn, and then, a little after six, to his parents’ home on Keppel Street. He wanted to give his father a copy of the names Graves had given to him, and it was best to do this away from his father’s office. Daniel was still deeply afraid that someone in Special Branch had leaked the information to Graves, and flattered, bribed or threatened him into using it in the most damaging way, not only to inflict harm on Special Branch now, but to cast shadows over most of its past as well. He could only imagine what that reputation for corruption and blackmail would do to its ability to function at home, never mind abroad.