Murder on the Serpentine Read online

  “He doesn’t appear to have,” he said, “but they did know each other. There’s no way to discover if he and Halberd ever exchanged information.”

  “Bound to have,” Stoker assumed, “just didn’t write it down. Do you know for sure if Halberd was murdered, sir, or is it only likely? What was he doing there anyway? Was it no more than a good opportunity to catch him alone and off his guard?”

  “I’m sure he was murdered,” Pitt replied, “but I’d have difficulty proving it in court right now. And I don’t know what he was doing there.”

  “No witnesses yet?” Stoker asked.

  Pitt bit his lip. “If there were, they were prostitutes and their clients, or other people going about business they’d sooner deny. I thought about looking, but if I do, as head of Special Branch, I might make the whole mess a lot worse. I don’t think Her Majesty would appreciate that.”

  Stoker’s face was bleak. “No, sir, I’m sure she wouldn’t. And since Halberd was a friend of hers, it is hardly what she’s looking for. And for that matter, Mr. Kendrick is a good friend of the prince’s. I’ve got a few connections in the regular police, sir, who work that patch. I can ask very discreetly, and in these instances I don’t mind stretching the truth of it. Can I tell them that no one will have to testify? We just want to know the truth, not necessarily use it.”

  “If that is necessary,” Pitt conceded. He stood up. “I’m going to find out all I can about Mrs. Kendrick. I think she might be the key to at least some of this.”

  Stoker rose also. “Yes, sir, I’ll start straightaway. You using any cover for this? I’m not going to lie to my own men. I’m nowhere if I lose their trust.” He looked very steadily at Pitt, and Pitt knew that the message was as much for him, and that Stoker was right.

  “Tell them it’s a potentially nasty affair that has to be handled with the utmost discretion, in case it touches on the Prince of Wales. That won’t be hard to believe.”

  Stoker’s mouth pulled tight. “Not hard enough, sir. I’m not at all sure what it’s going to be like under the new king. Lived all my life with her on the throne of England, and a lot of the rest of the world. I don’t like change—not that sort.”

  “Nor do I, Stoker,” Pitt agreed. In fact, with the dislike the prince had for him personally, he would be fortunate to keep his position. And he felt, as the reality of it tightened around him, how very much he did want to keep it, deserve it, succeed at it!

  The fact that Ferdie Warburton was given to blackouts, and consequently the fear that he had done something seriously wrong, was the place to begin. Pitt loathed doing it and yet, he thought, as deeply as power can corrupt, so also does the abdication of power: the arrogance of misusing it, the cowardice of the failure to use.

  Late in the afternoon Pitt found Warburton at a cricket match at Lord’s Cricket Ground near Regent’s Park. He was casually dressed and looked very much at ease. He held a tankard of beer in his hand. Other men crowded around him, laughing, slapping one another on the back. It looked as if the team they were backing had won.

  Pitt felt a total outsider. He had never played cricket, nor had he wanted to, but it was the national game for gentlemen. The phrases for honor and fair play, courage in the face of the enemy, were littered with references to cricket. “It’s not cricket!” for the dishonorable. “Last man in” when victory depended on you. “A straight bat” for the trustworthy. “Play up!” and “Play the game!” for life itself, for courage and honor to the last stand; win, lose, or draw.

  He kept walking forward, not altering his pace in spite of the doubts in his mind. They would keep him an outsider forever, but perhaps he was that anyway. Would Narraway have done the same thing? Probably, but more cleverly, and he would not have cared what they thought of him. He would never be an outsider in their eyes, whatever he was in his own.

  Pitt had almost reached Warburton when the others saw him. Naismith-Jones turned, hesitated a second, then remembered who Pitt was and where they had met.

  “Cricket enthusiast, are you? Sorry, old chap, but it’s all over. Great game. You’ll have to come a lot earlier next time,” he said with a smile. “Have a glass of beer?”

  “No, thanks,” Pitt declined with an answering smile. He hated this but forced himself to turn toward Warburton. “Could I have a private word with you, sir? It’s a rather delicate matter.”

  “We’re among friends.” Warburton shrugged. He looked at Pitt’s face. “But if you say so, we could go for a walk. Regent’s Park is right next door.” He waved his arm in the general direction of the park.

  Pitt accepted, and they moved off together, feet silent on the close-cropped grass, a faint wind brushing by them. It smelled of warm earth and fresh clippings.

  “So what is it about, then?” Warburton asked.

  “Just a little information,” Pitt replied. That was a disingenuous way of putting it.

  Warburton’s expression was puzzled, but it still held no alarm.

  “About what, for heaven’s sake? It must be urgent to bring you out here in the afternoon. Didn’t Kendrick say you were somebody to do with the government? What’s gone wrong now?”

  “Special Branch,” Pitt replied. “I can’t remember if he said that or not.”

  Warburton looked incredulous. “What, bombers and anarchists, and all that sort of stuff?”

  “That sort of thing, and a lot more.”

  “Not exactly my field of experience, old chap.”

  “You may know a lot more than you realize.”

  “Doubt it. Memory like the proverbial sieve. Sorry.” He smiled and came to a stop at the edge of the road, as if intending to turn and go back. He was a pleasant-looking man, standing there in his pale-colored summer trousers and white shirt. His face was freckled and very slightly tanned, probably by wind as much as anything. His expression was agreeable, even friendly, but there was an intensity in his eyes.

  “Yes,” Pitt agreed, trying to sound equally casual. “I had heard that your memory was liable to…lapse at times. It must be inconvenient for you.”

  Warburton shrugged. “A nuisance, not really an affliction.”

  “Except when something important has happened,” Pitt replied, holding his gaze. “And you need to account for yourself, give evidence that perhaps you were nowhere near an event. Or, of course, swear that someone else was. Then it might matter.”

  Warburton was motionless for just a fraction too long for it to be natural. Then he made up his mind. “Are you referring to something in particular, old boy? If you think I’ve seen something in your sphere of…of things, you’re wrong. I don’t know anyone who isn’t a decent and well-known member of society. Might have had the odd pint with a disreputable character or two, but who hasn’t? Can hardly ask a chap for his political ideology before you let him have a pint.”

  Pitt drew in his breath, taking a second to decide how to play this.

  “People will start to avoid you,” Warburton added. He took a step away from Pitt, facing back toward the remnants of the match where people were beginning to disperse. “Sorry, but I can’t help…”

  “I haven’t asked you anything yet,” Pitt pointed out. “And your lapses of memory are fairly selective. I think some of them may be a kindness rather than the genuine absence of mind.”

  Warburton turned back to him. “What…what are you suggesting?”

  “I’m not talking about sexual indiscretions, Mr. Warburton, or gambling debts that remain unpaid rather a long time. Or even about a few odd papers here and there that have been rather carefully re-created.”

  Warburton paled. He swallowed hard. “Are you threatening me with something?”

  “I’m asking for your help,” Pitt told him very carefully. “Anything you tell me would be used without your name, and only as necessary. I deal with murder and treason, Mr. Warburton, things I imagine you deplore as much as I do…”

  “Well, of course…I don’t know anything! I don’t know people who wo
uld even think of such things…”

  “You knew Sir John Halberd.”

  “He wasn’t…” Warburton gulped, but his eyes did not waver from Pitt’s. “He was as loyal to the Queen and everything she stands for as any man alive. I’d stake my life on that.”

  “I’m glad, because you may have to. I believe he did and, as we know, he lost it.”

  “Good God! Are you still thinking he was murdered? Why, for heaven’s sake? I thought he just behaved like a damn fool, and overbalanced in that stupid boat and hit his head. Knocked himself out and drowned.”

  “Doing what, alone on the Serpentine after dark?” Pitt said quietly, yet his deep fear and sadness came through the words.

  Warburton pretended to ignore it; still, the awareness of it was in his eyes. “God knows! Some…some damn silly assignation, I suppose. But I’m not going to ruin the man’s reputation now that he is dead and can’t defend himself. Anyway, what the devil is it the business of anyone else?” Now he was as defiant as he dared be.

  “And what happened with this assignation?” Pitt asked curiously. “She was frightened and ran off? Is that the sort of woman Halberd met in the park, at night, in a rowing boat? You knew him, Mr. Warburton. Don’t tell me that’s something you have…” he hesitated, “…forgotten?”

  Warburton blushed, cold anger solely in his eyes now.

  “Of course it wasn’t! But we all make misjudgments at times. Who knows why he went or what happened?”

  “Whoever hit him over the head with the oar, and then left him facedown in the water to drown,” Pitt replied, keeping his voice just as level as it was before, although the anger was rising in him too. Not against Ferdie Warburton, but against all the people who knew something and were silent for the sake of their own comfort. “I intend to find out who that was, Mr. Warburton. Who are you protecting? A friend? Or someone to whom you owe a certain loyalty, willingly or not? Someone you are afraid of, because perhaps they know what you did, where you were or with whom, in one of your blank spaces of memory?”

  “You bastard!” Warburton said between clenched jaws. His face was now blanched white, his freckles standing out. “The fact that I can’t remember everything doesn’t mean that I did anything dishonorable!”

  “Probably no more than foolish,” Pitt agreed. “Embarrassing. But you can’t be sure, can you? Tell me, what do you know about Walter Whyte? He has a rather interesting African background, as did Halberd. Did they know each other back then?”

  “Not so far as I am aware,” Warburton said aggressively. “What has that to do with anything? Walter Whyte is one of the most decent men I know. And he had nothing to do with Halberd. They barely knew each other.”

  He was lying; Pitt was sure of it.

  “Really? That is not what Halberd’s notes say.”

  “Then it must be in one of those moments I have forgotten,” Warburton snapped back at him, bleak amusement in his face.

  “Yes, I will have to look into the matter much more carefully,” Pitt agreed. “See if we can restore your memory. Someone will know…”

  Warburton snatched Pitt’s arm, and his grip was surprisingly powerful. It would hurt if Pitt pulled away, evidence of the depth of Warburton’s fear.

  “You swine,” Warburton said bitterly. “Halberd knew about Walter’s brother, and that Walter lied to protect him, for his fiancée’s sake. There was a damned awful boating accident, on the Nile somewhere. Although a few people drowned, half a dozen were saved by Walter’s extreme courage. His brother, James, got the credit, though, as the two men looked alike, and their identities were switched. Not that James took it on purpose, it was just a mistake. But Walter let it stand, for his brother’s sake, and for the girl he was betrothed to marry. She thought it was James who’d rescued them and admired him for it. James never got over it. He was killed a couple of years later, trying to be the hero everyone thought he was. Walter never told anybody. It was only by accident that I knew. Even Felicia doesn’t. I think she would treat him differently if she did.” He stopped abruptly. “None of that is your business, Pitt. Still, Walter is a good man, and Halberd knew it and admired him for it.”

  “And pressured him?” Pitt said very quietly. “It sounds as if Whyte loved his brother very much. Was James the younger?”

  “Yes, he was. But no, there was no pressure. Halberd wasn’t the sort to pressure a decent man who gave so much to protect his brother. He admired Walter for it. If you don’t believe that, then you know nothing of men. And you fail at your job. In fact, worse than that, you’ll make enemies of anyone who is fit to know. I’ll make damn sure of it.”

  “Are you saying Halberd didn’t put to use all the knowledge he had about people?” Pitt was keen to hear what Warburton would say. It was the impression the Queen had of Halberd, but how realistic was she?

  “Yes, I’m saying it.” Warburton’s voice was still harsh with anger.

  “And about people who were less decent?”

  “How the hell would I know?”

  “The same way you know he decided not to use it for those he respected.”

  Warburton’s shoulders slumped, as if he were suddenly exhausted.

  Pitt took a step back, in case it was a bluff.

  Warburton was still furious. “You think I would hit a policeman?” he said incredulously. “Or whatever you are! And if you want to charge me with something, or tell the world that occasionally I drink too much and can’t remember where I was, go ahead. Most of the people I care about already know.”

  Pitt felt bruised by the accusation. “I don’t want to tell anyone, Mr. Warburton. I want to find out who killed Halberd, and why. If it was over one of the secrets he knew, and was going to act on, then I need to know what they are.”

  “It would have to be something pretty bad,” Warburton replied unhappily. “Halberd was an odd fish, but a decent man. I rather liked him, actually. He had a nice, dry sense of humor. Some tragedy back when he was young, don’t know what exactly, but the woman he loved was killed. I thought from the way he spoke of it, just the once, he held himself to blame for it. At least to blame that she was there at all. She traveled there in the first place to be with him. It made him forgive other people’s mistakes more easily.”

  Pitt tried to imagine it: the grief and self-blame of a man who had lost the one woman he loved. He thought how he would feel if some adventure of his had caused Charlotte’s death. It was worse than anything he could grasp, a pain that would never stop.

  Warburton must have seen this on his face.

  “Mistakes,” he went on. “But never did he forgive a betrayal, or any kind of cruelty.”

  “Doesn’t sound like a typical courtier,” Pitt observed.

  “He wasn’t,” Warburton agreed. “Not much time for the Prince of Wales, but he was intensely loyal to the Queen. Of course he was a protégé of Prince Albert’s and he admired him deeply. He came to the court to serve the Queen after Albert’s death.”

  Pitt could imagine how the Queen would have cared for any man who praised her beloved Albert, who remembered him and kept his memory alive for her.

  Perhaps if Halberd had shared her belief that the Prince of Wales’s rashness and indiscipline had been at least in part contributory to his father’s early death, then her passion to see Halberd cleared of any damage to his reputation, even to see his death avenged, was understandable. She would only be satisfied with the answer she could believe was the truth, which meant something Pitt could prove.

  Was that a man who kept assignations with prostitutes in a boat in the park? Perhaps Stoker would turn up something, but Pitt profoundly hoped that if Stoker did, it wasn’t anything that would disillusion the Queen about the man she had trusted.

  “He sounds like a good man,” Pitt said.

  “He was.” Warburton hesitated. “If…if you find he was with a woman of the street, do you have to let everyone know?”

  “No, I don’t,” Pitt said quickly. “But I thi
nk he went there to meet someone whom he couldn’t meet in a more comfortable or usual sort of place. Someone he didn’t want to be seen with, and who didn’t want to be seen with him.”

  “A woman?”

  “It seems likely.”

  “Well, if Walter knows, he won’t tell you.”

  Pitt did not answer.

  Warburton started to walk back toward the cricket ground, then stopped. “Halberd was very loyal, not just to the Queen, but to the whole idea of empire,” he said with urgency. “He wasn’t militaristic at all—he had no love of conquering—but he did believe that we have a duty to look after the people we taught to trust us. He believed in the integrity of empire, the good we have promised to do, the trade, the law, the peace, and, of course, the building of great systems of jurisprudence and medicine, exploration, all the things that can be good.”

  “What did he think of Milner?” Pitt asked curiously.

  “Disagreed with the general opinion that he is a fine man. He believes…believed…that he was too rigid.”

  “Did he think there would be another Boer war?”

  Warburton’s face crumpled. “Oh God, no! Do you think it was about that? He was dead against it, and didn’t mind saying so. He’d have let the Boer states go rather than use the weapons and shed the blood to keep them against their will. He believed that in the future all sorts of places would become independent, but when they’d learned to stand on their own feet. Like a child growing up and leaving home. He thought we’d not see it in our lifetime. Do you think some bloody warmonger killed him?”

  “I don’t know,” Pitt admitted. “But it’s a possibility.”

  PITT CAME HOME A little later than usual, although because of the time of year it was still broad daylight.