Pitt would have expected.
'Worse than that.' Swynford shook his head, his wide mouth somewhat curled, as if the sourness of it were in the room with them. 'More than a damn shame. Anstey said he was riddled with disease. Gave it to Arthur-poor beggar!'
'Disease?' Vanderley's face paled a little. 'Oh, God! That's awful. I suppose you are sure?'
'Syphilis,' Swynford clarified.
Vanderley stepped backward and sat down in one of the big chairs, putting the heels of his hands over his eyes as if to hide both his distress and the vision that leaped to his mind.
'How bloody wretched! What-what a ghastly mess.' He sat silent for a few more moments, then jerked up and stared at Pitt, his eyes as gray as Fanny's. 'What are you doing about it?' He hesitated, fished frantically for words. 'God in heaven, man-if all this is true, it could have gone anywhere- to anyone!'
'We are trying to find out everything about the man that we can,' Pitt answered, knowing it was not enough, not nearly enough. 'We know he was overfamiliar with other children, other boys, but we can't find out yet where he conducted the intimacies of this relationship with Arthur-or where Arthur was killed.'
'What the hell does that matter?' Vanderley exploded. He shot to his feet, his clean, chisel-boned face flushed, his muscles tight. 'You know he did it, don't you? For pity's sake, man, if he was that far demented in his obsession he could have hired rooms anywhere! You can't be naive enough not to know that-in your business!'
' 'I do know it, sir.'' Pitt tried to keep his own voice from rising, from betraying his revulsion or his growing sense of helplessness. 'But I'd still feel we had a better case if we could find it-and someone who has seen Jerome there-perhaps the landlord, someone who took money-anything more definite. You see, so far all we can prove is that Jerome interfered with Godfrey Wayboume and with Titus.'
'What do you want?' Swynford demanded. 'He's hardly
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likely to have seduced the boy with witnesses! He's perverted, criminal, and spreading that filthy disease God knows where! But he's not foolish-he's never lost sight of the smaller sanities, like tidying up after himself!'
Vanderley ran his fingers through his hair. Suddenly he was calm again, in control.
'No-he's right, Mortimer. He needs to know more than that. There are tens of thousands of rooms around London. He'll never find it, unless he's lucky. But there may be something he can find, somebody-somebody who knew Jerome. I don't suppose poor Arthur was the only one.' He looked down and his face was heavy, his voice suddenly even quieter. 'I mean-the man was in bondage to a weakness.'
'Yes, of course,' Swynford said. 'But that's the police's job, thank God; not ours. We don't need to concern ourselves with whatever else he needs-or why.' He turned to Pitt. 'You've talked to my son-I would have thought that was enough, but if it isn't, then you must pursue whatever else you want-in the streets, or wherever. I don't know what else you think there is.'
'There must be something more.' Pitt felt confused, almost foolish. He knew so much-and so little: explanations that fitted-a growing desperation he could understand, a loneliness, a sense of having been cheated. Would it be enough to hang a man, to hang Maurice Jerome for the murder of Arthur Waybourne? 'Yes, sir,' he said aloud. 'Yes-we'll go and look, everywhere we can.'
'Good.' Swynford nodded. 'Good. Well, get on with it! Good day, Inspector.'
'Good day, sir.' Pitt walked to the door and opened it silently. He went out into the hall to collect his hat and coat from the footman.
Charlotte had sent an urgent letter to Dominic to ask him to hasten his efforts for a meeting with Esmond Vanderley. She had little idea what she expected to learn, but it was more important than ever that she try.
Today, at last, she had received a reply that there was an afternoon party of sorts to which, if she wished, Dominic would
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escort her, although he doubted she would find any
