'Yes. I'm sorry.'
'Drowned? How? In the river?'
'No, sir, in a bath.'
'You mean he-he fell? He hit his head or something? What a ridiculous accident! That's the sort of thing that happens to old men!' Already the denial had begun, as if its ridiculousness could somehow make it untrue.
Pitt took a breath and let it out slowly. Evasion was not possible.
'No, sir. It seems he was murdered. His body was not found in a bath-not even in a house. I'm sorry-it was found in the sewers below Bluegate Fields, up against the sluice gates to the Thames. But for a particularly diligent sewer cleaner, we might not have found him at all.'
'Oh, hardly!' Gillivray protested. 'Of course he would have been found!.' He wanted to contradict Pitt, prove him wrong in something, as if it could even now in some way disprove everything. 'He could not have disappeared. That's nonsense. Even in the river-' He hesitated, then decided the subject was too unpleasant and abandoned it.
'Rats,' Pitt said simply. 'Twenty-four hours more in the sewer and he would not have been recognizable. A week, and there would have been nothing but bones. I'm sorry, Sir Anstey, but your son was murdered.'
14
Waybourne bridled visably, his eyes glittering in the white face.
'That's preposterous!' His voice was high now, even shrill. 'Who on earth would have any reason to murder my son? He was sixteen! Quite innocent of anything at all. We lead a perfectly proper and orderly life.'' He swallowed convulsively and regained a fraction of his control. 'You have mixed too much among the criminal element and the lower classes, Inspector,' he said. 'There is no one whatsoever who would wish Arthur any harm. There was no reason.'
Pitt felt his stomach tighten. This was going to be the most painful of all: the facts Wayboume would find intolerable, beyond acceptance.
'I'm sorry.' He seemed to be beginning every sentence
with an apology. 'I'm sorry, sir, but your son was suffering
from the early stages of venereal disease-and he had been
homosexually used.' !
Waybourne stared at him, scarlet blood suffusing his skin.
'That's obscene!' he shouted, starting from the chair as if to stand up, but his legs buckled. 'How dare you say such a thing! I'll have you dismissed! Who is your superior?'
'It's not my diagnosis, sir. It is what the police surgeon says.'
'Then he is a mischievous incompetent! I'll see he never practices again! It's monstrous! Obviously, Arthur was kidnapped, poor boy, and murdered by his captors. If-' He swallowed. 'If he was abused before he was killed, then you must charge his murderers with that also. And see to it that they are hanged! But as for the other'-he made a sharp slicing motion with his hand in the air-'that is-that is quite impossible. I demand that our own family physician examine the-the body and refute this slander!''
'By all means,' Pitt agreed. 'But he will find the same facts, and they are capable of only one diagnosis-the same as the police pathologist.'
Wayboume gulped and caught his breath awkwardly. His voice, when it came, was tight, scraping.
'He will not! I am not without influence, Mr. Pitt. I shall see
15
that this monstrous wrong is not done to my poor son or to the rest of his family. Good day to you.' He stood a little unsteadily, then turned and walked out of the room, up the steps, and into the daylight.
Pitt ran his hand through his hair, leaving it on end.
'Poor man,' he said softly, to himself rather than to Gillivray. 'He's going to make it so much harder for himself.'
'Are you sure it really is-?' Gillivray said anxiously.
