approached the group of people. He looked at Hetty, noted the painted face, hollow in this harsh lamplight, the low neckline of her dress, the fair skin which would be coarse in a handful of years, and the cheap, gaudy skirts. They were torn from when she had stumbled off the curb, showing slender ankles and a fine leg.
'I'm Inspector Pitt,' he introduced himself. 'You found the body tied up to the lamppost?'
'Yeah!' Hetty did not like the police; it was an occupational hazard that her associations with them had all been to her disadvantage. She had nothing against this one in particular, but she must do what she could to rectify her earlier stupidity by saying as little as possible now.
'Did you see anyone else on the bridge?' he asked. 5
'No.'
'Which way were you going?'
' 'Ome. From the souf.'
'Over towards the Palace of Westminster?'
She had a suspicion he was laughing at her.' 'That's right!''
' 'Where do you live?''
'Near the Millbank Prison.' Her chin came up. 'That's close on to Westminster, in case as you dunno!'
' 'I know. And you were walking home alone?'' There was nothing sardonic in his face, but she looked at him disbe-lievingly.
'Wot's the matter wiv yer? You daft or suffink? Course I was alone!'
'What did you say to him?'
She was about to say who? and realized it would be pointless. She had just virtually admitted she was there plying her trade. Bleedin' rozzer had led her into saying that!
'Asked 'im if 'e was ill.' She was pleased with that answer. Even a lady might ask after someone's health.
'So he looked ill?'
'Yeah-no!' She swore under her breath. 'All right, so I asked 'im if 'e wanted a spot o' comp'ny.' She twisted her face in an attempt at sarcasm. ' 'E didn't say nuffin'!'
' 'Did you touch him?''
'No!Iin'tnothief!'
'And you're sure you saw no one else? Nobody 'going home'? No tradespeople?'
'At this time o' night? Sellin' wot?'
'Hot pies, flowers, sandwiches.'
'No I didn't; just a cab as passed wivout stoppin'. But I didn't kill 'im. I swear by Gawd, 'e were dead w'en I got 'ere. Why would I kill 'im? I in't crazy!'
Pitt believed her. She was an ordinary prostitute, like countless thousands of others in London in this year of grace, 1888. She might or might not be a petty thief, she would
6
probably unwittingly spread disease and herself die young. But she would not kill a potential customer in the street.
'Give your name and address to the constable,' he said to her. 'And make it the truth, Hetty, or we'll have to come looking for you, which would not be good for trade.''
She glared at him, then swung round and walked over to the constable, tripping again on the curb but
