from the start. That sort is. Don’t know the truth from lies ’alf the time.”
“Did he identify Aaron Godman?”
“No, not definite. Said ’e couldn’t be sure. But then ’elpin’ the police don’t come natural to them.”
“What put you onto Godman? Why not O’Neil, or Fielding?”
“Oh, we considered them, right enough.” Paterson’s voice had a hard edge to it now and his face was full of anger. “And I admit it often crossed my mind that Mr. Fielding might ’a known more than ’e ever said. But it was proved fair and square that it was Godman as did it.”
“Wasn’t there a quarrel between Blaine and O’Neil?”
“Yes, and according to some gentlemen we found who overheard it, it was pretty bad at the time, but the sort of ’eated quarrel young gentlemen ’ave when they’re a bit the worse for champagne and think their honor’s been questioned.” He looked at Pitt irritably, as if Pitt were raising the issue beyond reason. “It was all over a wager, and only a few pounds at stake. Which might seem a lot to you an’ me, but to the likes o’ them it weren’t much. Nobody but a madman would murder ’is friend over a few pounds.” His lips pulled crooked with the memory, and once again rage and horror overtook his momentary annoyance with Pitt. “Beggin’ your pardon, sir, but you didn’t see that body. A man would ’ave to be insane with ’ate to do that to anyone. That weren’t caused by no quick temper over a wager—’ooever did that ’ad ’ated long and deep before it came to that night.”
Pitt did not argue. The fierceness in Paterson’s voice and the sick memory in his eyes stifled it before it came to his tongue.
“O’Neil is married to Blaine’s widow, you know,” he said instead.
“I know that,” Paterson said between his teeth. “And don’t think I ’aven’t wondered since if ’e ’ad that in ’is mind before Blaine was dead,” he went on sharply. “ ’E may ’ave. That don’t mean to say ’e killed Blaine. No sir, Godman did that.” His face set hard and there was a flicker of loathing in his blue eyes. “Blaine were playing fast and loose with ’is sister. Got ’er with child, and promised to marry ’er, which ’e never intended to,” he said bitterly. “And when Godman found that out ’e lost ’is ’ead. You know Jews don’t like us touching their women any more’n we like it when they touch ours. They think we’re not as good as they are—sort o’ lesser, if you like. They’re the chosen race o’ God, and we’re not.”
His body stiffened and he shook himself a little. “They think Christ was a blasphemer, and they crucified ’im. I guess some of ’em anyway still ’ate us. An’ Godman was one of ’em. And when ’e found out what ’ad ’appened to ’is sister ’e just went mad.” He shivered and let out his breath sharply, staring at Pitt.
Pitt could feel the emotion in the room, the air still charged with it. Suddenly he perceived, as he had not before, what it had been like in the original investigation, the horror that had soaked everything, the fear of violence and madness, and then the anger. It reached out and touched him now like a sick coldness. He had been trying to understand with his mind. He should have used his imagination, his instinct.
“Why are you so sure it was Godman?” he asked as calmly as he could, but he heard his own voice shake. “Apart from the motive.”
“ ’E were seen,” Paterson answered immediately, his shoulders square, his chin up. “Positively. No shadows, no doubt. ’E stopped to buy flowers, the arrogant bastard! Sort of a celebration o’ what ’e’d done!” His voice was thick with fury. “ ’E stood right under the light. Anyway, the woman knew ’im. Seen ’is face on a poster and recognized ’im straightaway. In So’o Square, less than half a mile from Farriers’ Lane, and a few minutes after it ’appened. ’E lied. Said it were thirty minutes earlier.”
“I see. Yes, you found the flower seller, didn’t you? Good piece of work.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“What was O’Neil doing at the time of the murder?”
“Gambling at a club about a mile and a half away.”
“Witnesses?”
Paterson lifted one shoulder. “More or less. ’E could ’ave stepped out, but ’e’d ’ave been seen when ’e got back. There must ’ave been blood all over the place after a killing like that.” Again his face mirrored his horror and the outrage he still felt even now.
“And Fielding?”
“Went ’ome. No proof, o’ course.” Paterson shrugged. “But no reason to suspect ’im, since Godman was definitely alone. The men at the end o’ Farriers’ Lane swore to that. Fielding may’ve known about it, or guessed afterwards, but ’e definitely weren’t there at the time.”
“Thank you. That’s all very clear.”
“Is that all, sir?”
“I think so.”
Paterson stood up.
“Ah—just one more thing,” Pitt added quickly.
“Yes sir?”
“When Godman came to court he was badly bruised, as if someone had beaten him. Who was that?”
Paterson flushed a hot, dull red. “I—er—well, ’e weren’t an easy prisoner.”
Pitt raised his eyebrows very high. “He resisted?”
Paterson stammered and then fell silent.
“Yes?” Pitt asked again.
Paterson’s face set hard. “If you’d seen what ’e did to Blaine, sir, you wouldn’t ask, cos you’d feel the same.”
