strength was not immediately apparent, and only after Pitt had spoken with him for several minutes did he gain any sense of his inner resolve.
“Superintendent Pitt,” Pitt introduced himself. “I regret intruding at a time which must be very difficult for you, but I am sure you will appreciate that you may be able to give me information which will help us find who is responsible for Captain Winthrop’s death.”
“I cannot imagine how, but of course I will give you any assistance I can,” Jones acquiesced, remaining at attention. “What is it you wish to know?” His blue eyes showed total confusion.
Deliberately Pitt sat down in the hard-backed, wooden-armed chair beside the table, and invited Jones to sit as well.
Lieutenant Jones looked a trifle surprised, recognizing that Pitt intended the interview to be of length.
“How long have you served with Captain Winthrop?”
“Nine years, altogether,” Lieutenant Jones replied, taking the chair opposite Pitt and crossing his legs. “I—I suppose I knew him pretty well, if that is what you are going to ask.”
Pitt smiled. “It is. Please bear in mind that your loyalty to Captain Winthrop lies not only in speaking well of him but in telling the truth so that whoever murdered him is caught—” He stopped, seeing the surprise in Jones’s face.
“Surely it was robbery, wasn’t it?” Jones’s brow puckered in consternation. “I had assumed it was some criminal lunatic loose in the park. It is inconceivable it was anyone who knew him, which seems to be what you’re suggesting. Forgive me if I have misunderstood you, Superintendent.”
“No, your understanding is both exact and swift.” Pitt smiled very slightly. “There is some evidence to suggest that he was taken completely by surprise.” He waited for Jones’s reaction.
It was what he had expected. Jones looked startled, then dubious, then very grave as the full implication reached him.
“I see. And you have come to ask me if I know of anyone who may have held a grudge against him.” He shook his head. “I don’t. That is the simple answer. He was a popular man, Superintendent, open, candid, of remarkably good humor, friendly without being overfamiliar, and he did not gamble or run up debts he could not pay. He was certainly not an unjust commander, as no doubt you will ask me. I know of no man who had a quarrel with him.”
“Are you speaking of officers, Lieutenant, or do you include ordinary seamen as well?”
“What?” Jones’s eyes widened. “Oh. Well, I suppose I did mean officers. He would hardly know seamen personally. But you mean some sort of a grudge?”
“An injustice, real or imagined,” Pitt elaborated.
Jones looked very doubtful. He shifted a little in his chair. “Most ordinary seamen, Superintendent, take their punishment resolutely and with reasonably good grace.” He smiled weakly. “We don’t keelhaul anymore you know. Discipline is not barbaric, nor is it resented on the whole. No, I really cannot imagine that any man would be— absurd—ill-balanced enough to pursue Captain Winthrop up to London and follow him to the park and do such a thing.” Again he shook his head. “It really would be quite preposterous. No, I am sure beyond any doubt that that is not what happened. As to a fellow officer, I…” He lifted one shoulder fractionally. “I know of no quarrel whatsoever. I suppose jealousy is not inconceivable, but it is highly unlikely. The whole thing is a mystery to me.”
“Jealousy?” Pitt asked. “Professional rivalry, you mean? Or personal jealousy, over a woman perhaps?”
Jones’s face showed surprise. “Oh no, I didn’t mean that. I really don’t know, Superintendent. I am struggling in the dark. If you are correct and it was not a madman or a gang of robbers, then one has to assume it was someone he knew. Please understand, I knew Oakley Winthrop very well. I worked with him for nearly a decade. He was an exemplary officer and a fine man.” He leaned forward. A gull swooped past the window, crying. “Not only honest but genuinely likable,” Jones said earnestly. “He excelled in sports, he played the piano and had a beautiful voice and sang for everyone’s pleasure. He had a rich sense of humor, and I’ve heard him set the whole mess rocking with laughter.”
“Sometimes a dangerous weapon,” Pitt said thoughtfully.
“Oh no.” Jones shook his head. “He was not a wit, if that is what you are thinking. He didn’t make mock of people. It was a very robust, simple sort of fun. Harmless. You are not picturing the man at all, Superintendent, if I may say so. He was uncomplicated, bluff even …” He stopped, seeing Pitt’s expression. “You disagree?” He leaned back in his chair again. “You have been misinformed, I assure you.”
“No one is uncomplicated,” Pitt replied with a wry smile. “But I accept what you say. I have formed no impression of him at all yet.”
Jones’s lips twitched very slightly. “If Captain Winthrop had a secret life he hid it with a subtlety and brilliance he did not display in his ordinary way. Believe me, I do wish I could offer anything of assistance, but I don’t know where to begin.”
“Was he popular with women as well?” Pitt asked.
Jones hesitated. Again the sounds of the yard intruded, the clank of chains, the creak of straining ropes as the water rose and fell, timber against timber, men shouting, and always the mew of the gulls. “No, not as much as perhaps I might have suggested,” Jones went on. “Inadvertently, I mean. The sort of party I was referring to was strictly officers, not women. He was a seaman. I don’t think he found the company of women easy.” He blushed a delicate pink and his eyes moved away from Pitt. “One has so little social life, one gets out of practice in the sort of light conversation suitable for women.”
Pitt had a vivid picture in his mind of a broad, blunt-faced man, hearty, outwardly confident, totally in command, quick to laughter on the surface, but underneath the superficial bonhomie, perhaps filled with darker emotions, fears, self-doubts, even guilt, a man who spent most of his life in a totally masculine world.
Had he a mistress? He looked at the fair, earnest face opposite him. Lieutenant Jones would not tell him even if he knew. But if it were some love or hate here in Portsmouth, would they have followed him to London, rather than committing the crime here?
“Lieutenant Jones, when did Captain Winthrop leave for London?”
“Er—ten days ago,” Jones replied, watching Pitt’s face again.
