Read Online Death in the Devil's Acre by Anne Perry - Free Book Online

imprison someone, if we catch them—theft, forgery, robbery, assault. There are enough of them to use all our time.”
    “Then what is the gossip about Ambrose Mercutt and Max?”
    Parkins relaxed again, leaning back in his chair. “Mercutt used to have the carriage trade till Max came along. But Max could provide a better class of women—I’ve heard even a few of distinct breeding. God knows what they’re doing it for!” His face mirrored his complete mystification, an attempt to understand, and defeat. “Yes, Mercutt had good reason to hate Max. But I wouldn’t have thought he was the only one, by any means! Pimping is a very cutthroat business—” He stopped, remembering the literal use of the knife in the crimes.
    “Where would Max get women like that?” Pitt spoke his thoughts aloud. “Society is quite capable of providing its own diversions, if some of their women want a little adultery.”
    Parkins looked at Pitt with interest. He had worked all his professional life in the Acre or areas like it: White-chapel, Spitalfields, places where he never even spoke to “the Quality.” “Is that so?” Parkins glimpsed a world beyond his own.
    Pitt tried very hard not to sound condescending. “I’ve known a few cases that have shown it,” he answered with a small smile.
    “Not women?” Parkins was shocked.
    Pitt hesitated. Parkins worked in the Devil’s Acre amid its filth and despair; most of its inhabitants were born to live hard and die young. We all need to believe in some ideal, even if it is forever out of reach—dreams are still necessary.
    “A few.” He spoke less than the truth. “Only a few.”
    Parkins seemed to relax, and the anxiety died out of his face. Perhaps he also knew it was fairyland he imagined, but he wanted it all the same. “Do you want to know where to find Ambrose Mercutt?” he offered.
    “Yes, please.” Pitt noted the address Parkins gave him, talked a little longer, then took his leave into the bitter evening. The sky had cleared and the east wind was so sharp on his face that it stung his skin.
    The following day, he went first to his office to see if there was any further information, but there was nothing beyond the autopsy report on Hubert Pinchin, which told him only what he already knew. Then he went back to the Acre to find Ambrose Mercutt.
    It proved a less easy task than he had first supposed. Ambrose supervised most of his business himself; at eleven o’clock in the morning he was not up, nor did he wish to receive visitors of any sort, least of all from the police. It was half an hour before Pitt prevailed upon his manservant, and Ambrose was brought, protesting, into the pale-carpeted dining room, with imitation Sheraton furniture and erotic paintings from the new “decadent” artists on the walls. He was lean and elegantly effete, clad in a silk dressing robe, his wavy hair falling over half his face, hiding rather wispy eyebrows and pale, puffy-lidded eyes.
    Pitt could see instantly why Max had succeeded him as the proprietor for the carriage trade. Max had had a sensuality himself that would attract the women who worked for him, and a taste of his own to appreciate and select the best new whores for the trade—perhaps even teach them a little? Nature had given him an advantage that Ambrose, with all his intelligence, could not hope to emulate.
    “I’ve never heard of you!” Ambrose said, his eyes wide, looking Pitt up and down. “You must be new in the Acre. I can’t imagine what you want here. I have some very good custom. You’d be foolish to make life—awkward—for me, Inspector.” His paused as if to see if Pitt had the mental agility to understand him.
    Pitt smiled. “I believe you do have some very good custom,” he agreed coolly. “But perhaps not as much as you had before Max Burton moved into the trade?”
    Ambrose was shaken. His hand moved down his body and tightened on his silk robe, pulling it a little further around himself.