Free Highgate Rise by Anne Perry Page A

“Surely doctors keep such confidences anyway? Are you thinking of something discovered inadvertently and not bound by such an ethical code? For example …?”
    “There are many possibilities.” Pitt shrugged, choosing at random. “A contagious disease which he would be obliged to report—plague, yellow fever—”
    “Rubbish,” Drummond interrupted. “Yellow fever in Highgate? And if that were so he would have reported it by now. Possibly a congenital disease such as syphilis, although that is unlikely. How about insanity? A man might well kill to keep that out of public knowledge, or even the knowledge of his immediate family, or prospective family, if he planned an advantageous marriage. Look into that, Pitt.”
    “I will.”
    Drummond warmed to the subject, leaning back a little in his chair and putting his elbows on the arms and his fingertips together in a steeple. “Maybe he knew of an illegitimate birth, or an abortion. For that matter maybe he performed one!”
    “Why wait until now?” Pitt said reasonably. “If he’s just done it, it will be among the patients he’s visited in the last day or two; and anyway, why? If it was illegal he would beeven less likely to speak of it, or make any record, than the woman. He has more to lose.”
    “What about the husband or father?”
    Pitt shook his head. “Unlikely. If he didn’t know about it beforehand, then he would probably be the one she was most anxious to keep it from. If he then discovered it, or learned it from her, the last way to keep it discreet would be to murder the doctor and cause all his affairs to be investigated by the police.”
    “Come on, Pitt,” Drummond said dryly. “You know as well as I do that people in the grip of powerful emotions don’t think like that—or half our crimes of impulse would never be committed, probably three quarters. They don’t think; they feel—overwhelming rage, or fear, or simply contusion and a desire to lash out at someone and blame them for the pain they are suffering.”
    “All right,” Pitt conceded, knowing he was right. “But I still think there are lots of other motives more probable. Shaw is a man of passionate convictions. I believe he would act on them, and devil take the consequences—”
    “You do like him,” Drummond said again with a wry smile, and knowledge of some unspoken hurt in his own past.
    No reply was called for.
    “He may have knowledge of a crime,” Pitt said instead, following his own thoughts. “A death, perhaps of someone in terminal illness and great pain—”
    “A merciful killing?” Drummond’s expression quickened. “Possible. And occurring to me as someone who likes him less and perhaps has a clearer view, he may have assisted in a killing for less unselfish reasons, and the principle mover has grown nervous lest his accomplice becomes careless, or more likely from your description of Shaw as a man with nerve and passion, blackmail him. That would be an excellent cause for murder.”
    Pitt would like to have denied such a thought, but it was eminently logical, and to dismiss it would be ridiculous.
    Drummond was watching him, his eyes curious.
    “Perhaps,” Pitt agreed aloud, and saw a small smile curl Drummond’s lips. “But knowledge gained simply because of his professional skill is in my opinion more likely.”
    “What about a purely personal motive?” Drummond asked. “Jealousy, greed, revenge? Could there be another woman, or another man in love with his wife? Didn’t you say he was expecting to be at home, and she not?”
    “Yes.” Pitt’s mind was filled with all sorts of ugly possibilities, dark among them the Worlingham money, and the pretty face of Flora Lutterworth, whose father resented her frequent, private visits to Dr. Shaw.
    “You need to have a great deal more.” Drummond stood up and walked over towards the window, his hands in his pockets. He turned to face Pitt. “The possibilities are numerous—either for the murder of