Free Treachery at Lancaster Gate by Anne Perry

could argue, or get any more emotional, he ate the fresh toast with one hand, and poured himself more, hotter tea with the other.
    —
    T HE FIRST THING T ELLMAN did was go to see Whicker, Ednam’s immediate superior. He knew that rumors would soon start about the motives behind the bombing. If he asked the right questions he might be able to kill any notion of police corruption before it took root. As he got off the omnibus and walked along the windy street he framed the questions in his mind. If he found there were minor errors, a little dishonesty here and there, would he report it? His own sense of justice said that these men were suffering enough. They might not ever recover sufficiently to return to the force anyway. You don’t kick a man when he’s down.
    Was it to do with the Lezant case Pitt was talking about? Were all these five men involved in it? That was a place to begin.
    But if they did always work together, how would anyone outside the force know that?
    He would have to be extremely tactful when he asked his questions, avoiding the reason for his inquiry. He hated the idea of investigating his own, as if he thought those dead or damaged men were somehow at fault for the disaster that had struck them down. And everyone else would hate him too.
    He turned the corner, stepped over a couple of deep puddles, and went in through the police station doorway and introduced himself to the desk sergeant on duty. The place seemed bare, and even drabber than usual, as if the bereavement could be felt in the wood and linoleum and the iron locks on the doors.
    He asked to see whoever was in charge.
    The sergeant nodded and sent a constable with a message. Five minutes later Tellman was in Superintendent Whicker’s office in the best interview chair and facing Whicker across the desk. Whicker was perhaps fifty-five, solid, graying at the temples and with a ragged mustache.
    “Of course they worked together now and then,” he said tartly when Tellman asked. “Doesn’t your station cooperate, er…Tellman?”
    “Yes, it does, sir. And I know when they do,” he added.
    “What is it you’re expecting to learn?” Whicker frowned. “You already know that they went mob-handed because they were expecting a big purchase of opium. There could have been half a dozen dealers or buyers there. People who trade in that kind of stuff expect trouble, you know. They come prepared, and they can be violent.”
    “But they don’t plant bombs in the rooms and blow them up,” Tellman pointed out. “Bad for business to kill yourself, not to mention your customers. They were set up.” He said the words between his teeth, the hot anger and guilt and the fear of death all making his voice almost choked. “I need to know if the bomber meant to get these men, all of them, or just some of them…”
    “For God’s sake, man!” Whicker retorted violently, his face suffusing with color. “They don’t care who they get, they’re anarchists. They want chaos—terror—panic! You’ll never catch them if you chase after reasons.” There was pain in his eyes. He had lost five men.
    Tellman sat still, fighting not to lose his own control.
    “We don’t know that, sir. And I’m afraid there will soon be rumors around that they meant to get these men particularly. I want to kill that as soon as I can. If it was revenge, I want to be able to prove to anyone that it was unjust, and none of us did anything out of order.” He leaned forward. “I want to get these bastards, and knowing why they did it is about the only chance I’ve got of finding out who they are. I want them on trial, then I want them on the end of a rope. Don’t you?”
    Now Whicker was pale. He looked as if he were ready to snap the pencil he held in half. “Of course I do. They were my men, dammit. I know they had the odd failing now and then, but they were good men, policemen. What is it you’re imagining? I’ll show you all the records you want. You’ll see they