‘Working for His Portliness is fun, is it not?’ he remarked jovially to Chaloner. ‘I mean, what other employer leaves a man to his own devices day and night, and reimburses his expenses in the morning?’
‘Not yours,’ said Chaloner. ‘He will be horrified if he thinks you frequent brothels — whether you do it on his behalf or not — and if you present him with a bill for women, he will dismiss you.’
Turner regarded him uncertainly. ‘You jest. He is not that prudish.’
‘Try him, and see.’
Turner grimaced. ‘Then I had better curtail my spending. Neale can pay for his own whore.’
Chaloner doubted the lad would be needing one that night. ‘Has he been worth the expense?’
‘He provided me with a snippet or two. What about you? What have you learned so far?’
‘Not nearly enough,’ replied Chaloner gloomily.
Turner looked pleased with himself. ‘I, on the other hand, have done rather well — with the murders, at least. I have had no luck at all with the statue. The thief is clever. He removed it with no one seeing — no mean feat, considering its weight — and has contrived to make it disappear completely.’
Chaloner disagreed. ‘He is not clever, or he would have stolen a piece that is less famous. Everyone knows the old king’s bust is stolen, and he will never sell it for what it is really worth.’
Turner raised his eyebrows. ‘Is it famous? I thought it was just one in a whole room of similar tripe — worthy and full of artistic merit, to be sure, but not something you would want in your own house.’
Chaloner was surprised he should be so dismissive. ‘Bernini is the greatest living sculptor in the world.’
Turner grimaced. ‘Well, perhaps he was having a bad day when he made that one.’
Chaloner did not want to discuss art with someone who knew even less about it than he did. ‘What have you learned about the murders?’ he asked instead.
Turner preened. ‘I have uncovered evidence that points to Greene’s guilt. I know you do not share His Portliness’s suspicions, but it seems the old goat was right. In fact, it was because he seemed so certain that I decided to concentrate all my efforts on Greene, to see what I could learn about him.’
It was not a bad strategy, and Chaloner wondered whether he should have done the same. It would have pleased the Earl, and might even have secured his future employment. ‘What did you find out?’
Turner’s expression was amused. ‘Is this to be a one-way exchange of intelligence, or do you intend to reciprocate? I do not want you to claim all the credit for solving the case, because I enjoy spying for His Portliness and would like to carry on working for him.’
‘I doubt he has the resources to hire us both long-term. I know he was recently awarded additional funds to expand his staff, but that was for administration, not the kind of work that we do.’
‘Shall we be rivals, then?’ asked Turner, fingering his ear-string.
Chaloner shook his head tiredly. ‘That might mean more murders. If the best way to catch this villain is by pooling our resources, then that is what we must do. So, you can tell me what you have learned about Greene, and I will tell you what I have learned about the victims.’
‘You first, then,’ said Turner slyly.
‘I devised a list of common acquaintances — not casual ones, such as might be made by working in the same place, but more meaningful ones. They include Neale, Gold and his wife Bess, Doling, the Lea brothers, Hargrave, Tryan and of course Greene. And Jones, who is dead, too.’
He omitted Swaddell because of the assassin’s connections to the Spymaster — Chaloner did not understand what Swaddell was doing, but it seemed wise to keep his suspicions to himself — and Symons because he did not want Margaret disturbed during her final hours. Of course, Turner already knew the names of the men Chaloner had listed, because he had inveigled himself into their society when they had met at John’s Coffee House.
The colonel waved a dismissive hand, unimpressed. ‘If Greene is the killer, then these other “suspects” are irrele vant. Tell me something useful, or I shall keep my own information to myself.’
‘Is Greene the killer? He was in Wapping with his priest when Langston was killed, and I was watching his house when Vine died.’
‘And we know what time Langston breathed his last, because of Lady Castlemaine’s testimony,’ mused Turner. ‘She saw him alive just before four o’clock in the morning — and the Earl found the body not long after that. However, what if the Lady is mistaken? And what if Greene managed to slip past you the other night? Neither alibi is perfect.’
‘But why would Greene kill these men? All had dark pasts that may have earned them enemies: Chetwynd was corrupt, Vine blackmailed people, and Langston wrote bawdy plays. However, these are not reasons for Greene to kill them.’
Turner frowned. ‘I do not follow you.’
‘The culprit will be someone who was a victim of Chetwynd’s corruption or Vine’s penchant for blackmail. And he will be someone who was shocked by Langston’s bawdy plays — Greene may well have enjoyed them, given what Neale says about his liking for brothels.’
He ignored the clamouring voice in his head that demanded to know why Greene should have been throwing three leather purses in the Thames.
Turner’s expression was doubtful. ‘You have made this very complicated. But let me tell you what I have found out. On Thursday and Saturday evenings — the nights when Chetwynd and Vine were murdered — Greene went to the cellars and begged for brandywine. He told the man in charge, a fellow called Munt, that he was working late and needed refreshment. But Munt passed Greene’s office later, and said it was in darkness both times.’
Chaloner had been watching Greene on Saturday, but had not seen him visit the cellars. However, the building in which Greene worked had far too many doors for a lone man to monitor, so he supposed it was possible the clerk had eluded him.
‘Are you sure Munt is telling the truth?’
‘Yes, because he was indignant about being played for a fool — Greene preyed on his sympathy as a man obliged to slave long hours, then sloped off. And he did it not once, but twice. But I know what really happened: Greene added poison to this brandywine and fed it to his victims.’
Chaloner frowned. ‘Is Munt certain about the days — Thursday and Saturday?’
‘Ask him yourself. And let us not forget the brandy-wine I found hidden in Greene’s office, either. It all adds up to something suspicious.’
‘If you are so certain Greene is the killer, then why have you not arrested him? That is what the Earl wants, and he will certainly continue to hire you if you prove him right.’
For the first time, Turner’s cheery confidence wavered. He frowned uneasily. ‘Because arresting Greene will lead to a speedy conviction and death at the end of a rope. If I am to be instrumental in sending a man to the gallows, then I must be certain of his guilt.’
Chaloner regarded him quizzically. The colonel did not seem like the kind of man who would allow scruples to interfere with his plans for a comfortable future.
‘You do not believe me,’ said Turner, seeing what he was thinking. ‘But it is quite true. I was obliged to break the law during the Commonwealth, when self-declared Royalists like me struggled to earn a living, and I might have been executed myself. So, I shall tell His Portliness my findings only when I am sure Greene is guilty, and not a moment before. That is where you come in.’
Chaloner smothered a smile. ‘It is, is it?’
‘I want you to confirm what I have learned. Then we can share responsibility for Greene’s death.’
‘It will also mean we shall share credit for a case you have solved.’
‘Yes, but at least I shall be able to sleep at night — and the importance of guilt-free slumber should never be underestimated. However, I do not plan on doing much dozing this evening. I shall have Belle first, but then who else? Which of these lovely lasses will best appreciate my company, do you think?’