Hunting Shadows: An Inspector Ian Rutledge Mystery

by Charles Todd

  “He was there on the one day Captain Hutchinson came north to the Fens. How many people do you think knew he was coming then? And Thornton, of all the mourners, stayed outside. It’s a question that must be answered.”

  “Well, I hope you’re wrong. I must tell you that.”

  He didn’t reply. A murder inquiry was inexorable, and there was nothing to be done if the killer was a neighbor or a cousin or a father. When the facts fell into place, nothing could change them. Not even pity.

  When he had taken her back to the inn, leaving the motor running as he helped her down, she said, “You’re going to ask him about Burwell, aren’t you?”

  “I have to do that.”

  “Don’t tell him I was the one who gave him away. Will you promise? I don’t think I could bear it if you did.”

  “I shan’t tell him. But if he’s taken into custody, you’ll have to testify that you saw him that day in Burwell. There’s nothing I can do about that.”

  “But only if you’re sure,” she pleaded. “Only if he’s taken into custody. When that happens, it won’t matter, will it?”

  “I promise.” But he thought he had very little hope of living up to that promise.

  When Rutledge reached Isleham, he found that Thornton was in.

  There were circles beneath his eyes, as if he’d spent a restless night.

  Rutledge’s first question was “Do you own a bicycle?”

  Thornton regarded him warily. “Why are you asking about bicycles?”

  “It’s a quiet and simple means of travel. The roads are flat, if long, and the distances are not too great.” He smiled. “No hedgerows with blind corners.”

  “Yes. I do, as a matter of fact,” Thornton said. “I prefer the motorcar these days, but I used to enjoy riding.”

  “Were you riding it last evening?”

  Thornton was alert now. “No. I was not.”

  “Yet your housekeeper told me you’d gone for a walk. I also walked around this village. And if you were here, where were you?”

  “We probably just missed each other.”

  “How long was your walk?”

  Thornton shrugged. “I wasn’t concerned about time. I was trying to rid myself of cobwebs. You don’t do that by looking at your watch every few minutes.”

  “You lied to me again, you know,” Rutledge said pleasantly.

  “Lied? I assure you I did not.”

  “I remember asking if you’d attended the funeral services in Burwell for Major Clayton. You told me you hadn’t. That you avoid funerals and memorial services.”

  “That was the truth.”

  “Was it? Then how do you explain the fact that someone saw you there, at St. Mary’s Church, and recognized you?”

  That was a shock. Thornton couldn’t quite conceal it. “I told you the truth. I did not attend the funeral. Nor did I go to the luncheon afterward.”

  “What you didn’t tell me was that you were in Burwell at the time. And standing within sight of St. Mary’s. Where you could watch mourners enter and leave the church.”

  “I’ve told you I don’t do well with funerals. I paid my respects in my own fashion. And that as far as I know is not a crime.”

  “You also saw Captain Hutchinson there.”

  “What of it? Do you think if I’d wanted to kill him, I’d have waited until he happened to come to the Fen country? It doesn’t say much for the depth of my desire for revenge. Still, it does rather point a finger in my direction. Do you think I’d be so foolish?”

  Rutledge judged he was lying again. “But you didn’t have to wait very long. He came to Ely for the wedding.”

  “How could I have known that? I wasn’t invited to the wedding, if you remember.”

  “You didn’t need an invitation. The wedding guests were mentioned in the Ely paper.”

  “I’m sure they were. But I don’t take the Ely newspaper. The Times is delivered to me. A day late, of course, but it’s my choice in newspapers.”

  Pinning this man down was nearly impossible. Rutledge was annoyed with him.

  He said, “There are several things recommending you as a candidate for villain. You’ve lied to me several times. You served under Major Clayton. You were in Burwell on the day he was buried, and you knew Swift far better than you’d led me to believe. If this is coincidence, then it’s leaning heavily in the favor of suspicion.”

  “All right. Answer me this. Why should I kill Captain Hutchinson, a man I didn’t know and had no reason to hate.”

  Rutledge took the gamble.

  “Because,” he said slowly, “you were the man Mary Whiting was engaged to when she met Hutchinson and was swept off her feet.”

  Thornton’s face flamed, anger almost a visible thing in the room.

  “Who the hell has filled your head with such nonsense?” he said finally, getting himself back in hand.

  “Is it nonsense? I think not. I haven’t been able to learn that man’s name, but Alice Worth knows it. It’s only a matter of time before I’ll have it from her. She was Mary’s friend, you know. In fact, she would prefer to see Hutchinson’s killer go free, because she knows why he wanted to kill the Captain.”

  “Alice who? Did you say Worth? I don’t know anyone by that name. Are you quite sure she’ll point to me?”

  “She lives in London. She knew all about Mary’s visit to Newmarket with her uncle Thaddeus. And that Mary fell in love there. She knows too that Mary changed her mind about marrying the man she met there. Mary lived to regret it. That’s why she slit her wrists, she had nothing to live for and much to regret. Not even the child she’d been carrying lived to comfort her.”

  When Thornton said nothing, his face like stone, Rutledge asked, “Have you no defense to offer?”

  Instead Thornton walked to the door of the room. “You can leave now. I have nothing more to say to you.”

  “Was the child yours, not Hutchinson’s?”

  Thornton wheeled. “Damn you, she wasn’t that sort of woman.”

  “Then you knew her.”

  “Yes, I knew her. I was in France when she died. She wrote to me. A farewell letter. She said she had no reason to live. She told me how much she regretted leaving me. She told me she’d made the wrong choice and had suffered for what she’d done. She thought the child’s death was her punishment. I could tell—I knew her that well—that she was going to do something silly. I went to my sergeant and begged for leave. He knew I wasn’t married and so I told him my mother was dying. But things were going badly, we were being pushed back, pushed hard in those early days of the fighting. He refused permission, and so did the Lieutenant. I was frantic, I wrote to her and told her that life was worth living, that we would find a way to be happy. But she was dead before the letter reached her.”

  “How do you know?”

  “The letter was returned with DECEASED printed across the address. I wanted to kill Hutchinson. Our paths never crossed. He spent more time at HQ than in the trenches, or so I was told. I looked for him in London when I came back. He was still in France, something to do with the treaty. And then he came to Burwell, and I could have killed him with my bare hands. But it was Major Clayton’s funeral. I couldn’t do it.”

  “Then Ely was your next chance.”

  “I thought it was. Instead someone else killed him before I could.”

  “You expect me to believe that?”

  “I don’t care if you do or you don’t. I didn’t kill the man.”

  “What I don’t understand is why you killed Swift.”

  “I didn’t. Why should I? He had nothing to do with Mary’s death.”

  “To confound the police? Unfortunately, instead it brought in Scotland Yard.”

  “I can’t think of anyone else who hated Hutchinson as much as I did. As much as I still do. But someo
ne must have had a reason. Whoever he is, he’s cheated me of the satisfaction. And you must ask him why Swift died.”

  “Nevertheless.”

  “I’m not a solicitor, but I’m sure you can’t charge me with one death when there’s no evidence of my involvement in the other one. And if I protest my innocence of Hutchinson’s killing, then I must protest my innocence in Swift’s. I shall hire the best attorney in Ely or even Cambridge if it comes to that. And when it’s finished, you’ll look a fool.” He was still very angry.

  “I very much doubt that. The Chief Constable is pressing Inspector Warren in Ely for a swift closure of this case. He’ll be very pleased that we’ve finally done just that.”

  The two men considered each other.

  “I expect we’ve reached an impasse,” Thornton said after a moment.

  “Hardly an impasse,” Rutledge said. “I have the authority to take you into custody and let the courts sort out the question of guilt.”

  “Yes, that’s true.” Thornton was standing by the globe. He twirled it with his fingertips, watching it spin, and then turned to Rutledge. “Are you a betting man?”

  “I’m not. I haven’t been lucky.”

  “In life? In love? Very well, don’t answer that. But I’ll make you a sporting proposition. One that I think will appeal to you.”

  Rutledge smiled. “Indeed? What do you have to barter with?”

  “For starters, my life,” Thornton said, quite serious. “And my own need for answers. Someone killed Hutchinson for me, but I don’t find that acceptable. And so I don’t owe his killer anything. I didn’t have the pleasure of watching the man die at my hands.”

  “Only through the sights of a rifle.”

  “You were in France. Did killing men with your rifle or your revolver give you any satisfaction?”

  “No. They had to die or my men would.”

  “Precisely.”

  “We can search this house and the outbuildings. Is the rifle here?”

  Thornton took a deep breath. “You are a determined man. Let me finish. I will help you with this search for Hutchinson’s murderer—and Swift’s. In return you’ll leave me free to do just that. Rest assured, I won’t kill the bastard when I find him. The hangman can do it for me.”

  “I don’t consider that much of a bargain, when I can stop this nonsense now and be on my way to London tomorrow.”

  “Is it nonsense? I know these Fens. Far more intimately than you ever will. Did you find your valise intact after my rather cursory search?”

  It was Rutledge’s turn to stare. He hadn’t expected Thornton to confess to that.

  “Yes, I was there in the mist. Searching. When I stumbled on you, I did wonder if you were the person I was after. I could have let you wander about until you’d broken your neck falling into a ditch or off the bridge. Instead, I made sure you weren’t stalking a new victim and then I got you to safety. I’ve walked these villages, ridden my bicycle through them, driven along every mile of road. He’s out there, I tell you. Elusive, a shadow. But together we just might find him.”

  It was a persuasive argument. Yet Hamish was urging Rutledge to decline the bargain.

  But Rutledge was an experienced policeman. And he wanted proof. Not promises.

  “I could claim the same thing. That you were walking into Wriston to search out a fresh target. Which of course you did. Burrows.”

  “Burrows was surely a decoy. I can’t think of any reason for wanting him dead, short of madness. And this killer isn’t mad. He knows what he wants, and I have a very strong feeling he’s finished his work here. We can still lose him, you know. Both of us.”

  “An interesting theory. But you can’t prove it. It won’t be proven until we have our man. At the moment, you’re the one I want. You’re too clever by half. And I have no reason to trust you.”

  “Then I’ll give you what I know. He uses a bicycle to get around the Fens. He moves at night.”

  “But you were on a bicycle. Last night.”

  “Where?” he asked sharply.

  “On the High Street in Wriston. Pedaling in the direction of the windmill.”

  “But I wasn’t in Wriston. I was in Wicken. Don’t you see, that was him.”

  “Prove it.”

  “Actually I can. Tom Hendricks’s little dog got out and was barking at me. Tom came out to see what the fuss was all about, and he called off his dog when he recognized me. I told him I’d been visiting friends and was on my way home. He thought at first it must be the murderer. Everyone is worried he might be a neighbor or the ironmonger or the man who keeps bees.”

  “When was this?”

  “Close on ten, I should think.”

  If it was true, then Thornton couldn’t have been in Wriston.

  “I’ll find this Hendricks and ask him.”

  “Even better, I’ll accompany you, shall I? It will save time.” Thornton walked to the door. “After you, Inspector.”

  When they had arrived in Wicken, Rutledge said, “It will do no good if you are standing there, coaching the man to give the right answers. I’ll interview him alone.” Thornton was about to argue, but Rutledge said, “If you prefer, I can take you to Ely and leave it to Inspector Warren to speak to Hendricks.”

  “Yes, all right,” Thornton retorted impatiently.

  He pointed out the Wicken village store, which Hendricks owned, and Rutledge left the motorcar down the lane just beyond where it stood on the main street. He walked around the corner to the door just as Hendricks himself stepped out to watch workmen repairing a roof across the way. Rutledge quickly discovered that it wasn’t going to be as simple to question him as Thornton had promised.

  Scratching his ear, the man said, “Yes, Mr. Thornton was in Wicken. My dog took out after him something fierce. Teddy doesn’t care for bicycles.”

  “Can you tell me what time it was when you saw him?” Rutledge asked.

  “As to that, now, I’m not sure. I didn’t take any notice. Late, I’d say.”

  “Closer to nine o’clock? Or after eleven,” Rutledge asked.

  “I’d fallen asleep in my chair, you see. Teddy’s barking woke me up. Given all that trouble in Wriston and Ely, I got up to find out what the matter was. But I never looked at the time. I went back inside and went to bed.”

  “It’s rather important, Mr. Hendricks.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ve no idea. My guess is closer to ten, but it could have been as early as nine. Why does it matter?”

  “We’re trying to sort out a problem. Thank you, Mr. Hendricks. I’m staying in Wriston just now. If you remember anything that would be helpful, you can send word to the constable there.”

  “That will be McBride, would it?” He moved aside so that two women, their market baskets over their arms, could enter the shop. “I must go. They’ll be wanting help,” he said, and turned away, stepping back inside.

  He’d verified that Thornton had indeed been in the village. But it was the time that was critical, and that the shopkeeper had failed to supply.

  Rutledge walked back to the motorcar, debating with himself whether this had been a wild-goose chase or if Hendricks would conveniently remember the time when the local constable took down his statement.

  The motorcar was where he’d left it, just past the corner.

  And it was empty.

  Swearing, Rutledge looked up and down the lane in both directions, but there was no sign of Thornton.

  Chapter 18

  I should have kept my eye on him, he thought. Damn the man!

  He got into the motorcar and quartered the village, following first one lane to its end and then the next. He was just coming up the last one when he saw Thornton leaving a house.

  He hailed Rutledge and said, “The Petersons live here. Next door to Hendricks. But he swears he never he
ard the little dog.”

  Rutledge didn’t answer. He was too angry with Thornton.

  After a moment’s hesitation, the man got into the motorcar and said, “For its size the blasted little dog made enough racket to wake the dead. But neither Peterson nor the man on the other side of the Hendricks admit to hearing anything.”

  “So much for proof.”

  “Look, I was here.”

  Rutledge said nothing. He drove out of Wicken and toward Wriston, intending to continue on to Ely while Thornton was in the motorcar.

  They were not far from Wriston when Thornton said, “Have you considered? I’m talking about the way Hutchinson treated Mary. Was there another woman? I could never understand why he treated her so shabbily.”

  “It was very likely her money he was after. His sister is still living in the house in London that had belonged to Mary.”

  “Then why hadn’t he remarried? There must be other wealthy women he could charm.”

  Rutledge remembered what he’d been told about Hutchinson’s attentions to Major Clayton’s sister. And then he’d gone back to London with the Colonel because she was staying on in Burwell for a few days. Because he discovered she was already engaged?

  “There’s a missing servant girl,” he suggested, testing the waters.

  Thornton shook his head. “He wouldn’t be such a fool. She’d be poor as a church mouse. And Hutchinson falling in love boggles the mind. What did you learn in Ely? There must have been something useful—there must have been what? Half a hundred people there, if not more.”

  “They saw nothing.”

  “Ah. That explains why you moved on to Wriston. I’d wondered.”

  “I thought Swift’s murder would be easier to solve. As it has turned out, I was right from the beginning. Hutchinson’s death was the one that mattered.”

  “You won’t know that until you’ve found out who killed Swift.” Thornton put a hand to his forehead, massaging it as if it ached. “Did Swift and Hutchinson ever cross paths?”