by Todd,Charles
“She has a point,” Rutledge said, scanning the room. But there was nothing here—and nothing in the rest of the house, although they looked—that gave any indication Mrs. Grant been frightened or left under duress.
Except the cat.
As they reached the front room again, Mrs. Mitchell scooped up the cat now winding around Rutledge’s legs. “I’ll see to her,” she said. “As long as need be.” And with nothing more to see, she walked out of the cottage and left them there.
“What do you think has become of her?” Neville asked as he set the lamp down where he’d found it and put it out.
“I don’t know. We should have a look at Belle Tout, all the same.”
They walked on to the lighthouse in silence, and when they reached the grounds began to search. Half an hour later, Rutledge said, “She isn’t here.”
“I find I’m glad of that,” Neville said, his gaze on the corner where they’d found Timothy Grant. “But there’s that other woman, the one Mrs. Grant thought her husband had taken up with. Do you think Mrs. Grant has gone to look for her?”
It was possible. But with a suitcase? If a wife went in search of the other woman, she generally went in anger, not taking the time to plan leaving.
Still. Mrs. Grant had been angry with her husband over the other woman, angry with the woman herself. But if she didn’t know where to find her, she might have taken a valise, expecting the search to take some time. Betty might not be as forthcoming with Delilah’s direction when Mrs. Grant came to call.
The question was, did she have the money to stay in a hotel for an uncertain number of days, if Grant had indeed absconded with her savings?
Hamish spoke, interrupting Rutledge’s thoughts. “The other lass in The Jolly Sailor couldna’ be sure it wasna’ a woman who left the message for Delilah.”
It was true.
Neville was looking at him. Rutledge turned away, surveying the light. “If Mrs. Grant killed her philandering husband, and then decided to kill the woman he was about to run away with, she might well have decided not to come back to the cottage.”
“But what did she do for money?” Neville asked, echoing Rutledge’s own thoughts.
“Perhaps Grant didn’t take the money his wife had set aside after all. Perhaps she thought that you might take her demands for a search more seriously if she claimed he’d stolen from her.”
“Good God. I never thought of that.” As they left the lighthouse and walked back toward the Gap, Neville added, “Why did she make such a fuss about him being missing, if she’d killed him?”
“You hadn’t found his body. And she couldn’t tell you where to look. Instead she badgered you. It must have worried her, Grant lying there at the lighthouse all that time. If no one found him, she couldn’t marry again. Or perhaps she thought the blame might fall on the woman in Eastbourne.”
It was a tidy solution. But Rutledge wasn’t satisfied with it. He’d met Mrs. Grant. He could imagine her picking up a pan from the kitchen and hitting her husband in a fit of anger over Delilah, then standing over him, realizing he’d broken his neck as he fell. It was even possible she’d managed to drag him to the lighthouse and hide his body there. But how could she get to Eastbourne?
He turned. “We didn’t go into the lighthouse. Is it locked?”
“Always has been, if only to keep the lads from exploring and hurting themselves on the stairs up to the light.”
They went back and tried the doors and the windows, but no one had been inside since the last owner had left.
Neville sighed. “I don’t like it.”
“Do lorries come through here? I’ve not seen them.”
“The upper road is more generally used. But yes, sometimes we have one passing through. Or they’re here to make a delivery to one of the shops.”
“Could she have begged a lift from one of the drivers?”
“It’s possible, sir,” Neville answered, a ring of doubt in his voice. “You must ask Constable Brewster about that. He might be able to tell you if he heard one passing.” He looked toward Belle Tout. “She’ll come back. She was that concerned about holding a service for her husband. She won’t want to miss that.”
“Yes, it’s time to see to that.”
Rutledge left him at his door and drove on to East Dedham.
He found Constable Brewster in the police station, talking to an older man.
Brewster looked up as Rutledge came through the door, excused himself to the man, and said, “Can I help you, sir?”
“Do you remember a lorry passing through here late last night?”
“As a matter of fact I do. Couldn’t miss the sound of him bouncing over the ruts out there in the street.”
“Which way was he going, could you tell?”
“At a guess, toward Seaford. That’s usually why they come through this way, and not take the main road.”
“Would the driver stop and give someone a lift?”
“I expect he would, if he was tired and wanted company to keep him awake. If he liked the look of the person. If he didn’t, he’d pass on by.”
“Do lorries come through very often?”
“More than I’d care for. They churn up the mud and make the ruts worse. Sometimes they pull over and sleep an hour or two up there on the headland. But that’s mainly in summer. Too cold this time of year.”
“Do you know if the lorry last night stopped for someone?”
“I was barely awake. Once I knew what the commotion was, there was no need to pay closer attention. I went back to sleep.”
Rutledge thanked him and left, although he could see that Brewster would have liked to ask him why he was so interested in a lorry.
He drove on to Trotter’s garage and spoke to the man, but he hadn’t heard the lorry.
“Sorry, I don’t usually take notice, unless they have trouble shifting or their brakes are bad. Now you’re here, are you still searching for a dark green motorcar that has red paint on a wing?”
“Very much so. Have you seen anything I ought to know about?”
Trotter shook his head. “My guess is you won’t find it hereabouts. If I owned that motorcar, and I knew what I’d done with it, I’d see it wasn’t found. If I had to drive it into Wales or Scotland until the hunt was over.”
An unwelcome thought. But far too likely.
“Have you been in Eastbourne in the past forty-eight hours?”
“Eastbourne? No, not since midweek. I had work in Newhaven. Why?”
“It’s not important.”
“Then why ask?”
“A policeman always asks questions. Sometimes the answers are useful.”
Rutledge turned back toward the village and saw Jem trudging down the road, hands in pockets, a sack over her shoulder.
He drew up beside her.
“Hallo.”
“Hallo,” she said, looking up at him. “You look dreadful.”
He was certain he did. There was the cut on his temple and possibly a rapidly blackening eye, and he hadn’t shaved since yesterday morning, his beard heavy and dark.
“I ran into a tree during the fire. I haven’t seen you since then. Your mother was worried about you that night. It’s not wise to stay out so late. And it’s unkind to worry her.”
“I didn’t mean to worry her. I couldn’t sleep.”
“In your wanderings, did you see any strangers about?”
“I don’t think so. I wasn’t looking to find anyone.”
“Are you sure? That fire was set, Jem. And if it wasn’t one of the tenants, then it’s likely to be a stranger.”
Quick to their defense, she said sharply, “One of us? We’d not do such a thing to the Captain!”
“I expect you wouldn’t. That’s why it’s worrying me. Who would do such a thing?”
“I don’t know. Nobody ever tells me anything about the Captain’s affairs. They don’t tell me anything at all about anything.” Her voice was aggrieved. “They send me away
when they want to talk seriously. I’m too young.”
“Have they been talking about serious matters of late?”
She shook her head. “Not since the Captain came home. Keeping the estate going during the war was a trial for all of us. Not enough money, not enough hands, no rain, too much rain, what to plant in which field for the coming year. My mum didn’t think I knew how she worried, but I did. About my brothers, about the work needing to be done. I tried to grow as fast as I could, but both of my brothers were big, like my father, and I’m never going to match that. I just know it.”
He hid a smile. “What have you got in your sack?”
“Onions. Carrots. A little sugar.” She reached in her pocket and drew out a shilling. “I found this on the road. Just where I lost mine. But you found them. You said. I think you didn’t want to look for them anymore and tricked me.” She held it out to him.
“I expect you aren’t the only person walking this road who has lost a shilling.”
Jem considered that. “I still think you tricked me. I don’t want pity. We’re poor, but we have our pride.”
Rutledge thought she must have heard that from her mother. “I don’t pity you,” he said. “You found that shilling fair and square. It would be wrong of me to take it, just to stay in your good graces. I’d rather you stay angry with me.”
That seemed to satisfy her. “You’re sure?” she asked, her hand still out.
“I found a penny in Eastbourne the other day.” It was a lie, but in a good cause. “Near the bandstand. There was no way to find the owner. I kept it. The only alternative was to toss it away again. And that’s foolish.”
“I’ve never seen the bandstand in Eastbourne,” she said wistfully. “I’ve never even been to Eastbourne.”
She was such a bright child, but her life was narrow and would become even more narrow when she married and had children of her own. It was likely she would never see Eastbourne.
“All right, get in,” he said. “I’ll drive you as far as the lane.”
“You really do know the Captain. I saw you helping him the night of the fire,” she said, tossing her sack into the back of the motorcar, making him wince. “You went inside with him, even.”
“I told you the truth there.” He hesitated. “Perhaps you trust me enough now to tell me what you saw the evening my tire was slashed.”
“I didn’t see anything,” she answered promptly. He could imagine that her brothers had taught her well not to carry tales. Had she seen something the night of the fire, despite her denial?
He couldn’t think of a way to make her tell him. Threatening to speak to her mother, or to take her to Standish, would only lose whatever tenuous connection he had with this girl. It continued to worry him that she had allowed herself to be seduced by the motorcar into accepting a ride from a stranger, policeman or not. And yet he couldn’t very well drive past her, knowing how far she still had to go.
They drove in silence for a time, and then she said, “If someone has lost something, must I tell when I’ve found it, even if he doesn’t want it now?”
“Like the shilling? You told me you’d found it, and I told you I hadn’t lost it. We’re square.”
“That’s the policeman’s decision?” she asked, staring straight ahead.
He turned and smiled at her. “That’s the policeman’s verdict.”
She turned and smiled at him then, a sweet smile that touched his heart. What was to become of Jem? And yet trying to meddle, to tell Standish that she ought to be in school and have a chance to better herself, might be the worst possible thing for her. She had roots here. She was loved here. That, in the long run, might be the safest and happiest place for her to stay. His London instincts might be the wrong avenue.
Jem got down at the lane and set off at a run, waving to him as she went.
He watched her out of sight, and then turned back to the village.
Rutledge had intended to go directly to The Sailor’s Friend to shave and change, but he was hailed just before he got there by Barnes.
“I say, what’s happened to you?” the Bishop’s man demanded. He sniffed the air as he leaned toward the motorcar’s window. “You haven’t been drinking, have you?” he added in a changed tone, self-righteous judgment strong in his voice.
“I was helping Captain Standish to put out the fire in his stable.”
“What fire? I haven’t heard of any fire. Was anyone hurt? In need of my services?”
“Fortunately, no.”
“I’ve stopped you to ask if you’ve made any progress in the matter of the late Rector’s death. I should like to see him properly interred before I leave to report to the Bishop.”
“There must be an inquest first. I’ll speak to Brewster about setting it up. It will have to be convened here in East Dedham. There isn’t a large enough room in Burling Gap. And there’s the inquest as well for Timothy Grant.”
“Who is this Grant? Why wasn’t I informed of his passing?”
“He’s a Chapel man from the Gap. His body was found at the lighthouse some days ago.”
“All the same, I should have been informed,” Barnes rejoined testily. “Wait a moment.”
He came around the bonnet and got in beside Rutledge. “We’ll speak to Constable Brewster together. This time I shan’t be left to wonder what is happening.”
Rutledge said nothing. Reversing, he turned back toward the police station, and the two men went in together.
Constable Brewster looked up in surprise to see Barnes as well as Inspector Rutledge coming through his door. He got to his feet, looked at Rutledge, and said, “Sir?”
“The inquests for both the Rector and Timothy Grant. Will you set them up? One at ten o’clock tomorrow and the other at eleven. It shouldn’t take long.”
“Dr. Hanby’s still in Eastbourne, sir.”
“I expect he’ll be back in East Dedham by this evening.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll speak to Josie, at the pub, about the room.”
“Good man.” Rutledge turned to Barnes. “Anything you care to add?”
“No, not at all. If you’re returning to the pub, I’ll go with you.”
They went out to the motorcar, and as he got in after turning the crank, Barnes said, “Two murders. Or there wouldn’t be two inquests. And if they’re no longer than you’ve indicated, you are not able to close the inquiry properly.”
Rutledge had had a very long day and night. “I don’t attempt to tell you how to serve your flock in St. Simon’s, and I don’t expect you to tell me how to handle my inquiry.”
Barnes stared at him. “Surely constructive criticism is never amiss.”
Holding on to his temper, Rutledge retorted, “Then perhaps it will not go amiss for me to tell you that Mr. Wright was a much-loved Rector of that church, and your Bishop ought to take great care in filling his place.”
Barnes blinked. “But he was a thief. He took another man’s motorcar without his consent. Everyone says so.”
“When we have all the facts, you may be right to call him that. But not before then.” He pulled into the yard of the pub and stopped. “The walk from here will do you good.”
And he waited. After a moment Barnes got out of the motorcar and strode away without another word.
Hamish said, “That was no’ well done.”
“No,” Rutledge answered him aloud, “but it was warranted.”
Taking the stairs two at a time, he went to his room and spent the next quarter of an hour repairing his appearance as far as it was possible to do so. And then, ignoring the siren call of his pillow, he sat down at the table by the window to bring his notebook up to date.
He still didn’t know what had become of Wright’s bicycle. Nor could he be sure that Delilah and her mother had gone to Canterbury, out of reach. As for Mrs. Grant, if she went looking for Delilah, she would find only an empty house waiting for her.
If Wright hadn’t killed Grant, who had? And where had Wright gon
e in the hours between taking Captain Standish’s motorcar and driving through the storm to East Dedham?
“Precious little for an inquest,” Hamish commented.
And it was. Still, there was the farmer—James—who had found Wright’s body. And truant boys who had discovered Grant. Then Constable Neville would present his evidence as the policeman responding. Dr. Hanby could attest to the cause of death, and the approximate time it had occurred. And then he, Rutledge, would be asked for the results of his inquiries. He would call for a finding of death by person or persons unknown and ask for a postponement while he pursued additional facts in the case. Acting Chief Superintendent Markham wouldn’t be pleased, but there it was. Nor would the Bishop, Rutledge thought wryly.
There was a heavy rain at dawn, but it settled into a foggy drizzle by nine thirty.
Brewster had arranged for the use of the room and sent for Captain Standish, who by this time was in possession of a gray mare, borrowed from a tenant, to conduct the inquest.
The inhabitants of Burling Gap and East Dedham gathered in force, despite the rain, and the room provided by the pub was crowded by the time Standish called the gathering to order and began the proceedings.
Both inquests went smoothly, as Rutledge had anticipated, although their audience was disappointed by the verdicts, having hoped to be presented with a villainous murderer or, at the very least, been given more details than they had already garnered through the gossips. People adjourned to the pub to argue the facts they had just heard and speculate on where they might lead, while others went to the dining room, where lunch was just being served.
As Rutledge was leaving the room, Standish called his name.
“I need to speak to you,” the Captain said.
But there was nowhere quiet enough for a private conversation.
In the end, they walked out into the rain and went to the motorcar.
Standish pulled his muffler closer about his throat against the cold, and said, “You like to play your cards close to your vest, do you not?”
“No closer than you have done, refusing to give me the names of the other drivers in Nice.”
“They had nothing to do with Wright. Look, he wasn’t coming from East Dedham or one of the sheep farms. He wasn’t coming from the Gap cottages. He could have reached any of those on his bicycle. He’d done it often enough. No, he’d been somewhere distant. By this time, you must know where. Why didn’t you choose to end this business today, and let us all return to what peace we can find?”
