Rex surmised that if she had been abducted and were still alive, the poor girl was probably wishing herself dead.
“Better take yer brolly,” Miss Bird advised as he put on his overcoat in the hallway.
He did so when he spied the overcast sky outside the front door.
Upon arriving at chambers he saw that Alistair’s door was ajar and found his friend standing at his desk sorting through a pile of documents.
“How are you, old fruit?” he asked upon seeing Rex.
“Wonderful. And you look a lot better.”
“John saw to my shiner and managed to counteract the red with some green camouflage makeup. I just have to remember not to touch my cheek.”
Rex asked if he still had the piece of paper that he had picked up off the ground with Pruitt’s address on it. He had remembered it as he fell asleep the previous night and had recalled its importance again upon waking.
Alistair paused with a stapled sheaf of paper in his hand and shook his head. “I emptied my pockets when I got home, as I customarily do, and tossed it into the fireplace.”
“Is it still there?”
“No, went up in smoke, my dear fellow. Was it important?”
“There was a name written on that bit of paper. Do you recall what it was?”
“I don’t. Sorry. There were a few things scribbled down. I didn’t think it was important.”
“The name was Pruitt’s suspect in the April Showers case. I called the hospital first thing this morning. He’s oot of intensive, though not well enough to receive visitors.”
“Let’s hope he makes a full recovery.”
“Aye, and I hope he can shed some light on what happened at his flat. He almost died. And you and I could have been killed too.”
“Wrong place, wrong time,” Alistair remarked. “But doesn’t it make you feel more alive? I feel electrified! And there I was thinking this was going to be a humdrum sort of week.”
“Humdrum sounds just fine with me. Not sure I could stand any more excitement. It was a close call, and I never even got the information I went there for in the first place. Right, well I best get going.”
The two men arranged to get together for lunch at their favourite pub close by in the Lawnmarket.
Alistair dipped his head at Rex’s court attire as he made to leave. “What’s the trial again?”
“Man charged with murdering his stepson. Open and shut. He was caught on the nanny-cam around the time of the child’s death.”
“Can’t get away with much nowadays, can you?” Alistair commented, busily bent over his papers with his hands planted on the desk.
Rex would bet Ramsay Garden was equipped with security cameras. He wished one had been installed at the back of Phoebe’s house, and then he’d have proof that something nefarious had occurred. His thoughts turned briefly to her garden and its hexagonal whitewood summerhouse. She had left a message for him the previous evening, but he had not had a chance to return her call due to all the drama at Ramsay Garden.
When he reached his office, he closed his door and rang Phoebe to give her an update on Richard Pruitt. She was shocked to hear what had happened to her father’s penfriend, but relieved that he had survived his ordeal.
“Does this have anything to do with Dad’s murder?” she asked.
“Not necessarily.” Rex flipped back the page of his desk calendar, checking his schedule. “Ramsay Garden could have been a house break-in gone wrong. I won’t know more until I can speak to him. He’s at the Royal Infirmary. They won’t let anyone visit yet.”
“I’m sorry I got you involved in all this. Are you all right?”
Rex told her only that he had been drugged, so as not to alarm her, and added, “When I met whom I thought to be Pruitt at his home, he was not wearing the bow tie I remember from the media coverage a decade ago. And he sounded different than on the phone, though he didn’t say much in person, at least to begin with. He seemed different in a lot of ways, but I just assumed it was Pruitt.”
“And people do change, especially when they’ve been through a lot,” Phoebe said.
“In addition,” Rex went on, “his impersonator didn’t seem to know about the American stamp. That’s when my antenna went up, but I was already under the influence of whatever he had put in my whisky. And then he attacked my colleague with a knife.” Phoebe gasped at the other end of the line. “Fortunately Alistair was wearing his fencing jacket under his coat. The tournament he was supposed to have been competing in was cancelled, and he came to Ramsay Garden to assist me.”
“I bet you, though, Pruitt is guilty of April Showers’ murder,” Phoebe said. “I always thought so in spite of what Dad might have thought. Why else would someone come after him if not seeking revenge? Have you looked into her family?”
“It’s been over ten years,” Rex said dubiously.
“Someone biding their time,” Phoebe suggested. “Perhaps a relative. What if her mum died recently and April’s dad decided to seek justice at last? Perhaps his wife dissuaded him from doing anything while she was alive.”
“Or else Pruitt made an enemy in his stamp business or other activities,” Rex said. “Did you know he collects third world weaponry and masks as well?”
“I always thought he was a bit strange when I saw him on TV. And I’m a little suspicious of aging bachelors. You always wonder if they have something to hide.”
“My friend Alistair has never been married,” Rex answered in amusement. “But I’m sure you’d find him quite charming. And very upfront.”
“I’d like to meet him,” Phoebe enthused. “Perhaps you could bring him on your next visit. I’d like to thank him for coming to your rescue. I wonder what your attacker planned on doing with you once you were knocked out by whatever he put in your drink?”
Rex refrained again from telling her about being bound at knifepoint. He did mention, however, that Alistair had a live-in partner, which seemed to deflate her. He realized then that he had inadvertently raised her hopes. Simultaneously, his desk phone buzzed and someone knocked at the door. The work day was beginning in earnest. He assured Phoebe he would call again when he’d had a chance to visit Richard Pruitt in hospital.
“Be careful,” she said with feeling. “I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you.”
Fourteen
Deacon Brodie’s Tavern on the Royal Mile, in the Old Town, sported large arched windows and elegant black trim, but more importantly served craft ales to suit Alistair and good bar food to satisfy Rex. They went inside and found unoccupied seats at one of the tall tables arranged on the polished wood floor.
Rex ordered a Guinness and the haddock in batter with chips. He received a few curious glances, dressed as he was in his old-fashioned court clothes, and wondered if the customers took him for an historic tour guide or else a small-time actor on his lunch break. A Japanese tourist snapped a picture of him with his phone. Alistair raised a disapproving eyebrow at the man and another when Rex’s plate arrived.
“Stodgy, much?” he asked.
“I missed dinner last night. Things got a little hairy at Ramsay Garden, if you recall.”
Alistair fastidiously picked at his cheese and chutney sandwich and salad. “I haven’t heard back from the detective. Have you?”
Rex shook his head. “Presumably the police have no leads yet. After all, we weren’t able to give a really good description of the man, except for his clothes. He might have been wearing a jacket or something over his blue sweater when he attacked Pruitt because I didn’t notice any blood on him. Other than that, he didn’t really have any distinguishing characteristics to speak of.”
“Just your average middle-aged bloke, pasty-faced and with a bit of a beer belly,” Alistair agreed. “And thinning, sandy hair.”
“I should have remembered Richard Pruitt had no hair.�
� Rex scooped up a forkful of mushy peas. “Not even sure I could recognize him again at a distance. Pruitt might know who he is.”
“Incidentally, John is friendly with a nurse on his wing. She’ll be on duty this afternoon and can probably get you in for a visit if you say you’re his brother or another family member.”
“Not sure I want to be related.”
“All in a good cause.”
“I have to be back in court at two,” Rex said. “But I’ll drive over later, if I can.”
“What I wouldn’t give to catch that maniac,” Alistair said between clenched teeth. “I’m sure he left Pruitt for dead. I’m equally sure you would have suffered the same fate.”
“I hope he hasn’t heard he likely failed in his attempt on Pruitt. While Pruitt’s in hospital, he’s safe enough. It’s when he comes oot that worries me. We don’t want our man coming back to finish the job.”
“And us,” Alistair said. “We’re witnesses, after all. Better keep our eyes peeled until he’s apprehended.”
“If he’s ever apprehended,” Rex corrected. “It’s all right for you. You’re trained in the martial arts. I’m aboot as lethal as one of these chips.” He pronged a limp strip of potato on his fork, almost wishing Phoebe Wells had never invited him to Canterbury and set him on this dangerous path.
Fifteen
Medical personnel in scrubs strode along the corridors in squeaky-soled shoes. A pair of nurses stood gossiping and giggling in a corner, but the overall atmosphere was grim. After all, there was no pleasant reason to be in hospital unless you were in the maternity ward, Rex reflected, and this was Men’s Surgical. A patient swung past on a pair of crutches, one leg heavily bandaged to the knee.
Rex’s escort led him into a small room smelling of antiseptic and consisting of six narrow beds on wheels, half of them empty, while two were occupied by seemingly comatose bodies. Rex unbuttoned his coat.
“Five minutes,” the nurse told him in no uncertain terms, stopping at the foot of the last bed. “Talking is painful in his condition. Don’t get him excited.”
“Well, you look a sight better than when I last saw you,” Rex announced upon seeing a more recognizable Pruitt, who was propped up against two hospital pillows, a large plaster stuck to his neck and secured by a bandage. The nurse left.
“No tubes, as you can see,” Richard Pruitt rasped with obvious effort, offering a wan smile. “Breathing on my own now.” Though weak, he seemed surprisingly cheerful. Rex thought perhaps he deemed himself fortunate to be alive, as well he ought, considering the nature of his wound. “What happened to your own neck?” the patient asked.
Rex rearranged his scarf to cover up his bruises. “Your impersonator nearly strangled me with a rope.” He pulled a visitor’s chair up to the bed.
“Oh.” Pruitt winced. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea. I vaguely remember someone coming to my assistance.”
“Alistair Frazer, a friend and colleague of mine.”
“Well, it’s mostly his voice I remember.” He gazed myopically at Rex. An indentation on the bridge of his nose attested to the long use of eyeglasses. “What happened?”
Rex explained his side of events and asked Pruitt for his.
Pruitt looked at him sideways while he spoke, keeping his head immobile on the pillow. “He said on the phone he was interested in one of the early Victorian stamps I had listed. He wanted to see it in person since it was a bit pricey. I didn’t think twice as buyers do sometimes come to my home.”
He reached to the bedside table for his beaker of water and took a careful sip. “When he arrived, I simply buzzed him in. Stupidly, I never thought if I could find him, he could find me. But now you believe me, don’t you, Mr. Graves?” Pruitt asked feverishly, straining his voice. Reflexively, his hand flew to the white bandage covering his throat and he sank back into the pillows.
“Don’t exert yourself,” Rex soothed, though eager to learn more. He waited until Pruitt had recovered sufficiently. “Who are we talking aboot?” he asked when the man’s moon face had smoothed out again and he was breathing more evenly.
“Dan Sutter! I’ll have to replace that incompetent private detective. Sutter must have spotted him when he was being tailed.”
“Sutter,” Rex repeated. That was the name he had jotted on the piece of paper that had fallen out of his pocket. “The man you think was responsible for assaulting April Showers and for whose murder you said you almost took the blame?”
Pruitt nodded and immediately groaned. “Must remember not to do that,” he said with an attempt at a grin. “Judge Murgatroyd put Sutter away shortly after for burgling a home where a young girl resided. She sounded the alarm when she found him in her room.”
“Aye, I remember you telling me that on the phone.”
“I’m convinced he went in to molest her, but it couldn’t be proved. He copped only to breaking into the house with intent to steal.”
Rex got the distinct impression from the way Pruitt spoke that he watched American cop shows. “Where does Sutter live now that he’s oot of prison?”
“In a hostel near Waverley Station.” Pruitt took another sip of water and swallowed with difficulty.
“And you think he came to your home under the pretext of buying a stamp in order to kill you?”
“Because I know the truth regarding April Showers.” Pruitt’s voice came out in forced breaths. Sweat beaded his brow and bald, egg-shaped crown. “He murdered that girl and it’s been my mission these past ten years to prove it and exonerate myself.” He began to cough and splutter.
The nurse bounced back in the room and frowned at Rex. “It’s been five minutes,” she said, tapping the watch pinned to her tunic, before he could ask Pruitt what proof he had.
However, he didn’t want to abuse the privilege she had accorded him in letting him visit the patient, which she had only done as a
favour to Alistair’s partner. Rex rose and told Richard Pruitt he would return when he felt stronger, and he asked what he could bring.
“Not grapes,” the injured man rasped. “I can’t eat solids yet. Books. Scottish history, if you would be so kind. You do believe me, don’t you?” he insisted, turning his head and creasing his bandage in the process.
The nurse chided him for moving about and not taking care of his stitches.
“And chocolates for you,” Rex said following her out of the hospital room.
Night had fallen by the time he left the building. He regained his car in the parking lot, and, just as he turned the key in the ignition, his phone vibrated in his coat pocket. He saw the call was from Phoebe Wells.
“Very timely,” he said. “I’ve just left the hospital. Pruitt is on the road to recovery, I’m pleased to report.”
“That’s good,” Phoebe said excitedly. “But what I was ringing about is that Annie unwittingly found a vital clue in my father’s murder. I need you to come to Canterbury as soon as possible. It’s really, really important!”
Sixteen
After Rex had spoken to Phoebe he rang Pete Lauper, the detective chief inspector he and Alistair had spoken to the previous evening at Ramsay Garden. He told him Pruitt’s assailant was one Dan Sutter.
“And how do you know that?” DCI Lauper demanded. “You had no idea who the man was yesterday.”
“I’ve just come from the hospital.”
“You spoke with Richard Pruitt?” The detective sounded put out in the extreme. An irascible man with a permanent scowl, Rex had no difficulty picturing him at this moment. “And how did you manage that?”
“I, ehm, a nurse let me in for five minutes.”
“Mr. Graves, you should have let me question him first. I understand you have an interest in solving murders in your free time, but this is my job. I was told Richard Pruitt was in no condition to receive visitors.”
“He’s still
very weak. I was only permitted a visit as a special favour. I don’t want to get the nurse in any trouble.”
“Well, where is this Dan Sutter now?” the detective further demanded while Rex looked about him at the cars parked in long rows under the lights. “We only got an indistinct glimpse on the CCTV video camera of the man entering and leaving the Ramsay Garden tower,” he griped.
“He lives in a hostel near the railway station.”
“What else do you know about him?”
“He has a prior conviction for breaking into a house with a knife and served ten years at HMP Shotts. That’s as much as I know.” For now, Rex added to himself, his intention being to find out more.
“Well, thank you for that information,” Lauper said with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “But I will conduct the search from now on, is that understood?”
“Understood.” Rex bid him a civil goodbye and drove back to Morningside, mulling over his phone conversation with the apoplectic detective and also with Phoebe.
She had refused to tell him what the clue was in her father’s murder, saying he would just have to “wait and see,” as though it were some kind of game she was organizing for his amusement. He sighed. Now he would have to tell his fiancée that her trip to Edinburgh this weekend was postponed.
After dinner he went up to his rooms and worked through the files he had procured that day on the felons whom Judge Murgatroyd had convicted, making a list of possible suspects in his alleged murder. He excluded lifers and those too old to have accomplished the climbing feat required to get into Phoebe’s house. For now he worked on the assumption that, if this was a crime of revenge, the perpetrator most likely would have wanted to exact the revenge himself.
The list turned out to be predictably long, comprising the worst of criminals, along with the Parliament House bomber, who had been released in time to murder the judge.
The whereabouts of each and every one would have to be looked into, unless Phoebe’s latest clue panned out, a task he would relegate to his young friend Thaddeus. The well-connected techno whizz had assisted him in several private cases in return for Rex’s influence in helping him secure a position at a prestigious law firm in London.
Judgment of Murder Page 7
