Part 15 (1/2)

”What in particular do you want to know?” she asked, confused. ”This has nothing to do with the murders here, does it?”

”It's an old case,” he said lightly. ”But one I was a.s.signed to when I was young and far from wise. I'd like to know if Sunderland described it to his friends. Or if Raleigh Masters ever discussed it with his wife. At the time it attracted considerable attention-it would be natural to relive it.”

Elizabeth nodded. ”Oh-yes. Weren't you about to ask Raleigh when he had one of his spells? I'll try to see what I can learn.” It was as if she was grateful that the request was impersonal. ”But I don't know that Bella can tell me much, if it wasn't Raleigh's case-”

”I understand that. A shot in the dark, if you will.”

Her eyes probed his face. Then she said, unexpectedly, ”Ian, is something about this case worrying you? You haven't been quite the same since you were here the last time, you know. I shall do this, of course I shall, but if there's a reason you aren't telling me, I want you to know that you can trust me-”

He could have told her that she was the one who had changed. Not he.

Hamish said, ”Aye, but who planted the seeds of doubt in your head?”

It had been Melinda Crawford . . .

”It's not the case itself,” he answered Elizabeth now. ”It's the people who were involved. I've been reading through their statements again.”

And as he left the house, he thought they'd come to a sad pa.s.s, he and Richard's widow-lying to each other as they never had before.

DOWLING HAD LEFT a message for him at The Plough. Rutledge walked on to the police station and learned from Sergeant Burke that the Marling inspector was already on his way to Seelyham. a message for him at The Plough. Rutledge walked on to the police station and learned from Sergeant Burke that the Marling inspector was already on his way to Seelyham.

Rutledge asked, ”Has anything happened? Am I to follow him?”

Burke shook his head. ”I doubt there's any new development, sir, or I'd have heard it as soon as I came on duty. Constable Smith informed me that Inspector Grimes over in Seelyham had sent a man along to fetch Inspector Dowling, but there mustn't been any urgency, sir. The inspector waited half an hour at the hotel for you before setting out. I expect it's no more than a meeting to consider next steps, and Inspector Dowling included you as a courtesy.”

”You shouldna' have lingered on your ain business,” Hamish scolded. ”It's no' right to muddle the past wi' the present.”

When in Rome-Rutledge thought, but this was Marling . . .

And it was an opportunity to meet Grimes, in Seelyham.

He thanked Burke and was gone.

But he'd no more than turned the crank and started the engine when a young woman stepped out of the hotel's side door and paused, as if waiting for him to drive on. It wasn't until he'd climbed behind the wheel that Rutledge, his thoughts far from London, realized he knew her.

It was Nell Shaw's daughter.

She simply stood there, prepared for rejection.

”Miss Shaw?” he said tentatively. He dredged his memory for a name, and somewhere in the mists of the past, he remembered that she was called Margaret.

Her face, clouded with uncertainty, cleared as he recognized her. ”It's my mother,” she said hurriedly. ”I'm so terribly worried about her.”

With a repressed sigh, he asked, ”Is she ill? Shall I ask the doctor to come to the hotel?” Nell Shaw was, he thought, a better tactician than half the generals at the Front-But then, as Hamish was pointing out, perhaps she had a better cause. After all, Rutledge was the man who had brought her husband to judgment-and thus to his death. s.h.i.+fting the burden of his self-doubt to her shoulders, blaming her for demanding what she perceived as justice, was s.h.i.+rking his duty to himself and to the Law.

”I'm sorry-No, she's in London. I came down alone.”

Thanking G.o.d for small mercies, he said more sharply than he'd intended, ”I must drive to Seelyham. My business there can't wait. I'll have to take you with me. We can talk on the way.”

She hesitated, as if half afraid of him, gnawing her lip like a child.

”Margaret,” he said more gently. ”Would you prefer to wait here until I come back? I can't promise how long it will be. On the other hand, if you drive with me, there won't be any distractions or interruptions. We can discuss what's wrong with your mother along the way, and I'll see you safely home from Seelyham.”

Flus.h.i.+ng with embarra.s.sment and grat.i.tude, she nodded, and Rutledge handed her into the pa.s.senger's seat before turning toward the main road out of the village.

As they pa.s.sed the ironmonger's, a man leaning wearily against the wall stared blearily at them. Rutledge recognized the drunk, Holcomb, from the night before. Belching heavily, the man turned on his heel and shambled on.

Rutledge wondered if the man was sober enough to make any better sense now. But he couldn't stop.

Picking up the thread of Margaret Shaw's earlier remark, he asked, ”Why are you worried about your mother?”

”It's like an obsession,” Miss Shaw told him earnestly, as if relieved to find someone who would listen. She was not as hard as her mother, nor as intelligent, he thought. Sheltered-by choice or by circ.u.mstances-she was not worldly, in the true sense. And he wondered if she really understood why her mother was so adamant that the past be expunged.

”Clearing your father's name?” He glanced toward her.

Her face reddened again. She had that kind of fair complexion that registered s.h.i.+fts in emotion easily. ”She's convinced Papa didn't kill anyone . . . she can't sleep, she can't eat-it's all she thinks about!”

”How long has this been going on? All these years? Or since she found the locket?”

”She's always railed against the jury. But since the locket she's been like a madwoman.”

”Tell me about finding the locket.”

”There's nothing to tell. She went next door to help Mr. Cutter as he'd asked, and when she came home she looked sick, as if she was about to lose her dinner. She was that upset, she locked herself in her room. I've only known her to do that twice before. The day Papa was taken away, and the day the letter came.”

”What letter?”

”I never saw it. But after she read it, she cried for hours. Then she came out of her room and was herself again.”

”A letter your father had written?”

She frowned. ”I don't see how it could be. It only came this autumn. But I overheard her tell Mr. Cutter that a cousin was dying. She said, 'Everyone is gone. There's no one left.'”

”And what has been your feeling all these years? About your father's guilt?” he asked quietly, without judgment.

She shook her head. ”I never cared whether Papa was guilty or not. It didn't matter. When they took him away, I wept all night. I hated the police, I hated you. He was my father- father-I didn't know how we were to get along without him! And indeed, it's been the hardest thing we've ever had to face. n.o.body understands understands!”

Hamish said, ”She would ha' been at an age where she doted on him.”

It was true. Rutledge recalled the stricken, white-faced child standing in the doorway, staring up at her father, waiting for him to tell her it was all a mistake, that he'd be home by the morning. And Shaw had looked at her, pain in his eyes, and said nothing.

The boy, her brother Ben, had been belligerent, beating his fists against the young constable escorting his father, crying out to let him go, he'd done nothing. But the girl had been unable to speak, crushed by events, not even coming forward to kiss her father as he turned a last time on the road and looked back at her.

”It's important to realize that your mother may be wrong. That she's going to be disappointed,” Rutledge began, slowing in the wake of a lorry. ”I know she's desperate and afraid and clinging to hope. But what if there is none? So far I've found nothing, no real proof to support her belief that this new evidence-”

”That's no' true!” Hamish thundered. ”It's no' the truth!”