Part 29 (1/2)

”Dear my G.o.d!” she cried, staring at him, and sat up with such hope blazing in her eyes that Rutledge turned away.

He said to Margaret, ”Bring your mother water and towels. A brush for her hair. Then put her in that chair-” He gestured to the single chair by the door. ”I'll wait downstairs.”

”No-!”

”Mrs. Shaw, for your own sake and your daughter's-you're in no state-”

Nell Shaw stretched out her hand. ”No, don't leave me! You've got to help me. I can't do it all myself. I can't anymore!”

”Mrs. Shaw-”

”What does it matter to them? Janet Cutter is dead. Her son George is dead-It won't matter to them if the slate is wiped clean for my Ben, and their names are subst.i.tuted for his!”

”I can't perjure myself-”

”Is it perjury? Look at my girl! Am I to put a dead woman ahead of my living flesh? It could could have been that b.i.t.c.h next door! It could have been her as easy as it could have been my Ben! And they can't hang have been that b.i.t.c.h next door! It could have been her as easy as it could have been my Ben! And they can't hang her, her, can they? They won't dig up her corpse and hang her in the prison yard! All you have to do is tell the police that you was wrong, that there's proof now that she did the murders-” can they? They won't dig up her corpse and hang her in the prison yard! All you have to do is tell the police that you was wrong, that there's proof now that she did the murders-”

”They'll want to know how she did it-what opportunity she had. Why Why she should have killed the women-there had to be a she should have killed the women-there had to be a reason- reason-”

”Her son, then! Good G.o.d, he's a suicide, he must have had it on his conscience, and after my Ben was hanged, he couldn't bear it any longer-he took his own life.” She was on her knees on the mattress, begging. ”There's the locket, you saw it! Love-in the tall chest there, the top drawer! Give it to him and let him take it to the Yard. He can tell them what the truth is, and get the verdict reversed, and clear your father's name. Give it to him! Give it to him!”

Margaret went to the drawer and opened it, her hands trembling as she searched among the handkerchiefs and gloves. Finding what she sought, she brought it to Rutledge, her face strained and on the verge of tears again.

Rutledge opened the handkerchief to look at the contents. The locket fell through his fingers and onto the floor. As he bent to retrieve it, cold metal and stone in his hand, he thought, G.o.d forgive me. I don't know what to do! G.o.d forgive me. I don't know what to do!

And yet he did. Out of the shadows had come an answer. The only answer he had failed to explore. He had examined the possibility of the Cutters-of Janet Cutter's dead son-even of Mrs. Shaw herself being the true killer. He had never looked at Ben Shaw, except as a victim. . . .

As he straightened up, he said, ”Mrs. Shaw. Where had your husband hidden this locket?” There was a different note in his voice.

Hamish said, ”'Ware!”

Rutledge thought she was going to die then.

”We searched the house,” he said implacably. ”We never found it. Where was it?”

Nell Shaw crumpled before his eyes.

Covering her face with her hands, she lay back in the bed and thrashed, moaning, from side to side. From an angry demanding harridan, she had become diminished, a woman without spirit and without hope. Margaret ran to her, throwing an accusing glance at him.

Hamish said, ”It canna' be true-!”

Rutledge answered grimly, ”You weren't there!” ”You weren't there!”

He left the room, and went down the stairs. In the kitchen, the remainders of a meal lay on the table, greasy plates, sc.r.a.ps of sausage and bread. He took the kettle, filled it with fresh water, and set it on the stove, then opened cupboards until he found cups and saucers.

As he took them down, he could see that his hands were shaking.

Guilt- He thought then about what Tom Brereton had said about guilt-about the need to work it out.

But why had Mrs. Shaw suddenly taken it into her head to remove the locket from its hiding place and put it in among Mrs. Cutter's clothing?

Why?

To what end?

Yes, it would make a difference in her children's lives as well as her own to clear her husband's name, but the pa.s.sion driving her had been ferocious- He reviewed everything he knew or had learned about the Shaws. And Margaret's words came back to him . . .

”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.”

The teakettle sang a cheerful note, startling Rutledge back into the present.

Mrs. Shaw had judged him well, he thought. And with a cleverness born of desperation, she had found the one c.h.i.n.k in his armor: his understanding of Ben Shaw's broken spirit, his fatal willingness to doubt his own judgment.

Like a tightrope walker fighting for his balance, he had been swayed by the wind of her vehemence, uncertain, unable to ask for help or support from his superiors, a man caught in a dilemma that cast doubt on the one part of his life he needed most to believe in-his career. The perfect foil to Nell Shaw's intentions.

But why why?

Hamish said, ”She learned that you had survived the war-”

Rutledge shook his head. It went beyond that.

He poured three cups of tea when the pot had brewed, and set them on a tray with sugar and milk, then took it upstairs.

NELL S SHAW WAS sitting slumped in the chair by the door as Margaret struggled to make up the bed alone. Rutledge set the tray on top of the tall chest, carrying a cup to her. sitting slumped in the chair by the door as Margaret struggled to make up the bed alone. Rutledge set the tray on top of the tall chest, carrying a cup to her.

It was hot and sweet, and she drank it thirstily.

Margaret, with the bed straightened up, sat forlornly on one end of it and sipped at her tea as if afraid it might be poisoned. She looked old, worn, an image of herself far into the future. Rutledge felt sorry for her.

He said, taking his own cup and going to stand by the window, ”I think we need to get to the bottom of this matter.”

Nell Shaw, drained of emotion, said, ”You've destroyed us. You know that.”

”No. That began when your husband murdered three helpless women.”

”He done them a favor. You don't know the truth. You don't know how they lay there day after day, with n.o.body to talk to, n.o.body to see to them except my Ben and the old charwoman who cleaned a little and cooked a bit. He'd come home of a night and shake his head with the pity of it. He said, once, 'It would be a mercy if they was released from this life. I've prayed that it would come.' But it never did.”

”Where was the locket hidden?”