A cold treachery - Charles Todd [114]
“It's Rutledge. Wake up. This place is cold as the tomb. Come back to The Ram's Head. I want to know what you were doing out there on the fell tonight.”
“I swear, you nearly gave me an apoplexy!” He was still breathing hard. “Good God.” And then, “What the bloody hell are you doing here at this hour!”
“I might ask the same of you.”
“I must have fallen asleep. I didn't hear you come in. I didn't think anyone would be in the church—where were you hiding? And why are you spying on me!”
“Hardly spying. I saw you come back into the village. Where have you been?”
“Out, walking.” He retrieved his shuttered lantern and fumbled to light it. Shadows raced around the stone walls as his hands shook.
“Beyond South Farm. Hardly an evening's constitutional!” Rutledge switched on his torch.
“If you must know, I've been looking for the boy. If he's dead, there's no one to speak up and tell what happened that night at the farm. He's my salvation, that boy. Whether I like him or not, whether he killed them or not, my life's in his hands.” He set the lantern on the seat of a chair and looked up at the altar. “I can't sleep. I work all day, and then I walk at night. It's taking its toll. I began hallucinating tonight. I could see the boy, but I couldn't tell where he was. I went stumbling after him, and then I realized it wasn't a child after all, only a ewe.” He faced Rutledge again. “If I can find out what happened at the farm, I could sleep again. Instead, I shut my eyes and see them lying there. I didn't even realize the boy wasn't among them. It was so—grisly. I'd never seen anything like it.”
There was a ring of truth in his voice, but Rutledge wasn't convinced.
Elcott must have read his reaction on his face. “I don't understand why you won't take Janet into custody. Is it because she's a woman, pretty and persuasive? Or do you know something I don't? Why have I been left to my own devices to defend myself? No one cares what becomes of me! Except perhaps the Belforses.” A note of self-pity had crawled into his voice. “There's no money for a fine barrister from London or even Preston. I'll hang, if you put these murders off on me.”
“And you claim you've been out looking for the boy?”
“Yes. Hell, you just missed me the other night. I'd heard from Robinson that you'd found some candles or something up in the old ruin. I went to see if there was anything else. I know this land better than you. If he'd been living rough, I thought I could find out where it is he's hiding. Track him. I told myself he'd come to me. Out of desperation if nothing else. His father hadn't searched for him, after all. I thought he might be glad of me.”
“You think Robinson could have found him, if he'd gone to the farm, called his name—made some effort to lure him out?”
“Who could say what a terrified child might do? And it's hard to blame Robinson for not trying overmuch. He's afraid he'd only be delivering his son to the police and the hangman. Better for him to be dead, quickly, painlessly, of exposure. You can tell it's eating the man alive, this waiting for answers!”
“You might just as easily have put paid to the boy yourself, if you'd come across him.”
“I tell you, he's my salvation! Why in hell would I want to kill him!” He stirred uneasily. “All right, you've found out it was me walking about in the night. God knows how. But you did. Now go home to bed and leave me alone. If you can't take me into custody, then have the decency to leave me alone!”
As Rutledge walked back to the hotel, Hamish said, “He makes his case verra well.”
“If he's not guilty, then he has. If he is guilty, then he's built himself a very fine defense. Tomorrow morning—this morning—I'll have Greeley take him into custody.”
“Because ye're satisfied?”
“No. Because among other things, I want an excuse to search his rooms.”
Elizabeth Fraser had gone to her room when Rutledge returned to the hotel. But there was a warm bottle for his bed ready on the table.
As he closed his door, he realized how tired he was. He took off his coat and hat and set them in the