A cold treachery - Charles Todd [120]
But might explain the broken cuff links?
“Do you think it could have been your sister-in-law who killed Grace and her children?”
Robinson considered him. “Why did you send Elcott to jail, if you aren't sure in your own mind?”
“It's more a matter of leaving no stone unturned.”
“Then I'll tell you what I think. Janet was probably in love with Elcott, although I've never asked her outright about that. It would explain why she moved north even though she had an excellent position in London. That's her business, and not mine. Do I believe that after all she'd done for Grace, she was hurt and angry that Grace had taken away the man she thought she loved? Yes, that's probably the case. I just can't picture her walking into that house and shooting living people.”
“And Elcott?”
“I don't know him well. Janet claims he wanted to inherit High Fell. It could be true. Would he kill to get the farm? I can't answer that.”
“What you're telling me is that you still believe your son is the—murderer.”
Robinson winced at the word. “I don't know anymore. I'm beyond thinking. If you want to know the truth, I'm beyond caring. They're dead, I can't bring them back, and I just want to walk away and never think about any of it again.” His eyes begged for understanding. “I thought the war was hellish enough. I expected to dream about it for the rest of my life. But when I close my eyes, it's not the trenches I see. Not now. Hazel's little face—Josh falling asleep, alone and unprotected in the snow. The blood in that kitchen. And I don't know how long that will go on.”
Rutledge had no answer to give him. He had not learned how to face his own nightmares.
“Will you testify at the inquest? It will be held in Keswick, once the roads are better. In another three days . . .” Mickelson would press forward on that.
“I don't know what I can tell them. I— At this stage, I'm reluctant to blacken my son's name. But if you think—” He stopped, shaking his head, uncertain.
“Let your conscience guide you. Don't let an innocent man go to the gallows if you think you can stop an injustice.”
Rutledge left the room, and his last view of Robinson's face was daunting. He was looking down at his hands, an expression of despair twisting his features into a mask of pain.
Harry Cummins found Rutledge sitting alone in the dining room, going through his policeman's notebook.
“I'm told that Paul Elcott has been taken into custody.”
“Yes.” Rutledge's answer was curt.
“I'm glad there is resolution. I just didn't expect it to be someone I knew.”
“It often is someone you know. In a murder case. There aren't that many wandering madmen to choose from.” The bitterness in Rutledge's voice was apparent.
“I'd heard that Gerald had enemies—the war.”
“London came up with a name. Bertram Taylor. The man hasn't been seen in days. Not since his escape from prison. I doubt we can consider him a real possibility.”
“Yes. Well. I've known Paul for some years. He never gave me the impression of a man ridden by greed. Envy, perhaps . . . But Miss Ashton must be right, it's what drove him to do this. I've just not come to terms with it yet.” He paused, studying the palm of his hand. “Will you and Miss Ashton and Mr. Robinson be leaving soon? Now that there's someone in custody . . .”
You could see, Hamish was saying, that he was concerned about losing his paying guests with the long winter months stretching out ahead.
“I'll be leaving tomorrow. Their situation will depend on other factors. A Mr. Mickelson will be arriving shortly. He's the man to ask.”
Cummins, no fool, looked at him sharply. “You've been replaced.”
“I will be. Yes.”
The play of emotions across the innkeeper's face was revealing. “Look, about what I said earlier. It isn't important—I hope there won't be any need to pass on my—my personal concern.”
Rutledge said, “I see no reason to cause trouble for anyone.”
Cummins smiled, relieved. But at the