A cold treachery - Charles Todd [93]
“Tell me about her accident.”
“Truthfully? I don't know what happened. I was in Green Park in London early one morning, walking off too much whiskey the night before. And she was sitting there in her chair, crying. I went over to her and asked if there was anything I could do. She said, ‘Talk to me until I've got myself together again.' And I did. Fifteen minutes later, she thanked me and there was an end to it.”
“Go on.”
“I met her on the street a day or so afterward, and she said, ‘I remember how lonely the Urskdale mountains are, and how the afternoon light glints on the lake. I'm afraid I don't remember your name.' I took her to a shop for tea, and we talked for a bit. I think I told her how unhappy my wife was. It had been worrying me and there was nothing I could do. You can't very well tell the Army to go hang! I don't know if I suggested she come here to be with Vera, or she did. It didn't matter. I was grateful. A fortnight after that, I put her on the train and said good-bye. I sailed three days later. But she wrote to me while I was away. Vera couldn't. She'd begun drinking, you see. She was certain I'd be killed. So many were . . .”
“And you knew nothing about Elizabeth Fraser, before sending her north? That was damned trusting!”
“I was desperate. She seemed gentle and kind. My wife's family hadn't spoken to her since we were married. Vera needed someone. My God, what else was I to do!”
Greeley arrived as Rutledge was preparing to leave the hotel.
“What's this about the old drift road?”
“It's another way into the valley,” Rutledge told him.
“Yes, but not a likely way.”
“It wasn't likely that Josh Robinson survived. But you searched for him. I intend to be thorough in this matter as well.”
“I'll send someone to inquire, although it's time wasted. Even the summer walkers don't venture that far. It's rough going in good weather, and the views are no better than others easier reached. Not when you've got Wastwater or Buttermere to choose from.”
Rutledge reached into his pocket for the heel. “What do you make of this? I found it on the Urskdale side of the fall.”
“Hardly evidence of murder. God knows how long it has been there.”
“What do you know about Drew Taylor?”
“Drew? He's lived here all his life. His mother was eighty-seven when she died and was rumored to be something of a terror. Little wonder he never married! I doubt there's a woman in six counties Mrs. Taylor would have thought fit for her son. You aren't suspecting him next!”
“Curiosity. Elcott served with a man called Taylor. There was ill feeling between them. I wondered if there could be a connection.”
“Elcott never had much to say about his war. And Taylor's got no family.”
“Indeed.” Rutledge got up to set his plate and cup on the sink. “I want to talk to Belfors again. Are you coming with me?”
Belfors was just opening his shop. He nodded to the two policemen, and led them inside. “I expect it isn't a new spade you're after,” the ironmonger said.
“The revolver that Theo Elcott brought home from Africa—”
“He didn't bring it home. He died on the ship of a fever.”
“Where is it now?”
“I don't know. Henry—Gerald's father—showed it me. He didn't tell me what he'd done with it.”
“Was that the only time you'd seen it?”
Belfors's eyes flicked away, and he ran a cloth over the counter as if a speck of dust had caught his attention.
“I can't remember, to tell you the truth.”
Rutledge nodded to Greeley. “I'll have this man taken into custody, if you please, Inspector.”
“On what charge?” Greeley demanded, caught off guard.
“He's concealing evidence.”
Rutledge turned on his heel and walked out the door.
Behind him he heard Belfors call, “Here—!”
But he kept going.
At the tiny police station, he went into Greeley's office without a word to Sergeant Miller, and shut the door behind him.
It wasn't long before he could hear Greeley coming through the outer door, Belfors loudly complaining of injustice and threatening to take up this vile behavior