A False Mirror - Charles Todd [118]
“I’ll be here before dark,” Rutledge told him. “You can search my case for a weapon, but there won’t be one.”
23
Rutledge had given his word, but he made his plans with the care of a seasoned campaigner.
He set his men to guard the house, concealing them well out of sight. One stood in his room at the Duke of Monmouth, field glasses at the ready. Two others watched the roads to the headlands on either side of the Mole. And one was in the church tower, with its sweeping view of the town. They went early to their positions, armed with hot tea in thermoses and sandwiches put up by Mrs. Bennett. Constable Jordan was relieved in due course by his usual replacement. And another man kept an eye on Constable Coxe, as a precaution. Rutledge had also asked one of the men sent from another village to observe the Reston house, placing him where he could see it clearly, in the Cornelius family attic.
Mrs. Cornelius, a little anxious, had not wished to have a policeman spending the night in her attic, but Rutledge had assured her that it was to watch the same route that her son’s monster had taken two nights before. Not precisely the whole truth, unless the headless man had been Reston himself, but it served to allay her suspicions. He didn’t want gossip flying about the town before morning.
“But why should he come again? I’d nearly convinced myself it was Jeremy’s imagination, Mr. Rutledge, though I was reluctant to believe it at the time.”
“Your son’s imagination made a monster out of an ordinary event. What I’d like to discover is what he actually saw. It will clear up any remaining questions I might have now.”
“I must say, I’ve not really recovered from the news that Mrs. Granville is dead. And now poor Nan Weekes. We’ve never had anything of this sort happen in Hampton Regis before. And you’re quite sure that you aren’t trying to comfort me by telling me my family is in no danger?”
“If I thought you were, Mrs. Cornelius, the constable would be guarding your door, not standing at an attic window.”
Later, Mr. Putnam, concerned for the safety of everyone involved, asked Rutledge if it was wise to lay a trap with human beings as bait.
“Do you know of another way to catch this killer? He’s cold-blooded, he’s clever, and he’s not about to offer himself up to us without a fight,” Rutledge pointed out.
“Yes, well, you know where to find Dr. Granville if there’s any trouble.”
“Pray that it doesn’t come to that.”
Before leaving the station to pack a small case with what he needed, Rutledge spent an hour reading the reports of his men from the day’s monotonous rounds of questioning. He paid particular attention to the reports from the road where the cottage had stood. The only small flutter of excitement there had been a fox in the henhouse of the small farm where Mallory sometimes bought eggs.
A waste of time, Bennett told him. “But then, most police work comes to nothing. It has to be done, and we do it, else we’re slack. Mountains of paper and ink for one small grain of truth.”
Rutledge thought of all Inspector Phipps’s preparations to guard Green Park in London and a man who had watched them with interest from a nearby street lamp.
He had reported Nan Weekes’s death to Chief Superintendent Bowles.
“It’s to stop there, Rutledge, do you hear me? I’ll not be greeted in the morning with more bad news. And heed me on this as well. If Hamilton isn’t right in his mind, you’re not to let Bennett clap him up in Hampton Regis. We’ll bring him to London and sort it out.”
“Yes, I’ve thought about that possibility.”
“Then see that it’s done. I’m not best pleased with this trap you’re so keen to lay. On the other hand, if there’s no other possible way to lure a killer into the open, then we’ve not got much choice. But I’ll thank you not to let that fool Mallory start shooting before we know what we’re about.”
Stratton was waiting for him by Reception, stepping out of the lounge with a glass of sherry in his hand.
“Well