A False Mirror - Charles Todd [152]
“You have no way of proving that,” Granville retorted sharply.
“Mr. Rutledge put in a call to your foster father, who spoke to your bankers. On the other hand, Miss Esterley is rather well-to-do. And much prettier than Margaret. The only trouble was, she was fonder of Matthew Hamilton than she ever was of you. I’m not surprised that you were sorely tempted to put an end to him.”
So far, Rutledge thought, stifling an urge to announce his presence, the rector’s keeping to the script we’d discussed.
Granville said, “In the beginning I was set on Miss Esterley. Then I heard George Reston saying that Mrs. Hamilton would be a very rich widow. But Hamilton refused to die of his injuries, stubborn bastard that he is. I was on the point of quietly helping him to that end when he disappeared. When we couldn’t find him that morning, Rutledge and I, I saw my chance, went back to the surgery and killed Margaret.”
“Rutledge thought Hamilton’s wounds were more grievous than they were. That was clever of you, a chance to keep him sedated and silent.”
“Did Rutledge put you up to this? Are there witnesses back in the shadows?” Granville shielded his eyes with his hand and peered into the darkness. “Rutledge, are you there?”
“You’re quite wrong,” the rector answered him. “I’ve come here because I want to help you.”
Rutledge had been on the point of showing himself just as Putnam deviated from the script. He cursed the man roundly—instead of distancing himself from Granville, Putnam was letting the doctor approach him. Closer than was safe, already. Before Rutledge could possibly reach either of them, Granville could make the decision to kill again.
What weapon did the man have with him?
“A knife,” Hamish said. “It’s what he kens best.”
“Let me listen to your confession, Granville. It’s the least I can do. Your soul is in jeopardy, man, and you will surely hang. Will you not stop now and give a thought to what is waiting for you at God’s hands?”
Granville gave up searching the shadows. He stood there, a frown on his face, then walked forward. “I’m not sure I believe in God,” he said slowly, as if considering the matter.
“But he cares for you,” Mr. Putnam pointed out. “Inspector Rutledge will have you in custody by tomorrow morning. He knows you hid the hammer in your bag until you could leave it in my house. Make your peace now of your own free will. It will see you through the long and frightening days to come.”
“You can’t stop me from leaving.”
“Wherever you go, you take yourself with you. And the ghosts of two women will follow you.”
To Rutledge’s surprise but not Mr. Putnam’s, Granville said with what sounded like sincere regret, “Yes, I’ve already seen them at my heels.” He hesitated, finally giving in to Putnam’s persuasion. “All right then. Pray for me, Rector.”
He fell to his knees, contrition in every line.
Putnam went down more stiffly, and reached a hand for Granville’s shoulder to steady himself or to offer comfort. Rutledge never knew which.
The rector closed his eyes, lowered his head, and began an earnest prayer. Granville, on his knees, looked upward, as if to find atonement in the air above his head. Or to see if his prayers, like the King’s in Hamlet, had failed to rise with Putnam’s.
Then without any warning, he sprang again to his feet, and with an arm outflung, swept the two lamps off the table onto the floor, spilling hot oil and sending a spray of fire racing toward the back wall. Before Rutledge could move or Putnam could even cry out in alarm, Granville lifted his leg and with the flat sole of his shoe, shoved the unresisting man of God into the flames.
30
The harsh smell of burning oil and charring wool had enveloped the room and was fast reaching into the passage beyond.
Rutledge came out of the darkness with a roar of rage, his shoulder catching Dr. Granville hard in the chest before he could stumble