A False Mirror - Charles Todd [68]
“Probably not.” Hester got to his feet. “That’s all I can give you here. You might have a look at those tongs by the hearth. Though I don’t expect they were used. Unwieldy, I’d say.”
Rutledge said, “I’ve examined them. No hair, no blood. Unless they were wiped clean.”
Bennett looked around the room as Hester had done, hoping to see it through new eyes. The silver candlesticks. A pair of carved bookends in the shape of globes, Europe and Asia on one side, the Americas on the other. A paperweight in the form of a frog. A display of early airplane models in bottles, the tiny canvas bodies and thin wooden struts too delicate to survive use as a weapon, even if the glass didn’t shatter.
Hester said, following his gaze, “Apparently one of Granville’s cousins flew the damned things in France. And before he was killed, he made models of various types of craft for his parents. I expect no one wanted them in the house as a reminder. Either of you know what a knobkerrie is? Used in Africa for killing. Like a prehistoric club, actually, with a round knob at the end. Very efficient at caving in skulls. I’ve seen them. My grandfather spent some time in South Africa and up the western coast. He earned more as a doctor than as a prospector, and came home as poor as he left. Tells you something, doesn’t it?”
And who else had been in South Africa? Certainly not Mallory. He could see the thought flit across Bennett’s face. But Miss Esterley had grown up in Kenya.
“It doesn’t serve to guess,” Rutledge said finally. “If it’s not here, we’re wasting time. A simple hammer, brought with the killer? Who can say?” But that argued premeditation. And pointed to Mallory.
“Yes, possible.” Hester took a deep breath. “All right, if you’re finished here, help me get her to my motorcar. There’s a proper canvas carrier, Bennett, if your constable will fetch it in. I’ll have more to tell you when I know more.”
When the body of Mrs. Granville had been removed, Rutledge went to the house where the rector was keeping the doctor company. Bennett stumped after him on his single crutch, trying to keep pace. The constable was once more set to guard the surgery, his young face already older in the watery noon light.
There was a fresh pot of tea waiting for them, and a plate of biscuits that Putnam had found somewhere, set out on a pretty floral plate.
Granville was sitting at the table, staring vacantly out at the rain, his mind clearly somewhere else. Bennett refused the offer of a chair and leaned against the wall with his teacup balanced in one hand. Rutledge found himself thinking that Mrs. Granville wouldn’t have cared for people making free with her fine china, and would have worried about the cup in Bennett’s fist.
Rutledge took his tea and drank a little of it to please Putnam, but then set it down and walked through the house, looking about him but touching nothing. On the first floor he found the bedrooms, and in what appeared to be Mrs. Granville’s room the coverlet had been thrown back, as if she had expected to return to her bed.
From the window of her room she could look down on the rear of the surgery and the back door to the garden.
An interesting thought. Was that the way that Hamilton had left, either under his own power or over someone’s shoulder? The door set ajar might also have been a diversion. Or Mrs. Granville could have left it open.
Nothing else was in disarray. But there was a light film of face powder spilled across the top of the dressing table although Mrs. Granville’s hairbrush was placed next to her comb with tidy precision. Rutledge wondered if she was farsighted and failed to notice the powder there. Which would mean she could undoubtedly see as far as the surgery door.
Why had she risen from her bed and gone to the surgery?
Hamish said, “She thought she heard the doctor return. But he didna’ come into the house. After a time, she went to