A False Mirror - Charles Todd [84]
17
Bennett insisted that they go to Casa Miranda directly to speak to Mallory. “He’ll be expecting us sooner or later. And I’d like to know how Mrs. Hamilton feels when she learns she could be a widow. That length of bandage is damning evidence that Hamilton’s dead. And it just might shock her into her senses, make her see Mallory for what he is. But he won’t let me in on my own. It’s the two of us, then, together.”
Rutledge paused at the intersection where he must make a choice, to rising land where the house stood or back toward the Mole and the police station.
Bennett was right; it was the next logical step in confirming what they feared.
But would it turn out the way the inspector was convinced it would?
Better to be there. To watch faces for himself. The question was, Would Mallory feel cornered and explode? Or would he simply give himself up, knowing that there was nothing more Hamilton could tell the police now? Had that been his reason for sending for Rutledge in the first place, gaining a little time until Hamilton died of his wounds without ever regaining consciousness? If so, he hadn’t reckoned on Dr. Granville’s medical skills.
Still, without Hamilton to testify against him, with no murder weapon found, with the constable on duty swearing Mallory hadn’t left the Hamilton house last night, there was precious little evidence to hold him, even if Bennett succeeded in taking him into custody.
The entire complexion of the case had changed.
“He willna’ give himsel’ up,” Hamish said. “You remember. He was a verra’ stubborn man.”
Stubborn—and sometimes impetuous, failing to look ahead at the consequences of his actions. He’d shown that impetuosity again in his flight from Inspector Bennett.
And now it could still drive him to suicide. Guilty or not guilty, it wouldn’t matter if he believed he could exonerate himself in Felicity’s eyes. A last grand gesture. Because the bubble of infatuation had burst, and it was unlikely, even if Mallory didn’t stand trial, that Felicity would marry him now that she was free.
Rutledge considered postponing the confrontation until he’d made his call to Melinda Crawford. But what she could tell him about Matthew Hamilton had no bearing on what must be said to Stephen Mallory. And what would Bennett do while Rutledge was speaking with Melinda? Decide to storm the heights on his own?
“He willna’ be put off,” Hamish warned.
True enough. The die, as it were, was cast.
Rutledge pulled up the hill in a shower of the brightest light yet, although the wind was cool beneath the warmth of the sun. As he stepped out of the motorcar by the house door, he looked to the horizon. Where the squall line had been hours earlier, a long stretch of pale blue rain-washed sky was spreading.
Motioning for Bennett to stay where he was for the time being, Rutledge walked around the boot, trying to put words together to make their visit worthwhile. But he had condemned Mallory out of his own mouth, now, and it still jarred him. He hadn’t meant it. He’d never wanted to see any of his men dead.
The knocker seemed to resound through his head as well as the house.
In due course, he heard Mallory call, “What’s this visit in aid of, then? Was it Hamilton they’d found in the village?”
“No. But there appear to be new developments.”
“You’re not bringing Bennett in with you. I won’t be outnumbered that easily.”
“A truce then,” Rutledge said quietly. “You don’t want Mrs. Hamilton hearing what we will be shouting at you through the door.”
Mallory swore. “Don’t take me for a fool.” But the words were more bravado, Rutledge thought, than anger.
“Unlock this damned door and listen to me. Then make up your mind.”
The door, after a moment, swung slowly open, a small slit that showed Mallory’s face in shadow.
“You know Hamilton went missing. We’ve found something to indicate where and possibly why. Bennett and I are here to put you in the picture. It is not going to be something Mrs. Hamilton will find comforting or