A Fearsome Doubt - Charles Todd [30]
Which, as Hamish was pointing out, might explain the rector’s unwillingness to involve himself in the past. . . .
“Shaw was a member of the same church?”
“He’d repaired the vestry door after a storm warped it, worked on the footing for the baptismal font when it cracked. But he wasn’t local, you know. Grew up in Kensington, and still had ties there, even attending services there in preference to St. Agnes. Mrs. Shaw was said to like that very well; she’d not cared for the local church, seeing herself as above it.” His mouth twisted. It was apparent he had not been among Nell Shaw’s admirers. “But after his marriage, Shaw appeared to have severed ties with his family. Or they severed theirs with him.”
“Mrs. Shaw must have been a member of St. Agnes at some time. As I recall, she’d grown up two streets over from Sansom.”
“Had been a member as a girl, yes, sir. There’s a story that was set about, that she went into service in Kensington, and married the son of the house. The truth was, she worked in a corset shop and took a purchase round to the house one day, for his mother. The mother wasn’t at home. When Ben told his future wife that, bold as brass didn’t she claim she was feeling faint and could she come in and sit for a few minutes?”
Intrigued, Rutledge asked, “How did you discover all this?” It hadn’t been included in the written reports.
“It was told me by the neighbor’s wife, Mrs. Cutter. I discounted it until I spoke to a neighbor of Shaw’s mother—she was still living in the same house—and she confirmed the corset version.” Bennett looked pleased with himself, rocking back on his heels. “Still, that had no bearing on the murders.” It was an afterthought, the policeman overriding the man.
“What was your opinion of the helpful Mrs. Cutter?”
“Now, there was a deep one! Butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, but she’d just let slip a bit of the story, see, and then wait for you to pry the rest out of her. As if she was reluctant to finish what she’d begun.”
Rutledge had met others of Mrs. Cutter’s ilk in his career.
“Did she know the three dead women?”
“Odd that you should ask that, sir,” Bennett answered, scratching his dark chin. “She swore she didn’t. But she went to that same church, didn’t she? Had done, for twenty or more years.”
Rutledge smiled. “Any chance that she might have been tempted to murder them? After all, her situation was hardly better than the Shaws.”
Bennett considered the question as he studied Rutledge. “As to that, I can’t say. But Mr. Nettle, God rest his soul, remarked once, ‘I’d not care to be in Mr. Cutter’s shoes, if he strayed too far from hearth and home!’ ”
Interested, Rutledge asked, “And had he strayed? Or been tempted to stray, do you think?”
“He was the only one defended Mrs. Shaw. Most of the street couldn’t abide the woman. I was never sure what to make of that, to tell you the truth, sir! Except that she was a strong-natured woman. That sort often attract weak men.”
AS HE WAS leaving the Yard for the day, Rutledge found himself thinking about Bennett’s last comment. He wished there was a viable excuse for calling on Cutter, but without making his interest in the Shaw case too apparent, there was nothing he could do at this early stage. As Hamish had warned him several times that day, he ought to watch his step. Bennett was very likely trustworthy, but he was also ambitious. And Rutledge had learned from his first day at the Yard that ambition ran rampant in the passageways and offices.
He himself had never craved promotion. It was a mark of achievement, but he had long since discovered that he preferred dealing with inquiries firsthand instead of rising to the level of delegating authority to others. He had found too often that objectivity was lost with ambition, and pleasing one’s superior officer became more important than getting to the root of an issue.
Philip Nettle, who had been the first officer charged with the Shaw case—or the Winslow case, as it had begun—had complained several times that Bowles was pushing