A Fearsome Doubt - Charles Todd [53]
Webber was the name of the second victim.
“He’s only eight!” the woman in spectacles protested.
“He’s got eyes, hasn’t he?” was the retort. “He said something to me at the funeral. He said there’d been a man on the road the night before it happened, asking for his father. When Peter replied that he was working over to Seelyham, the man asked what regiment he’d been in, and where he’d fought. Odd sort of thing to ask.”
“They’d all fought together!” the first woman replied. “Everyone knows that. They’d tried to stay together, the men from Marling and Helford and Seelyham. Looking out for each other.”
Rutledge had finished his tea and the thick wedges of egg salad sandwiches. But he poured himself a second cup, his attention on the table of women. Hamish, listening as well, murmured, “Ye must find the Webber boy!”
“Didn’t do them much good, did it, serving together?” the woman wearing spectacles wanted to know. “My Fred says they lost more because of that.”
The first speaker, the one with her back to Rutledge, said soothingly, “I wouldn’t give young Peter’s words any weight. Like as not he means well, but my guess is, he’s hoping for a little attention. No need to upset his mother again.”
There was agreement at the table, and then the feathered hat said, “We ought to do something for Mrs. Bartlett, as well. I’ve a bit of ham left from Sunday’s dinner, and I’ll take it over to her straightaway. With some of the bread and the potatoes. If you’ll look in on her tomorrow, and the next day—just until she gets past the worst of it.”
The woman wearing spectacles said, “I’ll see what’s in the gardens, that she might care for.”
The mourners rose and walked across the tearoom to settle their account.
As they closed the shop door behind them, the owner spoke briefly to the new couple, and then came over to clear away the empty table.
Rutledge waited until she was nearest where he sat. “Those women,” he said. “Do they live in Marling?”
The woman wiped her hands on her apron and turned. He was the stranger here, and she was debating how to respond to his curiosity.
“Inspector Rutledge. Scotland Yard,” he told her. “I’ve a need to know.”
“They’re local.” The owner’s face remained doubtful as she studied him. “They’ve just been to the funeral of the man killed along the road the other night. Peggy Bartlett couldn’t offer them anything afterward, though the Women’s Institute had said they’d see to some refreshment. But Peggy wouldn’t hear of it. I can’t say that I blame her—she’s beholden enough for the vicar and the coffin. I hope the police find whoever did these terrible things and send him to the gallows!”
Her kind face was suddenly grim and unforgiving.
15
WALKING TO THE POLICE STATION, RUTLEDGE DECIDED IT would be best to speak to Sergeant Burke. The man was just settling into his chair. He looked up at Rutledge, his eyes tired. “I expect you’re wanting Inspector Dowling, sir. He hasn’t come back from the Bartlett funeral. I was glad to escape early. It’s hard to watch women cry and not have any comfort to give!”
Rutledge answered, “Actually I’ve come to ask if anyone spoke to young Peter Webber after his father’s death.”
Burke rubbed his forehead with a thick fist. “He was that upset, no one had the heart to ask him anything. He’s just turned eight; there wasn’t much he could tell us about his father. Webber was away most of the lad’s life. They were just getting acquainted again, you might say.”
Rutledge took the chair in front of the sergeant’s desk. “I understand that. But I have a feeling it might be a good idea to speak to him.”
Burke said warily, “What put you onto the lad?”
“I heard four women in the tea shop discussing the funeral, and his name came up in the conversation. Peter doesn’t know me, but he’d speak to you, I think. If you encouraged him.” Rutledge repeated what he’d overheard.
Burke heaved himself out of his chair. “Well, then, Peter’ll be on his way home from school about now. We can look for him.”
They found the boy trudging along the road in the rain, head down,