A Fearsome Doubt - Charles Todd [9]
“I can’t turn back the clock,” he said, unconsciously repeating her words. “We don’t know how this came into Mrs. Cutter’s possession. Or why. Or, for that matter, when. It’s evidence, yes, but it’s not clear proof.”
“It’s something to be going on with! If you wasn’t afraid to find out that you are as human as the rest of us and got it wrong.”
The truth was, he was afraid. . . .
And at the same time, he knew he was honor-bound to get to the bottom of this allegation.
STIFLING THE TURMOIL that was tearing apart his own mind, Rutledge tried to put into perspective how momentous the finding of this locket must seem to the woman seated in front of him. Providing of course that her story was true—
But he could see no benefit for her in a lie. That was the key. She had nothing to gain by lying. And there was a driving force about her that couldn’t be counterfeited. It was there in the way she held her body, and in the small, determined eyes.
He had never liked this woman. From the beginning of the murder inquiry, she had been a thorn in the side of authority. He tried to disregard his dislike now.
Hamish said, “Aye, she’s an auld besom. But if it were another inspector’s case she was complaining of, what would you do?”
Rutledge picked up his pen and uncapped it, drawing a sheet of paper forward.
“Mrs. Shaw. Listen to me. First and foremost, we can’t search the Cutter house on your word alone—”
“What you’re saying is that my word isn’t good enough—”
“What I’m saying is that you took the locket from its hiding place. If I send forty men there in an hour’s time, and nothing else turns up—if there’s no more evidence to be found—then it’s your word against Mr. Cutter’s that the locket was in Mrs. Cutter’s belongings. Now or ever.”
She said stubbornly, “I left the chain where I found it. To mark the place!”
Rutledge nodded. “I understand that. But the chain could belong to any locket that Mrs. Cutter owned. There’s no one who can say with authority that the chain my men discover actually belongs to the Satterthwaite locket. Mrs. Satterthwaite, I remind you, is dead—”
“There’s another side to this coin, Inspector. That I’m telling the truth.” Her eyes met his squarely. “And you’re unwilling to hear it.”
She had backed him around again to his own possible guilt.
He had always taken a certain pride in his knowledge of people. He knew how to watch for the small movements of the body or shifts in expression that supported or contradicted what he was told. Only a very few people lied well.
And either Nell Shaw was among them—or she believed implicitly in what she was saying.
Hamish said, “Aye. If you canna’ satisfy her, she’ll go o’wer your head.”
And there were sound reasons why that must not happen. Rutledge was not the only officer who would be brought down if the Shaw case was shown to be flawed. Even if her accusations bore only a semblance of truth, the Yard was not immune from politics or personal vendettas.
“I’m not sending you away,” he told her. “I’m searching for a practical way of getting around the rules I have to follow. I’ll give you a chit for the locket—”
“No, never!” she declared, shoving it back in her purse and clutching that to her bosom with both arms. “It’s all I’ve got.”
He put down the pen. “Then you must let me have a few days to look again at the file, and then to decide how best to go about this problem. I don’t have the authority to open this case myself. And it won’t do you much good to make enemies—for you will if you begin to annoy my own superiors, or Mr. Cutter. It’s to your advantage and mine to proceed with caution. Have you spoken to the barrister who defended your husband?”
“I’ve got no money. He won’t give me the time of day.”
“I make no promises, mind you. But I give you my word that I’ll do my best. If I can satisfy myself that there’s just cause to reopen