A Pale Horse - Charles Todd [128]
22
When he got back to The Smith’s Arms, Rutledge was surprised to find that the ex-soldier, Singleton, had come to the bar and was there drinking heavily.
It was Mrs. Smith who told him, her voice pitched not to carry but her concern very real.
“I don’t want Smith to throw him out, it isn’t good for business, and besides, he’s likely drunk enough to take exception to it, and then where will we be? And for that matter, poor Mrs. Cathcart is in her room frightened of her own shadow, with him shouting down here.”
As Hamish warned him to stay out of it, Rutledge pushed through the door and found Smith behind the bar, standing there grimly watching Singleton. He was talking with a lorry driver, and the man had pushed back from the table to escape the intensity of Singleton’s vehement certainty that the world was going to the dogs, and before long they’d all be murdered in their beds.
Walking over to the pair, Rutledge greeted them with a nod and then said, “Singleton. I’d like to have a word, if you don’t mind.”
The ex-soldier looked up at him. “If it’s about the murders, I have nothing to say. It’s not a military matter, is it?”
“You’re right. Still, you’ve more experience than most of the residents there at the cottages.” He sat down, moving his chair slightly so that he could watch Singleton and his irate companion at the same time.
“Experience in what?” It was a low growl, as if Rutledge had accused him of the killings.
“Dealing with men. What if Hill is wrong, and Brady couldn’t have killed himself or Willingham? Who do you think might be capable of it?”
Singleton shook his head as if to clear it. “Blame it on Partridge, if you like. It’s as good a guess as any. Why else did he run off, and bring the police prowling about like ants?”
“Hardly like ants. Hill and his men have tried to be discreet.”
“Yes, well, I’d had enough. I came here for a little peace. If Mrs. Cathcart can flee the scene, so can I.”
“She’s a woman, and nervous.”
“I intend to stay the night.”
“Mrs. Smith doesn’t have a free room.”
“Then I’ll sleep here. All I need is a pillow and a blanket.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible. Let me drive you home. You’ll be safer in your own bed.”
“Safe has nothing to do with it. There’s no peace there any more. I wish Willingham had never died, or Brady for that matter, though I didn’t like him at all. Smelled of trouble, the moment I saw him.”
“He never disturbed you, to my knowledge,” Rutledge pointed out.
“I’d have dealt with him if he had.”
The lorry driver cleared his throat and started to get up. Singleton told him shortly to sit down and mind where he was. “You’re drinking my round, and you’ll finish it out of courtesy.”
But the lorry driver said, “I’ve had all I can drink and still drive. You don’t have another fifty miles to travel before you’re done.”
“I want company,” Singleton retorted. “I’ve never liked to drink alone.”
“You’ve got company,” the driver pointed out but subsided in his chair, casting a pleading glance at Rutledge.
“Singleton. I’ll ask Smith to give us a bottle and we’ll finish it at the cottage.”
Singleton considered him. “I told you, I wanted to get away from there.”
“This is hardly the place to drown your sorrows.”
“But it’s where I am.”
“Partridge is dead. His body was found some distance from here. It’s likely he was murdered as well. But not necessarily by the same hand as Brady and Willingham.”
Singleton’s eyes sharpened. “You’re lying. You can’t have two murderers prowling the same patch.”
“Why not? Murder is as individual as the man or woman who resorts to it. You’ve killed, you know that’s true.”
“What do you mean, I’ve killed?”
Rutledge thought, He’s beyond reasoning with.
And Hamish said once more, “’Ware!”
“All right, Singleton, we’re leaving.” Rutledge got to his feet and pushed his chair back to the table. “Are you ready to come with me?”
It was not