A Pale Horse - Charles Todd [43]
“And leave Hugh Tredworth alone. Don’t question him yourself. If you do, it’s likely that he won’t be able to testify on your behalf at any trial, should it come to that.”
“Did Hugh take my book without my knowledge? But he couldn’t have carried it to the abbey, not that far, in the middle of the night. Who did?”
Rutledge could follow his line of thought—that somehow the pointing finger of accusation was swinging toward his wife.
“It has nothing to do with Mrs. Crowell. Stop second-guessing me, you’ll do more harm than good.”
He could see that Crowell had a tenacious mind and it would worry at the problem until it came up with a satisfactory conclusion.
It was also the kind of mind that might harbor a wrong until it grew into a monstrous weight that had to be addressed. Or avenged…
Hugh Tredworth had explained away the alchemy book. Albert Crowell might still bring down on himself a charge of murder because he couldn’t let well enough alone.
Driving alone back to Elthorpe, Rutledge listened to Hamish in his mind.
“Ye’ve cleared the schoolmaster, aye, but there’s still a dead man with no name and no suspects to take the schoolmaster’s place.”
There was also one Henry Shoreham, who had to be found and discounted. For the record.
“Are you saying you don’t believe Hugh Tredworth?”
“He told the youngest lad his tongue would turn black and drop oot if he spoke.”
“He told all four of them that.”
“But it was the youngest lad who believed it.”
“I think because Robbie needed so badly to confide in someone.”
“Yon inspector willna’ be happy you’ve spoiled his chances.”
9
Inspector Madsen, in fact, was livid.
He paced the small office and asked Rutledge what he was about, to make an arbitrary decision about a case that was his only by courtesy.
Rutledge said, “You can’t hang a man for murder because you dislike him, Madsen. And there’s no other proof Crowell was involved in any fashion, now that the book is explained away.”
“Too conveniently explained away if you ask me. I should have been present when you interviewed Hugh Tredworth. Why wasn’t I sent for? You don’t know this part of the country the way I do. How can I be sure he was telling the truth? Damn it, you don’t know these people.”
Rutledge said only, “I know when I’m being lied to. Your case is wide open, man, it’s time to get on with it. If London can place the victim from the sketch, then you’ll be the first to know. Meanwhile, you’re letting what evidence there is grow cold. I’d speak to the undergardener on the estate, for one. And talk to the nearest stationmaster. He may remember a stranger arriving by train. Hold the inquest, and ask the coroner to bring in the verdict of murder by person or persons unknown, to give you more time.”
“Don’t teach me how to run an inquiry,” Madsen went on, fuming. “And why are you here in the first place? Because Alice Crowell’s father has friends in high places, looking after his daughter. I tell you, the schoolmaster thought he was killing the man who’d scarred his wife, and you’ll not convince me otherwise. Oh, yes, I got that story out of Mary Norton.”
“It’s a dead end, Madsen. I’ll have to return to London tomorrow. I need to look into several other possibilities.”
Or to put it another way, reporting to the Colonel, Madsen told himself in disgust. “Good luck to you then.”
It was bitter, far from wishing him well.
As Rutledge walked out of the station, Madsen watched him go. The man from London hadn’t come to discover who the dead man was, whatever he said, Madsen told himself. He’d been sent by Alice’s bloody family to keep her precious husband safe. Once that was done, it was good-bye to Yorkshire, leaving the local man with an unidentified corpse and no murder suspect.
He let the legs of his chair slam back to the floor, relishing the sound. He’d have liked to throw the chair after the departing Londoner, but that would be the end of his own career. And he was having none of that.
There was one thing to be done to spike the Londoner’s