A Test of Wills - Charles Todd [102]
Looking up, he asked, “Why did you track down Daniel Hickam? On the Thursday you spoke to me? No, don’t bother to deny it! I have witnesses. You stopped him, talked to him, and then gave him money.”
“I felt sorry for him…. Most people have forgotten that before the war he was a very good cabinetmaker. Better than his father ever was. He made the frames for my first paintings. And that easel. Now—he probably shakes too much to drive a nail straight, much less do finer work. I try to keep an eye on him.”
“No. You wanted to know what he’d said about Wilton. I don’t know yet how you found out about Hickam. Possibly from Forrest.” He watched that guess go home. She wasn’t as good at hiding her thoughts as Lettice Wood.
“Yes, all right. I was afraid for Mark. I still am. He wouldn’t have killed Charles! You come in here from London, asking questions, making assumptions. You judge people even though you know very well they’re under a great deal of stress. But it isn’t the same as getting under the skin, is it? You can’t do that, you can’t know them. Not in a few days’ time. You haven’t got that skill!”
He’d had it. Once. Refusing to be sidetracked, Rutledge said only, “He had means. Opportunity. Motive. It’s all there now. Out into the open.”
“Then why are you telling me this? If you know so much!” She cocked her head to one side, considering him. “Why were you driving out on the Warwick road when you had all the evidence you need? Why are you involving me?”
“Because I wanted to know what you would say when you heard.”
She set down her teacup. “And are you satisfied?” He didn’t answer. After a moment she asked, “Have you told London yet?”
“No. Not yet. I’ll call Superintendent Bowles early tomorrow morning. I’d prefer to have everything finished before the funeral services on Tuesday. Upper Streetham will be full of people then. Harris’s friends, fellow officers, dignitaries. They shouldn’t be distracted from their mourning by police business.”
“There’ll be a great hue and cry when you do it. It will upset the King, and everyone else, including the Prime Minister. He’s got enough on his plate right now, with the peace talks. It will bring the wrath of Scotland Yard down on your head. It will ruin Mark. It could very well ruin you! I’d be very careful before I did something I couldn’t undo.”
She was a very perceptive woman. And she knew London.
“That doesn’t matter. If he shot Charles Harris, why should Mark Wilton go scot-free?”
“He couldn’t have shot Charles! He’s marrying the man’s ward! You don’t seem to understand the importance of that!”
“The wedding has been called off.”
“Of course it has, Lettice is in mourning. But by next spring—or in a quiet ceremony at Christmas, since she’s got no family and needs Mark’s support—”
“No. Charles himself stopped the wedding. And that’s why he was killed.”
Catherine shook her head. “Called off the wedding? Before he died? You can’t be serious!”
“Why would he joke about that? Why should I?”
“No, Mark was going to marry her! And he will, once this nonsense is finished. I’ll help him find someone in London to take his case if you go through with this. I refuse to believe that Mark could have done anything of the sort! Or Charles, for that matter! Whoever told you such a thing is either crazy or vindictive. Or both. I absolutely refuse to believe it!”
He left soon afterward, stiffly thanking her for the tea and then finding his own way out. Catherine said good-bye with equal reserve, and added as he reached the solarium doorway, his coat over his arm, “Don’t be hasty, Inspector. You owe that to Mark. You owe it to Charles. Be very sure before you act!”
Rutledge drove back to Upper Streetham and left the car at the rear of the Inn, going in by the door he’d used on the night of his arrival. The back stairs were empty, the Inn silent.
He felt bone weary. Emotion was drained out of him, and his body ached with tension.
I need to find Forrest, he told himself. I need to attend to that warrant, bring Wilton in. The sooner