A Test of Wills - Charles Todd [64]
Bracing himself as he opened the French doors, he was prepared for Redfern to comment, or worse still, for the other diners to stare at him in speculation and disgust. But the room was nearly empty, and Redfern had a tight, inward look about his eyes. The limp was more pronounced as he came to take Rutledge’s order, and he leaned against the table.
“Been on it too much,” he said, aware of Rutledge’s perception. Then he shrugged. “It’s the stairs that are the worst. The doctors say it will pass in time.”
But he sounded dejected, as if he had stopped believing in them.
Rutledge spent what was left of the afternoon talking to Inspector Forrest in his office about the names in his notebook. It was better than being alone, better than letting Hamish reach him again too soon, and it was a way of thinking aloud that might lead to something that the local man knew and he didn’t. An idle hope, he realized, when he’d finished and Forrest sat there in silence, reflectively scratching his chin and staring at the ceiling as if half expecting to find an answer written there.
“What do you think?” Rutledge repeated, trying to keep his impatience out of his voice.
“None of them is likely to be your murderer,” Forrest said, unwittingly emphasizing your as if setting himself apart from the whole business. “Take Miss Wood, for a start. I’ve never seen a cross word pass between her and the Colonel, no, nor ever heard of one. And he’d have given her whatever she wanted; there’d be no need for trouble over it.”
“What if she wanted what he couldn’t give her?”
Forrest laughed. “And what would that be? I can’t think of a thing she didn’t already have! She’s a lovely girl, nothing mean or selfish or strong-headed about her.”
“Well, then, Wilton?”
“He was marrying the girl. The surest way to lose her would be doing a harm to the Colonel, much less killing him. Here, just before the wedding? It would be insanity! And what if they did argue the night before the murder? What if it is true? You can’t make much out of that—not enough for murder, if you ask me! Not without more evidence than we’ve got.”
“Then why won’t Wilton come straight out with the truth and tell me what caused the quarrel?”
Forrest shrugged. “It could be something that happened in France, something only the two of them know about. Maybe something that Captain Wilton thinks the Colonel wouldn’t want known, even after his death. A personal matter.”
“Yes, that’s what he said,” Rutledge replied, and got up to pace, unable to sit still while he talked. “But we don’t know, do we, and as long as we don’t, I intend to keep the quarrel in mind. Mrs. Davenant?”
“A very well respected lady. She wouldn’t be very likely to have a hand in murder. And what reason could she have for it anyway?”
“I don’t know. Was she ever in love with the Colonel? Or with Wilton?”
“There’s never been a hint of gossip. If she was in love with anyone but her husband, she kept it to herself. And somehow I can’t picture her stalking the Colonel with a loaded shotgun in her hand. If she was jealous of Lettice Wood, killing the Colonel wouldn’t help her any.”
“Unless the Captain—or Lettice Wood—was blamed for it.”
“If the Captain’s blamed for it, she’s going to lose him to the hangman, isn’t she? And I can’t see how she’d put the blame onto Miss Wood. Besides, if there was any real threat to Miss Wood, I can see Wilton stepping in and saying it was his doing, the Colonel’s death—to protect the girl. And Mrs. Davenant ought to know that as well as I do. It would be a risk, wouldn’t it? One she’d have to consider.”
“And Catherine Tarrant?”
Forrest was suddenly wary. “What’s she got to do with this, then?”
“I know about the German. Linden. She wanted to marry him, and she wanted Harris to clear the way for them. Instead, Linden was taken away and he died. Women have killed for less, and what she felt for Linden