Legacy of the Dead - Charles Todd [122]
“The brooch—”
“Yes.” Rutledge stopped outside the hotel. “The brooch. It’s damning. But it doesn’t put a name to the bones, does it? Only to the killer.”
McKinstry rubbed his eyes. “I lay awake at night and try to find an answer. Inspector Oliver says she admitted that the thing belonged to her mother. He came to me later and asked if I’d seen Fiona wearing it after she moved here to Duncarrick. And I can’t remember!”
“Why not?” It was curt, accusing.
“Because I want so badly to remember that I can’t be sure it’s true. She wore a green dress, I remember that very well. But I can’t be sure if she had a scarf at her throat, or that damned brooch! And sometimes she wore her aunt’s pin. It wasn’t something a man would think was important, and I’m not much with women’s clothing anyway. The green dress was wonderful with her eyes. The rose one brought out the darkness of her hair. And in the summer there was a very soft cream-color affair with a wide collar and sprigs of some flower in a print. Lavender, like lilacs or heliotrope. I can’t tell you how they were cut or what she wore with them. Or whether she had on that one brooch—” There was anguish in his face.
“Then what did you tell Oliver?”
“I told him the truth—I couldn’t remember!”
“You might have lied, for her sake.”
“Yes,” McKinstry said with heavy sorrow. “I thought of that too. But I’m trained to duty.” He started to walk away, then turned around again. “Would you lie to save her?” Whatever he saw in Rutledge’s face, he continued, “If I have to, I’ll change my testimony in the courtroom. I’d hoped—I thought you might have looked into it. But you went away and did nothing. Damning as it was, you did nothing!”
“Oliver made it plain it was none of my business.” Rutledge smiled wryly. “And I’ve been occupied with Eleanor Gray. I told you.”
“Yes, well, if the Gray woman is dead, she’s well out of it. If she’s alive, I wish to God she’d show her face before it’s too late.”
This time he turned away and kept walking.
Rutledge looked after him. Hamish taunted, “You didna’ confront him with what you’ve learned about yon brooch!”
Passing through the lobby, Rutledge responded silently, “No. It was more useful to see if he’d bring up the brooch— and in what context. Persuasive, was he, do you think?”
“He left it sitting at your door. I wouldna’ call that a verra’ brave defense of the accused!”
“Well, then, if he didn’t put the brooch in the hands of Betty Lawlor, he must have come close to losing his own belief in Fiona’s innocence when he heard the story Betty had to tell! He didn’t have much to say on the drive back from the glen, and he didn’t have much to say just now.”
“If he’s behind yon business of the brooch, then it was clever of him to make the Yard an ally—as you pointed out the holes in the charges, he set about filling them in!”
Climbing the stairs, Rutledge answered: “Then he shouldn’t have given his own name to that Glasgow jeweler! Was it McKinstry who drove Eleanor Gray north?”
“He was in France in 1916.”
Rutledge stopped at the head of the stairs. “No. He told Morag that he had met me there. Until now I’ve had no reason to doubt what he’d said. It will have to be checked.”
“He had a verra’ good reason to fire at you in the glen. To prevent you from talking to Betty Lawlor.”
“That’s possible, yes.” He opened the door to his room and threw his hat on the chair beside the bed. Crossing to the window, he looked out at the clouds moving in from the west. “I don’t know. I’m a better judge of character, I think, than to be taken in by McKinstry—” He shook