Legacy of the Dead - Charles Todd [136]
Holden said, “Don’t be an idiot! I never knew Captain Burns. His father will tell you that. And my wife!”
“It won’t matter what they say. You’ve left a trail behind you. And I’ve uncovered it. You thought, trained as you were, that you were skilled at deception. But I can bring witnesses who remember your face and who can place you in Saxwold, in London, in Craigness, and even in Glencoe. Unimportant people you thought we’d never be clever enough to find. There’s other proof. I’ll have it soon. It’s a loosely woven net at present—but it will tighten.”
The car’s lamps were fully on Rutledge’s face, but they cast macabre black shadows on Holden’s. There was no way to read his eyes. His hands, on the wheel, were white-knuckled. Rutledge watched them. If they moved—
Hamish said, “Is there a weapon in his car?”
I don’t know, Rutledge answered silently. He could feel the tensing of his body. A sitting target, pinned by the light. Holden had tried to shoot him once—
“Save your wife the disgrace of seeing you brought in by Inspector Oliver’s men. Tell me what happened to Eleanor Gray.”
It was meant rhetorically, but to his immense surprise, Holden did.
“I’ve nothing to be ashamed of. She wanted to find passage to the States. There was nothing to keep her here, she said. I drove her as far as Glasgow, and then went back to London on my own. I don’t know what became of her after that. And I didn’t see any point in telling Inspector Oliver about it. That was in the spring, and they tell me she died in late summer.”
“You’re a very accomplished liar. But you aren’t dealing with Turks now. Or with Inspector Oliver. Your name carries no weight in London. The Yard is handling Eleanor Gray’s death, not Duncarrick.” Rutledge’s voice was cold.
Holden turned his head away, looking around them, trying to see beyond his headlamps. Satisfied at last, he turned back.
“You won’t believe me if I tell you the truth. No one will.” He lifted a hand to wipe the rain from his face. “Damn it, come to the house!”
“No. Your wife is ill. I won’t put her through this. Tell me here—or at the Duncarrick police station.”
“You’re a bloody stubborn man, did you know that? Eleanor Gray spent the night in Rob’s bed, which I thought rather macabre, but I couldn’t have cared less. I was so tired from driving that I fell asleep in the guest room almost at once. Heavily asleep. I don’t even remember closing my eyes. I must have been snoring. Or she might have felt ill, I don’t know. I woke with a start, and in the darkness sensed rather than saw someone bending over me.” He turned away again, the shadows on his face shifting and changing. “The Army had taught me how to kill. Fast and silently. My hands had found her neck before I’d even realized where I was or who was in the house with me. By the time I was awake enough to find a light, she was dead. I had to clean the carpet, and I was all for burying her in the garden. I even moved the bench so it would cover the grave. But the rain was coming down in buckets, I was afraid it would wash her out before the morning. So I got her into the back of the car, pulled a blanket and some of my clothes over her, and went through the house to find anything she might have left. The next morning as soon as the neighbor was up and about, I returned the key and drove off.”
“Where is Eleanor Gray now?”
“On that damned mountain in Glencoe! Where else? Or she was. I never dreamed— It was damned bad luck that Oliver was so good at his job, wasn’t it?”
Hamish growled a warning as Holden lifted a hand, but it was only to wipe his face again.
Rutledge said, “If her death was an accident, why didn’t you call the police