The Confession - Charles Todd [102]
Rutledge smiled.
“Superintendent Williamson has taken over as of this morning, and Chief Superintendent Bowles has been placed on medical leave for the present.”
Rutledge had not had many dealings with Williamson. The jury was out on whether he was a good man kept on a short leash by Bowles, or whether he was a weaker imitation of Bowles.
“At any rate,” Gibson was saying, “we’re to go on as we were. Any questions, his door is open. Otherwise, he expects us to do our duty as if the Chief Superintendent is here.”
Rather trusting of him, Rutledge thought, but said nothing. The Yard as a whole was professional and responsible. And Williamson was wise not to appear too eager to step into his predecessor’s empty boots.
It was clear that Gibson was waiting for him to comment.
“Good man,” he said, then asked, “Any progress on the requests I’ve put in?”
Gibson frowned. “I’ve not been able to find this Justin Fowler. He appears to have dropped out of sight. Last known address as far as I can judge was River’s Edge, the Furnham Road, Essex.”
And that would fit with what Rutledge had been told, that Justin Fowler had been the last to leave the house, save for Finley, the driver. Had he felt obliged to go so that the house could be closed, the servants released from their duties?
“Where did he go when on leave?” Hamish asked.
His family home in Colchester had been sold, the money put in trust for him. And it was doubtful that he would have wished to return there, given the memories of his parents’ deaths in the house. Unless he’d taken a flat or bought a house in London, River’s Edge was his home.
Was that why he had gone there while on leave in 1915? Because he needed to remember a happier time before the war? He couldn’t have stayed there, but he could have spent a few hours on the grounds or in the house, if he still had a key.
And that brought up another problem Rutledge hadn’t considered until now. How had Fowler reached the River Hawkins?
Aware that Sergeant Gibson was still talking, Rutledge said, “Sorry! I was fitting together pieces of the puzzle. Go on.”
Gibson said, “Have you spoken to Miss Farraday or Major Russell? I should think they ought to know where Fowler is.”
“They’ve been less than helpful. If he’s alive, where is Fowler now? If he’s dead, why hasn’t it been reported?”
“In my view, sir—for what it’s worth—you must assume the worst.”
Twenty minutes later, Rutledge set the last of the folders in the basket for filing. There had been no telephone call from Munro, although he’d given the man more than an hour. Not a good sign, as Hamish was pointing out.
There was one other person he needed to speak to before he went back to the hospital and from there to Essex.
Miss Farraday was at home. She said, when he was shown into her sitting room, “I’ve had enough unpleasant news. I hope you aren’t here to add to that.”
“Where did Justin Fowler live, after the house at River’s Edge was closed?”
“He went into the Army in late September, I think it was, and on his first leave he took rooms at the Prince Frederick Hotel. He invited me to dinner one night, and we talked. Mostly about the Army and about our years at River’s Edge. I asked if he’d like me to write to him, and he said he thought it would be better if I didn’t. He was still quite upset about Aunt Elizabeth’s disappearance. I think one of the reasons he stayed on at the house after Wyatt and I left was the hope she might come back and someone ought to be there if she did.”
“And after that?”
“The Prince Frederick was flattened in one of the Zeppelin raids, worst luck, because in my opinion, the hotel restaurant was the best in London. I don’t know where he stayed after that or even if he came to London at all. If he did, he never got in touch with me. His name never appeared on the lists of killed, wounded, and missing. I’ve heard since that not all of the missing and dead were ever accounted for.” She looked away. “Perhaps he found someone he liked and spent every minute of any leaves with her.”
He detected the