The Confession - Charles Todd [127]
“I believe it to be true. I’ve tried to find this man. But I don’t have his name. For a time, I thought he might be you, coming to work for the Russell family in order to finish what had been started in Colchester.”
“You thought I’d killed Fowler—and now Russell?” Even in the darkness, his surprise was evident.
“There’s no one else, is there? You were the only outsider at River’s Edge.”
Pacing back and forth in the shadows, the man said, “Yes, all right. But if I’d killed them, why would I come to you now? Just to bargain with the Army?”
“Why did you desert? Why not go to the police? Were you afraid they would suspect you?”
“I couldn’t go back to France. Even in the artillery—” Shaking his head, he couldn’t continue.
“The rest of us had the courage to go back.”
“It wasn’t a matter of courage. Damn it, I’m as brave as the next man.” Taking a deep breath, he said more calmly, “I didn’t come here to defend myself. Fowler told me it was his brother. When I read the Yard’s request in the Times, it occurred to me that perhaps he’d been mistaken. Both men had been killed at River’s Edge, and I was afraid—the wrong person might be blamed.”
Rutledge realized that Finley had come to protect Cynthia Farraday.
“What did you do with Fowler’s body? Did you leave it there, where you’d found it?”
“I didn’t know what else to do.”
And that was a lie, his voice betraying him once more.
“Then why was it never found? Even the bones?”
“It was never found? Fowler’s body?” There was genuine consternation now.
“Mrs. Russell also died at River’s Edge. Who killed her?”
“I wish I knew. We searched until we were stumbling over our feet, and still we kept looking, and there was no sign of her. I’ve had a long time to think about it since then. I knew she had to be dead. They whispered suicide, but she wouldn’t have killed herself. It had to be murder. Was it the same person?” The tension in his voice was mirrored in the way he waited for the answer.
“It could very well be. If he’d taken Fowler’s first family from him, why not the second? But we won’t have an answer, will we, until we’ve found him.”
“Then he’s killed all of us, hasn’t he? Except for Cynthia. Except for Miss Farraday,” he corrected himself. “That’s all I can give you. It’s all I know. Just—find him. For the love of God, find him.” He waited, expecting something from Rutledge. When it didn’t come, he simply walked away.
Rutledge let him go. But when he was nearly across the road and just into the shadows of the trees on the far side, yet still within hearing, Rutledge called in a normal voice, “Fowler?”
And before he could stop himself, the man began to turn. He said quickly, “My name is Finley. I told you.”
“I think not.”
“I didn’t kill them—” he protested angrily, taking a few steps forward. The whites of his eyes were stark beneath the bill of his cap.
“I’m arresting you for the murder of the people who gave you shelter and love when you were a victim yourself. Did you kill Mrs. Russell and her son?”
“No. You can’t—I’ll be hanged—it’s not true,” he began, not ten feet away, and Rutledge felt himself tense as he moved even closer. “My name is Finley.” He broke off as an older couple came out of one of the houses behind them, and turned to go the other way.
Rutledge waited until they were out of earshot.
“I suspect Harold Finley is dead. And you survived because he was.”
“You’re wrong. I didn’t have to come, I didn’t have to meet you. I did it for the Major’s sake.”
“You aren’t a very good liar, Fowler. What really happened at River’s Edge?”
The sudden shift in his weight betrayed him, and Rutledge said sharply, “If you run, I’ll find you. No matter how long it takes. And when I do, I’ll hand you over to the Army.”
“I didn’t want them to die,” the man cried. “Dear God, do you think—it’s why I ran. So that it would stop. But it didn’t, did it? Whoever is doing this finally came for Wyatt too, didn’t he? And I couldn’t let Miss Farraday be the next victim.”
“If