The Confession - Charles Todd [41]
“He came to live at River’s Edge when he was orphaned.”
“I doubt I ever set eyes on him. What do they have to do with young Willet drowning?”
“I don’t know. Scotland Yard is looking into his death. That’s why I’m here. Before he died, Willet came to the Yard and gave his name as Wyatt Russell, saying that he had information about the murder of Justin Fowler.”
“He claimed he was Russell? Now why would he go and do such a thing?”
“We haven’t discovered why. Did you often see Cynthia Farraday in Furnham?”
Something in the man’s expression altered. “My wife, Mattie, never liked her.”
“Why not?”
“She never would say. Except that she brought trouble in her wake.”
“And did she, do you think?”
He glanced over Rutledge’s shoulder, as if making certain his wife wasn’t within hearing. But he didn’t answer the question. Instead, he said, “When Mattie’s bitch had a litter, Miss Farraday came here asking if she might buy one of them. I was all for letting her have her pick, but my wife wouldn’t hear of it. Women do take odd notions sometimes. She said the pups would be better drowned than given to her. I found other homes for them.”
It was a harsh judgment.
As if suddenly aware that he’d been led off the subject, Montgomery added, “For Scotland Yard to be interested in Ben Willet’s death, it must mean that he was murdered.”
“He was. We can’t find the connection between him and the Russell family at River’s Edge, but there must have been one.”
“Here, you didn’t tell Ned before he died that his son was murdered! He didn’t deserve that. Ned was a hard man but a fair one. And he was proud of that boy.”
“I didn’t tell him. I don’t know if anyone else did.”
“Was Ben still in service at Thetford? What was he doing in London?”
“His family thought he was still there. I’ll be speaking to his employers. Do you by any chance know their name?”
“I couldn’t tell you if I’d ever heard it mentioned. Why did you come here to the farm? It wasn’t just the airfield that brought you, was it?”
Rutledge smiled. “I was getting nowhere in Furnham. I thought you might have a different perspective.”
“That lot wouldn’t help the devil put out the fires of hell. I never knew what Abigail saw in Sandy Barber. But there’s no accounting for tastes.”
Rutledge thanked Montgomery and walked back to his motorcar, the black dog trailing at his heels.
He went next in search of Sandy Barber and found him scrubbing down the floor of the pub. The man looked up as Rutledge approached, his mouth turning down in a sour scowl. Getting to his feet, he stood there, waiting.
“I kept my part of the bargain,” Rutledge said, without greeting. “I said nothing to Ned Willet. As far as I know, he died at peace. Now I want you to tell me what you know about his son, Ben.”
Setting his mop to one side, Sandy Barber said, “I know nothing about Ben. Or his death.”
“Look. I’m not here to hunt down smugglers—”
“Who have you been talking to?” Barber demanded. “Who told you such a wild tale?”
“I didn’t need to be told. Not after you nearly took a club to me. If you hadn’t killed Ben Willet, there was only one other reason to be afraid of a policeman. Here on the Hawking, France just across the water? The airfield must have been quite a problem. They’d have been patrolling the river and the estuary. You wouldn’t have stood a chance getting past the Coastguard with contraband goods. It follows that someone resumed this business as soon as the airfield was evacuated.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Suit yourself.”
“And as for murdering Ben Willet, what reason would any of us have to go after him? Look in London. Or Thetford. It would make a hell of a lot more sense.”
“How often did he write to his sister? Or his father?”
“He hardly ever did. We got a letter after he was demobbed, and he said he would get in touch with us again as soon as he’d settled in Thetford. That was that. Ned tried to say he was too busy, but Abigail thought there could have been a girl he was fond of, and he spent all his free time with her.”
“What connection