The Confession - Charles Todd [87]
“Perhaps a case of mistaken identity? The wrong people singled out and killed?”
“We considered that as well. And nothing pointed to that possibility.”
Then why had someone come into a house in the night, stabbed three people in two different rooms without disturbing the servants in their beds, leaving the victims for dead and disappearing as quietly as he’d come?
What’s more, neither Cynthia Farraday nor Wyatt Russell appeared to have had any inkling of Justin Fowler’s past. Nor had Nancy Brothers. Whatever Mrs. Russell had been told by the Fowler family solicitor had not been passed on to anyone else. And Justin himself had kept his secret. Small wonder everyone felt he was quiet and preferred his own company. He’d suffered a shocking end to his childhood.
But what connection did this have with Ben Willet’s confession, that Wyatt Russell had killed Fowler? Even when Rutledge had questioned him, Willet had refused to say why or how the murder had been committed. Because he didn’t know any other details?
He thanked Robinson for the information he’d been given. The Inspector rose to see Rutledge out and said as they reached the door to the station, “You’ll be sure to let me know if you find anything that might shed light on our case?”
“I shall. I don’t see any chance of that at present, but then inquiries have a way of moving in directions we haven’t foreseen.”
“Yes. I’ve had my own experiences of that. Good hunting.”
And then Rutledge was out in the street, walking back to where he’d left his motorcar.
Hamish said, “Ye ken, the lad was only eleven. He couldna’ overpower both parents, even if they were asleep when he came into the room.”
“That’s very likely. No, I think we can absolve Justin of any blame.”
But it was important to consider one other possibility. That during the war, Major Russell learned about Justin Fowler’s past and blamed him for Mrs. Russell’s disappearance. He could have jumped to the conclusion that if Fowler had already killed twice, and his own parents at that, he would likely kill again. And how could Ben Willet have discovered that?
Halfway to the Rose and Crown, he stopped, retraced his steps to the police station, and asked the name of the Fowler solicitor. Robinson was reluctant to give it to him, unwilling to hand the Yard his own pet case, but Rutledge said blandly, “It’s possible there are other family members I could speak to.”
“We asked. There are none.”
“Still—”
Robinson hadn’t needed to look it up.
With that information in hand, he tracked down the firm of Biddle, Harrison and Bailey.
Their chambers were in a Victorian building with a view of the castle, and the senior clerk informed Rutledge that it was Mr. Harrison who had dealt with the affairs of the Fowler family.
Harrison’s hair was white, but his face was smooth, as if age had treated him well. His grip was firm when the two men shook hands, and then Harrison said, “I understand from my clerk that you’ve come about the Fowler murders. Is there any new information?”
“Sadly, no. But I have been searching for Justin Fowler. I understand he survived the war. Did you handle his affairs as well?”
“He wrote to us when he was about to go into the Army. He wished to draw up his will—as so many young men did at that time. It was the first correspondence we’d had from him since he went to live with Mrs. Russell. As he was underage, she had handled his affairs for him. The trust fund that his father had set up for the boy had paid him an allowance, but the principal wasn’t his until he reached the age of twenty-five. He left everything to Miss Cynthia Farraday. In 1917, when he should have reached his majority, we heard nothing from him. But the war was still on, and we thought perhaps he wished to wait until that was over before taking charge of his inheritance. It was quite sizable, in fact, but as one of our junior partners said at the time, there was very little need for great sums of money in the trenches.”
“And did he contact you when