The Confession - Charles Todd [99]
“Out there where I found him, he’d have died regardless. This is the only chance he has.” Rutledge hesitated, conscious of Hamish’s firm grip on the rear seat, and then he said, “In the back with him. Are you coming? I can’t make good time without you.”
“Yes, of course.”
It took precious minutes and an energy they no longer possessed, but in the end Russell was settled in the motorcar, supported by Morrison.
Rutledge ran back to retrieve their coats and then they set out for London.
Miraculously, Russell was still alive—and still unconscious—by the time they had reached the nearest hospital of any size on the outskirts of the city.
Hamish was saying, “Ye ken, the first time he wasna’ hurt. This time . . .”
His voice faded as Rutledge sprinted into Casualty and brought nurses and a wheeled examining table back with him.
As the medical staff took over, Morrison sank into the nearest chair. “My God,” he said. “I don’t know when I’ve been so completely exhausted. Do you think he’ll pull through? Or at least wake up long enough to be questioned?”
Rutledge, pacing the floor, said, “I’d give much to find out who shot the man.”
“Don’t ask me,” Morrison said. “You’re the policeman.”
“He’s been lying there for hours. Possibly since the middle of the night. Or else someone came to the house this morning. From the look of the wound, my guess is last night. The blood in his clothing had dried a little.”
“I didn’t hear a shot fired.”
“You wouldn’t, indoors, if the wind was the other way.” Nor had he, Rutledge thought, which meant that it must have been fired after he’d left River’s Edge.
“Yes, I suppose you’re right—” Morrison broke off as a doctor came through the door where Russell had been taken, glanced around, and then spoke to Rutledge.
“You’re the man who brought in the gunshot victim?”
“Inspector Rutledge. Scotland Yard. Yes.”
“Dr. Wade. It’s not as bad as it could have been. Dehydration. Loss of blood. Damage to the ribs, the left lung nicked. Somehow the bullet missed the major arteries, and he’s got a fair chance of surviving. What happened?” He looked the two men up and down. Rutledge realized that he and Morrison were in a sorry state.
“We don’t know yet. We found him in the marshes up the River Hawking. I’d like to speak to him. Is he awake?”
“We’ve already given him a sedative to help with the pain. I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t find the bullet?”
“No, it went straight through. But judging from the wound, my guess is that it was a .45 caliber. An inch either way, and he’d be dead. What’s more, he was shot in the back. Cowardly thing to do.”
Rutledge said, “It was dark. And a warm night. He was wearing his coat, unbuttoned—it was that way when I found him. In the high grass he’d have made a very poor target at any distance. How long ago? Could you tell us roughly when he was shot?”
“From the clotting around the wound, I’d guess around three in the morning. Give or take an hour. He was cut and scraped as well. An earlier accident, was it? Or a drunken brawl?”
“He ran a Triumph into a ditch.”
“Yes, that fits.”
“Major Russell also suffered a head wound in the war. He’s sometimes confused.”
“I noticed that as well. He’s lived a charmed life, the Major has. I don’t think he’ll be riding his Triumph again anytime soon. With that head wound, he really shouldn’t be riding one at all.”
Rutledge indicated Morrison. “This man is the Major’s priest. I should like to leave him here, in the event that Russell comes to his senses and can describe his attacker. Will you see to it that Mr. Morrison is allowed to stay with him at all times?”
Morrison was on his feet, about to protest. “I’m needed—Mrs. Barber—”
“In good time,” Rutledge finished for him. “I have to leave, but I’ll be back by late afternoon.” He turned back to Dr. Wade. “Is there anything else you can tell me?”
“Sorry, no. Not at this time. It’s a watching brief at the moment, with surgery a possibility if those ribs press into the lung or there’s more internal bleeding. He’s lost enough blood that I’d rather not risk