Watchers of Time - Charles Todd [144]
“If this had happened before the bazaar—” Rutledge began.
“All right! Let’s take your position and examine it. A dead man and no tin box would tell me there was another reason, a personal reason, to kill that priest. But I knew Father James too well—and in all your questioning, you still haven’t answered that one, either!”
Blevins, tired as he was, couldn’t make the leap of imagination. Hamish said, “You canna’ expect it from him. He was too close to the victim.”
Rutledge took a deep breath, thinking, Hamish is right.
“If Father James knew something that worried him— possibly involving a police matter—would he come to you with it?”
“Of course he would! I’d be the first person he’d turn to,” Blevins answered with a lift of pride.
But he hadn’t—and for the same reason: Father James, too, had known the Inspector’s limitations as a man and as a policeman.
Rutledge said, “I hear there’s a chance that Monsignor Holston will replace Father James until a suitable choice can be made. I’m driving to Norwich later. Shall I tell him that Walsh has died?”
“Suit yourself. I expect half the county has heard that by now. What’s taking you to Norwich?”
Rutledge smiled. “A personal matter. By the way— who’ll be given the reward that Lord Sedgwick put up?”
“Not the police,” Blevins said wryly. “And Lord Sedgwick ought to make that decision himself.”
“I expect he will.” Rutledge rose from his chair. “Have you by any chance seen Miss Trent? I’d like to speak to her before I leave for Norwich.”
“She went out last night, found herself badly frightened in the woods north of the church, and spent what was left of it at the vicarage. I stopped there to tell the Vicar that Walsh had been found. He thought she was still asleep.”
“What frightened her?”
“God knows. An owl probably, or a badger. Women have no business out in the middle of the night on their own.”
“You’ve heard, I’m sure, that Priscilla Connaught was out looking for Walsh? Ran her car into a ditch and was lucky to survive with only a concussion.”
“Yes, well, rather proves my point, doesn’t it?”
Rutledge reached across the desk to shake Blevins’s hand. “If you’d like a last piece of advice, I’d wire Iris Kenneth if I were you. Save the ratepayers from burying Walsh in a pauper’s grave!”
“I might, at that.” He thought about it. “Yes, I will!”
Rutledge left, glad to step out into the sunshine. It had a grayness to it now that forecast rain later, as the doctor had suggested. After the early morning, it had never been a clear day. But even in this light the marshes seemed rich with color, and the wind moved through the grasses like a wraith.
The walk from the police station to the vicarage seemed to stretch before Rutledge like the Great Wall of China, miles upon miles to travel on foot. His body rebelled at the thought. Hamish ridiculed him for his weakness.
Ignoring his tormentor, he went back to the hotel and started the car.
CHAPTER 24
MR. SIMS OPENED THE VICARAGE DOOR warily, peering out at Rutledge shrouded in the heavy shadows cast by the trees along the drive.
“What brings you here? Half the town is sound asleep after the long night. I understand Walsh has been found, and is dead.”
“Yes, that’s true. On both counts.” Rutledge said it pleasantly. “I came to ask if Miss Trent is awake.”
Sims said, “I expect she’s still asleep. But if you care to leave her a message?”
“Would you mind looking in on her? It’s rather urgent.” His voice was still quite pleasant, but the edge of command had crept into its timbre.
Sims was on the point of arguing when a door opened at the top of the stairs. May Trent stood there above them in a dressing gown far too large for her, her hair unbound and hanging in a dark stream down her back. She didn’t look as if she’d been asleep. The smudges under her eyes were as deep as Rutledge