Charles Todd - A long shadow

Something flitted across Hensley's face, a shadow of guilt, Rutledge thought.

"I don't have any notion what happened, much less why," he answered just as a patient three beds away began to cough heavily. The sister hurried to his side, and Hensley watched her prop the man higher on his pillows. "No one goes to that wood. Not if they've got any sense. Least of all me. I can't think why anyone might drag me there. Unless it was to hide what he'd done."

"He's no' a light man to be hauled about," Hamish said, stirring, his voice no more than a thread in Rutledge's mind. "No' in the middle of the day, when people are about."

"What's wrong with this wood?" Rutledge asked. "Why do people avoid it?"

"It's haunted by the dead. So it's said."

"What dead?"

Hensley shut his eyes, as if keeping them open was an effort. "It's not a police matter. Saxon dead, a long time ago. The story is there was a massacre, raiders herding everyone from the village into the wood and slaughtering them. You haven't been there, you don't know what it's like. Strange. That's all I can say."

"Who found you?" Rutledge asked.

"I don't know. I asked Dr. Middleton that, and he said I wasn't to talk." He shifted again. "They did tell me I lay there bleeding for more than two hours. I was that cold, they thought I was already dead. That was afterward, on the journey down to Northampton. I can recall a little of that."

"Anyone on your patch who uses a bow?"

He moved his hand slightly, indicating he didn't know. "Sister," he called as the nurse eased the coughing patient and started down the ward with her basin of bathwater. "Is it time yet?"

"I'll tell you when it's time," she said. "Mr. Rutledge, I believe you've asked enough questions."

Hensley turned his head restlessly. "Bloody woman," he said under his breath. "I'm the one here in the bed, not her. How does she know how I feel?"

"How often do you go to Letherington? Could someone have expected to find you on the road there at a particular time of day?"

"I go to Letherington when I need to meet with Inspector Cain. Or report to him. There's no pattern to it." He hesitated. "I thought I heard crows above the fields, making a bloody racket. I stopped my bicycle and stood there, looking around. That's the last I remember."

Distracting Rutledge, Hamish reminded him, "Ye ken, the crows flew up fra' the trees by the road at the sound of yon shot. No' at the sound of the motorcar."

That's true, Rutledge agreed silently. They weren't disturbed until the revolver was fired. Whoever it was had lain quietly in wait for some time. Long enough for them to settle. He brought his mind back from Hertfordshire to Constable Hensley's attacker. What agitated them in this case? Not an arrow being loosed.

The man in the bed was saying, "At a guess, I never got to Letherington. But you'll have to ask Inspector Cain about that. I remember setting out, I remember the crows." He shook his head, as if bewildered. "It wearies me, this business of not knowing."

"If you can bring back any more details, ask Matron to call Chief Inspector Kelmore or one of his people here in Northampton, and he'll get word to me." Rutledge retrieved his hat. "Do you have a station in Dudlington?"

Hensley's voice was weaker, and he closed his eyes against the dim lamplight. "We don't run to station houses. I use my parlor as my office. You'll find whatever you need there. Make yourself at home. I won't be back for a bit, if these bloody butchers have their say."

Rutledge stood for moment beside the bed, looking down at the wounded man. He appeared to be in no hurry to find his attacker. And that in itself was odd. No anger, no fierce need to help speed the inquiry along.

But then Hensley's eyelids opened, and he said, as if realizing his own mistake, "I'll worry about it when I'm better. I can't now. You can see that. Tell Inspector Kelmore I'm not fit enough for questions yet."

Matron was coming with a little tray of medicines and a cup of water. Hensley saw her, and his face cleared. "Thank God!"

Matron nodded to Rutledge as she reached the bed. "You promised me only five minutes."

"Yes, I was just going. Tell me, do you know what became of the arrow that was taken from Hensley's back?"

"You must ask the surgical sister about that."

But the surgical sister, when Rutledge had run her to earth, said, "They'd removed the shaft before he was brought here. You must ask Dr. Middleton what became of it. As for the tip, it was an ordinary metal one. Chief Inspector Kelmore took it, but I doubt it did him much good. We had rather butchered it, extracting it from the rib. Constable Hensley was very lucky. His injury might have been far worse. If the arrow had got past the ribs, he'd be a dead man."

Rutledge went in search of Chief Inspector Kelmore and found him in his office, a stuffy little room reeking of pipe smoke. Kelmore was a graying man in his late forties, with yellowed teeth and ears too large for his head.

The Chief Inspector shook hands with Rutledge and said, "I was just leaving. The wife's ill, and I'm taking the rest of the day off. They've sent you here about Hensley, have they? Lucky he wasn't killed, according to the surgeon." He began to dig through the contents of his desk drawer, then reached instead for a box sitting on the floor. "Here's what's left of the arrow. I expect that's what you came for." He passed the broken shaft with its mangled metal tip to Rutledge. "Nothing unusual about it, except where it was found, in a constable's back."

Rutledge studied the wooden shaft, then the tip. "I should think it would have depended on the distance the arrow flew as to how deep it might have gone."

"Yes, that was my view as well. Hence the luck I spoke of. I daresay whoever loosed this arrow is afraid to come forward and admit to his carelessness." He held out his hand for the tip.

"And that's what you put it down to? Carelessness?" Rutledge asked, returning it.

"What else should I read into it? As you'll see for yourself, Dudlington is hardly a hotbed of murderers. I can't think why someone would have wished Hensley ill. Seems to be a decent enough chap, had no complaints against him. Nor has Inspector Cain, who oversees Dudlington, along with two other hamlets, Fairfield and Letherington. Letherington, to the north of Dudlington, is the largest of the three. Fairfield is a little more to the east." He pointed to a county map on the wall.

"I'll call on Cain tomorrow. Was there any indication in that wood-what's it called? Frith's Wood-how Hensley had been carried or dragged there?"

"I don't think they looked. Does he claim he wasn't in the wood when he was shot? That's odd."

"He says he remembers riding his bicycle on the main road, and the next thing he knew he was on his way to hospital. He doesn't know how he got to the wood. Or when he was shot."

"They do say that sudden and severe injury can shock the mind, and events just before it happened are lost. His memory might return as he heals. I'm not sure why the Yard was brought into this business before we'd had a chance to look into it ourselves. But there you are. No offense intended."

"None taken. I expect London was concerned because Hensley came from there. And it was possible that someone he'd helped convict had a long memory."

"That's always possible, of course. Yes, I can see where it might have caused concern." Kelmore stored the arrow away again and rose to his feet. "I'll speak to Hensley myself tomorrow. I must go. The doctor is coming to my wife, again, and I must be there. If there's anything you need, let me know. If you can't find me, leave your message with Sergeant Thompson. He'll see that I get it."

He was ushering Rutledge out of the tiny office and into the drab corridor. "How are you getting to Dudlington? It's isolated, you know. No bus service."