Charles Todd - A Fearsome Doubt

Burke, coming back through the kitchen door, reported, “If there’s a path, I can’t find it.”

Dr. Pugh, following him, added, “There’s no sign of Brereton-and I called out, identifying myself. Weaver is still searching, but the light has gone, and it’s dark under the trees.”

Cleaning his feet on the scraper by the kitchen door, he walked back into the sitting room and shook his head as he studied the signs of struggle. “I’ve met Tom Brereton. He’s come to me on Mrs. Masters’s behalf a number of times, and I know of course about losing his eyesight. All the same, he was a soldier, and I’d say he was well able to defend himself. Unlike the other victims, who had to deal with crutches. Hurt, of course-there’s the blood in the sitting room. Still, even assuming he drank any of that drugged wine, he must have inflicted some damage of his own. But where is he now?”

Rutledge said, thinking aloud, “We don’t know how badly his attacker was hurt, do we? Brereton might well have turned the tables and gone after him. ”

Sergeant Burke was making notes, a rough diagram of the house, then the sitting room sketched in and an X marking the location of each visible bloodstain. He said, “Mr. Brereton’s a clever man. He would have come directly to Inspector Dowling and reported the identity of his assailant. My guess is, he was dragged into the kitchen while Adams was stacking the wood, and then was carried off to hide the body.” As Weaver walked back into the house, Burke added, “We’ll have to have that stack of wood taken down. Weaver? Get on it, man!”

Dowling, coming back into the sitting room, nodded. “I agree.”

But Hamish, who had spent the last ten minutes arguing in Rutledge’s head, did not. “He talked to you about the wine,” he reminded Rutledge. “He would ha’ been suspicious as soon as he saw it.”

Rutledge, standing to one side, was reviewing his last conversation with Brereton in light of Hamish’s adamant stand.

He had wondered then if Brereton in his roundabout fashion was making a confession. If the man was already contemplating disappearing, would he have staged his own death?

It would have had the opposite effect. Another murder would have galvanized the police into furious action. It would be far simpler to say that he needed more specialized eye care and to make arrangements with Raleigh and Bella Masters for the care of the cottage and of the cat.

No, very likely Brereton was what he seemed. A victim. But why in the daylight? Rutledge came again to that question, and Hamish answered it.

“Here it’s as isolated as anywhere on the road. And I canna’ believe he’d open his door after dark, but in the daylight he would-he did when you called. He had all his limbs, aye, but he was going blind. Nearly as bad as losing a leg-if the murderer canna’ abide the sairly wounded…”

But why would Hauser come here and slaughter Brereton? Was he truly searching for Jimsy Ridger, or had that been a ruse from the start?

Rutledge walked through the house again, looking with care at the scene in the sitting room.

Dowling was searching now for the weapon, poking about behind the furniture, looking in the hearth.

Brereton would have let the German into the house, if Hauser had used Elizabeth’s name. Yet the bottle of wine would have put him instantly on his guard. He himself had told Rutledge that wine was key to the investigation.

Unless Elizabeth had sent Hauser to Brereton, surely against Hamilton’s orders to stay out of it, and Brereton, jealous, himself had brought out the wine.

“He fetched Raleigh Masters’s medicines for Mrs. Masters. Laudanum for pain and the moodiness…” Hamish suggested.

Rutledge turned to Dr. Pugh. “Did you prescribe laudanum for Mr. Masters?”

Pugh, watching the drawing Burke was completing, said, with some surprise, “Dr. Talbot in London prescribed it, among other drugs. It was agreed I’d see that the supply was replenished as needed. Going back to Harley Street so frequently was difficult for Mrs. Masters-sadly, her husband sometimes refused to allow it.”

Brereton-victim-or murderer? Either way, Melinda Crawford would be distressed. She had intended to remember Brereton in her will, because of his approaching blindness. Pitying him, as she had once pitied Peter Webber’s father and taken the tired ex-soldier to his house in her carriage.

Hamish said, “Aye. One soldier will trust another. Brereton would find it easier than most to walk a distance with a man on crutches, and then offer him a drink to pass the time.”

It was falling into place.

Rutledge felt an urgent need to find Elizabeth Mayhew and make certain she was safe.

Dowling had finished his search. Rutledge said to him, “I’m going back to Marling. Is there anything or anyone you need to be brought back here?”

Dowling turned to Pugh. “Doctor, are you ready to go back?”

“I’ve already missed my afternoon hours. I’ll stay until we are sure Brereton doesn’t need me.”

“Weaver’s just finishing up. I’ll send him with you, Rutledge. He can find us some six or a dozen men to walk through the wood back there. They’ll need to bring lanterns, oil, all the torches they can lay hand to. If Mr. Brereton’s out there somewhere, the sooner we find him the better. Alive or dead.”

The young constable was silent most of the way back to Marling. Tired and grubby from unstacking the wood, he picked at a splinter in the palm of his hand, looking up once to say to Rutledge in disbelief, “We’ve not been away more than an hour!” After a bit he added, “I was glad not to uncover him amongst the wood. The others were asleep, like. Not bloody. Do you think he’s dead, then?”

Rutledge, busy with his own thoughts, had no wish for conversation. But he said, remembering Janet Cutter’s son George, who had not liked touching dead bodies, “I wish I knew.”

He dropped Constable Weaver at the police station and then drove on to Elizabeth Mayhew’s house.

She greeted him with open hostility.

“He’s not here. I don’t know where he is. Lawrence made me promise I’d not try to contact him. I ought to hate you.”

“No,” he said, with more gentleness than he felt. At least she was safe-“You know I haven’t had much choice in any of this.”

“You can’t blame duty for callousness.”

He let it go. “Elizabeth. Tom Brereton’s missing-”

Her face tightened with shock. “What do you mean -missing?”

“Just that. The cottage is empty, there’s furniture overturned, blood everywhere, and no sign of him. Or of whoever came to call on him. And there’s a bottle of wine on the table. Most of it spilled out onto the floor, but there’s probably enough left to tell us if anything has been added to it.”

“Because of his blindness? But I thought only amputees were being killed!” Her hands covered her mouth. “I don’t understand-have you come for Gunter again-because of Tom?”

“I’ve come on my own. Inspector Dowling is still at the cottage, and they’re searching the wood that lies behind it. The problem is, we don’t know anything at this stage, but people will start pointing fingers soon. And it would be much better if I found Hauser myself, rather than wait for Dowling to do it. Time’s short, you see, and the longer it takes to catch up to him, the more suspicious it will look.”

“I tell you, Lawrence forbade me to speak to him-”

“Then I’ll go find Hamilton.”

“Take me with you!” Before he could argue, she ran for her coat and came back again, pulling it on with urgency.

Hamish reminded him, “Better under your eye!” It was true.

As they got into the motorcar, Elizabeth said, “Ian, I’m sorry. Lately we’ve been at each other’s throats, and I think it’s worry, and the strangeness of all of this business.”