Charles Todd - A False Mirror

“None. But I think I might have discovered the weapon used to bring Hamilton down.” He described his search among the boats hauled up for the night.

“I didn’t examine Hamilton, but I should think you’re right. Heavy enough to do the job. Long reach, no footprints close by, not much blood splattered on one’s coat or shirtfront. But I’m curious, why didn’t someone intent on beating Hamilton within an inch of his life simply finish the job while he was about it? At that stage it would have taken only a few more blows, surely?”

“He wanted Hamilton to drown. George Reston’s brother drowned in the same place not long ago-in his case too drunk to drag himself away from the water’s edge. I think our killer remembered that and was hoping Hamilton would go into the sea before anyone discovered him. By the time the body came ashore again, it would be so badly battered that no one would suspect he’d been beaten nearly to death first.”

“Interesting point. You said he. You know the killer, then?”

“For want of knowing, he.”

“Quite. Well, I can tell you it wasn’t a boat hook in the surgery. Not enough room to wield one where we found Mrs. Granville,” Hester reminded him. “And she hadn’t been moved from where she fell.”

“But it must have been something equally practical. We searched and came up empty-handed.”

“Because the killer-he or she-took it with him when he carted Hamilton off. And a very wise decision, from his point of view.”

“Then why didn’t he kill Hamilton once he got him out of the surgery?”

“Do I have to do all your thinking for you?” Hester asked with a crooked smile. “If he left a body lying about, you’d know there was a third person in that surgery. As long as it was likely that Hamilton walked out under his own power, you’ve got a complication.”

“And so-speaking hypothetically-our killer left him along the Exeter road, where a lorry driver could find him and save his life a second time.”

“If the killer had learned that Hamilton was not clear on anything and would stay that way, he might decide to leave him alive to take the blame for Mrs. Granville.” His eyes were sharp, his mind leaping ahead. “Did someone find him on the Exeter road?”

“Actually a lorry driver found him there. That’s all I’m making public, but the truth seems to be that Hamilton walked out of the surgery and took refuge in the cottage that went over in the landslip. But he had an inkling it was in danger and hid himself next in the henhouse of a farmer who’d gone off to market. At nightfall, he tried to walk down the road and passed out.”

“My God. Then he killed Mrs. Granville.”

“He’s confessed to it. But it’s possible someone came for Hamilton, discovered he was gone, and before he could get out of there, Mrs. Granville walked into the surgery.”

“Where is Hamilton now?”

“For safety, I’ve put him in his bed at the house, with his wife, Mallory, and Mr. Putnam to guard him.”

“For safety?” Hester frowned. “Aren’t you taking a chance there?”

“I don’t think Mallory tried to kill him. And I don’t think Hamilton killed Mrs. Granville.”

“What can he tell you?”

“Precious little.”

“Well, neither can I. Mrs. Granville died of that blow on the head, delivered with some force, mind you. And Nan Weekes was smothered as she slept. There’s nothing new in either case.”

“Hamilton is in a great deal of pain, as you’d expect. This is the sedative Dr. Granville prescribed for him.” Rutledge handed the box of powders to Hester.

“Are you telling me you don’t trust my colleague?” Hester demanded. “You think he’s out for revenge, for what happened to Margaret?”

“I’m not suggesting anything. Hamilton is alive at the moment, and I intend to see that he stays that way. I don’t want to discover too late that someone in the house took liberties with what Dr. Granville prescribed. Are these powders likely to do a great deal of harm if swallowed all at once?”

Hester examined the contents of one of the sleeves of powder. “They’re stronger than the sedative I left for Mrs. Hamilton, when she was upset. Hamilton is dealing with injuries that he’s very likely aggravated by activity. He’ll require more help. I’m satisfied that this medication is safe, but if I were you, I’d make sure no one else had access to it. Dr. Granville told me you’d had to deal with Mrs. Hamilton. I wouldn’t want her to try again and be more successful.”

“I’ll be certain to dole out the powders as needed. Personally.”

“A very wise precaution.” He got up and went to his medical bag. “How has she handled her husband’s return from the dead?”

“Not very well.”

“No, I thought not. Here. Take these pills with you too. If Hamilton is still having trouble with his memory and the powders seem to leave him more confused than he ought to be, or if he seems to be agitated while taking them, it might be best to have a choice. A little more pain, perhaps, but he won’t be raving. And if you were hard-pressed, one of these would calm his wife as well.”

Rutledge stood there, watching him work.

“Inspector?” Dr. Hester was holding out the packet of pills.

“Oh. Yes, thank you. If you come up with any suggestions for a murder weapon used for Mrs. Granville, we’ll offer you the next opening at the Yard.”

“I wouldn’t walk in your shoes for any amount of money. I’m satisfied with my own, thank you very much.”

Rutledge left, driving from Middlebury back to Hampton Regis. He ignored Hamish, who was busy with arguments of his own, and concentrated on the road.

The glimmer of an answer that had struck him there in Hester’s office had nothing to support it.

Intuition, he reminded himself, was a very unreliable gift. A burst of brilliance that showered light on one single corner of the darkness surrounding it and left the rest impenetrable.

But in the hands of an experienced policeman, intuition could sometimes lead to proof. Given a little luck.

Rutledge made good time to Hampton Regis, considered his options, and in the end went to the telephone closet at the Duke of Monmouth Inn and put through a call to London.

He had to wait more than an hour in that stuffy little room, shut in with Hamish and his own thoughts, before the call was returned.

After a while, Rutledge put in another call to London as well. This time to Inspector Phipps.

When the man came on the phone, Rutledge said, “I’m told you’ve found the Green Park killer.”

Phipps answered, “Indeed, yes. A man named Berenson and his wife. She lured the victims there because they didn’t know her, and he strangled them. Revenge, as it happened. They’d swindled him in a financial scheme and he wanted revenge.”

“Berenson?” He didn’t recognize the name.

“That man Fields, the one you’d had watched-he told us his sister’s husband wasn’t the only one cheated by the dead men. There were four others in on it, Berenson being only one of them. Fields had been of two minds about helping us with our inquiries. In the end, glad as he was to see rough justice done, he realized it would have been a better lesson if both men had lived to be clapped up in prison. I tried to make the Chief Superintendent aware of your role in turning up Fields, but he didn’t like the man and would have gladly seen him taken up instead.” He cleared his throat. “Mrs. Berenson is quite-pretty. And convincing.”

“You’re certain of your facts?”

“Oh, yes. We found the garrote amongst her knitting.”

“And Constable Waddington?”

“He received a commendation for his part in the arrests. A good man, that. Chief Superintendent Bowles is impressed with him.”