Charles Todd - Search the Dark

Rutledge hesitated, yet he knew he could do nothing for the barn. There was nothing one man-or an army of men-might do as the flames fed hungrily on the hay and then jumped to the dry, old wood of stalls and pillars and walls. He stood staring at it in despair, knowing what its destruction would mean to Aurore.

Finally retrieving the suitcase from the porch where he’d left it, he turned and hurried back down the drive to his car.

Wherever Simon was, he had to find him. He had the strongest feeling that it was already too late. But he had to try. To live with himself, he had to try.

But there was no sign of Wyatt on the road, and Rutledge thought as he coughed raggedly, I couldn’t have missed him coming here-the fire wasn’t that far along when I arrived. He must have taken a shortcut from here to Charlbury-he must have come out somewhere near the church where no one would see him. He’s ahead of me!

Driving very fast now, his headlamps probing the darkness, he made the trip to Charlbury in a matter of minutes.

The Wyatt house was alight, not with fire but with lamps. He braked hard, skidding to a halt, and was out of the car almost as soon as the engine stopped.

Aurore was in the front garden, her face wild with fear.

“Simon isn’t in the house,” she said. “I can’t find him, I’ve looked everywhere. Oh, God-can you see those flames? We must do something-Jimson-”

“Jimson’s safe. Simon was at the farm-he set the barn to burn, Aurore. It will be gone in a short time. But he wasn’t there, nor was Jimson. And the cattle, the horses are safe. There’s nothing that can be done.”

But the fire bell by the common was ringing loudly, and men, stuffing nightshirts into trousers, were gathering by the inn and piling into carts, wagons, whatever they could find, throwing buckets among the packed bodies. Rutledge caught sight of Jimson among them, yelling fiercely.

“He burned-but why! ” Aurore ignored the chaos, her mind only on Simon.

Rutledge said, “The suitcase. He wanted to destroy it and anything else that might have been left there, any evidence that could still be found. It was the only thing he could think of doing before Hildebrand came tomorrow. Aurore, you must tell me now, where did you find that straw hat?”

“The suitcase-Margaret’s?” She was very still. “I don’t understand.”

“It was hidden in the church, Aurore. Henry knew about the hiding place there, and Simon. Simon went to fetch it tonight. You hadn’t destroyed it, had you? If you lied about that, you lied about the hat-”

Elizabeth Napier had come to the door. “I heard voices-is that you, Simon?” She peered out into the garden, seeing only the tall man beside Aurore.

“No, it’s Rutledge.”

“I smell smoke!” she exclaimed as she stepped out the door. Her voice was still rough. She turned in the direction that men and wagons were moving up the road and saw the distant flames leaping into the night sky. “ My God! ”

“It’s the farm, there’6 nothing we can do. I don’t know where Simon is. Elizabeth, did he know of hiding places in the church? Behind the old altar, for one, under the altar cloth? The one that Henry used as a boy? Who else did?”

“We were never allowed to play there-I’ve never heard of a hiding place. Has Simon already gone to try to save the farm buildings? We ought to be there, helping him! Be quick, Aurore, we need the car!” She started down the walk.

“There’s a suitcase in the back of my car. Will you look at it and tell me if you recognize it?” The hurrying men had disappeared, but there were clots of women near the Wyatt Arms, some staring toward the fire, some of them packing another wagon with picks, shovels, buckets, a barrel of ale.

Aurore began to move, but he gripped her arm, holding it firmly.

Elizabeth said, “I’m not interested in suitcases! Why isn’t Benson here when I need him? Will you take me, Aurore, or not-”

“Please do as I ask.” There was an inflection in his voice that stopped the flow of words as if they’d been cut off. She stared at him, surprised by his intensity.

Then she moved through the gate and turned to look at Rutledge again with an expression that was hard to read-anger he thought, because her primary concern was still Simon. But it was his as well. She went on to the car.

After a moment she called in surprise, “I know that case! That’s Margaret’s! Where on earth did you find it? I thought the killer had taken it?”

“You’re absolutely sure of that? It belonged to her?”

“Of course I am! My father gave her this case for her birthday two years ago. It’s part of a set.” She turned and said, with sudden understanding, “It means you know who killed her, doesn’t it?”

“I think, Miss Napier, that you’d better go back into the house and telephone Inspector Hildebrand in Singleton Magna. Tell him, please, that he’s wanted here. That there’s an emergency. Meanwhile, Aurore, you must help me find Simon!”

Elizabeth stepped away from the car and looked at him with fierce passion. “What’s happened? Why won’t you tell me! Aurore, make him tell me! ”

Aurore opened her mouth to say something just as the silence was shattered by the sound of a gunshot coming from the direction of the museum.

“Oh, God-” She was already running, fleet as a wraith, her skirts lifted, her body tense with fear and terror.

Elizabeth screamed, one long heart-tearing sound, a name, and was after her in a flash of skirts and flying heels.

But Rutledge, swifter, was there ahead of them, at the door of the museum, opening it, rushing into the empty room, and then the next and the next, until he’d reached the small office that Simon had used.

At the door he came to such an abrupt halt that Aurore cannoned into him, and Elizabeth was a poor third, pressing at their backs, calling Simon’s name.

“Don’t come any closer!” he said, putting out an arm to stop Aurore.

“No, I must go to him, I’ve had training, I can-oh, God, let me go!”

Elizabeth, pushing her way past both of them, reached the threshold, and for an instant Rutledge thought she was about to faint. She swayed on her feet, grasped the door’s edge, and began to whimper with soft, short breaths.

Aurore broke away and went into the room.

Rutledge knew what it held. He had seen. In that one brief, anguished glance, he had seen it all in the lamplight. Simon Wyatt, seated at the desk, a sheet of paper on the top in front of him, a pen beside it, and his blood blown across it by the impact of the bullet to his temple. The pistol on the floor beside his chair was German, a war souvenir.

The Germans, Rutledge thought helplessly, had got him after all.

And Hamish, aware of the grief and the pain and the horror of what had happened, said, “Look well. See yoursel’. If it’s no’ the Germans waiting, it will be me.”

Rutledge stood there for an instant, frozen, seeing in his mind’s eye his own shattered face lying on one arm out-flung across the bare wood.

Rutledge made himself walk into the room and look at the sheet of paper under Simon’s arm, although he had guessed what was written on it. It was addressed to Hildebrand. It said only, “You were wrong. I blacked out and killed them both. She didn’t know. It is better this way.” And the signature read, with a flourish, Simon Wyatt.

Rutledge softly swore, the waste of a man’s life shocking him.

Aurore was kneeling beside her husband, her arm across his shoulder, saying “He’s still warm, there must be a pulse, if I can stop the bleeding-”

Elizabeth was clinging to the door frame, sobbing heavily, her eyes unable to look away.