Charles Todd - Proof of Guilt

“As a rule I eschew alcohol. But I rather think you can use it,” he said.

“Quite.”

Rutledge began with the body on the street, the direction the watch had taken him, and what he knew about the French family. He brought in Diaz and what had become of him after the confrontation with Howard French and his son years before. As he went on to describe the asylum and then Mrs. Bennett’s charitable endeavors, he saw Belford shake his head. He explained Valerie Whitman’s connection to Gooding, and the quarrel between Miss French and her brother.

Finally, considering what he had said, he decided that he had been both objective and fair.

“You’ve looked into the men who were Mrs. Bennett’s staff? Where they were imprisoned, why, and with whom?”

“The Yard felt that there was nothing to be gained by doing that.”

“A pity,” said Belford thoughtfully. “Because if Diaz wanted to kill, he would have listened to these men, their idle conversation, their experiences during their incarceration, the mates they met in prison, their lies and their boasts and their truths. And gleaned what he needed from them. Finally he would have made his choice as to which person to approach. It’s a matter of trust, you see. Diaz cannot afford to be wrong. He will have only one chance.”

“He’s written no letters, mailed none. Received none.”

“But the man who goes to market could easily drop a letter into the postbox.”

“How did he come by stamps?”

“Someone cleans Mrs. Bennett’s house for her. A single stamp is rarely missed.”

“And the response?”

“In the market basket, of course. Or whoever collects her mail could easily pocket one letter appearing to be addressed to Mrs. Bennett herself.”

“All right. I expect the man who does the marketing is the primary person he trusts. The man who cleans will not know why the stamp is needed, only that it is. And the man who mails letters and collects return post could be one and the same.”

“Exactly my thinking. The fewer who know, the less chance there is of trouble.”

It was much as Rutledge had thought. And this was not why he had come to see Belford. He presented his request carefully.

“My problem is finding out who this man may know. Or if he is indeed the contact. There could be another person involved, someone who insists on staying in the shadows. But I think the courier, the man who posts and collects the letters, will try to learn what he can. If only to protect himself.”

“In his shoes, I’d do the same. And in the long term this could blow up.”

“How would Diaz be able to hire a killer? As far as I know, he has no money. Nor do I think any of the men around him have funds of their own.”

As he said the words, Rutledge realized that he had believed Diaz when he said his father had disinherited him. It was worth looking into.

“You have a list of names?”

Rutledge gave them from memory, and taking a small black notebook from an inner pocket, Belford jotted them down.

“I can’t guarantee that what I discover will help you,” he warned, closing the notebook and restoring it to his pocket.

“Nevertheless, it’s worth a try.”

“It’s a rather nice riddle, this one of yours. I much preferred such cases when I was in the war. I read law, did you know? And found it damned dull.”

Rutledge smiled. His own father was a solicitor, and he had not wished to follow in his footsteps. He wondered if, when all was said and done, he’d joined the police for the same reasons that Belford had, lying to himself about his concern for the silent victim.

He had not been surprised that Belford had so quickly agreed to help. That unidentified body on his street, so close to his door, had been the motivation, not any eloquence on Rutledge’s part. Rutledge had few illusions about Belford. But he needed the man’s help.

He had finished his tea, and now he rose to leave, thanking Belford for his hospitality and his time.

Belford accompanied his guest to the door. “Good hunting. I will let you know as soon as I learn anything useful.”

“Thank you.” Rutledge had no doubt at all that Belford could find him wherever he was.

It was not a connection he intended to cultivate, but it was going to be very useful in the present circumstances.

Hamish was not in agreement. “Ye’ve supped with the de’il,” he said as Rutledge walked back to where he’d left his motorcar.

“And he who sups with the devil needs a long-handled spoon.”

“Aye, ye tak’ it lightly. But when he’s satisfied about yon body, it’s possible ye’ll never hear a word of what he discovered.”

“On the contrary,” Rutledge said, pausing to turn the crank. “He’ll want to gloat. He didn’t make a career of the Army. I find that interesting. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn he’s now MI5.”

Rutledge’s next call was on the solicitor who handled the affairs of French, French & Traynor.

Word had already reached them that Traynor had gone missing, and they were unwilling initially to entertain taking on a request from Scotland Yard.

Mr. Hayes said, “Our first responsibility is to our client, French, French and Traynor. It’s a tremendous undertaking. There’s pay for the workmen in Funchal, shipping contracts coming due, decisions to be made about the staff here, and a review of the men in charge of the winery out there. I shall be sending a senior clerk to Madeira to ensure that everything continues to run smoothly, but he knows very little about how the wine is made. I shall have to employ an expert to examine the situation there. Added to everything else is the language. It isn’t English.”

“I understand that this has stretched the limits of your chambers. But I must know if Afonso Diaz has inherited money from his father or if he was disinherited. His father’s Will should be a matter of record in Funchal and possibly even in Lisbon. As the solicitors for French, French and Traynor, you have dealt with Portuguese law from time to time. You will know how or where to find the information. And find it quickly. If the Yard pursues the matter, it must go through channels, and I’ll be lucky to have an answer in six months’ time.”

“Yes, yes, I understand. But this man’s father sold the property quite legally and the sums due him were paid in full. We have all the paperwork required to show just that. What he chose to do with that money afterward was his own affair.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Rutledge said. “But this man Diaz is still in England. Your firm handled the business of sending him to the asylum outside of Cambridge. You know that he was treated there. You know also when the fund to keep him there lapsed and he was subsequently released. And you never told me about Diaz. You must surely have spoken to Lewis French about this matter after his brother died and the responsibility for maintaining Diaz in the asylum came up for consideration.”

“Yes, and Mr. French decided that he was no longer a risk to the family. The doctor assessed his case and reported that he appeared to be well enough not to be a threat.”

“But someone decided that he should remain in England. He tells me that he can return to Madeira only when he dies.”

“In fact, that was a provision suggested by Lewis French. He thought it wise to keep the man under his eye. In Madeira there are the winery and the vineyards. Perhaps more temptation than Diaz could cope with.”

Rutledge felt like swearing. Lewis French had not understood the threat that Diaz posed to the family. And even Diaz had alluded to the terms of his release, thinking that Rutledge must know them and who had fashioned them. Or else he had tested the waters to see just how much Rutledge did know . . .