Watchers of Time by Charles Todd

Author:Charles Todd
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, pdf
Tags: Rutledge, Detective and mystery stories, Police, Historical, Mystery & Detective, Police - England, Ian (Fictitious character), General, Mystery fiction, Historical fiction, Traditional British, Fiction
ISBN: 9780553583168
Publisher: Random House, Inc.
Published: 2002-07-30T06:13:43.362462+00:00

Rutledge made the turn into Trinity Lane, and pulled the motorcar into the web of shadows cast by a tree just by the churchyard wall. Switching off the motor, he sat back against his seat for a moment before stepping out into the light breeze that tempered the sun’s warmth.

From the churchyard where he walked, deep in thought, he could just catch the glimmer of the sea, struck by the sun and bright enough to hurt the eyes. Seagulls were wheeling above the tower, like white rooks, their hoarse cries almost human. He found he was listening to them instead, not wanting to think, not wanting to feel.

And then a woman called to him from the north porch of the church. “There you are, Inspector,” she said, as if she had waited there for half an hour or more for him to arrive. “I thought you’d forgotten!”

He turned toward the church, where May Trent was crossing the grassy churchyard toward him. “You had said something this morning about wanting to speak with me—”

Rutledge had said nothing of the sort. But as she moved away from the north porch, a man followed her out of the church. It was Edwin Sedgwick.

Her face was toward Rutledge, and there was a pleading smile on it. It made her look young and vulnerable.

“Yes, I have to apologize for being late,” Rutledge said immediately, removing his hat and standing there by the first row of gravestones, penitent.

Edwin Sedgwick moved gracefully in Miss Trent’s wake and she turned slightly to introduce the two men.

They shook hands. Sedgwick was saying, “I’d heard that you’re assisting Inspector Blevins. Any luck with the investigation into Walsh’s background? I had to drive my brother to London yesterday; I haven’t heard the latest news.”

“We’ve come up with a few pieces of information that seem to point in his direction,” Rutledge responded. “You knew Father James, I think?”

“We weren’t congregants at St. Anne’s, but of course everyone came to the bazaar. My father was offering a prize in the children’s games. Looking back on it, it seems to me that Walsh was affable enough, minding his own business and something of a success with the ladies. Hard to believe he was the sort to come back later and murder anyone, much less Father James.”

The sun was in his face, the cold gray eyes warmed by concern.

“Was there anyone else there that day who might have had words with the priest? Or showed any signs of unusual interest in the rectory?”

“On the contrary, as far as I could tell it was an orderly crowd, and the amusements seemed to keep them entertained. The afternoon appeared to be very busy, and I think Father James was pleased.” He frowned as he tried to remember. “There was one skinned knee, as I recall, when some boys ran out to play among the graves. My father quickly put a stop to that, and Mrs. Wainer bound up the wound. My brother was in some pain because of his back, and shortly after that, he asked my father to drive him home.

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