Todd, Charles - Ian Rutledge 09 - A False Mirror by Todd Charles

Author:Todd, Charles [Todd, Charles]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, Fiction, General, Rutledge, Police Procedural, Mystery & Detective, Police - England, Ian (Fictitious character), Mystery fiction, Historical
ISBN: 9780060786748
Google: 3jPIlwEACAAJ
Amazon: 0062103229
Goodreads: 2775627
Publisher: Harper
Published: 2007-12-25T23:00:00+00:00

16

The police station was a beehive of activity. Bennett was in a sober mood.

“I waited half an hour for you. Where the hell have you been?” he demanded, looking Rutledge over. “Crawling through a farmer’s field, I’ll be bound.”

“Close enough. I’ve—”

Bennett interrupted him. “The Chief Constable was here. I don’t know who told him what has happened—I’ll wager you it was Miss Trining, damn her eyes—but he has given us twenty-four hours to find out where Hamilton is and who killed Mrs. Granville. He’s not a man to be crossed, the Chief Constable. We’ve got one and twenty hours left.”

“It’s likely that Hamilton is dead. I went out to the landslip. And this was caught on the back of a chair that had been splintered by the fall.” He held out the wet bandage, and Bennett stared at it as if it could bite him.

“Good God!”

“I can’t think of anyone else who might have left it there. We must show it to Granville, to see if he recognizes his handiwork. Then we should have a talk with Mr. Reston.”

“Reston couldn’t have killed the doctor’s wife, whatever you’re suggesting. There’s no sound reason for it.”

“Unless she got in his way when he came for Hamilton.”

“But why should he want to harm Hamilton? You won’t make me believe it’s because of some bits of clay on a shelf at the man’s house. Mr. Reston may be a fanatic for religion, but that doesn’t make him a murderer.”

“There was a man in London he assaulted. Reston’s victim didn’t press charges, so there’s no record of it. And he’s got a violent nature.”

“Still—” Bennett was already fitting his crutch under his shoulder and getting to his feet. “Have it your way then, but you’ll be proved wrong. I won’t walk there. I can’t.”

“I’ll fetch my motorcar. Give me five minutes.”

It was twenty minutes before he was back again, having taken the time to clean himself up. He carried his trousers down to the kitchen to be dried and pressed, asked for a length of oiled cloth for the bandages, and persuaded the young girl in the pantry to make him a sandwich from pickle, last night’s beef, and a little cheese, though she protested that the luncheon ham would be ready in no more than a quarter of an hour.

Bennett came out and climbed into the passenger’s side just as a strong beam of sunlight broke through the clouds and swept the rooftops and wet streets with a warm and brilliant light.

Bennett looked up at it and said, “We could do with a shift in the weather. I smell pickle.”

Rutledge didn’t answer. He put the motorcar into gear and drove to the Reston house.

Mr. Reston was at home, they were told by the maid, but was feeling a touch of dyspepsia.

“Please tell him Inspector Rutledge and Inspector Bennett are here on police business and require a word with him. We’ll wait until he can join us.”

She still appeared to be doubtful, and Rutledge could see that she was on the point of refusing them admittance.

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