Home > A Divided Loyalty (Inspector Ian Rutledge #22)(35)

A Divided Loyalty (Inspector Ian Rutledge #22)(35)
Author: Charles Todd

 

 

8


Driving south from York with every intention of going on to Wiltshire, Rutledge changed his mind again. He had put off what he had known for some time he would eventually have to do. But he had no other choice now.

It went against the grain to ask this particular man for his help.

He could of course go on to Wiltshire and drive around the county showing the photograph of the dead woman to every Constable he could find. Make work, not progress. Before very long, Markham would be asking for a report, and there would be nothing to give him.

He reached London very early in the morning and stopped at his flat long enough to shave and change. And then at nine o’clock he drove the short distance to Chelsea.

Haldane lived in a house not far from the one Meredith Channing had occupied when Rutledge had first met her. Several streets over, but close enough to evoke memories.

Rutledge had met Haldane while interviewing residents of the street after a motorcar crash that had ended in a death. The initial investigation had rapidly expanded into a full-scale murder inquiry.

Haldane was an enigma. Then and now.

His credentials claimed he was in the Foot Police, the division that was in charge of Army discipline and crimes. But that was surely nothing more than a cover. For what, Rutledge hadn’t discovered, but he’d have wagered his life it was Military Intelligence. The man’s quiet manner and quick mind would have been wasted on finding other ranks away without leave or wanted for starting a fight in a pub. What’s more, his contacts went beyond anything the Yard could draw on.

He disliked being beholden to this man, but sometimes his resources were the only certain way of gaining information that Sergeant Gibson couldn’t uncover.

The man who acted as servant to Haldane—and kept the door—informed Rutledge that he was in. Ten minutes later, Haldane walked into the study where Rutledge had been waiting.

Haldane nodded. “Good morning.”

“Good morning. I have a photograph I should like to have you look at for me.”

Rutledge handed him the envelope. Haldane considered Rutledge for a moment, then he took out what it held.

He looked at the photograph intently. “She’s dead.”

“Yes. She was when she was discovered. No identification, nothing to tell us who she was or where she’d come from.”

“May I keep this?”

“I promised the Rector it would be returned to him. In the event her family comes looking for her. A final identification of the dead woman.”

Haldane looked up. “They won’t be coming.”

“What? Do you know her?” Even Haldane couldn’t be that good.

He shook his head. “She’s European, I think. Possibly Armenian. How she got to England I don’t know. Or why she should wish to come here. Still. Who in Europe would know to look for her here? Perhaps that’s what made her choose this country. Or perhaps she knew someone who could protect her. The Continent is awash with displaced persons. Refugees from the war, from political upheavals. People looking to settle old scores. Some of them are in danger, others are looking for peace. Some are even dangerous.” Haldane hesitated. “A long way to travel to meet Death. Where was she found? London?”

“Avebury.”

For the first time since Rutledge had known him, Haldane registered surprise.

“Avebury?” he repeated, looking again at the photograph.

“She was found in the ditch surrounding the megaliths. But she’d been killed by one of the stones. The one that resembles a hooded figure.”

“Yes,” Haldane said slowly. “I know which one. Of all the standing stones I’ve ever seen, it is the most—puzzling. One doesn’t easily forget it.” After a moment, he added almost to himself, “I wonder if that’s why she was killed there.”

“I don’t follow?” Rutledge replied.

“As I said, one doesn’t easily forget that stone. Don’t you see? If you were looking to kill someone, casting about for a way to do it without being caught, the best plan would be to confuse the issue, so that the police are chasing shadows, not the truth. No offense, but there you are.”

Dr. Allen had done just that. He’d put his victim into a grave dug for someone else, confusing the issue of who she was and where she’d come from, shock and mystery surrounding her death. He’d counted on that, to allow him to take charge of the body, and manipulate any evidence he didn’t wish to come out. But who in Avebury fit the role of Dr. Allen?

Or was not there now to be questioned?

Constable Henderson?

“Is there any way to identify this woman? Or discover who it is she might have come to England to find?”

Haldane considered him. “If one’s papers appear to be in order, he or she is admitted to the country. Even if by a stroke of extraordinary luck you find her papers, the name on them may or may not be hers. Something you must take into account is that there are millions dead. No one bothered to keep records of all of them. Their identity shrouded in secrecy. She could claim to be one of them. Who in this country would know if a woman purporting to be Italian was actually speaking Italian or some other language? The average Englishman seldom knows any other tongue but his own.” His voice was bleak. “It’s the proverbial needle in a haystack, only in searching through the hay, one knows one is looking for a needle.”

“I didn’t think it was possible. I’d hoped it might be.”

Returning the photograph to the envelope, Haldane said, “What is it that’s written above the gates to Hell? Abandon hope, all ye who enter here.” He passed it back to Rutledge. “I would count it a kindness, if you would tell me what you discover, once the inquiry is finished.”

“I don’t know,” Rutledge told him, “if it will ever be finished.”

“I’m afraid I shall have to agree with you.”

 

Rutledge went on to Avebury and ran down Dr. Mason enjoying a late breakfast at the inn.

“Hallo,” Mason said as Rutledge came through the door, spotted the doctor, and turned toward his table. “Surprised—but quite pleased—to see you again. Sit down. A farm accident. Nothing serious as long as infection doesn’t set in. But it pulled me from my bed before the sun rose. You look as tired as I feel.”

“A good deal of driving,” Rutledge admitted.

“Found the answers you were seeking?”

“I’m not sure.” He went to the bar and asked for toast and tea, then came back to the doctor’s table. They were alone at this hour, save for the man behind the bar, who had stepped into the kitchen to give Rutledge’s order to the cook.

Sitting down again, he said quietly, “You were there when Chief Inspector Leslie saw the body for the first time.”

Frowning, the doctor said slowly, “I was. Where is this going?”

Rutledge avoided a direct answer. “Do you think he recognized the woman?”

Dr. Mason opened his mouth to reply, then snapped it shut. Glancing around to be sure he couldn’t be overheard, he said, “He responded to seeing her. Just as I did. I never considered that it might be recognition. On the contrary. He didn’t give us a name, that much you know. But looking back at that moment from a quite different perspective . . .” His voice trailed off. “He must be quite good at concealing his emotions, if it was recognition.”

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