Constable Leigh was mending a chair in the small police station when Rutledge opened the door and identified himself.
Rising from his knees, Leigh said, “Good evening, sir. Sorry about that.” He set his tools and the chair to one side. “I wasn’t expecting you this soon. You made good time. Have you found your room in The Dun Cow?” He grinned. “It’s far nicer than it sounds. Seems the original owner ran off with the money his father had been paid for a dun cow, and with it won enough at cards that he could afford to build the inn. That was in 1742, and no one’s changed the name since.”
“Sounds like the excuse a highwayman might have used to explain his sudden wealth.”
Leigh’s grin broadened. “You’re the second person I’ve heard say that. The first was my own father. For all I know, you’re both right.”
“Where is the inn?”
“Across the street and down past the whitewashed house with the green shutters. You can’t miss it.”
“Is it too late to call on the doctor?”
“I expect he’s dining just now.”
Rutledge pulled off his hat and coat, and took the only other chair across from the Constable. “Then I’ll speak to you first. Tell me what happened.”
“You have the file, sir?” Leigh asked, frowning. “I spoke to a Sergeant Gibson and gave him the details.”
“I’d rather hear your version.”
“Indeed, sir.” He cleared his throat and began his account of events.
“Sexton dug Mr. Simmons’s grave late in the afternoon before the day of the funeral. We were expecting rain in the night, and he wanted to do it proper, not in mud. When he’d finished, he put boards across the opening, and laid a bit of sacking over them. But the rain never came, passing south of us, and the next morning Sexton came to remove the boards and make the grave ready for the service. He’d got the sacking off and was hauling back the second of the boards when he happened to glance down into the grave, and there was a young woman just lying there. It looked as if she’d just been rolled over the edge and let fall where she may. He ran for the church, yelling for Rector. Rector was that shocked, he hardly knew what to do. But neither of them had any doubt that the poor woman was dead. I brought Dr. Allen with me, and we lowered him into the grave. He shook his head, and we threw him the casket ropes to wrap around her, and the three of us pulled her up. There was a terrible lot of blood, most of it caked and dry, and when Doctor opened her coat, it was plain she’d been stabbed. Rigor was already setting in, and Doctor thought she’d been dead since last evening. He called it murder, and that was confirmed when he got her back to his surgery for a better look. Three wounds, he said. And bruising where a hand was clamped over her mouth to keep her from screaming as the knife went in. Neither Rector nor Sexton nor Doctor recognized her, and I went ’round the village to see if anyone there knew her. No one did. She was a pretty woman, young, fair hair, blue eyes. And dressed nicely, as if on her way to church or to dine out with friends.”
“What have you done about identifying her?”
“I asked at The Dun Cow, but she hadn’t taken a room there. There’s an omnibus that comes through in the afternoon, near to four o’clock, sometimes as late as five, and I asked the driver on duty if he’d brought her here the day before. He said he’d had no passengers for the village. And there are others who remembered the omnibus passing through but not stopping. Meanwhile, I went door-to-door, up and down the streets, but no one had seen her. And everyone I spoke with claimed not to know who she was.” He stopped, then added, “At least no one has admitted to knowing her.”
“Do you think someone is lying?”
“That’s the problem, sir. They all seemed to be telling the truth. I know these people, I can usually tell if they’re hiding something.”
“Much traffic through the village?”
“We’re not the main road to anywhere. But we get the occasional lorry, some motorcars each day, and more than a few carts and goods vans. As you’ll see, the churchyard is on the far side of the church, and there are a good many trees about. One ancient yew by the gate in the churchyard wall. How could a passerby know there was an open grave sitting there ready to hand for hiding a body? Of course everyone knew Mr. Simmons was to be buried there next day. Even those who weren’t expecting to attend the funeral. But I’ve spoken to all of them. Everyone over the age of twelve. And made myself available here if anyone wanted to tell me something in private.”
“Perhaps her killer didn’t know the grave was there. Perhaps it was fortuitous, when he’d been planning to leave her body by, say, the apse, where she wouldn’t be discovered straightaway.”
Dubious, Constable Leigh shook his head. “That’s rather cold-blooded of him, after killing her. And he was taking a chance, carrying her across the churchyard in the dark. Best way to trip over a stone.”
“He may know the churchyard. Or possibly have scouted it.”
“You’re saying he’s local, even if she isn’t.”
“You can’t rule that out.”
“I don’t know, sir. But then I haven’t spoken to everyone on the outlying farms.”
“He could work for the undertaker. Or he drives the van that supplies the baker with flour or the butcher with meat.”
Leigh sighed. “That’s a large field, sir.”
“It is.” Rutledge looked at his watch. “After I’ve taken a room at The Dun Cow, we can call on Dr. Allen.”
Constable Leigh got to his feet. “I’ll go with you. I wouldn’t mind having a ride in your motorcar,” he said diffidently.
They drove down the street and found the inn just where Leigh had said it would be. A handsome Tudor structure, the black-and-white work well maintained, and the glass in the diamond-paned windows on the lower floor looked to be as old as the rest of the building.
The pub was full, although the dining room had only one or two couples in it. Leigh walked through the door and nodded to the man behind the bar, who picked up a cloth and dried his hands, then came out to greet the Constable.
“Inspector Rutledge, Mr. Grissom. He’s come for a room.”
Grissom nodded to him. “We’re not too busy this time of year. Would you prefer a room on the back? It’s quieter.”
“I’d prefer the front.”
“It’s over the pub.”
“No matter.”
Grissom led him through a door, and he saw the staircase rising from the center of the hall, with a separate door to the outside. Grissom picked up the lamp on the table near the door and climbed the stairs, Rutledge at his heels.
There were two front rooms, and Rutledge chose the second. It was more spacious, with two windows instead of one. “This will do very well,” he told Grissom.
“I’ll have the key ready for you when you bring up your valise.”
“Fair enough.”
They went back down the stairs, and Rutledge collected the Constable, who gave him directions to the doctor’s surgery. It was a fair-size house on the corner of Butter Lane and the High Street. There was a low stone wall around the shallow front garden, and two doors, each reached by a separate path.