Rutledge said nothing.
“Henderson knew the date that the woman was killed, and Benning had the date of the housebreaking. It was too much of a coincidence. He knew Leslie hadn’t solved the murder, and reckoned that was because the housebreaking hadn’t been discovered and no one had seen the ex-soldier. You have to admit, he has a case. A wrong one, in my view, because I still believe the Corporal was forced to drink the gin in that bottle.”
“He could have taken her purse without killing her. He was stronger than she was. Besides, what was she doing on the roads that late?”
“The supposition is that she started to scream. Look here, Rutledge, you’d gone elsewhere. It was tidy enough.”
“I expect it was.”
Mason was saying, “It didn’t sit well with me, I can tell you that.” He stopped as their main course was set before them, smiled for the woman serving them, then went on. “I won’t be satisfied until we know who she was and why she was here. It’s Henderson’s opinion that we will never know. He believes she was simply in the wrong place, and whoever it was she intended to visit didn’t know to expect her. And so he or she hasn’t reported her missing.”
“Finish your dinner. There are some things you need to know.”
Mason stared hard at him. “I was going to send you a telegram, you know. If you hadn’t come by now.”
Half an hour later, they were walking in silence to the surgery, and once there, the fire on the hearth built up and a glass of whisky beside them, Mason said, “Go on. I’m listening.”
And Rutledge told him.
It was nearly midnight when he’d finished.
Mason sat in silence for a time, looking into the dark red heart of the fire. Then he said, “I thought you’d run mad, when you told me it was Leslie. That perhaps there was an old quarrel between you. But it isn’t that, is it?”
“No.”
“And you think he took those beads of his wife’s, expecting to return them when the deed was done, a gift to make poor Karina believe that he had chosen her? Did she find out they were his wife’s? Is that how the clasp got broken? That must have been the last straw, he had to kill her then. But what a cruel thing to do, Rutledge. I’d thought better of the man.” He poured a little more whisky into their glasses. “I’ve seen her, Rutledge. He must have loved her. Why didn’t he just tell her it was finished? How could he use a knife on her, and leave her in a bloody ditch?”
“I wish I knew. I hope her letters to him will give us the answer to that.”
“Can you prove this? I very much want to hear you can.”
“Once I’ve spoken to Henderson.”
“He’s not a bad policeman. It’s just that nothing like this murder ever came his way. And he wanted to solve it, he wanted to prove to two officers of the Yard that he could do what they couldn’t.”
“It disrupted the investigation. Markham—Chief Superintendent Markham accepted his report. It was straightforward and convincing. If incomplete.”
Mason watched him for a moment. “Were you tempted? To let it go at that?”
“Once I might have been. God knows I didn’t want to believe it. I’ve come to know Karina too well, now. She and Radleigh deserve justice.”
“What will happen to you if you turn in the Chief Inspector? If he fights you—and wins?”
Rutledge shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.” But it did. He knew he was already on probation. Had been since the Barrington affair.
Mason raised his glass. “To you, then. And to justice for Karina.”
Rutledge waited until morning to call on Henderson. A visit late at night would put him on his guard. And that was not what Rutledge wanted.
He had tested his reasoning on Mason, and his conclusions had held up. That had been important before he spoke to Markham. He would have only one opportunity to make his case.
Henderson was in the tiny police station. When Rutledge walked in, he looked up, then rose warily.
“I saw your motorcar last night, sir, when I made my rounds at ten o’clock.”
“Yes. I thought it might be too late to call. I’ve been tracing our late Corporal. I thought you might care to know what I learned.”
“How did you find him? I had no luck sending word around.”
“A friend in the War Office found him for me. I’ve been to Manchester to visit his family. The name is Radleigh, by the way. His photograph was framed and on the mantelpiece. His sister was in no state to travel to Wiltshire to make a positive identification, and a younger brother depends on her for care. But there was no doubt in my mind. The officer’s greatcoat he was wearing was given to him from the missionary barrel at his chapel. He’d come to London to find work, but they hadn’t heard from him for some time. His death came as a shock. The manner of it as well.”
Henderson sat down, gesturing to the chair across from his desk. “Sir? The manner of it?”
“His family were Temperance. He didn’t drink.”
“There’s always the first time, sir. A man in despair.”
“Yes, that’s what Chief Superintendent Markham suggested. I understand that Chief Inspector Leslie identified the maker of that bottle of gin.”
“He believed it was the one taken from his house during the break-in.”
“So I’ve been informed.” Rutledge paused. “I’ve also discovered the woman’s name.”
Surprised, Henderson said, “Who was she, sir? Was she connected to Avebury after all?”
“I’m not at liberty to say,” Rutledge answered. “I intend to make an arrest when I return to London. I’m sorry. It’s essential to catch her killer off guard.”
“I understand, sir,” he said slowly. “It will come out at the inquest.”
“Meanwhile, the Chief Constable is asking for reports of Radleigh’s movements before he was found. They’ll be coming in shortly. It’s best if you wait for that information before holding the inquest.”
“I thought—well, never mind what I thought.” He looked away. “See here, sir, I wasn’t trying to step on toes. It seemed so clear to me that the Corporal was the man we were after. And I was afraid you were reluctant to do what had to be done. After all, the Chief Inspector outranks you. He might not have liked you finishing what he hadn’t. I got to know him, a little, while he was here. He’d been an officer in the war—he’s now an officer at the Yard. Nice enough, but I wouldn’t care to be in his black books. To tell truth, I didn’t always know what he was thinking, even when he was talking to me.”
Rutledge said nothing.
Henderson hurriedly went on. “It’s my patch, Inspector. I didn’t like—damn it, she deserved justice. I had to lift her out of that ditch. All bloody, dead. I wanted her killer to hang.” He broke off, realizing how far he’d gone. “I’m sorry.”
Rutledge replied quietly, “What do you think has been driving me?”
Henderson drew a deep breath, his face flushed. “I couldn’t be sure. Half the time you weren’t even here.”
“The truth wasn’t here.” Rutledge walked to the door. “I had to find it.”