“I was sent to do my duty,” Rutledge said soberly. In his mind’s eye, he could still see the crumpled body lying beneath the bare branches of the pear tree in the back garden. Leslie had been in the war. He’d made a good job of it.
“This is why delving too deeply into matters is unwise. A lesson you should take to heart, Rutledge.”
He said nothing.
Markham, irritated, dismissed him.
Rutledge walked out of the Chief Superintendent’s office and made his way down the passage to his own. He went in. The rain was running down the glass in rivulets, blurring the streetlamps below. Somewhere along the river, he heard a foghorn’s mournful note.
Locking the door behind him, he crossed to his desk, and without turning on the lamp, sat down in his chair.
After a moment, he buried his head in his hands.