“I don’t know.” But he rather thought Franklin had done. He’d probably been in that garden several times, seen her lamp go out, and the drapes standing wide open. It would worry her to hear the truth.
“Henry had told me Blackburn was a good worker, no complaints.”
“Of course he was. It was close enough to the Abbey he could go across at night whenever he wished.”
Lady Benton shivered. “He was frightening, Inspector. I think he would have killed us if it suited him. Either of us. With no remorse.”
He said nothing. Even though he knew she was right.
They were in sight of the gates now. They were closed. “Have they replaced the damaged doors, I wonder?” she asked.
“I believe they have. I was here earlier. They’d nearly finished.” As they came to the end of the wall and turned down the farm lane, he added, “I shall need that photograph and the cuttings. For my report, and the inquest.”
“Yes. Of course.” But her thoughts were far away. As he held her door for her, there in the darkness of the stable yard, when he couldn’t see her face clearly, she added, “He showed us the knife. We tried not to let him see, but we were so afraid. I couldn’t know how that was going to end. I kept thinking that this was the man who had killed Patricia. Who put her there in the hut. And I knew he meant every word he said.”
Once more he kept his thought to himself. It was better for her to put it out of her mind now. Or it would haunt her forever.
Into the silence, she said, “He told me I would be first. An ear. A finger. He said he could flense a fish with his knife without touching the flesh. Or joint a chicken with it. Or take off a hand, if he wished to. He wanted us to be afraid so that we wouldn’t be any trouble. The worst part was, he talked about it in such a-a sensible voice. As if he were in a shop, demonstrating what the knife could do. As if we had asked to see it and he’d taken it out of the case for us. A-a salesperson, not a killer. And then he put it against my face, and told me that he could shave with it as well. I could feel it, cold, against my skin. Shall I have to testify to that, under oath, in the inquest?”
“No,” he told her gently. “Only that you were threatened and believed that he was capable of carrying the threats out.”
He could hear her swallow hard, then clear her throat. But her voice was husky as she said simply, “Thank you.” And then she walked on toward the door, leaving Rutledge to bring in the boxed dinner.
He didn’t stay long. They checked every door, and double-checked the one in the garden room, even though Franklin was wounded and locked in a cell in Walmer. Afterward, together they retrieved the photograph and the cuttings he had asked for.
As she closed the books and he returned them to their proper place on the shelf, she said, “This seems like such a trivial reason to take a man’s life—two men, really.”
“We’ll never be sure just what the Captain told Franklin, but he must have confronted him and given him a chance to clear himself. After all, the Army knew Franklin as Albert Reed, and that had to be explained before the Captain went to the police. Franklin couldn’t be sure just how damning the evidence was, he didn’t know if they’d found the soldier whose identity he’d taken. I expect he tried to lie his way out of it, wasn’t certain Nelson believed him, and realized that he had to kill the man before he took his ‘proof,’ whatever it might be, to the police. And we don’t know what the Captain himself had decided to do. Franklin didn’t hesitate. He got rid of the man, but couldn’t find his evidence. Still, nothing came of that, no one descended to take him in custody, and Franklin came to believe he was safe. At war’s end, he went to France and believed he was finished with Walmer. But he ran afoul of the French police, thought he was being tracked, and had to vanish for a while. It was easier to come back here than it was to try to start elsewhere, and have a suspicious Constable look into the background of whatever name Franklin chose to use there. And there was also what might be hidden here. While he was staying out of sight at the Home Farm, he could easily search the Abbey at night. If he’d had any reason to think that the Captain might have a photograph of him, it would be imperative to find it before you or the police did.”
“But Patricia recognized Blackburn as ‘Reed,’ and he must have thought that once she mentioned the connection to me, I might ask the Chief Constable to find out who he really was. After all, he was working on my property. I could easily have done.” She took a deep breath. “I might even have found what Roger had hidden, and never understood it’s importance until now. I didn’t know Reed that well. I might not have made the connection. But the police would have done.”
He could see how drawn her face was, and he asked, “Shall I stay?”
After a moment she shook her head. “I must get used to staying here alone. All over again. Franklin has taken that peace of mind from me. And so I’ve asked Bruce’s owner to find me a dog. But please, not one as large as Bruce.”
He smiled, and began to collect the cuttings and photograph. She turned out the lamps, picked up the lamp she had brought with her, and walked with him through the silent house toward the door leading to the stables.
As they passed through the great hall, she stopped by the statue of the Virgin, mysterious and sad as the light from the flickering lamp she was carrying touched it.
Looking up at it, she said, “I understand her, you know. I’ve lost three men I cared very deeply for. My husband. My son. And a very dear friend. She and I are survivors. The dead have it easier you know. They don’t feel. We who are left do.”
At the stable walkway door, she asked for his borrowed key. He took it out of his pocket and returned it to her.
And then she said good night, and quietly closed the door.
Rutledge slept for five hours, rose at dawn, and completed his report.
And then he packed his valise and set it ready by the door.
He went to the police station, and Hamilton came out to greet him.
“He’s on a suicide watch,” he said grimly. “I’m not losing him now. That the report?”
“Your copy. And the Chief Constable’s as well. I’ve kept the one for Scotland Yard.”
“You’re leaving then?”
“For now. When you’ve arranged for the inquest, I’ll return to give evidence.” He paused. “You will have to charge Johnson as an accomplice. He was not complicit in the murders, but he must have seen something in Franklin that troubled him. And he did nothing about it. Even when he was threatened by Franklin and realized how dangerous he was, he didn’t come to you. I had to force him to speak to Hubbard about the boat.”
“Yes, I’ve considered his part in all this. He’ll have to stand his trial and take his chances with a jury.” Changing the subject, he added, “Mrs. Hailey came by this morning. She wanted to see Franklin behind the cell bars. I took her back. And then she left. The dog was with her. She was taking him home.”
“That was my next stop. I’m glad she’s recovered enough to send him home.”
Hamilton frowned. “As to that, I don’t know. There was something in her expression as she looked at Franklin. It made the hairs on my neck stand up.”