"I've been informed that Inspector Mickelson is preparing to make an arrest in these murders. Possibly as we speak."
His comment, casually spoken, caught Rutledge completely off guard. "I'm glad to hear that," he said sincerely. "It was touch and go, whether we'd find the killer before he struck again. Can you tell me who it is?"
"Yes, one Carl Hopkins. A German sympathizer, I believe."
If he'd been surprised before, Rutledge was stunned now. "Hopkins? I was about to interview him when I was taken off the case. Hardly a German sympathizer-I was led to believe he was distraught because of what had happened during the war to his younger brother and his cousin."
"Yes, well, according to Inspector Mickelson, he's good with his hands and obviously was able to counterfeit those identity discs to throw the police off."
"How did Inspector Mickelson come to suspect him?"
"Apparently Mickelson drew up a list with Walker's help of all the people you'd spoken with, and went back to interview them. Someone at the hotel remembered the owner of the chair firm calling on you. Mr. Kenton was very reluctant to discuss the conversation he'd had with you-he's related to Hopkins, I believe-but in the end Inspector Mickelson threatened him with a night in gaol to rethink his reluctance, and he gave a brief explanation of what had brought him to you in the first place."
Rutledge didn't argue the matter. He hadn't been there-he hadn't spoken to Carl Hopkins. Nevertheless, the man's motive was plausible, and it made sense that someone known to the victims could walk up to them in the dark without arousing suspicion or fear.
He wished he could put a face to Hopkins, to weigh what he'd seen for himself against Mickelson's certainty. After all, it had begun as his inquiry. He still felt a responsibility for its outcome.
"Thank you for telling me, sir. Inspector Mickelson is to be congratulated."
Hubbard said, "Yes."
After a moment Rutledge said, "I should like to have a day or two of leave. For personal business. Would you have any objection to that?"
"Not at all. You're between cases. I see no harm in taking a little time."
"Thank you, sir." He started to rise, but Hubbard motioned him to sit where he was.
"We haven't discussed the matter about which I'd summoned you."
Rutledge sat down again, his hat on his knee, and waited.
"The woman who reported you for misconduct. A Mrs. Farrell-Smith, I believe?"
"Yes, sir," Rutledge replied.
He'd had no warning. Not from Sergeant Gibson, not from curious stares or people turning away as he passed. Not even from his usually acute intuition. But of course he'd seen no one last night when he came into the Yard. Only a skeleton night staff was on duty, since there was no major London case on the docket that required every available man.
Hubbard's voice was chilly as he said, "I understand from Sergeant Gibson that you were interested in learning more details concerning her background. Was that a personal issue, Rutledge?"
"Personal?" he repeated, staring at Hubbard. "Hardly. Her late husband had known one of the possible suspects in the murders. This was before the war. I was curious about the suspect's background, and I'd hoped that she could tell me something about him. Even secondhand, it could have been useful. She refused, got angry with me, and I wondered why. When I first met Mrs. Farrell-Smith, she seemed to believe I'd come to see her about that suspect, but I hadn't. What's more, she had objected to the Yard being brought into the inquiry to start with. Any good policeman would begin to consider what if anything was behind her attitude. Three men were already dead, the fourth victim would be found shortly. Most people would be eager to help us find that killer."
"Sergeant Gibson tells me he warned you that she was complaining of your conduct, but you still insisted that he find out what he could about Mrs. Farrell-Smith's husband."
"Her complaints were, in my opinion, a matter for the Yard to deal with. I needed information that I could use to pursue a killer."
"Not to coerce her into dropping her complaint?"
Rutledge opened his mouth and shut it again. Finally he said, "That's absurd."
"Is it? Sergeant Gibson came to me-and rightly so-when he discovered that Mrs. Farrell-Smith's husband had died under suspicious circumstances. She was cleared in the matter."
"I was told he died in a fall."
"I don't think that's any of your concern. The point I'm trying to make is that it smacks of impropriety for you to be investigating the woman who filed the complaint about your behavior. You also brought Sergeant Gibson's conduct into question by asking him to do something that he felt was unwise."
"It wasn't my conduct," Rutledge said tightly. "She wanted me off the case. And she was right. The new man sent to Eastfield has found the murderer in a very short time, and this German, Hopkins, has nothing to do with Mrs. Farrell-Smith. Or her late husband."
"Are you impugning Inspector Mickelson's ability to conduct this inquiry?" There was anger in Chief Inspector Hubbard's blue eyes and his tone was decidedly cold now. "Perhaps if you'd kept your objectivity, none of this would have happened."
Rutledge regarded him for a moment. And then he said quietly, "We are getting nowhere. What do you intend to do?"
Chief Inspector Hubbard realized that he'd made a mistake. He grimly got his temper in check, then said, "You should take that day or two of leave coming to you. While this is sorted out."
Rutledge said nothing.
"Ian. You asked for it yourself. This is for your own good. I quite take your point that you weren't aware of Mrs. Farrell-Smith's complaint when you telephoned Sergeant Gibson and asked to know more about her background. It's the perception of impropriety here."
But Hamish was reminding him that Gibson had warned him about the complaint, and he hadn't listened. He had not, in fact, expected the Yard to take it seriously.
Then who had? And why?
"If you take a short leave of your own accord, there will be nothing on your record. After all, this inquiry has come to a successful conclusion, there was simply an unfortunate coincidence in timing in regard to the situation with Mrs. Farrell-Smith, no harm intended nor done by your request. She has been satisfied that you were withdrawn from the case and is unlikely to pursue the matter further."
Suddenly he knew.
It was as clear as if the words had been spoken aloud. But he thought Hubbard did not know, and that explained why he was dressing Rutledge down, not Chief Superintendent Bowles. Hubbard had been chosen because he could be trusted to handle the matter with circumspection and convince Rutledge to put the matter to rest, nothing on his record, just whispers that would never go away. And it would not be seen as Superintendent Bowles playing favorites. But it would clear the way for Inspector Mickelson to be promoted to fill Chief Inspector Cummins's shoes.
He rose, and this time Chief Inspector Hubbard didn't stop him. "I'll notify Sergeant Mitchell that I've asked for leave and will be away from the Yard for the next two days on personal business." Mitchell was the man in charge of Yard personnel records.
"Yes, do that, Ian," Hubbard said cordially, relieved to find Rutledge so cooperative. "This will all blow over, mark my words."
Rutledge left, strode down the hall to find Sergeant Mitchell, and said as soon as he saw him, "I'm taking a few days of personal leave. I've cleared it with Chief Inspector Hubbard."
Mitchell's face gave no indication that he had been expecting this. He simply took Rutledge at his word. The whispers hadn't started. But it was too early for that. In time they would.
"Very good, sir, I'll make a note of it. Will you be staying in London, sir? In the event you're needed?"
But he wouldn't be needed. That was certain. Still he answered civilly, "No, I'm visiting a friend. In Kent."