"I give you my word," Rutledge said through clenched teeth, and the cell door was opened. Without looking back, he followed Inspector Norman to his office and took the chair indicated. "What are the charges against me? I've a right to hear them."
Norman walked around to his own chair, sat down, and considered Rutledge. "I've told you. Attempted murder. Very likely murder-it's going to be touch and go on that. Dr. Gooding holds out little hope. When we put in a call to London with word of what had happened, Chief Superintendent Bowles ordered us to bring you in. He himself spoke to the Chief Constable in Kent, where you were said to be staying. And the Kent police went looking for you. Now London is sending someone down. Hubbard, I think the name was."
"And who is it I'm said to have attempted to kill?"
Inspector Norman said, "Where were you these past two nights?"
"I was staying with a friend in Kent. Mrs. Crawford." He gave directions for finding her house, and then said again, "Who is it I'm said to have attempted to kill?"
Norman finished his notes and set them aside. "Inspector Mickelson was struck on the head night before last. And as we have one Carl Hopkins in custody for the other murders, we couldn't look in that direction. The finger of guilt seems to be pointing directly at you. I was told there was bad blood between the two of you."
Rutledge stared at him, stunned.
"Why should I wish to kill Inspector Mickelson?" he asked finally.
"I understand he was being considered for a promotion that you wanted."
Rutledge stopped himself from swearing. "That's hardly a reason to commit murder. It defeats the purpose, in fact."
"I told you. When I spoke to London, Chief Superintendent Bowles informed me that you and Inspector Mickelson had had trouble before this. He also said you'd agreed to a short leave after disciplinary action, and walked out of the Yard in something of a temper, telling Sergeant Mitchell to look for you in Kent if he needed to find you. That's to say, practically on our doorstep. And then you dropped out of sight. This wasn't a garroting, mind you. The case is very strong, Rutledge."
It was indeed. "When was he attacked? Where?"
"I can't discuss the murder with you. Those are the instructions I received from Scotland Yard."
"This is nonsense and you know it. Let me drive to London. I'll speak to Chief Superintendent Bowles myself and clear it up." He was angry enough to face the man down.
"You know I'd be in trouble if I allowed you to leave." Norman sat there, studying Rutledge.
The two of them had had their own disagreements.
Was he gloating? Rutledge couldn't tell. Did he agree with the Yard? It was impossible to be sure.
He said after a moment, "What were your views on the arrest of Carl Hopkins? Did you find the garrote when you searched his residence?"
It was Inspector Norman's turn to be caught off guard.
"Hopkins?" he repeated, as if he'd never heard the name before. "I don't know enough about the facts of the case to make a judgment."
"Don't tell me you haven't kept up with events in Eastfield. Especially after one of the victims died right here in Hastings. You know as much about the murders as London does."
Inspector Norman flushed slightly, caught in a lie and handed an uncomfortable truth.
Rutledge went on. "I'd have done the same in your place. I'd consider one death on my patch reason enough."
He sidestepped the question. "There is the fact that the killing stopped after Hopkins was taken into custody."
"Hardly stopped. If you count Inspector Mickelson. And I do. He got in the way, if you think about it. Whoever has been killing these men could well have been afraid that Mickelson was about to change his mind. Blaming Hopkins would have been very convenient if our murderer had finished whatever it is that he'd started." Rutledge didn't believe it was finished. But he wasn't about to weaken his own arguments by adding that.
"Mickelson wasn't garroted. What's more, why didn't our murderer kill you? You thwarted him by locking up those village men-" He broke off. It was an admission that he'd kept up with the inquiry.
Rutledge ignored the opening. At the moment, he wanted Norman on his side. "I hadn't made an arrest. I was useful as long as I didn't-my very presence promoted fear of more deaths, and he got to Hartle. But Mickelson did take Hopkins into custody, and if that's the wrong man in your cell, then we haven't finished with these murders. What we don't know-unless Mickelson took Constable Walker into his confidence-is whether he stumbled on something that either clears Hopkins or brings up serious doubt about his guilt. Either way, Mickelson had to be stopped before he reported that to the Yard. If the killer had used the garrote, we'd have had proof we'd gotten the wrong man. Don't you see?"
"There were no discs in Mickelson's mouth."
And that was interesting.
"I'm not surprised," Rutledge told him, considering the comment. "It means he wasn't one of the chosen."
"Or you didn't have any of them to put there."
"True." He didn't argue. After a moment he went on, "I have witnesses, you know, that I never left Kent until this morning. Very reliable ones, in fact. Someone should have asked about that before having me stopped and brought here. It smacks of leaping to conclusions."
"Unless your witnesses were sleeping in the same room with you, it doesn't preclude leaving in the middle of the night. You could have slipped out and back in again, with no one the wiser," Inspector Norman countered.
Rutledge said only, "We'll see. Can Mickelson be questioned yet?"
"I don't think he's regained his senses. You'd better pray he doesn't die." Norman rose, preparing to take Rutledge to his cell when there was a flurry of voices from the sergeant's desk in the front of the police station.
They paused where they were, Norman undoubtedly believing that Chief Inspector Hubbard had arrived.
But it was not Hubbard.
The flustered sergeant on the desk came to the door, saying, "I tried to stop her, sir. But she insists she has information on Inspector Mickelson's murderer."
And they looked beyond him to see Mrs. Farrell-Smith coming through the doorway behind him. She took in Rutledge standing there in the passage with Inspector Norman and said, "That's the man I saw in Eastfield the night Inspector Mickelson was attacked. I saw him drive up, speak to that poor man, and then drive away with him. They were in front of the church, and my bedroom window looks out toward the gate to the rectory." For emphasis, she pointed directly at Rutledge, as if she were already in the witness box.
Rutledge's mouth tightened. And then he said, "Are you so certain that Daniel Pierce is the man we're after, that you are willing to lie to shield him?"
She retorted, "I know nothing about Daniel Pierce."
Rutledge turned to Inspector Norman. "This is Mrs. Farrell-Smith, headmistress at the Misses Tate Latin School. If she really wanted to protect someone, she could have looked back into the school's records to see if anything happened in the past that could have some bearing on these murders. All the victims were together there for at least two or three years. If it isn't the war, and it isn't the present that caused someone to start killing, it could very likely lie in the distant past. I'd prefer to be escorted to my cell now."
She opened her mouth, and then shut it again.
Inspector Norman nodded to the sergeant, and Rutledge went with him, already regretting his impatient request.