It was a very concise report. But then the doctor's luncheon was waiting.
Rutledge said, "Do you know of any particular connection among the victims? Or any trouble they may have had with anyone else in the village?"
"I'd say Roper and Jeffers knew each other better than either of them knew Anthony Pierce. As boys, all three of them attended our village grammar school together, but when the Pierce brothers were sent away to public school, my guess is that they very likely lost touch. As for trouble, Walker here can answer that better than I could. If you're asking if they came here, yes, from time to time, but never anything more than childhood ailments and the occasional scrapes and bruises from climbing trees or a rough game of football."
"After the war, was there any sort of hard feelings amongst the survivors of their company? Something that happened in France, perhaps, and not finished there?"
"If there was, they never came to me to patch them up." He hesitated. "Daniel-Daniel Pierce, that is-may have been the sole exception to that. Two days before he disappeared, I saw him in the street, and there was a bruise on his left cheek. He didn't mention it and neither did I. It didn't appear to be anything serious."
"I've heard he was something of a troublemaker when he was young." It wasn't precisely what Pierce had told Rutledge But he was interested in hearing Gooding's point of view.
"A troublemaker? That's a little harsh. Who told you that?" Gooding asked, frowning. "You don't suspect he has had anything to do with these murders!"
"How well did he know Roper and Jeffers?"
"Probably no better than Anthony did. I always had a feeling that his escapades were nothing more than an attempt to impress his brother and the others. The youngest trying to prove his mettle."
"What sort of escapades?" Rutledge pressed. He could sense that Walker was uncomfortable now, but he ignored him.
"He probably thought it was quite a lark, the things he got up to. One summer three or four boys dressed in sheets and moved about the churchyard one moonless night. They gave the sexton's wife and two young people courting in the church porch one hell of a fright. On Guy Fawkes night, they made their own bonfire-the old mill on the edge of town. It was a shambles anyway, no one lived there. They torched it. Still, it could have caused a general conflagration if the wind had blown the sparks about. There were demands that the ringleaders spend a night in jail. Cooler heads prevailed, and they were marched home under escort."
"These hardly seem to be boyish pranks to me."
Walker said, "I was here then. They weren't intending to do harm. On the other hand, the summer before the mill incident, there was a near drowning. The father of the boy in the witch's chair was asked if he wished to press charges, but his son wouldn't hear of it. He told me they'd drawn lots to see who would play the witch. They'd been reading about the Reformation in school. And the pond wasn't deep enough to drown the boy, but they hadn't accounted for his being tied to a chair and took fright when his head went under."
"Does this boy still live here in Eastfield?"
"Oh, no, sir," Walker answered. "He hasn't for these past fifteen years. His father was a bookkeeper at the furniture maker's, and as I remember, he found another position in Staffordshire, closer to his late wife's family."
Which brought him full circle to Daniel.
"Did Daniel serve with the rest of the Eastfield Company?"
"Like his brother, he qualified as an officer, and he chose to join the sappers."
Remembering what Walker had told him about Daniel's taste for adventure, that made perfect sense to Rutledge. It had been dangerous work, tunneling under German lines to lay charges. The miners were often buried alive when the powder went off prematurely or the tunnel supports failed, or they were killed going back inside to find out why the tunnel hadn't blown on schedule.
"Anything else you can tell me about the three men?" Rutledge asked.
"Jeffers was very drunk. He wasn't an habitual drinker, mind you. It was just his habit to mark the anniversary of his war wound by going to the pub and taking on as much beer as he could hold. He told me once how close he'd come to dying, and he couldn't quite put the fear of that behind him."
"Then all three of the dead men had been wounded in France."
"Yes, I've received copies of their medical records. Nothing suspicious there, if that's what you're asking me. I suspect the anniversary was not as important to the killer as the opportunity to catch Jeffers alone on a dark road."
Rutledge turned to Walker. "Did you ask at the pub, was there a stranger there that night? Or anyone who showed undue interest in Jeffers?"
"Only the regulars, as it happened. And everyone knew it was Jeffers's night to remember. They generally left him to it."
Dr. Gooding pointedly glanced at the clock again, and Rutledge thanked him for his time.
He left Walker at the police station after picking up copies of the statements the constable had taken prior to his arrival, and went back to the hotel to read them.
As he walked into Reception, the man behind the desk said, "Mr. Rutledge? You have a visitor, sir."
Surprised, Rutledge asked who it was.
But the clerk said only, "He's waiting in the room beyond the stairs."
Rutledge thanked him and went on to the door of the room used sometimes as a parlor for hotel guests or as a dining room for small private groups.
The man standing there, looking out a side window toward a small garden, turned as he heard Rutledge come in. He was tall and thin, with a long face and brown hair flecked with gray.
"Inspector Rutledge?" he asked, his eyes scanning Rutledge with intent interest. "I'm Inspector Norman, from Hastings."
They shook hands, and then Rutledge got to the point. "I've been sent here in your place. I hope you have no objections."
"Not really, although I'm not happy to have a murderer loose so close to Hastings. I hope your appearance on the scene doesn't drive him to greener pastures."
Rutledge smiled. "Indeed. Know anything about Eastfield that would be useful to an outsider coming in?"
"Only that it's never been a problem. The usual village troubles-a fight now and again, petty theft, neighbors upset over real or imagined trespass, domestic quarrels where someone is hurt. A lorry accident or two over the years. They're mostly peaceful, and Walker is a good man. He keeps his patch quiet. Still, all three men were in the war. And I wouldn't be surprised if that's your connection."
"There was an entire company from Eastfield. But Anthony Pierce wasn't one of them."
"No, I'd heard he asked not to be given charge of men he knew. Very wise of him, in my opinion. Harder to keep order and discipline if you grew up with your men."
"Or sometimes easier," Rutledge commented.
"There's that as well," Norman answered. "Still, it doesn't mean that this trouble didn't stem from the war. I expect Anthony Pierce kept an eye out for the Eastfield men. If there was something to hide, he'd have known it. Or someone thought he did. Otherwise, why put an ordinary soldier's identity disc in an officer's mouth?"
Which was a very good point.
Norman prepared to take his leave. "Just keep this bottled up in Eastfield," he said. "And if there's anything I can do, let me know."
With a nod, he walked past Rutledge and was gone.
Rutledge found himself thinking that Norman had wasted no time in coming here to look over the competition. He hadn't been in Eastfield more than a few hours. It occurred to him to wonder who had alerted Inspector Norman to his arrival.
Hamish said unexpectedly, "Someone who doesna' like yon Mr. Pierce's intervention." R utledge spent the next hour reading through the statements he'd been given, and they were all consistent with what he'd learned during the morning. Apparently no one had left the pub within half an hour of the time Jeffers walked out of it to his death. And no one in the Roper household had heard anything that would have indicated that someone had been prowling around the barn the night Roper was killed. The old dog on the floor by the bedside of the dead man's father had slept as soundly as his master, his hearing diminished by age.