The woman behind it rose as he came in. She was tall for a woman, and far prettier than she allowed herself to be. Her hair, pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck, was fair and determined to wave in spite of attempts to keep it straight and tidy. Her eyes were a very dark blue, and her nose was straight above firm lips. He put her age at thirty.
"Inspector Rutledge," she said in acknowledgment of his presence, then waited for him to speak.
"I've come to ask you a few questions about Anthony Pierce," he said, and she seemed to find that surprising, because her eyebrows flew up in spite of her self-control.
"Please, be seated," she replied, and when he had taken one of the two chairs before the desk, she said, "What sort of questions?"
"I expect there were things he wouldn't have discussed with his father. But I was told he'd grown fond of you, and I thought perhaps he might have said something to you that could help the police find his killer."
"I don't think Anthony confided in me anything he couldn't have told his father." After a pause, when he didn't speak, she went on, as if unwilling to allow the silence to go on too long. "Are you saying he had secrets?"
"That's what I've come to ask."
"You believe that he knew where to find his brother. If he did, he never told me."
Rutledge was surprised in his turn. "Daniel?"
"Yes, Daniel. His father is too stubborn to try, but I expect he'd like to know where his other son is."
"I take it you don't care for Daniel."
"Not particularly. He's the sort of person who leaves responsibility to others. I believe in responsibility and self-discipline. I try to make certain that my students understand that these are virtues to cultivate. They will lead happier lives if they do."
It was an interesting perspective on duty.
Hamish interjected, "Aye, but is it the reason she's so set against yon brother?"
Rutledge said only, "How long have you been in charge of the school?"
"Since before the war," she answered, without giving a date. And then she added reluctantly, "It was after my husband died that I came here."
"You must have been very young to take over a school. It would have been a grave undertaking at any age."
She lifted her chin, as if in denial. "I didn't have any choice. And I have made every effort to live up to what my family established. I don't think I've given them any reason to regret their decision to entrust this school to my keeping."
He changed the subject. "Did your husband know Daniel Pierce?" It had been a general question, looking for an explanation for her dislike of the younger Pierce. But much to his surprise, it had struck home.
"I don't see that that's any of your business," she replied curtly.
"Which tells me that he did. Was it before you married him? Or after?"
"He was an older boy at the school where both Anthony and Daniel were sent."
"Then you didn't know them."
"No." Crisp and unconditional.
Rutledge considered her for a moment. She had married a man with a hyphenated name. As a schoolboy would he have despised the upstart-but well-to-do-Pierce brothers? Trade and old money often clashed. Or perhaps there had been very little old money. And the widowed Mrs. Farrell-Smith was now headmistress at a small school in a Sussex village where there was almost nothing that could be termed Society. It would explain why she was willing to accept Anthony Pierce's attentions. Trade or not, there was a comfortable life in store for the brewery heir's wife.
Again, he changed the direction of the conversation. "Did Anthony Pierce have any enemies? From the war, most particularly."
"Why the war years?" she asked, her mind nearly as quick as his to spot anomaly. "Did something happen there that might have had to do with his death?"
In his mind's eye he could see again the identity discs found in the mouths of the dead men. "We have some reason to believe it could have a connection. Yes."
"If there was anything untoward that happened in France, Anthony never confided in me. I don't believe he would have, if you want the truth. He knew I didn't care for unpleasantness." She must have realized how selfish that sounded and added in spite of herself, "We had a number of students over those four years who marched away to war and never came back. There's a list of their names on a board in the school parlor, for all to see and remember. Anthony knew how much this had saddened me."
He thought her self-control remarkable for a woman who had just lost a man she cared for. For that matter, her eyes showed no signs of crying herself to sleep, even though it was only two days ago that Pierce's body had been discovered.
And as if she had read his thought, tears welled in her eyes. "If there's nothing more, Inspector? I find this a very painful subject."
Hamish said, "She's afraid yon brother killed him."
It would explain her very first question to him: not about Anthony's death but in regard to Daniel's whereabouts.
But he left it there. "If anything occurs to you, Mrs. Farrell-Smith, will you speak to Constable Walker? He'll see that the message reaches me."
"Yes, of course." Her voice was husky. "You can find your own way out, I think?"
He thanked her and rose to leave.
The image he took away from the interview that stayed with him as he walked back to the hotel was of her face as he glanced back at her just before closing the door.
Desolation was writ large there. But for herself, he thought, not for the dead. T he long day was drawing to a close when Rutledge went back to the police station, intending to return the sheaf of statements.
Walker was standing by a window, looking out at the last shafts of light that touched the rooftops on the opposite side of the street, and he turned to greet Rutledge as the man from London stepped through the door.
"Any progress?" he asked.
"Not much that's helpful. Tomorrow, I'd like to speak to some of the other men from Eastfield's contingent. Can you arrange it?"
"That's easily done," Walker said, but his mind was clearly on something else.
"What is it?" Rutledge asked, suddenly alert. "What's happened?"
"That's just it. Nothing has happened. So far. But tonight's the third night after Pierce was murdered. I'm wondering if that will change, once darkness falls."
"I see your point. The problem is, our friend out there has the advantage. He has a better knowledge of where and when to strike, because he's obviously laid his plans well. Otherwise you and Inspector Norman would have caught him without my help. All you can expect to do is get in his way and force him to alter those plans. That means patrolling not the village itself but back gardens, barnyards, the brewery precincts, the lanes, anywhere a man might be outside alone. Meanwhile, I'd ask everyone to stay in after dark."
"I don't know if he'll alter his plans, or just wait until we've passed by," Walker said, clearly still worried. "It depends, doesn't it, on what's driving the man?"
"Yes, I grant you that. Garroting is a very physical way to kill. More so even than a knife. Whoever it is may not be able to stop, now that he's started. Unless he only intended to kill those three men. No one else."
"There's that," Walker answered, considering the matter. "Although for the life of me I can't see how they're connected."
"It may only be in the murderer's mind," Rutledge said.
Walker turned to him in surprise. "I hadn't considered that."
"It's possible that whoever it is uses a garrote because the face of the victim isn't important," Rutledge said.
But that would indicate random killings.
7
I n the morning, Inspector Norman in Hastings sent a man to Eastfield with the message. He was held up first by the heavy rain and then having to wait for Walker.