No Shred of Evidence: An Inspector Ian Rutledge Mystery (31 page)

“This happened last night?”

The doctor nodded. “I gave Mrs. Haverford a sedative. She slept until just before you came but I don’t think it did her much good. See for yourself why she can’t rest.”

He gestured to the two women who shared the small room, their cots almost side by side. They had been severely beaten. One of them, the sister he’d never seen, had a bandaged arm, and her head was bound as well, reaching down across her nose, although her swollen eyes were visible.

“A loose flap of scalp. A broken nose, broken arm. The other one is badly concussed, internal injuries including a broken rib or two, a broken hand, several teeth loose.” His voice changed from that of the medical man reporting what he’d done. He said with anger, “I have seldom seen a man beaten this badly. Whoever did this is a monster, in my humble opinion.”

“I have no doubt that he is. Will they be all right?”

“Yes. With time. The bruises will heal. The bones will knit. They’ll be all right, no lasting damage. At least not physically. Emotionally? Who can say?”

Rutledge looked at the still forms on the beds. They were not large women; they would have been easily battered to death. It would be a long time before the emotional wounds healed. If ever.

“The odd thing,” Dr. Learner added, “I found a scrap of cloth in the elder sister’s mouth. It’s a wonder she didn’t choke on it.”

He reached up on a shelf and brought down a small dish. In it was a bit of muslin, bloodstained but recognizable. Rutledge had a similar scrap in his handkerchief.

“His calling card. His way of letting us know that he did this. It must be turned over to the police. There has been a pattern of use, you see. It could damn him.”

“Vicious brute,” he said harshly. “I’ll have it put in a bit of gauze for you.”

“Yes. I think it best that I take Mrs. Haverford away from here. For her safety. Will these two be safe in your care? I don’t think he’ll come back to finish this. But he may come looking for
her
.”

“But why has he done this? She won’t tell me.”

“He’s her husband. There’s a judicial separation. He’s not having it.”

“I hope he rots in hell.”

“If I can find him, he will hang.”

“Good. Let her say good-bye to her friends. They’re unconscious, but I think sometimes a familiar voice gets through.”

“I’ll bring her in.”

“You will let me know what happens?”

“Be sure of that.”

Learner nodded and went back to bathing Veronica’s face.

It took several minutes for Mrs. Worth to say good-bye. She was even paler as she came out of the little room. Rutledge said abruptly, “Have you eaten anything at all?”

“I can’t swallow food. It won’t stay down. I’ll be all right.” She preceded him out the door, and down the walk to the motorcar. When they were out of earshot of the house, she asked quietly, “Where are you taking me?”

“I’ve been debating that. You must leave Cornwall. You can no longer hide here.”

“No. I won’t run anymore.”

“Nevertheless. I’m sending you to London.” He couldn’t ask his sister to take Mrs. Worth in, not after what had been done to the other two women. But he thought Chief Inspector Cummins might give her shelter.

“No.” She spoke with a determination he had seen once before. “This must end. If I’d had my revolver when I reached the cottage, I’d have gone inside and shot him dead. But I didn’t have it. I was careless, you see, I thought in the middle of the night there in Boscastle, there was no
need
. I should have known you were followed.” There was accusation in her voice now.

“I was not. But the driver who took you to the station worried about you and watched to see which train you took. It wasn’t to Plymouth, he said. It was to Boscastle.”

“I thought he’d gone, that he’d left the station.”

“And so he had. But he could see the platform. And he knew which trains came in that morning.”

“I thought I was safe in Padstow, I thought I could move safely to Fowey. But there were too many people in the hotel, even at this time of year. I was afraid someone might recognize me. And when I feel the anxiety building again, I run.” As he finished turning the crank and was preparing to drive away, she added, “There’s Scotland, of course. But people would know I was a stranger, as soon as I spoke. At least Cornwall is accustomed to visitors; they make nothing of a London accent.”

He was heading for the railway station, but she put a hand on his arm. “No. I tell you, I can’t get on that train. And I have nothing, nothing but the clothes on my back. I can hardly sit there looking like this.”

She opened her arms wide, and he could see that her sleeves and across her waist, the fabric was stiff with dried blood. She had kept her arms folded in the surgery. “Dr. Learner’s nurse offered me something to wear, but sadly her clothes didn’t fit. And I dared not go back to Boscastle.”

Rutledge weighed the risks, and then made a decision. He turned away from the railway station, although he could hear the whistle of an approaching train.

“There’s one place I can put you for the moment. This isn’t the only inquiry I’m involved with, but it’s fast becoming the most pressing.”

“Where?”

“I won’t tell you. I won’t mention this to anyone. And you will not be able to.”

She was wearing a hat, one not well suited to her, but he thought it must have come from the cottage where the sisters lived, caught up before the motorcar set out for Bodmin and the doctor’s surgery.

Rutledge pulled to the verge and took a clean handkerchief. Folding it carefully, he turned to the woman beside him.

“No—” she began, and put up her hands to stop him.

“You must. If I’m the only person who knows where you are, you’ll be safer.”

They argued, but in the end, she allowed him to blindfold her and then pull her hat down closer to her face to conceal it from passersby.

“I’m frightened,” she said.

“There’s no need to be.” He cast an eye toward the sky. In another two hours dusk would fall.

She couldn’t see where he was driving. He found one of the tracks out onto the moor, and after traveling a little distance down it, he pulled off into a small space where he could turn the bonnet back the way they’d come. And then he shut off the motor.

“You’ve stopped,” she said accusingly.

“Not for long, I promise you. There’s a rug in the boot if you’re cold. I want to be sure no one followed us.”

“Oh.”

He went around to take out the rug, and gently set it across her lap.

“Can I remove the blindfold?”

“Yes. For a little while.”

She lifted it and took a deep breath, as if it had covered her face and she could breathe now. “Where are we?” But he refused to answer. Leaning her head back against the frame of the door, she said, “I am so very tired.”

“Then rest.”

She finally fell asleep. He had no water or tea or food to offer her, but that was how it had to be. He got out and walked a little way, stretching his legs. Moors had always interested him. Secretive and wild, they were places where unexpected things could happen, and he smiled, remembering the Conan Doyle story he’d read as a boy. The Baskerville Hound had fascinated him. It had been his earliest introduction to superstition, and he’d relished it.

But they were not deep enough into this moor to feel its spell.

Dusk came, and she was still asleep. He walked again, to stay limber, and then when it was dark enough that he could barely see the track they’d followed coming in, he carefully woke her, so as not to frighten her, and asked her to put the blindfold back in place.

Rutledge made his way off the moor, found the road to Wadebridge, and settled down for the drive back to the village. Well before they had reached the outskirts, where there was still nothing to tell her where she was, he asked her to climb into the rear seat and pull the blanket over her.

He could hear Hamish protesting even as she quarreled with him, but in the end, he had his way.

They drove on. It was well into the dinner hour, and the street was empty as he passed the inn, then the church, and pulled up in the rear yard of the vicarage.

There was a lamp burning in the kitchen, and he thought Mrs. Daniels and her husband must be having their own dinner after feeding the vicar his.

“Stay where you are,” he said quietly. “There are people about.” It wasn’t actually true, but he hadn’t spoken to the Danielses yet, and it was too soon to involve Mrs. Worth.

When he tapped lightly on the door, a shadow loomed large. It was the hulking form of Mr. Daniels, blotting out the lamplight. He opened the door a crack and asked, “Who’s there?”

“Rutledge.”

He held up a lamp. “No offense. I want to see your face.” Then grunting in acknowledgment, he opened the door. “Can’t be too careful,” he said.

Rutledge stepped inside. “How is the vicar?”

“He’s been restless. I expect he’s got something on his mind,” Mrs. Daniels said. “Poor man, he’s not used to not seeing to his flock. But they come to him all the same.”

“Any other trouble at night?”

Daniels shook his head. “Do you think he—whoever he is—knows the vicar can’t remember?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Rutledge said. “Still, have a look around the churchyard, will you? To be certain? Because I have another favor to ask of you both. Will you give me your promise not to speak to anyone about what I have to tell you? Most particularly not the vicar.”

They agreed, warily. And Rutledge told them an expurgated version of events.

“I’ve brought her here because there is no other secure place for her. If no one knows where she is, if she keeps the shades down, I think she’ll be safe enough for the time being. But the man hunting her has killed before. I am telling you the truth about that.”

“You must do as you think best,” Mrs. Daniels said quietly. “Can you spirit her in without anyone being the wiser?”

“I can. Tell me which room, and I’ll take her directly up the back stairs.”

“Yes, that will be best. I’ll go up and see to it. Daniels and I have a room close to the stairs, so we can hear Vicar if he calls. But there’s a lovely big room on the back, and only the one window to it. Would you like Daniels here to nail down the shade to be sure? Even if she does peek out, there’s nothing to be seen but the corner of the sheds and the barn.”

He agreed, and gave them a quarter of an hour. Returning to the motorcar, he said softly, “It’s arranged. There’s a custodian here, and his wife. They’ll bring you meals. But you must give me your word not to do anything foolish.”

Her muffled voice answered him. “Are you sure this is best? Please, I don’t want anyone else to die.”

“Nor do I.”

When it was time, when Daniels had assured him that the churchyard was empty, he helped her out of the motorcar, shrouded in the blanket and with the blindfold firmly in place. The stairs were narrow, twisting. He had to lead her up them, and she stumbled once, but he caught her before she fell.

“A lighthouse?” she asked with a smile in her voice that he could hear. “But I smell food, my mouth is watering.”

“You’ll have something soon enough. All right, almost there. Good, now turn to your right and walk with me down the passage.”

“Can I remove the blanket? Or at least the blindfold?”

“Not yet.” A door was open just ahead of him, and within the room a lamp was lit. He led her inside, and shut the door. “Now.”

He lifted the rug off her head and shoulders, and she pulled down the blindfold herself.

The room was papered in a pleasing shade of apple green with white morning glories climbing the walls. A darker green coverlet on the bed was the same shade as the ties on the white curtains at the single window. On the floor the carpet was a pattern of green leaves on a lighter field.

She said, “Oh!” as she looked around, saw the rocking chair by the table, a small desk, and a chest of drawers, a wardrobe against the far wall, and the bed in between that and the chest. “I was afraid you might—I thought a policeman would consider a gaol the safest place.”

He smiled. “You will not leave this room. People come and go downstairs, and you will be seen.”

She frowned. “Are we in an inn? A hotel? I didn’t hear voices.”

“It’s closed this time of year,” he said. “But friends visit the owners or come for tea.”

She turned to him, her face haggard in the lamplight. “Will they be all right? Ronnie and her sister? The doctor told me they would, but I thought he might be lying to make me willing to leave them.”

“He told me the same thing.”

“I should have listened. But I thought, no one knows they are there in Boscastle.”

“The local people did. They go to market. They’re seen about the town. If someone asked questions, it wouldn’t take long to discover who the visitors are, this time of year.” He left her soon after and met Mrs. Daniels on the stairs bringing up a tray for her.

It had been a risk, bringing her here. But Mr. and Mrs. Daniels were reliable. They wouldn’t talk, and the house was large, and very empty, save for Vicar. But he would have to depend on keeping the vicar and Mrs. Worth apart. Still, it wouldn’t be for very long. Or so he told himself. Meanwhile, he would ask the Yard to begin a manhunt for Worth. He had a name, now, and Mrs. Worth could provide a description. It would be a start.

He left soon after, drove back to the inn, and took the stairs to his room two at a time, his mind on the telegram he would send.

The owner, Joseph Hays, stopped him in the passage. “I saw your motorcar coming in. There’s dinner put aside for you.”

“Thanks,” Rutledge said. “I looked in on the vicar first. He’s doing well enough, in my opinion. Dr. Carrick continues to be concerned about his memory, but his body is healing.”

“Aye. That’s good news,” the innkeeper said, and went on about his business.

Rutledge took his meal in his room, composing the telegram he would send in the morning. He was tired, but there was much to consider before he made his next move.

He had done his best for Mrs. Worth. He could only pray it was the right course of action for now.