“Sir, I’m not at liberty to discuss the matter.”

Giving it up, Rutledge fell silent, an uneasy feeling beginning to build in his mind. This was how a suspect was arrested if found on the road. Except that he would be asked to step into the police car, leaving the constable to drive his.

There was the charge of improper conduct against him, but Chief Inspector Hubbard had all but told him that if he took a few days leave voluntarily, it would be ignored.

What else had Mrs. Farrell-Smith found to say about him? He’d have thought she would have been satisfied to see him withdrawn from the case.

Or had she learned that he had uncovered the facts surrounding her husband’s death? That was an old case, not something that he had permission to reopen. But did she know that?

It was another hour before Rutledge drove through Eastfield and down the Old London Road into the Old Town. He hadn’t expected to return here, now that the inquiry had been successfully concluded.

The morning sun sparkled on the water, touching the tips of the choppy waves with gold and catching the sail of a small private craft tacking down the coast, a white triangle against the blue of the sky.

He reached the police station and pulled in behind another vehicle standing there, and the constable accompanying him got out.

“Thank you for cooperating, sir. It’s much appreciated.” He gestured to the door. “This way, if you please.”

Rutledge led the way inside, and the sergeant on the desk recognized him.

“If you’ll wait here, sir, I’ll send someone to fetch Inspector Norman.”

“I know the way to his office—” Rutledge began, but the sergeant shook his head.

“If you’ll wait here,” he repeated.

“Yes, all right,” Rutledge said, irritated now.

Five minutes later, Inspector Norman strode briskly into the room and said without any greeting of any sort, “Inspector Ian Rutledge, I am arresting you on the charge of attempted murder.”

Rutledge stood there, speechless. And then he was being led away, and the constable from Rochester was turning to leave.

“What the devil is this all about, Norman?”

Hamish was warning him not to lose his temper, and he held on to that advice with a tight grip.

Inspector Norman had nothing to say to him, and Rutledge had no choice but to go with the constables, who escorted him to a room in the back of the station.