“The man from Scotland Yard? He badgered Mrs. Winslow, and made old Mr. Roper half ill. Mrs. Jeffers came into Eastfield and told Constable Walker that the Inspector had made her cry, wanting to know about the war. Then he discovered from someone at the hotel that Mr. Kenton had come to speak to you there, and soon enough he badgered me too. I live alone, I didn’t have any proof I hadn’t killed those men. He was a policeman, and that’s what policemen do, when they’ve got the upper hand. They badger.” He looked Rutledge in the eye for the first time. “I didn’t like him well enough to mourn when I was told he’d nearly been killed, and I hadn’t cared for what I saw of him when he was alive. Maybe I wasn’t the only one.”

With that he turned his back on Rutledge and went to sit again on his cot, his head in his hands. Rutledge stood there watching him, then walked away.

Chapter 15

15

When Rutledge came back again to Inspector Norman’s office, it was clear that the two men had been having words. He could almost feel the tension, and their faces were flushed.

“I didn’t learn anything of interest,” he said. And with a nod to Inspector Norman, he walked out to where he had left his motorcar. After a moment Chief Inspector Hubbard joined him.

“Is there somewhere we can talk privately?” he asked.

Rutledge said, “By the water.”

They drove toward The Stade, pulling over where they could. The fishing boats were in, and the air smelled of salt, tar, and fish. The tall net shops were black against the sun, almost sinister, and the headland above them was a deep, rich green.

“That’s where they found Mickelson. In one of those sheds, hanging from a hook,” Chief Inspector Hubbard told Rutledge.

“Good God!” After a moment Rutledge said, “I assumed he’d been found in Eastfield. Small wonder Inspector Norman was unwilling to step aside. As it is, he’ll keep probing. That man of his, Petty, is very good.”

“The fleet goes out very early,” Hubbard went on. “That means he must have been put there while it was still dark. The killer brought a length of rope from somewhere, to pass over the hook. Or he found it in one of the sheds.”

Hubbard turned to face Rutledge. “If Carl Hopkins hadn’t been in custody—and if Mickelson had been garroted—I might find myself wondering if you hadn’t been very very clever. He very nearly got you killed. Twice over, if I remember.”

Rutledge laughed grimly. “You know damned well I didn’t touch him. You also know what Chief Superintendent Bowles was playing at, calling me to book for misconduct. He must have panicked when he heard about Mickelson. He must have thought he was next.”