“Jimmy said he didn’t care to join in, but he never told on any of them, either. When one of the Misses Tate asked him about some difficulty Tommy was having with his books and belongings disappearing, Jimmy told me that Anthony professed ignorance of the whole episode, and of course Miss Tate believed him. He was a good sort, Jimmy said, never ratting them out.”

And that had been Anthony’s sin. He’d wanted to belong as well, and he stood by while the torment went on, rather than trying to protect the Summers boy or telling the Misses Tate what was happening. Many a bullied child suffered in silence, afraid to ask for help, enduring what couldn’t be stopped. Rutledge was beginning to see why Tyrell Pierce had sent his sons off to public school in Surrey. The sons of brewery workers and farmers and the like were not his sons’ peers. Farrell-Smith must have been more to his liking.

Mr. Roper was tiring, and Rutledge rose to leave, thanking him for his time.

The man said, his dry, thin hand shaking Rutledge’s, “He’s still dead. It didn’t help.”

Rutledge said, “Sadly.”

Driving back to Eastfield, Hamish said, “This was in the past. Ye canna’ crusade for justice for Tommy Summers. It’s too late.”

“I don’t want to crusade for him. I need to find out now if he’s turned to murder to settle old scores.”

“If it’s old scores, why did he put yon discs in the mouths of the dead?”

“To put us off the track? And if it was, he nearly succeeded. But there could still be a connection we’ve overlooked.”

Chapter 18

18

Rutledge went next to Hastings New Town. He arrived at The White Swans to find that the clerk at Reception was not the same man he’d spoken to the night before. He asked for Mr. Daniel Pierce, but he was told that Mr. and Mrs. Pierce had gone out. He waited for an hour, but they didn’t return. Rutledge went back to Reception.

“Could you tell me, please, how long the Pierces intend to stay at The White Swans?”

The clerk consulted the register. “The rest of the week at least,” he said. “Would you care to leave a message?”

“I think not. I’d like to surprise them.”

The clerk smiled. “They should be dining in the hotel this evening.”

Rutledge thanked him and then left.

He stopped next at the police station, to ask after Inspector Mickelson.

The latest report confirmed that he was holding his own, but only just. He had come to his senses very briefly during the night, but had had no idea where he was or why. That, Hamish pointed out, boded ill for clearing Rutledge’s name.

Inspector Norman was in, and Rutledge asked to speak to him.