“It’s a tragedy,” the doctor finished, after showing Rutledge the identity disc from Marshall’s mouth. “I can’t believe there’s no way to stop this madman. And what about Carl Hopkins? I thought he was the killer. Is he still in jail? Surely the police will have to let him go, after this.”

“He’s still there,” Rutledge said. “Our murderer would have been smarter to let well enough alone, and let Hopkins take the blame.”

“Pierce won’t like it. He was so certain his son’s killer was in custody. I ran into him just after Inspector Mickelson had taken Hopkins to Hastings. You could almost see the relief in Pierce’s face. As if a burden had been lifted.” Gooding covered the body again. “My nurse wondered if perhaps he’d been worried about Daniel having some role in this business. She asked if Daniel would be coming for Anthony’s funeral, and he all but snapped at her. Where is Daniel? Does anyone know? I haven’t seen him since just after the war.”

Walker said, “Mr. Pierce hasn’t said.”

“Do you remember Tommy Summers?” Rutledge asked the doctor.

“Summers?” Dr. Gooding frowned. “Oh yes, I do remember him. He was a clumsy child, and his father brought him to me to see if there was anything to be done. Some children are just naturally poorly coordinated. He wasn’t a very prepossessing boy. Sadly, such children are seldom popular at that age. And they seldom grow into swans, do they? Nature is often unkind.”

“What did he look like, do you recall?”

“Rather pudgy, and short for his age. Sandy hair, I think.”

“He couldn’t have been mistaken for either of the Pierce boys, then?”

Gooding smiled. “No, of course not. Far from it. What are you driving at?”

Rutledge said, “How would you describe Daniel Pierce, the last time you saw him?”

“Daniel? He’d just come home from France, and he was quite thin. He couldn’t settle to anything, apparently, because he was away again soon afterward. He’s a little above medium height, brown hair.”

The description would have fit a dozen men Rutledge had seen on the streets of Hastings. Except for the thinness, it fit the man he’d seen at The White Swans.

“I don’t understand why you should be asking about Pierce?”

“I’m curious about anyone who lived in Eastfield at one time and who isn’t here now,” Rutledge answered easily. “There was someone in the churchyard last night. Before Marshall was killed. I never got a good look at him, but he didn’t move like a heavy man.”

“Yes, I see,” Gooding replied, but Rutledge didn’t think he did.

They left the surgery and went back to the police station.