Leaving everything as he’d found it, he walked out of the room and shut the door. The hotel maid smiled at him as he passed, and he thanked her again.

Outside in the bright sunlight, he decided to put in a call to Sergeant Gibson and turned back into the hotel. But the sergeant was not at his desk. Rutledge didn’t leave a message. He’d learned his lesson.

He went back to The Stade, and looked again at the strange black towers that held the drying fish nets.

How long would it be before Gibson found his man? The sergeant was very good at what he did, always thorough. Rutledge debated going to London to see what he could learn for himself. But he knew that would get him nowhere. And he wasn’t prepared yet to deal with Chief Superintendent Bowles or face the curious glances of everyone at the Yard. The story had got out, it was bound to, and he knew any shouting match with the Chief Superintendent was sure to feed the rumor mill. He was still furious about the charges brought against him, and even if he could rein in his temper, he would be hard-pressed to pretend that he didn’t know why they had been brought: because Bowles was suddenly afraid that his machinations had led to murder.

And Meredith Channing was in London as well. He didn’t want to know the answers to the questions that wouldn’t go away. Not now.

Inspector Norman came up, looking with him at the odd black structures. “You’re no closer to the truth than you were when you left. And men continue to die.”

“Are you saying that Inspector Mickelson didn’t make it?”

“As far as I know, he’s not out of danger. Nothing has changed. Look, if it wasn’t Carl Hopkins—and it appears that he isn’t our man—then bring the rest of that Eastfield Company in, and keep them there until someone admits the truth. They work for their living, every one of them. They can’t afford to stay cooped up in a cell indefinitely.”

Rutledge thought about Mrs. Marshall asking for help to feed the pigs. Every one of these deaths had created a hardship of some sort. “It’s tempting. But I think they’re as much in the dark as we are.”

“I can’t believe that. If you’ve fought side by side with a man for four years, you learn very quickly what he’s made of.” It was an echo of Constable Walker’s words.

“Why would the survivors keep their mouths shut, when one name would make the rest of them safe? These murders are as deadly as sniper fire. Men are picked off at will.”

“Because there’s something none of them wants to come out. What’s the worst crime a soldier can commit?”

Thinking about Hamish, Rutledge said, “Desertion under fire.”