“I was unaware that my son fancied anyone, much less had formed an attachment. He’d always said that he never wanted to settle down to an ordinary life. As a boy he was forever reading about explorers and lamenting that there was nothing left to discover.”

“Perhaps his brother was already set to inherit the only life Daniel wanted to live.”

“Nonsense!”

“Men will also say such things when they’ve been disappointed in love.”

“You never knew my son,” Pierce told Rutledge, his voice harsh.

“On the other hand, I believe that Mrs. Farrell-Smith’s late husband did in fact know Daniel. At school, perhaps?”

That surprised Pierce. “I don’t know anything about that.”

“When I called on her, Mrs. Farrell-Smith believed at first that I’d come to her because we knew where your son was.”

“What are you driving at, man?”

“It makes me wonder how attached she was to Anthony Pierce. Or if she was fond of him because he was your heir.”

That left the older man speechless.

“This is a small town,” Rutledge continued, “hardly more than a village that has outgrown itself. It’s difficult to keep secrets when people have known each other most of their lives. Men here went to the same school as children, they served in France—what else connects them? I don’t know. Yet. You can’t ignore the fact that when this killer has finished his work here, he could begin to search for Daniel next. Does your son know the danger in which he stands? Or will he be caught off guard like the first victims? You may feel that obstructing the police protects your son, but it could have just the opposite effect. Because he could possess the missing piece of information that could save other lives, including his own.”

Tyrell Pierce’s face was as pale as the shirt he was wearing.

“I’ve lost one child to this killer. I don’t want to lose another. The truth is, I don’t know why Daniel won’t return to Eastfield. Or where he is. I write to him in care of a tobacconist shop in St. Ives, Cornwall. I have reason to believe he doesn’t live there, that his mail is forwarded to him by the friend or acquaintance who owns the shop. Or whoever comes to collect it. It’s a fragile link, but it’s all I have, and I will preserve it at any cost. I want you to understand that. If you do anything to interrupt this line of communication—send policemen to question that shop owner or have my son’s mail watched, or interfere in any way—I will see to it that your career at Scotland Yard is over. I have the power to break you, and I will break you.”

Rutledge believed every word of that warning.