Rutledge was wet through, cold, and very tired. But he said, “The man’s an accomplished liar—that’s what he was trained to do in the war. Still, I have a feeling he told me the truth about killing Eleanor Gray. That’s the pity—she went north with a man she considered a friend, and safe. Whatever Eleanor did that night in Craigness, whether it was waking him out of a sound sleep or in some way making him angry with her, she died for it. And if he killed her the way he described, there wouldn’t have been any marks on the body that the coroner would have been able to identify two years later.”

Rutledge took a deep breath, feeling his anger drain away.

Eleanor Gray was dead, she couldn’t contradict Holden’s account of how it happened. He might even rally enough support to get away with it.

Hamish agreed. “He said it himself—a snake. Quick to strike.”

The nurse, Elizabeth Andrews, had called him that too. “London will give me the rest of the evidence I need to present to the fiscal, but a good lawyer will twist it into whatever shape Holden devises. A jury will never convict him. They’ll believe him where they would never have believed Fiona. We shall have to make him betray himself.”

“He won’t betray himself. He didna’ betray himself when the Turks tortured him.”

“I’ll find a way.” There was grim determination in Rutledge’s voice.

THE NEXT MORNING Rutledge awoke to lowering skies and more rain, sweeping in gray sheets along the streets and rattling like stones against his windows. A depressing day.

Unable to sleep after he’d turned off his light, he’d lain awake trying to find a solution to the dilemma he faced. Hamish, playing devil’s advocate, seemed to relish pointing out that most of his answers wouldn’t work.

You couldn’t frighten a man like Holden. You couldn’t make him come to you. If he’d survived torture . . .

Then what did he want? What was it that Holden valued most?

His wife had made that clear. His revenge. He wanted Fiona to hang and his wife to know that she’d had the power to save her.

Rutledge lay in his bed, forearm resting across his forehead, and thought it out from start to finish.

Hamish said, “This way willna’ work either. He can claim he was trying to protect his wife.”

“Yes. He can say that. Oliver might believe him. But it’s worth a try.”

“It’s too damned risky!”

“I can take care of myself!”

Hamish laughed. “In the dark, there’s nothing you can do. You havena’ his experience, man!”

“I crawled through No Man’s Land that night in ’15 and took out that hidden machine-gun post. They never heard me coming.”

“It’s no’ the same!”

He got up, dressed, and went down for breakfast.