“I came back from the War broken by the waste of it,” he told Blevins, his voice harsh. “It was a bloody waste of lives and we brought home nothing—nothing!—to show for four years of dying in trenches not fit for swine. I asked no favors from anyone, and I received none. I did my job as well as I knew how, just as every other man back from the Front tried to do his. No one gave me back my past, and no one will hand me my future. Whatever your grievance is with me now, it has nothing to do with the War, and nothing to do with my skills as a policeman!”

Blevins stared at him, and then looked away, surprise in his eyes. Behind the thin face and the polite manner was a will stronger than he’d believed. “All right. I apologize.” He took a deep breath. “I’m at my wits’ end, that’s what it is. Look, I have to put together—and damned soon!—a sound enough case against Walsh that I can take to trial. Otherwise I have to let him go. We can’t hold him forever on suspicion. And right now, that’s all I’ve got!” Blevins took two quick steps away, and then turned back to Rutledge. “It’s like chasing wraiths, nothing can be nailed down!”

“Have you told him about Iris Kenneth’s death?”

“No. I find I can’t stand the sight of the man. He’s taken to sitting there smirking, like a damned gargoyle. One of my constables swears he’ll choke Walsh into confessing.” A twisted smile crossed his face. “Damned fool is half Walsh’s weight!”

“Let me be the one to break the news.”

Blevins considered the offer. “All right. Come and talk to him, then. Nothing else is working. This is worth trying.”

They walked in silence back to the police station. There, Blevins gave the key to Rutledge and gestured in the direction of the small cell.

When Rutledge unlocked the door, Walsh was sitting on the bed, a smile pinned to his face. That changed when he saw that it was not Blevins or one of his constables. A shadow of concern took its place.

“What are you doing, standing there in the doorway, like the Trumpet of God?” Bravado in a deep voice.

Hamish said, “He thinks you’ve come to take him to Norwich. Or London.”

It was a sharp observation.

Rutledge said, “There’s been an interesting development in your case.”

Walsh shoved himself to his feet, a big man with hands twice the size of Rutledge’s. “And what might that be?”

“Iris Kenneth.”

Surprise swept over Walsh’s face. “What’s she got to do with anything?”