Read Online Hunting Shadows: An Inspector Ian Rutledge Mystery by Charles Todd - Free Book Online
Authors: Charles Todd
Tags: United States, Historical, Literature & Fiction, Contemporary, Mystery, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Contemporary Fiction, British Detectives
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believe you’ll have any better luck than I’ve had. You can see for yourself, it’s hunting shadows.”
Chapter 5
R utledge took the man’s comments as they were intended, a measure of his frustration. Warren had had nearly ten days to solve the first murder and four to tackle the second. That in itself was trying; add to it the necessity of calling in the Yard, and the man had every reason to feel he had failed in the eyes of his own Chief Constable.
“Do you think the killer is satisfied? Or will he find a new target?” Rutledge asked after a moment. “Now that he’s twice successfully evaded the police?”
“Who knows what’s in his mind?” Warren sounded tired. “The question is, is he moving west, looking for victims? Or is he choosing a village or town and then picking someone? Mind you, these aren’t ordinary folk—the butcher’s boy, an elderly seamstress, the dairyman. Hutchinson had something of a reputation, I’m told—he moved in the best London circles, and all that. Swift was a solicitor, standing for public office for the first time. God knows who might be in this killer’s sights next.”
Rutledge had already considered that possibility. If there was no personal connection between these men, then it had to be something else. And fame, however minor, might draw someone’s attention if he was searching for another target.
They carried on in silence, and when they reached the station, Rutledge stopped by his motorcar. “Anything else I should know?”
“We’ve covered every possibility. Everything but a hot air balloon. But I’m at your disposal if you think of anything. There’s an inn close by the Cathedral. The Deacon. I’ve booked a room for you there.”
“Thank you.”
Warren put a hand on the bonnet of the motorcar, brushing at an invisible speck. “I like tidy murders, if I must have one. Something I can follow through to a reasonable conclusion. Most of them are like that. If I don’t know what’s going on, my constables will, and in the end we’ll find our killer. The wife, the brother, the lover, the husband. Or the jealous neighbor, the childhood friend, the man who owes money he can’t repay.” He stopped.
“This inquiry could turn out to be as simple.”
“Yes, well, pigs fly.” Warren hesitated. “I was never in the front lines. They put me in charge of transport. We ran the gauntlet of submarines, but no one was shooting at us. You said you could have made that shot. Were you serious?”
Rutledge bent to turn the crank. “A good marksman could have done it easily. At any one time I had ten men in my command who could have made either the shot here or the one in Wriston. Hutchinson must have been moving at a walking pace, conversing with friends, and in no hurry.” He nodded. “A woman could have made it as well, if she’d been trained. It’s not necessarily a man we’re looking for.”
Warren smiled, dusting his hands. “You’ve just doubled the number of your possible suspects.”
“Was Hutchinson married?”
“His wife is dead. Has been for a number of years. Early in the war. So I’m told.” Warren hesitated. “You can’t believe we’re looking for a woman.”
“If we can teach shopkeepers and the sons of farmers to shoot straight when they’re being shot at, why can’t a woman learn to do it as well?”
“If I brought a rifle into my house, my wife would run screaming out the door. She doesn’t care for weapons of any kind.”
“Then we should hope our killer has a wife who feels the same way.”
“When you’re ready, I’ve got the names of witnesses you might wish to speak to. A list I’ve drawn up.”
“Now is as good a time as any.”
Leaving the motorcar quietly ticking over, Rutledge went inside the police station. The list was on the blotter of the desk, and Warren handed it to him.
“Tell me what you think after you’ve spoken to them.”
“What about the artillery Major who was so helpful?
Chapter 5
R utledge took the man’s comments as they were intended, a measure of his frustration. Warren had had nearly ten days to solve the first murder and four to tackle the second. That in itself was trying; add to it the necessity of calling in the Yard, and the man had every reason to feel he had failed in the eyes of his own Chief Constable.
“Do you think the killer is satisfied? Or will he find a new target?” Rutledge asked after a moment. “Now that he’s twice successfully evaded the police?”
“Who knows what’s in his mind?” Warren sounded tired. “The question is, is he moving west, looking for victims? Or is he choosing a village or town and then picking someone? Mind you, these aren’t ordinary folk—the butcher’s boy, an elderly seamstress, the dairyman. Hutchinson had something of a reputation, I’m told—he moved in the best London circles, and all that. Swift was a solicitor, standing for public office for the first time. God knows who might be in this killer’s sights next.”
Rutledge had already considered that possibility. If there was no personal connection between these men, then it had to be something else. And fame, however minor, might draw someone’s attention if he was searching for another target.
They carried on in silence, and when they reached the station, Rutledge stopped by his motorcar. “Anything else I should know?”
“We’ve covered every possibility. Everything but a hot air balloon. But I’m at your disposal if you think of anything. There’s an inn close by the Cathedral. The Deacon. I’ve booked a room for you there.”
“Thank you.”
Warren put a hand on the bonnet of the motorcar, brushing at an invisible speck. “I like tidy murders, if I must have one. Something I can follow through to a reasonable conclusion. Most of them are like that. If I don’t know what’s going on, my constables will, and in the end we’ll find our killer. The wife, the brother, the lover, the husband. Or the jealous neighbor, the childhood friend, the man who owes money he can’t repay.” He stopped.
“This inquiry could turn out to be as simple.”
“Yes, well, pigs fly.” Warren hesitated. “I was never in the front lines. They put me in charge of transport. We ran the gauntlet of submarines, but no one was shooting at us. You said you could have made that shot. Were you serious?”
Rutledge bent to turn the crank. “A good marksman could have done it easily. At any one time I had ten men in my command who could have made either the shot here or the one in Wriston. Hutchinson must have been moving at a walking pace, conversing with friends, and in no hurry.” He nodded. “A woman could have made it as well, if she’d been trained. It’s not necessarily a man we’re looking for.”
Warren smiled, dusting his hands. “You’ve just doubled the number of your possible suspects.”
“Was Hutchinson married?”
“His wife is dead. Has been for a number of years. Early in the war. So I’m told.” Warren hesitated. “You can’t believe we’re looking for a woman.”
“If we can teach shopkeepers and the sons of farmers to shoot straight when they’re being shot at, why can’t a woman learn to do it as well?”
“If I brought a rifle into my house, my wife would run screaming out the door. She doesn’t care for weapons of any kind.”
“Then we should hope our killer has a wife who feels the same way.”
“When you’re ready, I’ve got the names of witnesses you might wish to speak to. A list I’ve drawn up.”
“Now is as good a time as any.”
Leaving the motorcar quietly ticking over, Rutledge went inside the police station. The list was on the blotter of the desk, and Warren handed it to him.
“Tell me what you think after you’ve spoken to them.”
“What about the artillery Major who was so helpful?
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