A Fine Summer's Day

by Charles Todd

  In the morning, then. He was almost glad of it.

  Frances was already in bed, the rooms downstairs dark and stuffy, although the lamp burning in the hall welcomed him.

  He walked into his father’s study and poured himself a small whisky. Draining it in two swallows, he went upstairs to his own bed.

  There was no chance in the next morning to confer with Chief Inspector Cummins, but when Rutledge asked for a meeting with Bowles, he requested that Cummins sit in on the conference.

  It was taking a risk, and he knew it. Without a prior meeting, Cummins wouldn’t be able to back his position. On the other hand, Cummins’s presence could mean that Bowles would at least listen.

  As they walked into the Chief Superintendent’s office, Bowles said irritably, “I hope this meeting is to tell me you’d made an arrest in Kent.”

  “I think it’s very likely that we can, and soon,” Rutledge began confidently. It was the best way to handle the Chief Superintendent. He had a knack for scenting weakness as soon as it stepped through the door. “Meanwhile, I’ve discovered a strong connection between the Tattersall murder and the Hadley inquiry.”

  “I thought we’d discussed the likelihood that Tattersall was a suicide. With the Yard’s blessing, the reconvened inquest agreed.”

  “So we believed at the time. It wasn’t until I was in Kent that I learned that Hadley and Tattersall had once served together on a Bristol jury. A capital case that ended in conviction. What’s more, it appears that Benjamin Clayton, who later went to live in Moresby, was also a member of that same jury.” He was choosing his words carefully. And he’d already decided not to include the schoolmaster Stoddard. Not until he was more certain of his ground. “Here are three men who lived ordinary, blameless lives, respected and respectable, who share only two things: their connection with Bristol and having been summoned to serve on a jury there. And yet they were murdered in similar circumstances within a matter of weeks of each other. The surprising thing is, those men whose grave stones were recently desecrated, the case that Inspector Davies was called to investigate, could very well be connected to this inquiry. I’m waiting for information that will confirm the names of all twelve jurors.”

  Bowles was glaring at him impatiently, purposely being obtuse. “You’re reaching for straws, in the hope of making bricks. If it was a capital case, either the accused was found not guilty—in which case he would have no quarrel with the men who set him free—or he was convicted and hanged, and not likely to be your murderer so many years later.”

  “Evan Dobson was hanged in Bristol in 1888. I’m looking for his son, Henry. Mrs. Dobson died at the end of June this year, in poverty and despair. Henry left the family home as soon as she was interred. And very shortly thereafter, the killing began. What’s more there is evidence that Henry Dobson had access to laudanum prescribed for her.”

  “All very well and good. Now explain to me how this man Henry, poor and no doubt with only a village school education if that, managed to trace his victims? With luck he might have found Tattersall in Stoke Yarlington, but you claim he reached Aylesbridge and Moresby as well.”

  “He worked at various times in a greengrocer’s shop and a lumberyard. He knew people of his own kind, poor and making their own way as best they could,” Rutledge responded. “Such a man could cadge lifts to any part of England. It’s not how he got there that troubles me. It’s the question of how many names are left on his list—if those damaged stones aren’t connected to Dobson, then it’s a long one.”

  Cummins cleared his throat, speaking for the first time. “In late June, early July, there was a rash of breaking and entering at greengrocers along the southern coast. Three pounds taken here, five there—someone was even lucky enough to find ten on one occasion. The seaside has been quite popular this summer, and crime has taken a holiday there as well. A London pickpocket was just apprehended in Brighton, and two well known housebreakers were taken into custody in Lyme Regis and Plymouth respectively only last week. I daresay there are other instances of petty theft elsewhere. Sufficient for a determined man to put food in his stomach, find a bed for the night, and even pay his way if necessary.”

  That was news to Rutledge, but Bowles ignored his Chief Inspector.

  “Then tell me how this killer of yours managed to find men he’d never seen, or seen only as a small child—several of whom had long since moved some distance away? It’s far-fetched, Rutledge, even you must see that.”

  “I haven’t explored that yet,” Rutledge answered frankly. “The first step was to ascertain whether I was right about the jury. It’s not impossible to find someone if the pursuer is determined enough.”

  “For us at the Yard, perhaps. But an untutored man? It’s a good theory, Rutledge, I grant you that. But there are too many holes in it. The tarred grave stones? I wouldn’t doubt you could be right there. It’s something a man like this Henry Dobson might do out of spite. Inspector Davies will be happy to hear of it if that’s true. And that confounded vicar as well, who made such a fuss about what was done. Besides, we’ve got our man in Moresby. The trial is coming up in late September.”

  Rutledge opened his mouth to say something but caught Cummins’s eye and shut it.

  Bowles went on without interruption. “And as for the inquiry in Kent, there’s the maid who found Hadley’s body. Statement says she had access to laudanum. You need to sort that out.”

  “Dr. Wylie has confirmed that it was not full strength and certainly not a lethal amount.”

  “Yes, well, it might have given her the idea. Search out the chemist’s shop that sold it to her. Hadley wouldn’t have been the first man to try to take advantage of a pretty young housemaid while his wife was away. If he pressed her too far, she could well have considered getting rid of him before Mrs. Hadley came back and gave her the sack. It’s even possible she only intended to put him to sleep, so that he’d leave her alone, but got the amount wrong.”

  “You haven’t spoken to Mrs. Hadley—” Rutledge began.

  “The wife is often the last to know in these matters. But the housekeeper might have an inkling. Speak to her. Make certain before you pursue this Henry Dobson that you aren’t blind to what’s right there under your nose.”

  It was final. And arguing with the Chief Superintendent was the surest way of making him dig in his heels.

  Bowles reached for a sheet of paper on his desk. “While you’ve been running about chasing hares, that Inspector in charge of the Kent murder is wondering where you’ve been. You haven’t kept him informed. See that you do. The sooner the better.” And then he turned to Cummins. “I’ve had two men in here this morning, threatening to enlist if we go to war. Cates and Johnstone. They’ve run mad. Have a word with them, if you please, before this gets out of hand.”

  Reports indicated that the Kaiser’s forces had entered tiny Luxembourg, no match for the invaders, and were now poised on the Belgian Frontier. Whitehall had sent a stern warning to Berlin. Germany could field whole armies, while Belgium had hardly more than a hundred thousand men under arms to defend her. However gallant a fight she waged, it would be impossible for her to hold out.

  There had been prayers in churches across Britain on Sunday, solemn pleas to the Almighty to make the combatants see reason and asking that the King and the Government be given strength and wisdom during this ordeal. These had been comforting to many people.

  Rutledge and Cummins were dismissed. They walked out together, not speaking as they moved down the passage.

  They reached Cummins’s office, and he beckoned the younger man inside. When the door had closed behind them, he walked to his window and stood looking out, hands clasped behind his back.

  “Interesting possibility,” he said after a moment. “But perhaps a little premature in expounding it.”

  “Yes,” Rutledge admitted. “Still. What happens if someone else is killed while I’m going through the motions in Kent, to satisfy Bowles? Besides, I’ve met Peg
gy Goode, the housemaid in question. If Hadley had made advances, she would have run screaming through the house instead of calmly plotting to be rid of him. And how did she convince him to stop and drink a glass of milk, if he was intent on raping her?”

  Cummins turned. “I must ask. Are you sure it wasn’t what you viewed as the wrongful arrest of that young man in Moresby that sent you down this road?”

  A hot retort formed on Rutledge’s lips, only to be replaced almost at once by a wry shrug. “It’s a fair question. The answer is, yes, that’s still troubling me. But the possibility grew out of the same exercise you and I tried when we were talking about the Davies inquiry. The first and second deaths were slightly different. By the third, I could see a pattern. I looked into the Stoddard case, which Martin had investigated, and that made four. The next question was what had these victims shared? They hadn’t been to the same schools, they hadn’t served in the military, they weren’t related, they didn’t have the same solicitor or doctor or tutor. But there was Bristol. We don’t usually consider a jury as forming a bond among men. They serve at the pleasure of the court, are dismissed, and are expected never to speak to anyone else of what they did. Not their deliberations, their decisions, their findings. And unless a trial is scandalous in nature or attracts the attention of the gutter press, it’s forgotten in six months’ time. And yet for those few days, twelve men are extraordinarily important to the prisoner in the dock, whose future rests with them. And just as important to the prisoner’s family.”

  “Dobson would have been old enough to attend the proceedings?”

  “I very much doubt it. I find it hard to believe that his mother didn’t attend the trial. But the verdict touched both of them deeply. It had to.”

  “Yes, I see that. But where is Dobson now?”

  “God knows.”

  Cummins sighed. “You’ve got yourself a very interesting possibility, Ian.”

  He ticked them off on his fingers. “I have someone searching for information on the jurors. The next step is to discover a means by which Dobson found his quarry. And I must find a sighting that proves Dobson was in the vicinity of each murder. Even though I myself don’t know what the man looks like, I’ve got only a general description to be going on with. But I think it can be done, with time and perseverance.”

  “Good. Meanwhile, get yourself back to Kent and speak to the local man. I’ll keep an ear to the ground here.”

  Rutledge rose. “Thank you, sir.”

  “If war comes, will Major Gordon be returning to active service?”

  “There have been whispers that he will.”

  “Then spend some time with your Jean today before you leave for Kent. She’ll be worried. God knows we all are.” He picked up a pen, looked at it as if he’d never seen it before, and then said, half to himself, half to Rutledge, “What am I to tell these hotheads eager to go out and get themselves killed?”

  “To wait and see. Germany might well pull back. If they don’t, then give the Army a chance to do what they’ve been trained to do. If Germany comes through Belgium, it will be facing the French as well as the British. And the French have fought them before.”

  “Our regiments are scattered throughout the Empire. If the French can’t hold Germany long enough to get them here, then we’ll need every man we’ve got.”

  “Germany has to contend with three armies. The Russians, the French, the British.”

  “With respect to the Tsar, I don’t know that the Kaiser is particularly worried about his eastern flank. I am rather surprised that he’s baiting the British by massing an Army on the Belgian Frontier. Or perhaps it’s a feint, and he’s trying to keep France guessing. I can’t see why he would wish to bring us into the war if he could avoid it.”

  “His sights are set on Paris, not London. And he might not believe that we’d go as far as war on Belgium’s behalf.” Rutledge put his hand on the door. “The problem is, if he tests us too far, there will be no turning back.”

  He took Cummins’s advice and went to call on Jean. It was just as well not to be under the Chief Superintendent’s feet at the moment, he thought wryly as he lifted the knocker at the Gordon house.

  Jean, he was told, was upstairs lying down with a headache. But as soon as she was informed that he’d called, she asked him to wait and hastily dressed.

  “Ian, what a wonderful surprise,” she said, lifting her cheek for his kiss. “Let’s walk in the garden, where it’s cooler.”

  She was wearing a white dress inset with lace panels in the bodice and around the line of the hem, and there was a blue sash at her waist and a blue enameled locket at her throat. He had never seen her look lovelier and told her so.

  She smiled. “I was going out walking this afternoon, but it’s far too warm. This is much more comfortable. You look tired. Is it the war news? Young officers have been running in and out of the house all morning, until Mama banned them from coming more than once. I found it quite thrilling and dashing, but I daresay she’s worried about Papa. Everyone is dancing on the Kaiser’s convenience, which is silly, if you ask me. Lieutenant Rodgers calls him Mad Willy. I don’t see why we shouldn’t simply send our Army to France and block his way. He’ll retreat quickly enough then.”

  It wasn’t as simple as that. But he let her chatter on, happy to walk arm in arm with her and listen to her.

  “And the Humphreys have canceled their ball tonight. I was glad, since you weren’t going to be here to accompany me. But now you are, and I’m of a mind to tell Sarah Humphrey that she’s ruined my evening.”

  “It would have been a crush,” he said lightly. “You know you wouldn’t have enjoyed that.”

  “No, that’s true. Oh, Ian, I’ve found the loveliest design for my wedding gown. I do wish I could show it to you. Or even describe it to you. But that would invite all manner of bad luck, so I must simply wait, until you can see it for yourself.”

  “It will be the finest gown in England,” he said, smiling down at her. “You’ll be wearing it, and that’s all that matters to me.”

  She squeezed his arm. “Will you enlist, if war comes? Our footman is already excited about going. And the Nevilles’ chauffeur, and even the Haldanes’ son-in-law is considering doing the same.”

  “I’ve far too much work to do at the Yard,” he told her. “I’m a policeman, not a soldier.”

  “But you’d fight for King and Country, wouldn’t you? If it comes to that?”

  “Are you saying the Army is in such dire straits that it needs me? I doubt it.”

  “I just don’t want to be the last person who is sending someone to France,” she said, and he saw she meant it. “Yesterday, after the church service, it was all everyone was talking about.”

  “Jean. I’m not going to make a fool of myself, rushing out to enlist. By the time half these men have been trained sufficiently that they can sail for France, the war will be over.” But even as he spoke the words, he wondered. Europe had gone up in flames so quickly—barely five weeks had seen the worst happen. Before that there had been peace for such a long time. And now everyone was mad for war. As if the excitement was all they saw.

  “If you feel that way,” she said angrily, “then I’m going inside.”

  “Jean,” he said again, but in a different voice. “I won’t quarrel with you over this. You’ve no idea what war can be like. Neither do I for that matter. Your father can tell you, he was in the Boer War. People die. People are maimed. It’s not all parades and bands and uniforms, it’s cruelty and misery and destruction. When the lists of the dead come in, will you be quite so happy to find your friends’ names there? Or the footman, or the neighbor’s chauffeur? The men you’ve danced with and played tennis with won’t all come back, you know.”

  She turned away. “You make it all sound so dreadful.”

  “It is dreadful. I’m sorry, but there it is.”

  She turned back to face him. “Please don’t tell anyone what you’ve just said to me. Parti
cularly not Papa or my friends. Pretend, a little, that you’re eager to fight. I don’t want everyone thinking you’re a coward.”

  13

  Jean’s words stayed with him all the way to Kent.

  Rutledge told himself it was her upbringing, her father’s career, but he was reminded of something that Gilbert had said, that the Army had its own circle of obligation. It was truer than he’d been prepared to believe at the time.

  The young officers who were Jean’s friends would see the darkening clouds in Europe as a chance to cover themselves in glory. Promotion was notoriously slow in peacetime. Even Major Gordon had seemed very pleased to hear he’d be expected to serve again. He himself was happy to leave them to it. Not out of fear for himself, but from the knowledge that war was what they were trained for, just as he was trained for police work, and just now, with Dobson on the loose and four dead men to account for, adventuring in France as a lark to prove his mettle was not something he dreamed of.

  Still, the words had stung. Would she realize that and take them back? He thought it was very likely she would. And he held on to that thought.

  When Rutledge was shown into Inspector Watson’s narrow office, the man on the far side of the desk considered him, then said, “You’ve taken your time coming to see me.” He was older, experienced, and competent, with steady gray eyes and a strong square chin.

  “You laid the groundwork for this inquiry with thoroughness. I didn’t need to speak to you until now.”

  “Still. It would have been a courtesy.”

  “It would have been,” Rutledge agreed, “but we have reason to believe this isn’t the first time our man has killed, and it’s likely he’s going to kill again. I’ve been trying to stay ahead of him.”

  “And have you done that?”

  “So far I haven’t located him. The question we’re wrestling with now is how he found his victims. That might help us narrow down the search.”

  “You’re telling me they were chosen, not picked at random?”