A Lonely Death by Charles Todd Read Free Book Online Page B

sir. I was not my father’s favorite child either.”
    And yet Rutledge had gathered the impression that Daniel was his father’s favorite. Something in the timbre of his voice had betrayed the elder Pierce. “Still, the question that has to be asked is, was he jealous enough of his brother that in the end, he would kill two innocent men in order to cover his tracks when he killed Anthony Pierce?”
    Walker sighed. “I don’t think Daniel was the sort to want to be tied to a brewery for the rest of his life. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d made a career of the Army. I remember how excited he was just before the war about Shackleton’s journey to the Antarctic, and how pleased he was that the King encouraged Shackleton to go on with his plans even after war was declared.” Changing the subject without appearing to, he pointed toward an ornate four-story building ahead. “That’s The Fisherman’s Arms Hotel. A little grand to call it that, but it’s comfortable. They’re keeping a room for you. I took the liberty of asking them, after I was told the Yard was sending someone to Eastfield.”
    Rutledge thanked him. “I’ll go and register. But as soon as possible I want to see the statements you’ve collected thus far, and then speak to Dr. Gooding.”
    “It’s best to catch the doctor after his midday meal. One o’clock? Will that suit you?”
    “Yes, I’ll come for you then,” Rutledge answered as they reached his motorcar. Walker turned the crank for him, and he drove on to the hotel. There was space to park in the small yard to the far side, and the woman at the desk smiled when he gave his name.
    “We’ve been expecting you, Mr. Rutledge,” she said, as if he were a valued guest and not a policeman in their midst. He rather thought that Pierce’s name had been used to secure a better choice of room.
    Hamish said as Rutledge climbed the stairs to the second floor, “Ye ken, Mr. Pierce doesna’ want the Hastings police called in for fear they’ll look for his ither son.”
    “Yes, that’s very likely,” Rutledge agreed. “Scotland Yard has no prejudices.”
    The room faced the street rather than the yard, and it was large, airy, and comfortable. Rutledge set his valise in the wardrobe and went to the pitcher of cool water on the stand between the windows, where he washed his hands. As he was reaching for a towel to dry them, he heard a commotion in the street and looked out to see what was happening.
    Constable Walker was speaking to an elderly man crippled by arthritis, leaning heavily on his cane. He looked tired, distraught, and very angry.
    The man was repeating at the top of his lungs, “I want him buried, do you hear? Decently, next to his mother, where he belongs. I don’t care what the police have to say about it, I want my son.”
    Walker tried to placate him, but there was nothing he could say that would satisfy the old man.
    Hamish said, “Roper’s father.”
    Very likely, Rutledge thought. Walker had described him as old and frail.
    Pushing away from the window, Rutledge hurried out of the room and down the stairs. When he reached the street, Walker was still patiently trying to persuade the elder Roper to return to his farm.
    Rutledge walked up to them, introduced himself to Roper, and with a nod to Walker, said, “I’m here from Scotland Yard. In fact I only arrived this morning. If you will give me three days, I’ll see that your son’s body is released to you. But I want to be sure that I know everything I need to know in order to find his murderer. Will you give me those three days?”
    Roper turned to him, his eyes wet with tears. “Three days, you say?”
    “Three days,” Rutledge acknowledged.
    “That’s reasonable.” Roper turned to go, finally satisfied.
    Rutledge stopped him. “Did your son have any enemies, do you know? Someone who was jealous of him, who held a grudge of some sort, or had quarreled with him recently?”
    Roper laughed, a harsh