anywhere else you believed yourself safe, and you’d be dead before you heard me come through the door. You can bank on that.” He put his car into gear again. “I didn’t intend to kill Eleanor Gray. And I won’t hang for it.”
The lights swung in the darkness, turning the slanting rain to silver. And Holden smiled at Rutledge before the car disappeared down the drive, a black shadow against the stark brightness of its lamps.
All the way to the hotel, Hamish’s voice pounded in Rutledge’s head, demanding to know how much he believed of what Holden had said.
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.
They let him in to see Fiona. He told Oliver and Pringle that he was leaving Duncarrick and wanted to appeal one last time to the conscience of the accused.
When he walked into the cell, he said, “I’ve come to say good-bye.” But he had his finger in front of his lips, signaling her to be silent. “Before I go, I must appeal to you one last time… for the sake of Lady Maude Gray and her daughter…”
In the passage outside the door he could hear Oliver’s footsteps receding. Rutledge came to Fiona and took her hands. “I know who Mrs. Cook is,” he said softly. “I’ve spoken with her.”
“No, that’s impossible-!”
“Fiona, just listen to me. There isn’t much time. I know what her husband is trying to do to her. And to you. You’re a scapegoat. Tethered to a charge of murder-he’s going to destroy Madelyn Holden through you and watch her die of shame. What you don’t know is that he also killed Eleanor Gray. Those bones on the mountainside are hers. The ones that Oliver found. And Holden will kill again. It’s too easy for him. He’ll kill that child, too, but it won’t be fast or merciful.”
“I’ve protected Ian-”
“I know what you’ve done. But Mrs. Holden is being frightened to death. Do you understand me? She’s battered every day by that man’s suspicions and doubts and anger. When I lifted her to carry her into Dr. Murchison’s office after she’d fainted, she was so thin, I was afraid of hurting her!”
“I thought-I was sure he’d never touch her!”
“He hasn’t. Not physically. He torments her instead, day after day. He’s sapping her courage, and one day she’ll want to die. And then she will die. By her own hand.”
“Don’t tell me these things, I can’t bear it!” she cried.
“You need to hear the truth, all of it. From start to finish.”
He gave her all the information he had. Trusting her.
She listened in silence, without asking questions, nodding from time to time as she understood where he was going. Accepting every word, trusting him in her turn.
When he’d finished, he said, “Wait until late this afternoon. After I’ve left for London. Summon Inspector Oliver. Tell him you want to speak to Mr. Elliot and the Chief Constable. Tell them that you don’t want to die. That you can prove that Ian’s mother is still alive. Tell them that the truth is hidden in The Reivers, and if Fiscal Burns will come in person tomorrow, you’ll take them there and give them your proof.”
“They’ll want to go straightaway-”
“No, they’ll have to speak to the fiscal. If need be, let them think you’re hoping to catch a glimpse of the boy.”
She shook her head. “No. I won’t tell them that. I won’t use Ian!”
“You must make your story plausible, Fiona. I want Holden to be told what’s happening. I want him to believe it. It’s the only way to make Oliver and the rest recognize how they’ve been used.” He added, “There’s one last thing. Mrs. Holden didn’t tell me the father’s name. And I didn’t press her. But now I need it. It’s the one crucial piece of information I don’t have.”
She said, “It’s not my place-”
“Fiona-” He stopped, then went on. “Holden is extraordinarily clever and he will turn everything to his advantage, finding some way to destroy that child. We must get Ian MacLeod out of Duncarrick, out of reach. Tomorrow.”
“His father is dead-he can’t help you!”
“It doesn’t matter! Even a dead man’s name makes a child safer. Mrs. Holden has no family, but Ian’s father might.”
She bit her lip. Finally, struggling with her own conscience and fearful of his, she said, “Will you swear to me- on your honor-that you won’t tell anyone unless you have to?” He nodded. “He was a naval officer. His name was Trevor.”
Rutledge felt his heart turn over. “No.”
“You wanted to know-”
“I- Ross Trevor? Are you very sure, Fiona? That Ian is his child?”
She was frightened. “I should never have told you-I knew it was wrong!”
“No. It-it’s good news. I’m glad for him.” There had been nothing of Ross in the child’s face- Except for the eyes, Rutledge realized suddenly. Those changeable eyes. “I’m glad for him-” he said again. But what about David Trevor? Would he, like the fiscal, refuse to accept his son’s decision to love another man’s wife?
It was Hamish who reminded Rutledge that the man who mourned his son so deeply would have to grow used to this news. But Morag would love the child. For Morag mourned too.
“You have sworn!” Fiona was pleading, confused by his sudden uncertainty.
“I’ll keep my word.” But he must persuade Mrs. Holden to find David Trevor once Alex Holden went to trial.
