he intended to choose his ground for that encounter.
Rutledge had taken Morrison’s revolver. But there were other guns in the case in the house at River’s Edge.
Had the van carried him that far? Or had he gone by way of a shortcut through the marshes? He’d said once that he didn’t know his way through them, but that had been a lie. The only way he could have reached River’s Edge ahead of Major Russell was to take an even shorter path.
Retrieving his torch from where Jessup had dropped it, Rutledge went back to his motorcar.
When he reached River’s Edge, he left his motorcar by the gates for what he hoped would be the last time. And after removing the revolver from the boot and shoving it under his coat, he walked up the overgrown drive.
There were shotguns in the glass case in the study. The question was, did Morrison know where to find the shells?
“Ye ken, he was in and oot of yon house often enough. It wouldna’ take him verra’ long to find them and load.”
As carefully as he’d trod the dark approaches to No Man’s Land, looking for snipers, Rutledge walked toward the house.
The sun was bright, but not bright enough to penetrate the deeper shadows. He moved cautiously, watching for movement, for the slightest sign that he had been seen. There was nothing he could do about the upper windows overlooking the drive. And so he ignored them. The undergrowth and the untrimmed trees offered more immediate danger.
The final sprint across the open lawn leading to the main door took him to the shelter of the house, and he pressed himself against the warm brick while he caught his breath.
Still no sign of Morrison.
Perhaps, Rutledge thought, I was wrong. He was in that van, out of sight among the crates and boxes.
But he had to be sure, and after two minutes, when nothing had happened, he quietly moved around the house toward the riverfront and the terrace, ducking under windows where a watcher could see him.
He reached the corner of the house, pausing again before leaning forward to peer around the edge.
He stopped, moving back out of sight.
For down by the water, at the landing, a launch he’d seen before was tied up and swinging gently with the current.
Chapter 24
Cynthia Farraday had chosen today of all days to return to the house on the River Hawking. Because of the Times article, because she mourned Russell?
Rutledge swore under his breath, his eyes scanning the lawns and the edges of the marshes.
Where the hell was she?
And where was Morrison?
He waited, forcing himself to stop and to think. His mind was tired, Hamish hammering at the back of it.
If he’d been wrong about Morrison, if the man had cut his losses and escaped while he could, she was safe enough.
If he’d been right, was Cynthia Farraday already dead? Shot or stabbed, it wouldn’t matter if Morrison had found her there. He would kill her, just as he’d killed the others. Rutledge needed to find out before he could know what his options were.
If Morrison was still expecting him, the launch was there waiting when it was over-or as a last resort if everything went wrong. If there was sufficient petrol in it, Morrison could very easily reach France or farther down the coast, past the mouth of the Thames and into Kent.
Were they inside?
It was where Rutledge would wait, in the same circumstances. There was no other way into the house without breaking a window or forcing a locked door and alerting his quarry. If Morrison had found the shotgun shells, he could wait in the garden room and control his field of fire.
The alternative was the first-floor master bedroom, with its long windows looking down to the water, giving a wide view of the lawns and the edges of the marsh.
There was no escape for Morrison from either place, if he himself could get in the first shot. But there was only one cartridge left in the revolver beneath his coat.
He could feel the rush of adrenaline now, as he had on the battlefield as he went over the top. Knowing what was waiting for him out there, knowing what his chances of survival were. But until he knew where Cynthia Farraday was, whether she was alive or dead, his hands were tied.
There was nothing for it but to walk out into the open and challenge Morrison.
Rutledge had taken the first step out into the open when he heard voices. Someone had come out onto the terrace. He moved swiftly back into the shelter of the house and pressed himself against the wall.
He could just hear Cynthia Farraday saying, “But I don’t wish to sit in that chair. Bring me another.”
She was alive, then, and being used as a Judas goat. Rutledge waited.
“You’ll sit where you’re told. I shan’t kill you until he’s dead. Or at least I hadn’t planned to. Push me too far, and I won’t wait.”
“He isn’t coming. You said yourself he had taken those other men to hospital. He won’t leave until he’s certain they’ll live. Those men are his witnesses, don’t you see?”
“He’s not the sort to leave a prisoner tied to a post any longer than needful. It’s hot today. He’ll remember I have no water. No shade. He’ll arrive at the Rectory and discover that I’ve escaped. Then he’ll come here. He knows me very well, Rutledge does. But I know him even better. He’ll die to save you. Wait and see. I have only to say, Show yourself, and I’ll let her live. He’ll step out then, and you’ll walk down to the launch, as I told you to do. He won’t know I’ve disabled it. He’ll watch you go, he’ll stand there and watch you step into the launch. And then I’ll kill him. It’s quite simple.”
A silence fell.
Then she said, “You can’t watch both of us. I can swim, I can leap out of the boat and you’ll never find me in the marshes.”
“I’ll come back for you one day. As I did for Justin Fowler. Remember that. You will never know when. My life had taught me patience. Russell learned that too.”
“Did you kill Mrs. Russell?”
“Oh, yes. I had to be quiet about it, so I cut her throat and then tied her to a stone. She’s still down there on the river bottom, as far as I know. It’s important that you understand me. Wherever you go, I shall find you. Eventually. Or now. It doesn’t matter to me when you die. I’ll even let you choose.”
“That’s very kind of you,” she said with heavy irony.
Another silence fell. It lasted longer this time. Rutledge weighed the distance, and how quickly Morrison would react.
He didn’t know how Morrison was armed. He didn’t know whether he had brought out both shotguns or only one. Far more urgent was the question of what Cynthia Farraday would do. Whether he could depend on her to stay out of the way. It was just as likely she would try to throw Morrison off balance, and in that instant, put herself directly into his own line of fire.
There was no way to plan. No way to calculate the odds. Once he stepped out in plain sight, there would be chaos, with no chance to do anything but try for a kill with the first shot. After two years, was he still quick enough?
“You canna’ fash yourself over the lass. If Morrison brings ye doon, she willna’ live verra’ long afterward. Ye canna save her. You mustna’ even consider it.”
“Not by my shot, please God.” But Hamish was right. He had to stop Morrison any way he could. If he wanted to protect Cynthia Farraday, he himself would have to survive.
Bringing out the revolver, he checked again to be sure. One shot. That was all he had.
