Legacy of the Dead Part 25

"Yes. A shame." He remembered Hugh Fraser's words. It It was like a medieval plague. . . . was like a medieval plague. . . .

Turning the motorcar around again, Rutledge drove away from the town once more and headed in the direction of Glencoe.

He made another brief stop in Brae to speak to Mrs. Davison. She asked him for news of Fiona, but as he had nothing cheerful to tell her, he said only, "I a.s.sure you, we're doing everything we can."

"Then if it isn't good news, what does bring you back again?"

They were in the parlor, and the boys, happy to see him, were clinging to the arms of his chair while the little girl climbed confidingly into his lap. Mrs. Davison reached out for her, but he said, "No, let her stay. I don't mind."

The child curled herself against his chest and began to play with the fob on his watch chain.

"I need to ask you about some jewelry that Fiona MacDonald owned. A brooch with a large cairngorm in the center-"

She nodded before he could finish his description. "Yes, I remember it. A lovely piece. She said it was a wedding gift from her father to her mother. She didn't wear it often. She was afraid, playing with the children, that it might be pulled off or lost. She also had a bracelet from her fiance, which she allowed my daughter to try on when she'd been especially good." She smiled indulgently. "You can see that young as she is, she has a taste for gold."

He looked down at the fair curls catching on his vest b.u.t.tons. "It's natural," he agreed. "Had her fiance also given Fiona a ring?"

"She never said anything about it if he had."

Detaching curls from b.u.t.tons and fingers from the fob, he set the child on her feet and rose. "You've been a great help," he told Mrs. Davison. "Thank you once more."

She must have read something in his voice. She rose but didn't cross the room to the door. Instead she asked, "Is it important, this brooch?"

"It might be," he confessed. "I'm on my way to find that out."

"Then I hope it will be good news!"

On the step he paused and said, "Do you think that Maude Cook was expecting a child when she left Brae?"

"Maude Cook?" Mrs. Davison shook her head. "No, I'm sure she wasn't. There would have been signs."

"Not if she left in her fifth month."

"Well, that's true, I suppose. But when she left Brae, it was to travel to London to be with her husband. He had been invalided home-what would he have said to find her pregnant by another man!"

She stopped. "I had wondered if she had a lover. . . . No, I can't believe it of her. She wouldn't have been able to conceal her condition from Mrs. Kerr. And Mrs. Kerr would have told half of Brae. No. Possible, but not likely," she ended firmly. "Give Fiona my love, will you? And tell her we are praying for her."

"She will be grateful," Rutledge said, and went down the walk to his car.

Hamish scolded, "You've broken your promise again!"

"No. I asked if Mrs. Cook could have had a child. I've put no one in danger!"

"It isna' right to gie a promise and take it back when it suits!"

"It isn't right for Fiona MacDonald to hang," Rutledge retorted grimly.

"Aye, but she doesna' deserve to put her faith in lies."

RUTLEDGE REACHED GLENCOE before Inspector MacDougal got there, and spent the time climbing back to the rocks on the heights. before Inspector MacDougal got there, and spent the time climbing back to the rocks on the heights.

How had a woman dragged the dead weight of a body up this slope?

How would he he have done it? have done it?

People found extraordinary strength in times of grave danger. It would have taken enormous effort. And time. At night then, when darkness gave the killer a good nine hours in which to accomplish the task.

And if he'd laid the body on a blanket and pulled- What if the frayed edges of an old blanket had been cut off and hidden under the bench in the Craigness garden? To make a st.u.r.dier corner- Overhead Rutledge heard an eagle scream and, shading his eyes, looked up. He could just see it, circling for alt.i.tude, riding the warming air. In the far distance a car was moving in his direction. Rutledge turned and began to walk back down the mountainside.

The sound of pipes came from somewhere, a lonely shepherd pa.s.sing the time. Too far for Rutledge to pick out the tune. A pibroch, he thought. Very fitting here, where the mountains gave it body and redoubled the drones. He paused to listen.

Something cracked-a shot-echoing and re-echoing against the rock faces on either side of the road.

Instinctively, Rutledge ducked, long years of war making it a swift reflex action. The stones just behind him spurted, then slid in a trickling spill toward his feet. He swore.

There was no cover here-absolutely none-he was a clear target, easy to pick off- Where was the man with the rifle!

Crouching, he scanned the opposite slopes and saw no one.

It hadn't been his imagination! He knew the sound of a rifle; it was clear and definitive- Then, at the top of the ridge across from him, he caught a slight s.h.i.+ft of light and shadow and again threw himself to one side.

But this time there was no shot. MacDougal's car was just below, the motor's noise rising to where Rutledge was crouching. Close enough now to hear a rifle- Rutledge shaded his eyes, looking intently for movement.

But the sniper had vanished, ducking over the opposite ridge, invisible now.

It would be impossible to catch up with him- Furiously angry, Rutledge wheeled to look for the spent bullet. He combed the area where he was certain he had seen the small slide of rock chips. It must have struck a stone and ricocheted.

He searched carefully-but he never found it.

INSPECTOR MACDOUGAL, GETTING out of his car as Rutledge reached the road again, said, "You're a great man for the climbing!" out of his car as Rutledge reached the road again, said, "You're a great man for the climbing!"

"Good exercise," he answered, thinking of Mrs. Holden.

"Better you than me! What is it you're looking for up there, that you need me to act as guide?"

"I've seen all I need to see on the mountain. Now I'd like to find that young girl, Betty Lawlor."

"The one who discovered the brooch. Any particular reason you'd like to speak to her?" MacDougal looked at him speculatively.

Never infringe on another man's turf. It was a cardinal rule Rutledge followed. "Yes. I'd like to hear how she came to have the price of a new pair of shoes."

"As I remember, she said she'd earned them."

"Yes, no doubt she had. I should have asked her how."

"What does that have to do with finding the brooch?"

"It might have been the price of convincing her to turn it in. I find it hard to believe, thinking back on it, that a child as poor as that would come to you to ask if she could keep the brooch."

"I wondered about it, of course. But the family is honest enough. The father's a drunken sod, but the mother is proud as peac.o.c.ks. And she's taught her children to be honest as far as I can tell. Besides, how in h.e.l.l's name would anyone know that Betty Lawlor had found a brooch out here in the middle of nowhere? It's far-fetched, Rutledge!" But he shrugged and pointed down the road. "The croft is just before the end of the glen. Shall we take both cars or leave one here?"

Rutledge had no wish to find water in his petrol again. Or a bullet through a tire. "We might as well take both."

"Safe enough here," MacDougal said. "But it's your choice."

He pulled out ahead of Rutledge to lead the way.

Hamish warned, "Watch your back!"

Rutledge said, "No. He won't risk firing again. Not with MacDougal ahead of us. How did anyone know I was here? I told Oliver-"

Anyone could have overheard Oliver's call to MacDougal. Anyone could have asked Oliver, "I saw Rutledge leaving town, where has he gone?"

"And who did Oliver tell?" Hamish said.

"Or I could have been followed to Brae and then here."

"But if he knew and came ahead while you were in Brae, he would have the time to climb."

"I know." Rutledge let it go. There was nothing he could do now.

Sheep were being driven down the road, filling it with white, curly humps that bobbed ahead and then behind, crowding against the two motorcars. He could hear MacDougal shouting to the man to move them on, and the high whistles to the dogs. Moving to lower pastures before the autumn storms came.

Pulling out of them, MacDougal drove on, then turned off the road where an ancient stone croft squatted in the shelter of the hill.

It has only two rooms, Rutledge thought, Rutledge thought, and no water and no water that I can see. that I can see. Betty Lawlor was poor indeed. Betty Lawlor was poor indeed.

Hamish said, "There'll be a rill close by. Enough for their needs."

A ragged child of about seven popped his head out the door and then went back inside, calling to someone, before coming to stand on the threshold. His eyes were wide as he took in the two motorcars parked in front of him.

MacDougal had gotten out and was crossing the hard-packed dirt of the yard when a man came to meet him. He was of middle height but heavy across the shoulders, and the filthy unders.h.i.+rt he wore was torn across the back. His trousers were held up with string, not braces. The bleary eyes and fleshy nose told the rest of the story.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Lawlor. I've come to have a word with Betty, if you please."

"I thought you might be bringing her back."

"Where's she got to, then? Out with the sheep?"

"She's gone."

"Gone?" MacDougal looked over his shoulder at Rutledge. "Gone where? Look, I want to talk to her. Tell me where she is, and I'll be on my way." MacDougal looked over his shoulder at Rutledge. "Gone where? Look, I want to talk to her. Tell me where she is, and I'll be on my way."

The ravaged face turned puce with anger. "Gone, I telt ye, and gone she is! That's plain as plain! No skin off my backside if she's alive or dead."

A worn woman in a faded dress came to stand at the door behind him. MacDougal took his hat off to her, but she said nothing.

Rutledge said, "What did you do to her, Mr. Lawlor? That made her run away?" He had a feeling that he already knew.

He thought the man was on the verge of apoplexy, he was so angry.

The woman said, "She wouldna' tell him where she got the money for the shoes. He thought he had a right to know. He thought she might have more of it. So he beat her until she couldn't cry. And that night she left."

"I've got every right to that money! I feed and clothe these brats. I keep a roof over their heads. What they have is mine."

"Beat your children again, Lawlor, and I'll haul you in for drunk and disorderly, and keep you in prison until you rot, do you hear me!" MacDougal's voice was cold. "Do you hear me, man!"

"It willna' do any good," his wife said in a tired voice. "When he's like this, he doesna' remember a word."

Lawlor swung a fist in her direction, but she moved away with the ease of long practice.

Rutledge thought of that same fist beating the thin child he'd seen on the mountainside. Whatever Betty had done, she was better off out of here.

"I want her back!" Lawlor was saying now, his voice plaintive. "There's n.o.body to tend the sheep."

"You should have thought of that before you beat her," MacDougal answered roughly. "Mrs. Lawlor, did your daughter tell you where she earned the money for her shoes?"

She shook her head. "But she's out wi' the sheep noon and night. Who's to say?"

"Wh.o.r.e, that's what she was. s.l.u.t. Selling herself, I'll be bound."

"No, she hadn't sold herself, Lawlor. She provided the police with some information they badly needed." Rutledge added, "Mrs. Lawlor, do you know if your daughter has had a piece of jewelry in her possession for some months now? It was a brooch with a cairngorm center."

She laughed. "And how'd she keep something like that where he didna' find it? In her boudoir? I never saw her with anything more than the bit of dyed yarn she'd twisted into a bracelet for her sister and herself. If you think my Betty had anything like a cairngorm brooch, you're mad."

MacDougal and Rutledge exchanged glances. Rutledge said to her, "My mistake. I must have misunderstood."

MacDougal walked with Rutledge back to his car. The small boy had come outside now and was fingering the bonnet, then running his hand over the smooth leather of the seat. MacDougal was saying, "She had the brooch. Whether her mother saw it or not. It doesn't make a difference to your case."

"The brooch was seen in Glasgow several weeks ago. In the shop of an engraver. Can you believe that Betty Lawlor was the one who took it there?"

"Great G.o.d, no one told me me that! When did Oliver find out?" that! When did Oliver find out?"

"He doesn't know. I'd rather tell him myself. I just learned the news from my sergeant in London." He smiled at the boy and lifted him into the driver's seat, where the child instantly made motor noises and gripped the wheel like a racer. "But it means that most of Betty's story is a lie. She didn't have that brooch for a year or more-nor did she find it on the hillside. My belief is that the person who gave it to her and taught her a story meant to be told to the police also gave her the money to buy shoes. And there was enough extra to help her escape her father and this place. She would have bargained hard. She carried out her part very well indeed. It will be Oliver's headache to track her down to testify at the trial. I've no doubt he'd do it."

"I don't believe it. You're pulling at straws!"

The horn blew. Rutledge and MacDougal winced.

MacDougal went on. "It's no more than speculation. You can't be sure it's the same brooch! No, until there's proof to the contrary, I put my faith in young Betty."

"I think there's enough proof already to put some doubt into a jury's mind." Rutledge waited, then said, "Will you search for her?"

MacDougal gestured to the croft and the parents still standing in the doorway. "And bring her back to this?" He took a deep breath. "I suppose I shall have to. But it won't be easy. Still, there aren't many ways she could have gone from here. Even with her new walking shoes. Inveraray, most likely, where she could beg a lift in a wagon." He turned away, settling his hat back on his head. "I'll let Oliver know when she turns up."

"Thanks." Rutledge said to the boy, "Will you sit there while I turn the crank?"

The child nodded vigorously. Rutledge started the engine and then let him stay for a moment longer to feel the power of the car under him. MacDougal had already turned around in the yard and was heading back the way they'd come. Rutledge lifted the child down.