The Red Door Part 25

He laughed. "I expected to find the lights on, Jake on the loose, and myself in bad odor for bringing him to you."

"He's been a dear. I've tried to write down everything he says, but it's mostly wishing her husband Peter a good night, or something ordinary. He says 'My dearest wife' in her voice, but I know it's a letter he must have heard a hundred times. And 'Shall we have tea, my dear?' He always answers that with 'What will Jake have?' Hardly useful in a courtroom, I'm afraid."

"I didn't expect an enlightening conversation with a murderer," he said as Frances turned on the light in the small breakfast room and then lifted the covering from Jake's cage.

He was asleep, head tucked beneath his wing, but he looked at them, blinking the second lid on his eye, and said, "Shall we have tea, my dear?"

"It's not teatime, Jake. In the morning."

He began to swing, and Frances said, "I can see that he must have been wonderful company for a woman alone, but my maid is terrified of him and won't come near him. He squawks at her, as if she's an interloper. It's either Jake or Nell. And I must choose Nell."

"There's someone who wants him. If it works out, it will be the right choice for him."

"You look tired."

"Much on my mind."

"I'm sure. Well, go home, Ian, and let me go to bed."

He wished her a good night, and left.

Sunday morning was misty and gray as Rutledge returned to the Yard early. There was a report to write and then preparations to be made for the night's promenade along the river. He had debated asking for a weapon, to even the odds, and then thought better of it. Sitting in his office, staring out the window and listening to Big Ben chime the hour, Mickelson's plan seemed workable. But Billy was becoming an accomplished killer now. And in the dark, many things could happen. What had driven the boy to this point in his life? Not that it mattered. He had crossed the boundary; he was going to hang when caught.

Rutledge was just turning around to begin his report when Sergeant Gibson burst into the small office with only a cursory knock.

"I think you'd better know, sir. We've just had a telephone call from Ess.e.x, sir. There's been a death at Witch Hazel Farm. The Teller house."

"What happened?" Rutledge asked, getting to his feet. "When?"

"Someone fell down the stairs. Just before breakfast. Chief Superintendent Bowles isn't in, nor is Inspector Mickelson. I think, if you hurry, you can be on your way before they arrive. It's still your inquiry, after all."

Rutledge reached for his hat. "It will take no more than fifteen minutes to pack a valise."

He was down the pa.s.sage and in the stairwell when he remembered the rendezvous with Billy. Mickelson could deal with it.

Sunday morning traffic was light, and he made good time, going directly to the house at Witch Hazel Farm.

The drive was crowded with vehicles, and he could see that the police from Waddington were there, already taking over from the constable in Repton. Dr. Fielding, the Tellers' Ess.e.x physician, was standing by the door in the watery sunlight, an unlit pipe in his hands.

He saw Rutledge pull up and hailed him. "Inspector. Good, you've come."

"I've had no briefing," he told Fielding. "There wasn't time."

"It's Captain Teller. He tripped coming down the stairs this morning."

"Gentle G.o.d," Rutledge said blankly. And then, "What can you tell me?"

"It was a family weekend. Mrs. Jenny Teller's birthday. There was a party on Friday, and my wife and I were invited. Rather a nice party, actually. I did notice that Captain Teller was drinking a little more than usual. But he carried it well, there was no disturbance. My wife and I left just before eleven, and that's all I can tell you until the summons came this morning. Amy Teller called to say there had been an accident and to hurry. But by the time I got here, Captain Teller was dead. Amy Teller was the first to reach him. She said he was alive then. He spoke her name. She distinctly heard him say 'Mee' as she bent over him."

"Considering his injuries, was that possible?"

"I should think so. I've examined him as best I can on the floor at the foot of the stairs. I'll know more when I've got him in the surgery. If you want my best opinion at this time, I'd say his bad leg gave way, pitching him down the stairs. According to his brother Edwin, Peter has been avoiding using his cane of late. He may just have paid for his stubbornness with his life."

Rutledge thanked him and walked into the house.

Captain Teller lay where he'd fallen, his body sprawled at the foot of the stairs, his bad leg still on the first step behind him. Just coming down the pa.s.sage was a man of slender build with a pockmarked face.

"Good morning. Who let you in? There should have been a constable on the door."

"My name is Rutledge, Scotland Yard. I believe someone sent for me, since I was just involved in Walter Teller's disappearance."

"Inspector Jessup. Waddington." They shook hands. "Disappearance? When was this? I wasn't told about it."

"You wouldn't have been. It happened in London, and Teller returned unharmed, after giving his wife a h.e.l.lish four days of worry."

"Indeed. Well, this one-Captain Peter Teller-fell down the stairs, as you can see. He's quite lame, I'm told, and wasn't using his cane, as he should have done. Straightforward. Accidental death. A waste of the Yard's time."

Rutledge said nothing, kneeling by the dead man, close enough now to smell the stale whisky on his skin and in his hair.

"He was drinking. Last night, I should think. It wouldn't have helped him manage the stairs," he commented, straightening up. "What does the family have to say?"

"They're in the breakfast room. I haven't interviewed them. Mrs. Susannah Teller, the victim's wife, insisted that we touch nothing until you'd arrived." Rutledge could tell that Jessup wasn't especially happy to be second-guessed by the Yard. Not in what he clearly believed was an accidental death on his patch.

And Rutledge would have agreed with him, if it weren't for the other case in Lancashire. A fall down the stairs was easier to face than the hangman, and Teller had been drinking enough of late to indicate something was troubling him.

"I'd like to speak to Mrs. Susannah Teller in the study. Do you think that could be arranged? I'd like to know why she sent for me."

Inspector Jessup said, "I'd like to be present."

"Not immediately, if you don't mind," Rutledge said, keeping to the formalities of refusal. "She may speak more freely to me."

He stood there looking down at Teller's body, thinking that Constable Satterthwaite would be disappointed, and Lawrence Cobb jubilant. Then he nodded to Jessup. The body could be taken away.

Jessup went outside to find his men, and Rutledge waited until the door had closed behind him. Then he squatted by the body and lifted the legs of Teller's trousers. But there was no mark that he could see to indicate that Teller had been tripped. And so, accident-or suicide.

Just as Rutledge was stepping back, Fielding came in, preparatory to the removal. He said, looking at Teller as Rutledge had done, "A tragedy, this. The leg he fought so hard to save betrayed him in the end. He might have been better off if he'd allowed them to take it."

Rutledge said, "In a way you're right. But I think, knowing Captain Teller as I did, I'd venture to say he'd have wanted it that way, even so."

As a blanket was spread over the body before lifting it onto the stretcher, Fielding said, "Unless I find evidence to the contrary, gentlemen, I'll consider this an accidental death."

Jessup said, "I'd agree with that finding."

And then Peter Teller was carried out into the gray morning, leaving only a small spot of blood to mark his pa.s.sage. Rutledge, thinking about Monday morning's expected arrest, was of two minds. When he closed this case, there would be very little justice for Florence Teller now.

In some fashion, it might be for the best. It would save the Teller family endless publicity and sorrow. Chief Superintendent Bowles would be pleased about that.

When the house door closed behind the dead man, Rutledge walked down the pa.s.sage and into the study where once he'd spoken to Walter Teller about his brother.

Five minutes later, the study door opened and Susannah Teller was ushered in, her face pale with shock and grief, her eyes red from crying. She had tried very hard to protect her husband. Even knowing what he had done.

She looked Rutledge straight in the face and said as the door swung shut behind her, "You're to treat this as a murder investigation, do you hear me? They killed him. With their unspoken accusations, their finger-pointing when Jenny wasn't in the room, their snubs. He told them he hadn't killed Florence Teller. He tried to explain. But the evidence was against him, and he drank himself into oblivion Friday night and last night. I told him we shouldn't have come. But he said he must do it for Jenny's sake. It's always for Jenny's sake, isn't it? The innocent victim, Jenny Teller. Well, I'm having them pay for my losing Peter, do you understand me?" she ended fiercely.

"Mrs. Teller-"

"No, don't tell me it was just a horrible accident because he'd been drinking and couldn't find his cane. And don't try to tell me he killed himself out of a guilty conscience. He didn't murder that woman in Lancashire. If you want to know the truth, it was either Walter or Edwin. Take your pick. Because when Peter was there, when Peter just wanted to speak to her, he could hear Walter in the house somewhere out of sight. Or Edwin. I don't know. I don't care. They both sound very much alike. Have you noticed? One of them was there, and after Peter left, whichever one it was seized the opportunity to kill her and let Peter take the blame."

She turned on her heel and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind her. But she didn't go up the stairs. He heard the front door slam as well, and when he went to look out the window, she was running across the lawn to the rose garden, as if trying to flee her own thoughts.

Susannah Teller had tried to throw him off the scent once before.

Hamish said, "She loved him verra' much."

"Yes." He took a deep breath and went out to find the rest of the family.

They were a grim and silent lot when Rutledge walked into the dining room. Walter Teller was standing at the window, his back to his family. Leticia was also standing, staring down at the cold hearth. Amy and Edwin sat together at one end of the table, and at the other, Mary Brittingham was trying to calm her weeping sister.

Mary said, "Has he been taken away?"

"Yes. Just now."

"Then if you will allow it, I'll take my sister to her room and sit with her. It's been frightful for her."

"I must begin by asking each of you where you were when Captain Teller fell. Miss Teller?"

"I was just coming down the pa.s.sage. I'd been in the kitchen, helping Mollie. I generally do when all of us are here. It's a great deal of work, and finding suitable help from the village isn't always possible on a Sunday morning."

"Thank you. Miss Brittingham?"

"I was upstairs. I'd overslept and was late coming down for breakfast."

"Could you see Captain Teller fall?"

"I was still in my room. Two minutes-less-later, and I'd have been in the pa.s.sage."

He turned to Jenny.

"I was outside, I'd taken my tea outside this morning. I-I wanted to walk a little."

"It was misting here? Raining?"

"A soft mist. I don't mind that. It was cooler after a string of warm days." She broke down again.

Rutledge turned to Amy Teller. "I was in the study, looking for a book. I'd finished the one I'd been reading last night. I was the first to reach Peter. They may have told you. He was still alive, and he said my name. And then he died. It was awful. I think I screamed for Susannah."

"Where was she?"

"I believe she'd already come down and was in the dining room. She appeared from that direction, anyway."

Her husband looked up at Rutledge, his face grim, his eyes red. "I was in my room. Like Mary, a few seconds more and I'd have been with him. I might have saved him from falling. I can't seem to get that out of my mind."

Rutledge waited for Walter Teller to give his whereabouts. He didn't turn. Finally he said, his voice m.u.f.fled, "I was in the drawing room. I wanted to be by myself."

And so no one had been on the scene. Or at least no one admitted to it.

He nodded to Mary Brittingham, and she rose, saying to Jenny, "Come on, love, you'll be better off lying down."

Jenny shook her head. "I won't go up those stairs. I don't think I ever shall again."

"Then we'll use the back stairs," Mary told her.

Jenny said, rising from her chair, "I'm to blame. I told Walter I wanted to have a party, as I did last year. With everyone here. If I hadn't, Peter would still be in London this morning, and not dead."

"Don't be silly," her husband said roughly from the window. "Accidents happen. He could have fallen down his own stairs, for that matter. He was drunk enough last night."

She looked at him, hurt clear in her face. And then without answering him, she turned and walked from the dining room. Mary followed her.

The covered dishes of the family breakfast were still on the sideboard. Rutledge could smell the bacon and see a dish of boiled eggs. Used plates had been set on the small table to one side. By his account, four of the family had already eaten their breakfast. It fit with their statements.

When Jenny was well out of hearing, Rutledge said, "Your sister-in-law has just told me that Peter Teller was shunned all weekend. Miss Teller, did either you or Mary say anything to the family about the evidence against Captain Teller?"

"I told Edwin. You had already spoken to Walter. I imagine Amy learned of it from Edwin. It was Jenny's birthday, and we had agreed not to upset her. She'd been through enough, and it would make for a very unpleasant party. As it was, we were all struggling to put up a good front. In the end even Jenny felt the tension and wanted to know what was wrong. We all lied through our teeth. It might have been better if we'd told her the truth and been done with it. Peter was moody, he could read between the lines. Walter hardly spoke to him. Edwin was not himself either. He hadn't been since he came back from that woman's funeral-"

"Florence Teller. She had a name," Edwin said sharply. "Use it."

Leticia closed her mouth firmly and stared at him.

Edwin said, "Oh, to h.e.l.l with it. Inspector Rutledge, when can we leave? It will be better for everyone if we just go home and stop pretending."

"I don't know. We'll need statements from all of you, telling me where you were, and what if anything was said, what your reading was of Captain Teller's state of mind."

Amy said, "You aren't suggesting it was suicide-" She broke off.

"Don't be ridiculous," Walter said from the window. "I don't think Peter had that much sense."

Rutledge cut across Amy Teller's retort. "It might interest you to know that the Captain's wife-widow-has just told me that she feels he was murdered."

There was a sharply indrawn breath from the people looking up at him. A collective reaction to his suggestion.

"She's upset," Walter said.

Edwin added, "I don't think she knows what she's talking about." Leticia said, "Yes, she does. She doesn't see this as a blessing in disguise, that Peter-and the rest of us-will be spared the nightmare of a trial. It doesn't matter how it ends-in full acquittal or a conviction. The damage will have been done."

Amy said, "That's an awful thing to say. No one is rejoicing."

Leticia crossed the room and poured herself another cup of tea.

"It's time we all faced some very unpleasant facts. And one of them is that Jenny will have to face them as well. We can't go on lying to her. It's not fair to Peter or his wife."