The Red Door

“He’s all right,” Amy said. “He’s gone to the church services at Repton. He asked if he could. I told him yes. I thought it would be a good idea. And so he wasn’t here when—when it happened.”

“Surely not alone?” Walter demanded. “You must have taken leave of your senses.”

“He went with the rector and his family,” Amy said curtly. “I went over and asked politely. They were delighted to have him. There’s some sort of blessing of the animals today. He likes that. And he’s staying for lunch.”

“I’d forgot,” Walter said. “Jenny was to take him. When Peter fell, everything else went out of my mind.”

“There’s Gran to be thought of. What are we to tell her?”

“Why wasn’t she invited to the birthday celebration?” Rutledge asked.

“It’s distressing for her to travel. It’s confusing,” Edwin said.

But she had traveled to visit her dead sister’s grandchildren.

Rutledge waited until they had finished dealing with the unforeseen problems brought on by a death.

And when there was a lull in the conversation, he said, “Now that that’s settled to your satisfaction, there’s something I should like very much to know.”

They turned to face him, wary, their eyes waiting for the blow to fall.

Rutledge said into the tense silence, “What did Susannah Teller mean when she told me that it wasn’t Peter who had killed Florence Teller. That one of you was in the house when Peter came there, and used the opportunity he’d given you to kill her?”

Chapter 26

It was as if, collectively, they had lost their tongues.

“She was upset,” Leticia said finally. “And imagining things. All the blame for whatever happened to that woman in Lancashire had fallen on Peter’s head. She was trying to clear his name. To give him dignity in his death. I think she believes that he must have fallen deliberately, because everyone had seemed to turn against him People do lash out in grief,” she ended. “I’ve seen it myself. And so must you have, Mr. Rutledge.”

He had. But he’d heard the pain and anger in Susannah’s voice, and he’d almost believed her.

He turned to Walter and said, “What was the real reason for not calling off the party?”

“I’ve told you. We didn’t, for Jenny’s sake. She was looking forward to it. It meant more to her than we realized. A family healing, if you will. After my disastrous disappearance.”

“I think,” Rutledge said, “you went ahead with the party to gauge just how much of my evidence was true. To shame your brother into telling you what happened in Hobson that day. He hadn’t, had he? He’d been tormented by his own knowledge—even I could see that he’d begun to drink heavily. And once I’d outlined my own evidence, you knew he was very likely to be taken into custody very soon. And you wanted to make him tell you before the police came, so that you could band together to protect him. Only he didn’t quite see it that way. I think he felt you’d abandoned him. In which case he might well have chosen to fall down the stairs. His only way to punish you for what you’d done to him.”

They stared at him, nothing in their gazes telling him whether his guesses were right or not.

“I can’t force any of you to confess. But I’d give a great deal to know why Peter Teller suddenly felt compelled to rectify the situation in Hobson in regard to Florence Teller after all these years. I want to know for her sake where all of this began.”

Amy Teller said, “You can’t expect us to answer that, when we were left not knowing the truth ourselves.”

“Was it suicide?” Edwin Teller asked. “Do you believe he killed himself?”

“There’s not sufficient evidence either way,” Rutledge said. “It will depend on what the police and the inquest have to say about his state of mind. There will be an inquest. Make no mistake about that.”

“Dear God,” Edwin said under his breath. “Will it have to come out that my brother was suspected of murder?”

“All the essential facts will have to be presented.”

“It was a fall,” Leticia said. “I know my brother. He would no more kill himself than Walter here would have done. It’s not in the nature of our family to run away from anything.”

“Oh, do shut up, Leticia,” Edwin said. “This is not the time to be pompous. Of course Peter didn’t kill himself. Walter?”

“No.”

“Then there you are, Inspector. The family, who knew Peter Teller better than anyone else, have given you their considered opinion. There was nothing on his conscience. Your so-called evidence was entirely circumstantial. Your witness can hardly identify a dead man. There is no case. There never was.”

“There’s still a dead woman in Lancashire. What about her?”

“I have no idea. I leave such matters to the police.”

There was a knock at the door.

“Come,” Rutledge said, expecting to see Inspector Jessup walk into the room.

But it was Mollie.

She said, “Beg pardon, sir. Scotland Yard is on the telephone. They want to speak with you. It’s urgent. They said.”

“Thank you. Tell the Yard I’ll be there directly,” Rutledge told her.

He looked around the room, seeing relief in the eyes of his captive audience.