Seventeen

The next morning Rex told Alistair about his visit with Pruitt in hospital and how the detective had been cross with him for getting in to see him first.

Alistair laughed from behind his desk, where he sat in a posture of elegant repose, the bruise on his cheek much improved, or at least skilfully disguised.

“I got the impression DCI Lauper is always cross about something,” he remarked. “Well, I’m glad you got the name you were looking for. I’ve been feeling perfectly awful for letting it go up in smoke, but, after all, you did drop it, and so I consoled myself that you could not justifiably condemn me for my own carelessness.”

“If this is how you make your arguments in court, I’m surprised you’re still practising law,” Rex joked.

“Quite successfully, I should add,” Alistair riposted. “Though I don’t quite have your stellar record of convictions. How’s the stepson case coming along?”

“Closing speeches tomorrow. If the jury can return a quick verdict, it’s off to Canterbury for me at the end of the week.”

“I thought you and Helen were going to join me for a round of golf.”

“Phoebe Wells has more information regarding her father’s murder.”

Alistair arched a groomed eyebrow. “Somehow I feel sceptical.”

“You look sceptical.”

“Look, old chum. You went to see her last weekend, did a bit of digging, and came up short. I know you feel beholden to Judge M because the old ogre mentored you, but I’d say you have adequately fulfilled your self-imposed duty.”

Rex scratched his ear. “Aye, but ‘adequately’ is not enough, and I can’t be certain there’s nothing in what Phoebe said.”

“Phoebe Wells almost got you killed, however innocently. It might be prudent to give Pruitt a wide berth from now on. He has the police to protect him, and DCI Lauper appears to have made it quite clear he doesn’t want your help.”

“Well, he can pursue Sutter, and the best of luck to him. I’ll be in Kent.”

Alistair shrugged. “Don’t get sucked in too deep. Helen might start getting the wrong idea.”

“Helen has more sense. And, fortunately for me, she’s very supportive of my ‘morbid hobby,’ as she calls it. I’ll try to see her in Derby.”

“Weren’t you planning a wedding?” Alistair asked with a kind but pointed look.

“Aye,” Rex said vaguely as he beat a hasty retreat from his friend’s office. He was beginning to feel pressure from all sides. Even his mother had had something to say that morning about Helen’s cancelled stay at the house. The sooner he got to the bottom of the Murgatroyd case, the better for everyone.

In the meantime, he was busy in court with his murder trial until the end of the week, when the jury took less than three hours to return a verdict of guilty on the Friday morning. Alistair rang to congratulate him. It was their custom to celebrate their wins with a drink at Deacon Brodie’s Tavern, but Rex had to catch a train that afternoon to London and then on to Canterbury.

“I’ll take a rain check,” Rex said after apologizing profusely.

“And I’ll take one for golf,” his friend remarked. “What are friends coming to that you can no longer rely on them for golf or ale?”

“Come with me. Phoebe invited you as well.”

“John and I have plans for the theatre tomorrow night. But please send Mrs. Wells my best.”

Rex had packed his bag the night before, banking on the jury, who had been attentive during the trial and visibly receptive to his pleas for justice. He had learned to read jurors’ reactions over the years, however much they strove to look neutral. It was in the blinks and stares, the set of their mouths, and body language. When he had them in his sway, they leaned forward and nodded, and even smiled. In this case, the accused’s counsel had not been a worthy opponent, but, to be fair, she had not had much to work with. The cam-recording evidence had been especially damning.

Just as he was preparing to leave his office for the weekend, he received a phone call from DCI Lauper, who informed him, in a more conciliatory tone than he had used during their last conversation, that the police had searched Dan Sutter’s room at the hostel. They had found no sign of him or the knife used against Mr. Pruitt, nor any of the fugitive’s possessions. Sutter had done a flit.

“Can’t have had much as he’s been on the dole since his release from prison,” Lauper said. “But information we found indicates he might have fled to the Outer Hebrides.” The detective expelled a hiss of breath. “If he can get his hands on a boat, he could hide on any number of the islands up there. We’ve organized a manhunt. With any luck, we’ll flush him oot of his hole.”

The long chain of islands and skerries west of the northern mainland of Scotland was an isolated and remote area, ideal for hiding out if you could withstand the cold around this time of year and get hold of provisions. Rex did not envy the police their chances. A desperate man like Sutter would take no risk of getting caught and thrown back in the slammer, this time for life.

“I thought you’d want to know he’s likely left the immediate vicinity, so you and your colleague can rest easy,” Lauper added.

“I appreciate it, detective. Were you able to speak to Richard Pruitt?”

“I was. He’s making a reasonable recovery, according to his doctor, but he won’t be discharged much before the middle of next week.”

Rex had planned to revisit Pruitt at the hospital, but work had intervened. He would go on Monday or Tuesday with the history books he had promised. He and the detective exchanged wishes for a pleasant weekend, and Rex rushed to the station with only minutes to spare.

Now that his work week was over, he could concentrate on his private investigation. Hopefully, the new clue that Phoebe’s housekeeper had discovered would validate his time and effort on the Murgatroyd case.