A Lonely Death by Charles Todd

and breathless sound. “Jimmy had his hands full at the farm and caring for me. There was no time for jealousy or grudges or quarrels. Whoever it was should have killed me—I’m past being useful. But no, it was Jimmy was taken. Even the Germans had spared him, except for his damaged leg. I told him when he came home that he could give them the damned leg, it was his hands and his brain the farm needed. He was unhappy, then, moping about for weeks. I had to tell him, didn’t I, that the leg was of no account? And to his credit, he came to his senses and set about making the farm pay again. And we’d have done it too, if he hadn’t been killed! We’d have seen our way clear in another year, turned a profit even. That’s gone with Jimmy, and I’ve put a father’s curse on whoever killed him. I hope he suffers as I’ve suffered, and knows the fires of hell before ever he gets there.” He gripped his cane fiercely, as if he could see himself bringing it down on the head of his son’s murderer. But the outburst had exacted its toll, and Roper’s face was drawn with the effort it had required.
    “How did you get here?” Rutledge asked, taking note of that.
    “I walked. No one would come and tell me what was happening.”
    Walker said, his eyes meeting Rutledge’s over the stooped man’s head, “It’s no little distance to the farm.”
    Rutledge said, “My motorcar is just there, in the hotel yard. Drive him home.”
    “I’ll do that, sir. Thank you.” Walker touched Roper’s arm. “This way, if you please, sir.”
    It was easy to see that Roper was torn between maintaining his dignity and allowing himself to be driven. After a moment, his aching bones made the decision for him. “I’d take that as a favor,” he answered and let Walker lead him to where Rutledge had left his motorcar.
    Rutledge watched him go.
    It was easier for a policeman to consider the victim as another case until he met the family and friends of the deceased and began to learn to see the dead through their eyes. It was always a turning point. And now he had met first Pierce and then Roper.
    It had also served to emphasize the difference in status between the first two victims—farmers both—and Anthony Pierce, the son of a man of position and wealth. What’s more, one was married, two were not. What did those three have in common? The war? But two had served together and one had not. Was it the fact that all three had survived? But according to Walker, so had a number of others. Including his nephew.
    What linked these three men?
    Hamish said, “Yon identity discs in their mouths.”

6
    R utledge had eaten his meal and was finishing his tea when Walker came to take him to meet Dr. Gooding.
    The doctor’s surgery was within walking distance, a rambling house that had been divided into two halves, one for his practice and the other for his living quarters.
    Three women were just leaving the surgery as the two men opened the gate and started up the flagstoned walk leading between borders in which flowers were blooming profusely. They noticed the man with Constable Walker straightaway, and Rutledge could all but hear the speculation racing through their minds. He could also imagine their conversation as soon as they were out of earshot.
    Walker said, “The tallest of those women was married to one of the Eastfield Company that marched off together to fight the Kaiser. Mrs. Watson. Her husband was killed in the third week of the fighting after they reached the Front.” He opened the surgery door for Rutledge, and added, “The rest led charmed lives for nearly five months before George Hopkins bought it.”
    “Roper had a bad leg?”
    “Machine gun. He could hardly walk when he came home, but you’d not have known it now. Barely a limp. Pierce lost his to gangrene from a foot wound. He wasn’t fitted with a new limb until last year. It took that long for the stump to heal. Jeffers was shot in the chest but lived.”
    The