A Lonely Death by Charles Todd Page A

surgery door led into a cramped waiting room, empty now. Dr. Gooding was coming out of his office and looked up as the two men entered.
    “Good afternoon, Constable,” he said to Walker. “I was just going through to my luncheon. We’re running late today.” He was a man of slender build, with a receding hairline and a strong jaw.
    “This is Inspector Rutledge, sir. From Scotland Yard. He’d like to speak to you about the dead men.”
    Gooding cast a glance at the clock sitting on the mantelpiece but said, “Yes, of course.”
    He took them into his office and gestured to the chairs opposite his desk. Sitting down again, he reached for a sheaf of papers set to one side of the blotter, passing them to Rutledge. “These are my reports on the bodies. Constable Walker has copies.”
    Rutledge glanced through them. “All three men were garroted? And all three had the army discs in their mouths?”
    “Yes, that’s correct. To tell you the truth, I’d never seen a case of garroting before, but of course I had no difficulty in recognizing at once what had been done when I examined Jeffers. My guess is that something like piano wire must have been used. It was strong, strong enough to cut through the flesh of the throat in each case, causing bleeding. I should think a man wielded it. Jeffers was inebriated, but he would not have been easy to kill. And the same goes for Roper, despite his leg. A woman couldn’t have held on to the garrote, given the struggles of the three men. It was well after dark when they were attacked. And each was in a place where his death wasn’t likely to be witnessed. Jeffers along the road on the outskirts of Eastfield, Roper in his barn, and of course Pierce in the main brewery.”
    “Were they stalked, do you think?”
    Gooding shook his head. “They weren’t prepared. That wire came over their heads, and there was an end to it. If they had believed they were in any danger, they might have got a hand up in time to try to defend themselves. It wouldn’t have changed the outcome, they might have lost a finger, or at least their hands would have been noticeably damaged. And this wasn’t the case.”
    It was a very concise report. But then the doctor’s luncheon was waiting.
    Rutledge said, “Do you know of any particular connection among the victims? Or any trouble they may have had with anyone else in the village?”
    “I’d say Roper and Jeffers knew each other better than either of them knew Anthony Pierce. As boys, all three of them attended our village grammar school together, but when the Pierce brothers were sent away to public school, my guess is that they very likely lost touch. As for trouble, Walker here can answer that better than I could. If you’re asking if they came here, yes, from time to time, but never anything more than childhood ailments and the occasional scrapes and bruises from climbing trees or a rough game of football.”
    “After the war, was there any sort of hard feelings amongst the survivors of their company? Something that happened in France, perhaps, and not finished there?”
    “If there was, they never came to me to patch them up.” He hesitated. “Daniel—Daniel Pierce, that is—may have been the sole exception to that. Two days before he disappeared, I saw him in the street, and there was a bruise on his left cheek. He didn’t mention it and neither did I. It didn’t appear to be anything serious.”
    “I’ve heard he was something of a troublemaker when he was young.” It wasn’t precisely what Pierce had told Rutledge But he was interested in hearing Gooding’s point of view.
    “A troublemaker? That’s a little harsh. Who told you that?” Gooding asked, frowning. “You don’t suspect he has had anything to do with these murders!”
    “How well did he know Roper and Jeffers?”
    “Probably no better than Anthony did. I always had a feeling that his escapades were nothing more than an attempt to impress his brother and the