A Fine Summer's Day Read Online Free Page B

He made everyone’s life wretched. I daresay most people were relieved rather than shaken by his demise.”
    Changing the subject as they reached the top of the stairs, Cummins said, “I saw the notice of your engagement in the Times . I wish you both every happiness.”
    â€œThank you, sir. I hope you’ll have an opportunity to meet Jean sooner rather than later.”
    â€œSet a date, have you?”
    â€œChristmas, I think.”
    Cummins nodded. They had reached his door. “By the bye. A warning. The Chief Superintendent is in a foul mood. That case in Northumberland blew up in Penvellyn’s face. Three witnesses, and they’ve recanted, to a man.”
    Both Rutledge and Cummins had been aware from the start that Inspector Penvellyn had not been the best choice to take on Northumberland. A Cornishman, he’d never been north of Birmingham. He knew very little about the border counties. And that business in Alnwick had needed delicate handling.
    â€œBowles isn’t thinking of sending me there in his place?” Rutledge asked, realizing that the word warning might mean just that. He’d been given leave on Friday for the Gordons’ party, but Bowles could rescind that as quickly as he’d granted it.
    â€œNo, I think Martin is going to be the unlucky man. But on a lighter note,” Cummins continued, “Davies has run into an odd case. In Somerset actually, a village outside Bristol. In the night someone crept into a churchyard and blackened several graves. Sludge more than paint, according to his report, and the very devil to clean. I doubt they’ll have it removed in six months’ time. Nothing else touched. And the graves weren’t even in the same part of the churchyard. Random vandalism, apparently.”
    â€œWhose graves were they? Men, women, children?” Rutledge was intrigued.
    â€œMen, every one of them. The vicar couldn’t think of any connection among them. Which is not to say there isn’t one. Various occupations, various ages. Farmers, shopkeepers, a doctor. Davies combed through their lives and came up with nothing of note.”
    â€œHow long has the vicar been in that parish?”
    â€œA good point. Ten years. But Davies asked living relatives, and they couldn’t provide an answer either.”
    â€œDid he find the culprit?”
    â€œDavies did his best, but no, he came up empty-handed. The vicar is quite upset. He seemed to think the villain’s next target might be the church itself. It’s old, there could be serious damage done there.”
    â€œDid the victims die at the same time? A calamity of some sort?”
    â€œDavies and the vicar looked for a pattern, but there was none. Had they died in the same month—odd years—consecutive years—murdered? Any variation he could think of failed to hold up. And there were no witnesses, if you don’t count the churchyard owl. A constable made his rounds at ten, then again at midnight, and went away home.” He shrugged. “Whoever it was had a clear field for some hours. Well, needless to say, Davies isn’t in the best of moods either.” Cummins tossed his hat to the top of a file cabinet and said, “I thought you’d be interested. So was I. If you think of anything Davies hasn’t tried, tell me.”
    Rutledge stood in the doorway. “Why was the Yard involved in the first place? It appears from what you’ve said to have been a petty crime.”
    Cummins nodded. “Apparently the vicar has a few connections of his own. He complained to his bishop, and someone at the Home Office listened. It was a shocking scene, of course, and it unsettled the entire village.”
    Rutledge smiled. “Too bad Davies failed to uphold the honor of the Yard.”
    â€œI’ll wager it was nothing more than a prank or a dare by localyouths. They may still come forward, if their consciences are guilty enough.