Cold Comfort Read Online Free PDF Page A
Author: Charles Todd
Sarah’s sister? Did she describe Williams?”
“Aaron spoke to her. He said. I was down the mines, you see. I couldn’t go. But he could. What with the pneumonia.”
“You’re a fool,” Rutledge said again. “For all you know, Sarah is still in Manchester, waiting for your half-brother to come back from the war. You have only Lloyd’s word that any of this happened, and under the circumstances, I’d not trust anything he said. And if Williams was killed, you’d have hanged for it. Not Aaron. Didn’t it occur to you that if the Germans didn’t shoot you, your own side would? For murder? Cheaper than a divorce.”
Jones lunged at Rutledge, but the orderly caught him and this time held him.
Leaving them, Rutledge went to search the pockets of the dead man, and stopped, staring at something he’d just pulled out of Lloyd’s tunic.
Stepping out of the ambulance again, he held what he’d found out for Jones to see.
It was a letter. It didn’t require a policeman to realize that Jones recognized the writing. He also recognized the name on the envelope. Private Aaron Lloyd.
Jones snatched the letter from Rutledge’s hand. Pulling the sheets out of the envelope, he unfolded them and started to read. Halfway through, he crumpled the pages in his fist.
“He told me she was dead! Buried in a pauper’s grave.”
Without warning, he reached into the ambulance, took the revolver from his half-brother’s dead hand, and before Rutledge could stop him, he fired three shots point blank into Aaron Lloyd’s inert body.
And then he dropped the weapon and meekly followed the orderly to the waiting ambulance. Stepping inside, he sank into the nearest cot, his hands shaking.
Rutledge bent down to retrieve the discarded letter.
It had been written only three weeks before. The first paragraph told him enough.
My darling Aaron,
Is it over yet? Please tell me Taffy is dead and that other man as well. And that you are safe, and will come home to me soon. I beg you to take care of yourself and let nothing happen to you. I couldn’t bear it . . .
Rutledge folded the letter and returned it to the envelope. He’d been right about Aaron Lloyd. But it gave him no satisfaction. Still, the letter could be entered into evidence when Jones was tried as an accomplice to attempted murder.
Williams, shaking his head as the second orderly tried to help him back to the same ambulance, said, “No. I won’t ride with that bloody man, Jones. Not after what he did.” And then to Rutledge he said, “Private Lloyd intended to kill me as soon as we were clear of the hospital. ‘Boyo,’ he said, ‘it’s a bit of bad luck for you, but the only way out for me.’ Cold comfort, that.”
Read on for a sneak peek at the next Inspector Ian Rutledge Mystery from Charles Todd.
H UNTING S HADOWS
Chapter 1
The Fen Country, Cambridgeshire, August 1920
H E READ THE telegram with dismay, and a second time with a heavy sense of loss.
Major Clayton was dead. He’d been in hospital outside London since the closing days of the war, fighting a different battle. Sometimes winning. More often than not losing. They had kept in touch until three months before, when Clayton had been too ill to write, and his sister had been too distressed to write for him.
Dropping the telegram on the table, he gazed out his window. Clayton would be brought back to the Fen country for burial. Services would be held at two o’clock Friday next in the Church of St. Mary’s, Burwell. Only a few miles away.
He intended to be there.
He’d tried hard to put the war behind him. Avoiding weddings and funerals alike, refusing even to deliver the eulogy for men he’d known well. It would bring back too many memories, and he wanted them to stay buried, along with the dead left behind in the torn earth of Flanders Fields. Unable to explain, he’d simply cited ill health as his reason for declining. Burying himself here, he had shut out as much of the rest of
“Aaron spoke to her. He said. I was down the mines, you see. I couldn’t go. But he could. What with the pneumonia.”
“You’re a fool,” Rutledge said again. “For all you know, Sarah is still in Manchester, waiting for your half-brother to come back from the war. You have only Lloyd’s word that any of this happened, and under the circumstances, I’d not trust anything he said. And if Williams was killed, you’d have hanged for it. Not Aaron. Didn’t it occur to you that if the Germans didn’t shoot you, your own side would? For murder? Cheaper than a divorce.”
Jones lunged at Rutledge, but the orderly caught him and this time held him.
Leaving them, Rutledge went to search the pockets of the dead man, and stopped, staring at something he’d just pulled out of Lloyd’s tunic.
Stepping out of the ambulance again, he held what he’d found out for Jones to see.
It was a letter. It didn’t require a policeman to realize that Jones recognized the writing. He also recognized the name on the envelope. Private Aaron Lloyd.
Jones snatched the letter from Rutledge’s hand. Pulling the sheets out of the envelope, he unfolded them and started to read. Halfway through, he crumpled the pages in his fist.
“He told me she was dead! Buried in a pauper’s grave.”
Without warning, he reached into the ambulance, took the revolver from his half-brother’s dead hand, and before Rutledge could stop him, he fired three shots point blank into Aaron Lloyd’s inert body.
And then he dropped the weapon and meekly followed the orderly to the waiting ambulance. Stepping inside, he sank into the nearest cot, his hands shaking.
Rutledge bent down to retrieve the discarded letter.
It had been written only three weeks before. The first paragraph told him enough.
My darling Aaron,
Is it over yet? Please tell me Taffy is dead and that other man as well. And that you are safe, and will come home to me soon. I beg you to take care of yourself and let nothing happen to you. I couldn’t bear it . . .
Rutledge folded the letter and returned it to the envelope. He’d been right about Aaron Lloyd. But it gave him no satisfaction. Still, the letter could be entered into evidence when Jones was tried as an accomplice to attempted murder.
Williams, shaking his head as the second orderly tried to help him back to the same ambulance, said, “No. I won’t ride with that bloody man, Jones. Not after what he did.” And then to Rutledge he said, “Private Lloyd intended to kill me as soon as we were clear of the hospital. ‘Boyo,’ he said, ‘it’s a bit of bad luck for you, but the only way out for me.’ Cold comfort, that.”
Read on for a sneak peek at the next Inspector Ian Rutledge Mystery from Charles Todd.
H UNTING S HADOWS
Chapter 1
The Fen Country, Cambridgeshire, August 1920
H E READ THE telegram with dismay, and a second time with a heavy sense of loss.
Major Clayton was dead. He’d been in hospital outside London since the closing days of the war, fighting a different battle. Sometimes winning. More often than not losing. They had kept in touch until three months before, when Clayton had been too ill to write, and his sister had been too distressed to write for him.
Dropping the telegram on the table, he gazed out his window. Clayton would be brought back to the Fen country for burial. Services would be held at two o’clock Friday next in the Church of St. Mary’s, Burwell. Only a few miles away.
He intended to be there.
He’d tried hard to put the war behind him. Avoiding weddings and funerals alike, refusing even to deliver the eulogy for men he’d known well. It would bring back too many memories, and he wanted them to stay buried, along with the dead left behind in the torn earth of Flanders Fields. Unable to explain, he’d simply cited ill health as his reason for declining. Burying himself here, he had shut out as much of the rest of