“Oh?”
They hurried up the path, meeting Walker at the entrance to the stable. Walker handed the inspector a piece of paper.
“Here’s a statement, signed by the jeweler,” he said, a little out of breath. “A woman matching the description of Theresia Risewell sold a jade and amethyst necklace yesterday after the inquest.”
Rutledge scanned the paper, frowning. “Why would she do that, I wonder?”
“Why don’t we find out?” Byron said, moving to the stable door. “After you, Inspector.”
Soft light filtered through the dust of the stable, the musk of horses and stench of manure dulled by the cold. Rudy Foster’svoice cut through the air, singing a quiet melody in time with the sound of a pitchfork in hay.
“—with steps, solemn, mournful and slow. Had I the wings of a little dove, far, far away would I fly, I’d fly—”
He was up in the hayloft, sending hay raining down into the stalls.
“—Straight for the arms of my true love. And there I would lay me and—”
“Mr. Foster?” Byron called out.
The singing stopped and Rudy looked down from the edge of the loft. “Aye, that’s me.” His shoulders slumped as he cast his gaze across Byron, Mira, Walker, and the police.
“We have some questions for you.”
Rudy let out a long breath and set the pitchfork into a bale of hay. “I thought you might.”
He sat on the edge, bracing himself for the fall before dropping down in front of them.
“I suppose you know then,” he said. “Miss Risewell mentioned you were a detective.”
Byron inclined his head. “I don’t have the entire story. I thought you might be willing to fill in the gaps.” He gestured for Rudy to take a seat on one of the stools.
“I knew it would come out, one way or another,” he said. “I don’t think I done nothing wrong, ‘cept keeping quiet about it. But the guilt I’ve felt has been something terrible. So if I can be rid of that now, I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
“First,” Byron said. “Might we see what you’re hiding beneath those wrappings?”
Rudy averted his gaze, but gave a small nod and began the process of unwrapping the fabric from around his arms. With a sigh, he lifted his left arm, revealing a jagged, raw, red mark running up the side. Mira grimaced.
“There’s the missing piece,” Byron said.
“I didn’t mean to,” Rudy said. “And I know I ought to have told someone, but I didn’t want to lose my position here. It’s a good job.”
“And if you lost it, you’d lose Miss Risewell too?” Mira asked.
Rudy’s eyes widened. “How . . . I mean . . .”
Byron set a hand on the man’s shoulder. “What is your relationship to Miss Risewell, Rudy?”
He worried his lip. “I suppose there’s no use hiding it. I love her. But that’s no crime. And I’ve known all along it would never work. The two of us are too different. I don’t have the money to give her the life she deserves. I’ve told her as much in the past. Told her to find a good man. Which is why...”
“You didn’t like Silas Treadway?” Constable McGuire offered.
Rudy rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding looking at any of them. “I had no real opinion of the man. Thought he might be a good match. But then... well, I saw him a few weeks ago meeting with a woman at the southern gate.”
“Is that why you killed him?” Rutledge asked.
Rudy’s eyes flew wide. “I didn’t kill him, sir! Or leastways, I didn’t mean to. It was an accident, I swear it was.”
Byron nodded. “You don’t need to admit to anything at this time, but considering the knife and your injury, it might be in your best interest to tell us what happened that night.”
