The Red Door

Chapter 16

It was necessary to report to Bowles how the inquiry into the disappearance of Walter Teller had ended.

Rutledge braced himself and knocked at the man’s door. “Come.”

It was difficult to judge his mood from the one word.

But as Rutledge walked into the office, he could see that for once Bowles was not scowling.

Rutledge said, “The Teller inquiry is closed. Teller returned to the clinic on his own, and from what the doctors have said, he’s recovered and free to return to Essex.”

Bowles raised his eyebrows in an expression of surprise. “Did he now? And where has he been all this time, pray?”

“Sleeping in churches. Walking the streets. Thinking. Who knows? I wasn’t sure how much I could believe. He’s a very private man, and I don’t expect anyone will ever know the truth about what happened. Not even his wife.”

“You’re the policeman. What’s your opinion?”

Rutledge considered the question. “It seemed to me that the arrival of a letter from his missionary society coincided with problems with his wife, and he didn’t know how to respond to the letter. At the same time, he was on the point of sending his son to Harrow early, against her wishes.” That answer would serve well enough for a report. He had no idea why Walter Teller had been ill or left the clinic without a word. He rather thought, but had no intention of telling Bowles, that Teller’s brothers had suspected something. Yet they hadn’t confronted him. And that was decidedly odd, given their anger when he returned. Was it Jenny’s presence that had stopped them?

Bowles nodded. “I should think it might be very difficult to go back to those godforsaken posts after all these years away. I wouldn’t fancy it myself. But he may have felt honor bound to fulfill his commitment to the Society.”

Rutledge said nothing.

“If it were anyone but Walter Teller, I’d have a word with him. Wasting police time and putting us all through the hoops. I must say, I expected better of the man.”

“I already have made it clear—”

“At least you managed to keep this business out of the newspapers. With the number of police involved in the search, it’s a wonder word didn’t get out.”

“If it had gone on much longer—or had had a different ending—we might not have escaped their attention.”

“There’s that. All right. Let me have your report before the day is out.”

But instead of returning to his own office, Rutledge went out of the Yard and walked to Trafalgar Square and then past St. Martin-in-the-Fields, taking the streets at random while his mind was busy.

It had reached a very unsatisfactory conclusion, this inquiry, he thought, ignoring the people coming and going around him, the busy traffic of a London day.

Why had Teller returned on his own? And where was he? What had he really been doing with his time?

Hamish said, “He willna’ tell anyone.”

And Rutledge thought that that was probably true. He wondered if Teller had decided to return to the field. Perhaps his soul-searching had found his answer.

Suddenly he recalled what Mary Brittingham had said, that Walter Teller wasn’t a saint. He was bitter. About what? It would be enlightening to know.

And that, Rutledge decided, was the best explanation of the man he’d heard.

But of course that was not something that could be expressed in a report.