The Confession Read Free

married when you went to war?”
    â€œAh, too many questions.”
    Rutledge’s whisky came. Still probing, he said, “I decided not to marry the girl I thought I was in love with. And a good thing—I think she loved the uniform more than she loved the man. The marriage wouldn’t have lasted.” And he was reminded again of Meredith Channing, whose marriage had lasted, on the cold ashes of duty.
    Russell studied Rutledge for a moment over the rim of his glass. “Did it turn out well, your war?”
    â€œNot at all well.”
    â€œYes, it seldom does, I expect. I found that killing people wasn’t to my liking after all. But I did my duty to my men and to my country. I was damned glad when it was over, all the same.”
    â€œDid being a soldier make it any easier, killing your cousin?”
    There was a moment’s hesitation. “The policeman again. Do you never leave him at home? It must be a bloody nuisance at dinner parties, wondering what subtle undercurrent of meaning there might be when someone asks you to pass the salt.”
    Rutledge laughed.
    â€œWhat made you decide to join the police? Why not become a lawyer, instead, if you were hell-bent on punishing evildoers?”
    â€œMy father was a solicitor. I considered his profession, and then decided against it.”
    The waiter brought their lamb, and Russell inspected it. “I’m hungry enough to chew the table. But swallowing is another matter.” He sopped up a little of the sauce with a corner of bread and tasted it. “Ah yes. I remember why I always liked this so much.”
    They spoke of other things during the meal, and Rutledge waited until they had finished their pudding before asking, “Why did you decide to come to the Yard in person, rather than to write a letter that would be opened after your death?” He had once known a murderer who did just that.
    â€œThe policeman is back, is he? We could have been great friends, save for him. All right, I suppose you deserve the answer to one question. It seemed rather cowardly to tell someone after the fact. I suppose I had a religious upbringing of sorts and realized that to confess was not enough. To admit wrongdoing and to show contrition while I was alive had more meaning somehow.”
    â€œAnd do you feel better, for having unburdened your soul?”
    Russell frowned. “Do you know, I thought I would. I’ve kept my secret for a very long time, or so it seemed to me. Screwing up the courage to come to the Yard while I could still manage the effort was a test of my intent. My strength of character, as it were. But it wasn’t quite—as I’d expected.”
    â€œWould you have been happier if I’d clapped you in irons and taken you to trial? Would hanging make a difference?”
    â€œI had rather not hang, although it would shorten a lingering death. And perhaps I felt, after a fashion, that my crime was not as horrific as it had seemed at the time. That’s the war speaking, of course. When one has killed thousands—well, hundreds, although it sometimes seemed like thousands—what’s one more life taken? But do you know, it does make a difference. I think it matters because I had a choice, you see. I could have not killed him. And yet I did. And so I have come to you to confess and set the record straight. Only,” he added, frowning at the remnants of his pudding, “it hasn’t been set straight, has it? Are you quite certain that you must know more about why I killed him?”
    â€œIt will have to come out. If there is an inquiry. You’ll be questioned. And if you fail to answer those questions satisfactorily, then we will go in search of the answers ourselves. It will not be pleasant.”
    â€œI hadn’t expected it to be pleasant,” Russell told him. “I had just not anticipated that it would be so very personal. Or public. Least of all, that anyone else