A False Mirror: An Inspector Ian Rutledge Mystery (Inspector Ian Rutledge Mysteries, 9) - Hardcover

Todd, Charles

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 0060786736 ISBN 13: 9780060786731

Verlag: William Morrow, 2007

Inhaltsangabe

“Full of suspense, surprises, and sympathetic characters.”
—Fort Lauderdale Sun-Sentinel

“No mystery series I can think of captures the sadness and loss that swept over England after World War I with the heartbreaking force of Charles Todd’s books about Scotland Yard Inspector Ian Rutledge.”
—Chicago Tribune

The remarkable Charles Todd has created one of the most unforgettable characters in mystery and crime fiction: Inspector Ian Rutledge, shell-shocked veteran of “the Great War.” A False Mirror is one of Todd’s most powerful novels, plunging his tormented protagonist into the center of a brutal crime that painfully echoes events in Rutledge’s own past. Poignant, evocative, and continually surprising, A False Mirror is further proof that Charles Todd is well deserving of the critical acclaim the Rutledge novels have earned; a New York Times bestselling author who belongs among the acknowledged masters of the genre, including P. D. James, Elizabeth George, Ruth Rendell, and Jacqueline Winspear.

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Charles Todd is the New York Times bestselling author of the Inspector Ian Rutledge mysteries, the Bess Crawford mysteries, and two stand-alone novels. A mother-and-son writing team, Caroline passed away in August 2021 and Charles lives in Florida.

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Hampton Regis, a small harbor town on the southern coast of England, is a most unlikely place for violence. Yet, one spring morning, a man is found on the strand so severely beaten that he slips in and out of consciousness. The prime suspect? His wife's jilted lover, who served with Rutledge in the recently ended Great War—but who left the Front under a cloud. Badly wounded, yes, but did someone also cover up cowardice?

Rutledge is called on to prove the innocence of a man he dislikes and distrusts. But the deadly triangle also stirs up memories of the woman Rutledge himself loved and lost when he went to France to fight. His doubts about the accused and himself only deepen when the victim of the beating mysteriously disappears, with no body to be found.

As the brilliant yet tormented detective discovers that he's not the only person seeing a reflection of tumultuous emotions in this case, he must confront the demons that threaten to overwhelm him and search out the truth. For in Hampton Regis hides a vicious killer who intends to let nothing—and no one—stand in the way.

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A False Mirror

An Inspector Ian Rutledge MysteryBy Charles Todd

HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.

Copyright ©2007 Charles Todd
All right reserved.
ISBN: 9780060786731

Chapter One

Hampton Regis
Early February, 1920

It was a bitterly cold night of frost, the stars sharp and piercingly bright overhead.

He pulled the motorcar to the verge and settled to watch the house that lay directly across the black expanse of water. It stood out against the sky, amazingly clear. Even from here he could tell there were lamps burning in three of the rooms. He could picture them in his mind: at the rear of the house—the sitting room, very likely. In the entry, where the pattern of the fanlight over the front door shone starkly against the deep shadows there—behind it the staircase, of course. And one on the first floor, under the eaves.

Their bedroom, surely.

The sitting room lamp went out after half an hour. He could see, for an instant, the grotesque silhouette cast for a moment or two against the drawn shades as someone reached out to turn down the flame. And then the silhouette reappeared briefly in the fanlight just as the second lamp was extinguished.

He leaned forward, his concentration intense, then swore as the windscreen clouded with his breath.

Were there two people in the bedroom now?

He couldn't bear to think about it. He couldn't bear to picture her in another man's arms, wrapped in the warmth of the bedclothes, whispering softly, her hair falling over his shoulder and across his chest. . . .

His fists pounded angrily on the steering wheel as he tried to force the images out of his mind.

And then the last lamp went out, leaving the house in darkness. Shutting them in. While he sat there, like a fool, in the windless night, cold and wretched.

It was the fourth time he'd driven into Hampton Regis. He had promised the doctor he'd do no such thing. But the temptation was too strong, overwhelming his better judgment. Haunted by the need to know, he had told himself that once would do no harm. But once had become twice. And now here he was again.

Dr. Beatie had said, "Stephen—you aren't healed yet. Do you understand? Emotional distress could put you back here, in a worse state than before!"

Both of them knew it was a lie. There could be no worse state than the one he'd somehow, miraculously, survived. He had had to kill the Captain before Dr. Beatie could set him free. He wished now it had been Matthew Hamilton who had died.

He caught himself, knowing it was wrong to wish such a thing. But God, he was tired, and alone, and sometimes afraid. He wanted things the way they had been in 1914. Before the war—the trenches—the nightmares. Before Matthew Hamilton had walked into the clinic waiting room to comfort Felicity and told her—what? Lies? Or the sordid truth? That her fiancé was a coward.

After a time Stephen got out to crank the motorcar, the sound of the powerful engine roaring into life and filling the cold silence. He would freeze to death if he sat here, uselessly mourning.

Setting his teeth, he turned the motorcar and without looking again at the darkened house behind him, drove back the way he'd come.

He couldn't see behind the silken white curtains that covered the window under the eaves a pale face staring out into the night, watching the puff of exhaust whip across the rear light, a wraith shielding its brightness until it was out of sight.

Matthew Hamilton rose early, quietly throwing back the bedclothes and the counterpane that covered him, then tucking the ends around his wife's bare shoulder. Looking down at her, he marveled again at his luck. Then reminded himself that it wasn't his luck at all, but someone else's misfortune, that he had married this lovely, loving woman in his bed.

Wryly turning away, he dressed quickly and then set about making up the fire so that the room would be warm for her. When it was drawing well, he went down to the kitchen and blew the fire there into life for the kettle. While he waited for it to boil, he raised the shades and looked out at the clear, cold morning. The sun was not yet up, but a pale rose had begun to streak the winter-brown lawns spreading to the cliff face overlooking the sea. The water beyond was still, waiting for the sun, and farther out there was a soft mist blanketing it.

To the west, across the harbor below, the land rose up again, running out to a point a little higher than the one on which his house was set. The pair of headlands formed two arms embracing the Mole—the medieval stone pier that jutted out across the shingle to the tideline—creating a haven for shipping along England's south coast in an age when sailing ships made Hampton Regis rich.There had once been a watchtower on the far headland, built to keep an eye on Napoleon. Only ruins stood there now, overgrown at the base, a few feet of stone still reaching upward like pleading fingers.

Two days ago he'd seen a vixen and her kits romping there, and he'd been touched by their exuberance, wondering how any man could hunt them down. Farmers were often a backward lot, though it was an unkind thing to say. But foxes kept vermin down, and like the old owl in the belfry at the church, deserved a better character than they'd been given.

The kettle whistled behind him, startling him, and he moved quickly to lift it off the plate. He enjoyed these few minutes alone, before the maid arrived, before the house was a-bustle. He also enjoyed spoiling his wife, doing such small things for her pleasure. A far cry from his long years of exile in other countries, alone and often distrusted, the voice of London when often London had left him to his own devices. It was over, and he called himself happy.

Continues...

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Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: William Morrow
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2007
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0060786736
• ISBN 13: 9780060786731
• Einband: Gebundene Ausgabe
• Auflage: 1
• Anzahl der Seiten: 384
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: HarperCollins Publishers Ireland; enquiries@harpercollins.ie; ; Macken House, 39/40 Mayor Street Upper; Dublin 1; D01 C9W8; Irland