Bowles would have given much to know who had pinned medals on this man’s chest and called him a hero. That officer deserved to be shot, by God!
Better still, Rutledge ought to have been shot, he thought sourly, and not for the first time. It was the least the Germans could have done, after their rampage across Belgium and France. A nice clean bullet to the heart crossing No Man’s Land. If Rutledge had ever crossed it, of course-very likely he’d cowered in the trench out of harm’s way while his men died. And no German fire could reach him there, however hard the guns had tried.
His already bleak mood was turning into a nasty headache-
Bowles suddenly became aware that he’d been glaring at Rutledge in silence. He cleared his throat, shifting in his chair to give the impression he’d been preoccupied with other issues instead of sitting there like a fool, daydreaming.
“There’s the Shepherd’s Market murder still to be solved. Not to mention that business about the men found dead in Green Park. I don’t see how I can spare you. Or anyone else for that matter.”
Rutledge said, “It’s rather important.”
“So is peace and order!” Bowles snapped. “Or do you think yourself above the rest of us? Jaunting about the countryside attending to personal affairs indeed, while there’s work to be done here.”
“Neither of these cases is mine,” Rutledge reminded him, his voice neutral. But something in his eyes warned Bowles that this leave he’d requested was a more serious business than Rutledge was willing to admit.