“I’ve a daughter of marrying age. I’ve a son looking to be apprenticed. I’ve done for them the best I could these last years. But there’s no money to see them right. I barely kept food on the table. And no one’s willing to lift a finger for them-not for the offspring of gallows’ bait. We might as well have gone to the hangman along with Ben.” She began to fold the handkerchief over the locket, as if shielding it from his eyes. “I see I’ll find no help here. Well. There’s other strings to my bow.”

“I can’t turn back the clock,” he said, unconsciously repeating her words. “We don’t know how this came into Mrs. Cutter’s possession. Or why. Or, for that matter, when. It’s evidence, yes, but it’s not clear proof.”

“It’s something to be going on with! If you wasn’t afraid to find out that you are as human as the rest of us and got it wrong.”

The truth was, he was afraid…

And at the same time, he knew he was honor-bound to get to the bottom of this allegation.

Stifling the turmoil that was tearing apart his own mind, Rutledge tried to put into perspective how momentous the finding of this locket must seem to the woman seated in front of him. Providing of course that her story was true But he could see no benefit for her in a lie. That was the key. She had nothing to gain by lying. And there was a driving force about her that couldn’t be counterfeited. It was there in the way she held her body, and in the small, determined eyes.

He had never liked this woman. From the beginning of the murder inquiry, she had been a thorn in the side of authority. He tried to disregard his dislike now.

Hamish said, “Aye, she’s an auld besom. But if it were another inspector’s case she was complaining of, what would you do?”

Rutledge picked up his pen and uncapped it, drawing a sheet of paper forward.

“Mrs. Shaw. Listen to me. First and foremost, we can’t search the Cutter house on your word alone-”