"I spoke to any number of people-in the hotel, the shops, the pubs, the restaurants," Walker said, shaking his head. "And there hasn't been anyone here that we didn't know. And that's what's most worrisome. I'd always thought of a garrote as being a French weapon. But the only Frenchman in Eastfield is in the churchyard, and he's been there these thirty years and more." T en minutes later, when Rutledge and Constable Walker had taken their leave of Pierce, Rutledge waited until they were well out of earshot of the brewery and any of its workers before asking, "What do you think became of Daniel Pierce?"

"Daniel?" Walker repeated, and then looked away. "I don't know. He just-left. In the middle of the night. If you want to know what I think, he didn't wish to be a burden on his father. The Pierces have enjoyed a fine reputation all through the years. And Anthony was a good man, best suited to being the heir in temperament. Not one to carouse and come home drunk in the middle of the night, singing bawdy songs as he walked down the street."

"Pierce seems to believe his son changed."

"Yes, well, a father would, wouldn't he? But I've made inquiries from time to time-on my own, sir, not officially. And there's been no word of him in the towns where I know the police. So perhaps he has."

"Why should you search for him?" Rutledge asked, his curiosity aroused.

Walker flushed, the question catching him unprepared. After a moment he said, "I've always had a soft spot for young Daniel, sir. I was not my father's favorite child either."

And yet Rutledge had gathered the impression that Daniel was his father's favorite. Something in the timbre of his voice had betrayed the elder Pierce. "Still, the question that has to be asked is, was he jealous enough of his brother that in the end, he would kill two innocent men in order to cover his tracks when he killed Anthony Pierce?"