Constable Walker was speaking to an elderly man crippled by arthritis, leaning heavily on his cane. He looked tired, distraught, and very angry.

The man was repeating at the top of his lungs, "I want him buried, do you hear? Decently, next to his mother, where he belongs. I don't care what the police have to say about it, I want my son."

Walker tried to placate him, but there was nothing he could say that would satisfy the old man.

Hamish said, "Roper's father."

Very likely, Rutledge thought. Walker had described him as old and frail.

Pushing away from the window, Rutledge hurried out of the room and down the stairs. When he reached the street, Walker was still patiently trying to persuade the elder Roper to return to his farm.

Rutledge walked up to them, introduced himself to Roper, and with a nod to Walker, said, "I'm here from Scotland Yard. In fact I only arrived this morning. If you will give me three days, I'll see that your son's body is released to you. But I want to be sure that I know everything I need to know in order to find his murderer. Will you give me those three days?"

Roper turned to him, his eyes wet with tears. "Three days, you say?"

"Three days," Rutledge acknowledged.

"That's reasonable." Roper turned to go, finally satisfied.

Rutledge stopped him. "Did your son have any enemies, do you know? Someone who was jealous of him, who held a grudge of some sort, or had quarreled with him recently?"

Roper laughed, a harsh and breathless sound. "Jimmy had his hands full at the farm and caring for me. There was no time for jealousy or grudges or quarrels. Whoever it was should have killed me-I'm past being useful. But no, it was Jimmy was taken. Even the Germans had spared him, except for his damaged leg. I told him when he came home that he could give them the damned leg, it was his hands and his brain the farm needed.