Chapter One
T he murder appeared to be a crime of passion, the killer having
left a trail of evidence behind him that even a blind man might have
followed.
It was the identity of the victim, not the murderer, that brought
Scotland Yard into the case.
No one knew who she was. Or, more correctly perhaps, what
name she might have used since 1916. And what had become of the
man and the two children who had been with her at the railway
station? Were they a figment of the killer's overheated imagination?
Or were their bodies yet to be discovered?
The police in Dorset were quite happy to turn the search over
to the Yard. And the Yard was very happy indeed to oblige, in the
person of Inspector Ian Rutledge.
It began simply enough, with the London train pulling into the
station at the small Dorset town of Singleton Magna. The stop there
was always brief. Half a dozen passengers got off, and another
handful generally got on, heading south to the coast. A few boxes
and sacks were offloaded with efficiency, and the train rolled out
almost before the acrid smoke of its arrival had blown away.
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