‘Would you do that for me, Inspector?’
‘We need your evidence and I’ll make sure that you don’t have any embarrassment while giving it.’
‘Then you can go back to the farm and boast about appearing at a coroner’s court,’ said Leeming.
‘It’s nothing to boast about, sir. I’m just sad about the lady.’
‘So are we,’ said Colbeck. ‘But the best way to get rid of that sadness is to catch the man who murdered her. Now then, have I put your mind at rest?’
‘Oh, you have, sir. Thank you. It’s been preying on me.’
‘Have you had a hard day at work, Wilf?’
‘Yes, Inspector, we started to get the harvest in.’
‘Then you’ll have built up a good thirst,’ said Colbeck, patting him on the back. ‘Drink up and the sergeant will get you another.’
Moxey thought about Lorna Begg and laughed inwardly. He’d have so much to tell her when he got back to the farm.
Dorcas Skelton was an obedient wife who readily took instruction from a husband she regarded as a kind of saint. She never questioned his decisions nor tried to take the initiative in their marriage. The fact that it was childless was something she’d long ceased to feel slight qualms about. Life with Frederick Skelton was a blessing. Maternal instincts were smothered beneath a blanket of wifely devotion. Yet she was not the sedate creature that she appeared. Adversity could bring out the essential steel in her character. Whenever she felt that the rector was unfairly criticised or undervalued, she leapt to his defence like a guard dog straining at the leash. The visit of Adam Tarleton had her barking wildly.
‘His behaviour was atrocious,’ she cried. ‘He had no right to force his way in here and abuse you in your own study.’
‘It was rather alarming,’ he confessed. ‘He must have been drinking.’
‘That’s no excuse, Frederick. You told me that he might have matured in the time he’s been away. I saw no maturity in the account you gave of him. He sounded like the same wilful young rascal that he always was. Someone should thrash him soundly.’
‘I never resort to violence, Dorcas.’
‘It’s what the colonel should have done.’
‘I’m sure it’s what he would have wanted to do, my dear, but Miriam always interceded. She was far too soft on the lad.’
‘And look at the result,’ she said. ‘Adam has turned into an uncontrollable ruffian with no respect for a man of the cloth. I think that he should be reported.’
‘He already has been,’ he said, casting a pious glance upward.
‘God may punish him for his sins in time but he needs more immediate chastisement. Adam should be reported and flogged.’
‘By whom? There’s no agency to which we can turn.’
They were in his study and she was standing in the precise spot occupied by Adam Tarleton when he unloosed his tirade against the rector. On the wall behind Skelton’s head was the crucifix before which he prayed every morning before beginning work at his desk. Its very presence had buoyed him up at times of crisis and it seemed to fill the room with a precious sanctity. Glancing at the crucifix now, he made the sign of the cross with a grace for which he was renowned. The gesture helped to calm his wife down a little.
‘What are you going to do, Frederick?’ she asked.
‘You know my mind. The colonel will not be buried here.’
‘I wasn’t talking about that. I was thinking about Sunday when you have to take a service in the church. Members of the family might turn up. Eve will want to come and she might even persuade that lout of a brother to accompany her – though I think he should be refused entry to any place of worship.’
He spread his arms. ‘All are welcome in my congregation.’
‘Will you let him abuse you like that again?’
‘I’ll be firmly in control in my church, Dorcas,’ he said. ‘It’s my spiritual fortress. Nobody can attack me there. Besides, I doubt very much if Adam will turn up on Sunday. His sister may come with Mrs Withers and there’ll be friends of the family here as well.’
‘That’s what worries me,’ she admitted. ‘They’ll be here for solace. They’ll want your sermon to give them moral guidance to cope with their loss. They’ll expect eulogies of the deceased.’
He clenched his teeth. ‘I will not offer praise of the colonel.’
‘You could talk about his charitable work, perhaps.’
‘Dorcas,’ he said, stroking his hair with offhand vanity, ‘I’m not a man to compromise. Colonel Tarleton doesn’t deserve even to be mentioned in my church, let alone given a tribute. He flouted the teaching of the Bible. He committed suicide and we both know why he took that desperate and irrevocable step.’ His voice soared like a chord on the church organ. ‘He murdered his wife. I’ll not let his bones corrupt my churchyard. Miriam is the only person for whom we’ll pray on Sunday. My sermon will explain why and it will be fearless.’
Having eaten their supper, the detectives remained at their table to discuss the evidence they’d so far gathered and to decide what they needed to do on the following day. Neither of them was pleased when Eric Hepworth hove into view, his bald head gleaming in the light of the oil lamps, the sight of his uniform causing some of the other customers to sidle out of the bar. Without invitation, Hepworth took an empty seat at the table and gave them a conspiratorial smirk.
‘Have you made an arrest yet, gentlemen?’ he asked.
‘No,’ replied Colbeck, ‘but it’s only a matter of time.’
‘That means you have someone in view.’
‘We have a number of suspects, Sergeant, but we prefer to be certain of our facts before we make a move. Had we listened to you, for instance, we’d have believed that Mrs Tarleton had simply fled from a domineering husband.’
Hepworth bridled. ‘That was only a theory.’
‘A foolish one, as it turned out,’ said Leeming.
‘Ginny heard the colonel arguing with his wife. Others may tell you that they were happily married but I know the truth.’ His tone became placatory. ‘Anyway, the body was found. We know the truth now. All we need to do is to find the killer.’
‘That’s our task.’
‘But I’m the one with local knowledge, Sergeant.’
‘With respect,’ said Leeming, ‘it’s not entirely reliable. Your view of the colonel is coloured by the fact that he dismissed your daughter and treated your son badly.’
‘I saw him for the petty tyrant he really was,’ argued Hepworth.
‘That opinion is not yours alone,’ said Colbeck, thinking of the stationmaster. ‘And we do respect your local knowledge. In fact, I’d like to draw on it now.’
Hepworth beamed. ‘Feel free to do so, Inspector.’
‘We’re trying to find a man named Michael Bruntcliffe.’
‘Why – is he a suspect?’
‘We just wish to speak to him, that’s all, and eliminate him from our enquiries. Do you know who he is?’
‘I should do,’ said Hepworth, proudly. ‘I was the one who arrested him for defacing railway property. That’s a serious offence in my book. Signs and notices are there to guide the travelling public. If someone paints out certain words, the information can be very misleading. What annoyed me was that Bruntcliffe treated the whole thing as a joke.’
‘Did you catch him in the act?’
‘Yes, Inspector, he was painting vulgar messages on the side of a goods wagon.’ He grinned at the memory. ‘Fortunately for me, he resisted arrest. I had to overpower him.’
‘The colonel sent him to prison,’ said Leeming.
‘That’s where he belonged. If it was left to me, he’d still be there. Bruntcliffe likes to make mischief. His family have disowned him. Or, to be more exact, Bruntcliffe has disowned them.’
‘Yes,’ said Colbeck, ‘I spoke to the prison governor. He said that Bruntcliffe refused to see his family on release. He just disappeared. Nobody seems to know if he’s in the area or not.
’
‘There’s one person who should be able to tell you.’
‘Oh? And who’s that?’
‘Young Mr Tarleton. He and Michael Bruntcliffe were friends. They were also birds of a feather.’
‘We spoke to Mr Tarleton earlier,’ said Colbeck, ‘and he claimed that he hadn’t seen Bruntcliffe for years.’
‘Then he was lying to you, Inspector.’
‘How do you know?’
‘My brother is a warder at the prison. He tells me what happens there. When you spoke to the governor, did you ask him if Bruntcliffe had had any visitors while he was serving his sentence?’
‘No, I didn’t,’ said Colbeck.
‘Then you should have done,’ said Hepworth, relishing a minor triumph, ‘because you might have learnt what I did. So young Mr Tarleton hasn’t seen Bruntcliffe for years, has he? Ask him to explain why he visited his friend in prison more than once. The last time was less than a month ago.’ He gave a ripe chuckle. ‘Do you see what I mean about the value of local knowledge?’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Instead of mourning the death of an old friend, Edward Tallis threw himself into his work with such commitment that there was little room left for brooding on his grief. Policing a city as large and turbulent as London was well beyond the limited resources allocated to the task. Crime flowed through the capital with the force and inevitability of the River Thames. Nothing could stop it. The most that could be achieved was to divert a small proportion of it into tributaries where it could be contained and, even then, success was only ever temporary. Puffing on his cigar, Tallis looked at the list of serious crimes perpetrated in the previous twenty-four hours. It was daunting. Many of them could be dealt with by uniformed constables but some called for the specialist assistance of the Detective Department.
Before he could begin to assign his men to deal with specific cases, however, there was a tap on the door. It opened to allow Robert Colbeck to step in, looking as suave as ever. Tallis was flabbergasted.
‘How did you get here this early, Inspector?’ he asked.
‘It involved some personal discomfort, sir,’ said Colbeck, smoothly. ‘I took a milk train to York, inveigled my way into the guard’s van of a goods train to Peterborough then picked up an express to King’s Cross. I intend to return by more direct means.’
‘Have you identified the killer yet?’
‘We have two main suspects in mind. It’s our belief that they may have been acting together.’
‘Give me the details.’
Unlike Leeming, the inspector was never intimidated by Tallis. He was able to give a clear, succinct, well-presented account of what they’d been doing since the sergeant had delivered his more garbled report. Tallis was impressed by his thoroughness but he had doubts that Adam Tarleton was involved.
‘He’s not the sort of man to kill anyone,’ he asserted.
‘He may not have done it himself, sir,’ said Colbeck, ‘but he could be capable of hiring someone else to commit the murder.’
‘You believe that he suborned Bruntcliffe?’
‘We are coming around to that view.’
‘I can see that this fellow might have had a strong enough motive. If the colonel sent him to prison, Bruntcliffe could have wreaked his revenge by killing the person the colonel loved most. What I can’t see is a motive for Adam.’
‘Do you remember how he conducted himself at the inquest?’
‘Only too clearly,’ said Tallis, disapprovingly. ‘He didn’t look like a son who’d just lost a stepfather by suicide. There was no sense of genuine bereavement.’
‘We felt the same, Superintendent,’ said Colbeck. ‘While his sister was suffering agonies, he behaved as if he had no connection with the deceased. All that interests him is the money he stands to inherit. When we met him at the house yesterday, he hadn’t even put on appropriate mourning wear.’
‘That’s unforgivable.’
‘He admitted quite freely that he resented the colonel and had never acknowledged him as a father. By the same token, he must have borne a grudge against his mother for foisting her second husband on him. From what I can gather, Mrs Tarleton sought to retain his affection by providing him with money. But as we’re aware,’ said Colbeck, ‘that source of income ceased. How would a parasite like Adam Tarleton react when he could no longer sponge off his mother?’
‘He’d be very angry – even vengeful.’
‘There’s your motive, sir.’
Tallis scratched his head. ‘I wonder.’
‘The only way to get the money he felt was his due was to kill his mother in such a way that suspicion fell on the colonel. The stratagem worked. Most people still believe that he killed his wife.’
‘I know and it’s monstrously unjust.’
‘Yet it’s shared by people like the rector. He’s an intelligent man who wouldn’t simply follow the herd. The problem,’ Colbeck went on, ‘is that he exerts such influence in the village and its environs. He has a hold on people’s minds.’
‘That’s why we must trumpet the colonel’s innocence,’ said Tallis, tugging the cigar from his mouth, ‘and there’s only one way to do that.’ He shot Colbeck a shrewd look. ‘How convinced are you that Adam is the real killer?’
‘To be frank,’ admitted Colbeck, ‘I’m only partially convinced, even though he lied about not seeing Bruntcliffe for years. On his own, he might baulk at the idea of murder. Given assistance, however, it might be a different matter. That’s where Bruntcliffe comes in.’
‘But he was locked up in Northallerton.’
‘And he was visited there by Adam Tarleton.’
‘That may be,’ said Tallis, ‘but they could hardly have hatched a murder plot together. Prison visits are closely supervised. He and this Bruntcliffe wouldn’t have been alone for a second.’
‘Then they could have waited until Bruntcliffe’s release.’
‘Is there any evidence that Adam was in Yorkshire at that time? And where did the discharged prisoner go when they let him out? How would he have known that the colonel’s wife would be walking to Northallerton on that particular day? Where would Bruntcliffe have acquired those two cartridges found with the dead body? No,’ decided Tallis, ‘there are too many imponderables here, Inspector. All that you have at the moment is a series of coloured marbles. You need to find the thread that will link them together in a pearl necklace.’
‘I’d prefer to see it as a hangman’s noose, Superintendent.’
Tallis smiled grimly. He was grateful that Colbeck had taken such trouble to report to him in person but disappointed that no incontrovertible proof had been found. As he sat there in the swirling cigar smoke, he wondered if he should return to Yorkshire with the inspector. He was sorely tempted. Colbeck tried to stifle the notion.
‘Sergeant Leeming and I are very grateful for the freedom you’ve granted us to pursue this investigation,’ he said. ‘Had you been there, we’d have been hampered by the need to defer to you at every stage.’
Tallis glared. ‘Are you telling me that I’d be in the way?’
‘We work better when you’re not looking over our shoulders, sir,’ said Colbeck, easily. ‘It’s the same for anyone. I’m sure that you work more effectively when you’re not under continual scrutiny.’
‘There’s something in that.’
‘Then stay in London and rule the roost here, Superintendent.’
‘I’ll give you the weekend,’ warned Tallis. ‘If you’ve made no real advance by Monday, I may well join you to lend my assistance.’
‘You might be able to assist us right now, Superintendent,’ said Colbeck, dismayed to hear that he’d been given only two days to solve a complex case. ‘It’s this business about the colonel’s regular visits to Doncaster. Can you suggest why he went there? Nobody else can.’
‘I’m sorry, I can’t help you.’
‘Did the colonel make no mention of it in his letters?’
‘No, Insp
ector, our correspondence usually took the form of reminiscences about our time in the army. I can’t recall a single reference to Doncaster.’
‘Can you explain why he’d want to keep his visits so secret?’
Tallis was annoyed. ‘I know what’s behind that question,’ he said, irritably, ‘and I find it impertinent. When a married man disappears from time to time, the obvious assumption is that he’s going off for an illicit assignation.’
‘That’s not an assumption that I made, sir,’ said Colbeck.
‘Well, it’s one that other people will make and I want to tell you why it’s both unkind and untrue. This, mark you,’ he went on, ‘must go no further than this room.’
‘You have my word of honour, Superintendent.’
‘Whatever else took the colonel to Doncaster, it was definitely not a woman. When we saw action together in India, I escaped with minor injuries but the colonel was less fortunate. A bullet ricocheted and wounded him in the groin. The damage was permanent. That’s why the colonel and his wife never had children of their own,’ he said, pointedly, ‘and why he’d never be led astray by a female.’
Eve Doel was still crushed beneath the combined weight of grief and remorse. Back in the house where she’d been brought up, she found it curiously empty and deeply upsetting. Wherever she looked, she saw reminders of happier days. One glance into her mother’s bedroom had been all that she managed before she was overwhelmed by a tidal wave of loss and regret. One of the things that made her pain so hard to bear was that it was patently not shared by her brother. Over breakfast that morning, she taxed him with his lack of sympathy.
‘You’re not even pretending to mourn,’ she said.
‘That time will come, Eve,’ he promised her. ‘At the moment, I have to keep my mind clear to defend our rights.’
‘Mr Everett can do that. He’s a lawyer.’
‘He’s no match for someone like the rector. A decision needed to be reached about the funerals. The inquest into Mother’s death is on Monday. As soon as that’s over, we can take possession of the body and have a joint funeral at St Andrew’s.’
Railway to the Grave Page 17