‘No alcohol!’ yelled Leeming.
‘Mrs Freed calls it the Devil’s Brew.’
‘I don’t care what she calls it, sir. I enjoy it, and so do you.’
‘That’s something I can’t deny,’ said Colbeck.
‘Then why did you agree to stay in the grounds of their house? We’ve always been careful to find places where we’re free from any interference and have a well-stocked bar at hand.’
‘We’re being offered the comforts of what was described to me as a delightful little cottage.’
‘I’d prefer two rooms over a pub.’
‘That’s because you don’t see the advantages. Victor.’
‘What advantages?’
‘I’ll count them off for you,’ said Colbeck, holding out a palm and tapping each finger in turn. ‘One – protection from being badgered by the press; two – ready access to Mr Freed who was an intimate friend of Mr Swarbrick and thus able to give us details about him that nobody else possesses; three – equal access to Mrs Freed who is very close to the victim’s wife and therefore a valuable source of information; four – the invitation to stay at the cottage includes the use of a trap that we can drive around at will; and five – the services of a cook to prepare meals for us, as and when we need them.’
‘What are we supposed to drink with the meals – water?’
‘Wait and see.’
‘If they live on a big estate,’ said Leeming, ‘they must have a mansion, the kind of place where people usually brew their own beer.’
‘This house is an exception to the rule, Victor.’
‘Are you saying we might go for weeks without proper drink?’
‘I don’t think it will take that long to solve this crime.’
‘I’ll be parched, sir.’
‘Your needs will not be neglected.’
Leeming brightened. ‘Are we going to smuggle in a few flagons?’
‘No,’ said Colbeck, ‘we’re going to use the trap so thoughtfully provided for us by our hosts to drive out to a quiet hostelry now and then where you can slake your thirst with a pint of beer and I can have a dram of whisky.’
‘That sounds better.’
They were in the stationmaster’s office, kindly vacated by Grigson so that they could compare notes alone. Anticipating a protest, Colbeck had saved the news about their accommodation until the end. Since he’d now pacified the sergeant, he was able to return to a discussion of the crime. He felt they’d made some progress.
‘Oliver Trant is obviously a man worth looking at,’ he said. ‘If he feels that he was forced off the ECR Board by Swarbrick, it will be a running sore. He lives locally, so will know this station and its staff well.’
‘He’d have a choice of accomplices, sir.’
‘Sergeant Duff or Constable Pryor – who would you pick?’
‘I fancy that both could be bought for the right amount,’ said Leeming. ‘Duff would be my choice because he knows how to keep his mouth shut. Pryor is more likely to give the game away.’
‘Did you believe his story about the catapult?’
‘Strangely enough, I did.’
‘Yet he couldn’t find the child who used it – if there ever was one.’
‘It’s not only children who can use a catapult, sir. What if it was an adult? That would explain why Pryor didn’t find the culprit. He’d never suspect that a grown man would aim something at him.’
‘Fair point,’ acknowledged Colbeck. ‘We can eliminate Duff as the person with the catapult. At the time, he was talking to the stationmaster.’
‘Why was there no blood on that stone?’
‘What was his explanation?’
‘Pryor reckoned that it must have been rubbed off when he thrust it into his pocket. He was lucky it didn’t lodge in his neck instead of bouncing off. Catapults can be nasty things.’
Colbeck grinned. ‘Yet I daresay you had one when you were a boy. I know that I did. They were part of growing up.’
‘I can’t believe that you ever played with a catapult,’ said Leeming, almost shocked. ‘They were for … boys like me.’
‘I wanted some fun so I made one myself. Anyway,’ he went on, ‘that’s enough about me and my juvenile follies. Let’s go back to Sergeant Duff. Did he really used to be in the Metropolitan Police?’
‘That’s what Pryor told me.’
‘Why did he leave?’
‘His wife wanted to come back here to live.’
‘Is that likely?’
‘What do you mean, sir?’
‘Well, I didn’t spend as much time with Duff as you do but I’d say that he’s the sort of husband who doesn’t pay the slightest attention to his wife’s wishes. He makes all the major decisions in the marriage.’
‘I suppose that he does,’ said Leeming, reflectively. ‘According to Pryor, he loves throwing his weight around here. Why should he be any different when he’s at home?’
‘He’s not, Victor. I’m certain of it. When I send my next report to the superintendent, I’ll ask him to find out the real reason why Duff left his job in London.’
‘That’s a good idea, sir.’
‘Right,’ said Colbeck, ‘we now have names of three people who need watching. Let’s come to the fourth.’
‘Mr Swarbrick’s son?’
‘Yes, Victor. I just can’t see why he stalked out of the house. Was he really so shocked by his father’s remarriage?’
‘I haven’t a clue.’
‘There’s something rather odd going on.’
Leeming grinned. ‘I know that look on your face,’ he said. ‘You’re suspicious.’
‘I’d put it no higher than being very curious at this stage.’
‘Why is that, sir?’
‘Mr Freed and his wife both told me what a nice woman Mrs Swarbrick is – pleasant, mild-mannered and highly intelligent. How could her stepson possibly object to her?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘The Freeds love the woman yet Andrew Swarbrick hates her.’
‘Do you want me to find him, sir?’
‘There’s no need, Victor.’
‘Isn’t there?’
‘As soon as he hears the news,’ said Colbeck, ‘he’ll come to us.’
As a rule, Andrew Swarbrick was inclined to doze off during a train journey but it was different this time. There was too much to keep him wide awake. His mind was buzzing as he considered what his next move should be. He shed no tears for his father. Jarvis Swarbrick was dead. That raised an intriguing possibility. Norwich would need to replace one of its Members of Parliament. Who better than the son of the former holder of the seat? Andrew had started to nurse political ambitions for it and there had been a time when his father had encouraged them. It was only a question of persuading the members of the local Conservative Association to accept him as their candidate. In every way, his time had at last come.
Inspector Mark Jellings had no difficulty identifying the two men. When he saw them emerging from the stationmaster’s office, he could see at a glance that the elegant figure in immaculate attire must be Colbeck and that the man with the ungainly walk and ugly face was the sergeant. Eyeing Colbeck warily, Jellings introduced himself and exchanged handshakes with both men, wincing as Leeming squeezed his hand hard. Since the platform was now covered with passengers, Colbeck invited Jellings into the office.
‘Mr Grigson said that we could have use of this as long as we wish,’ he explained.
‘He’s an obliging soul,’ said Jellings.
Colbeck closed the door behind them. ‘I gather that you drew a blank at Mr Swarbrick’s house,’ he said. ‘Mrs Freed told me what happened.’
‘Mrs Swarbrick is fast asleep’ said Jellings. ‘It’s inconvenient for us but probably the best thing for the lady herself.’
‘How do you get on with Mrs Freed?’ asked Leeming.
‘Why do you want to know that, Sergeant?’
‘We’re staying in a cottage on t
heir estate.’
‘Then I suggest that you try to keep well clear of her.’
‘Why is that?’
‘She has a tendency to … get in the way.’
‘You obviously speak from experience,’ said Colbeck.
‘I do,’ admitted Jellings, ruefully. ‘Mrs Freed is a redoubtable lady and a true Christian. Her compassion for others is remarkable. She’s involved in all kinds of charitable organisations and is tireless in promoting them. Mrs Freed is a trustee of everything from the Workhouse to the Jenny Lind Hospital for Children.’
‘And she’s in the Temperance Movement as well,’ said Leeming, rolling his eyes. ‘Strong drink is banned from their estate.’
‘That’s what I wanted to warn you about. Keep off the subject of alcohol or you’ll have a long lecture on sobriety. Mrs Freed believes that drunkenness is an abomination.’
‘A pint of good beer is every man’s right, inspector. There’s nothing wrong with alcohol if taken in moderation.’
‘I couldn’t agree with you more, Sergeant.’
‘I didn’t know that Jenny Lind endowed a hospital here,’ said Colbeck, interested. ‘How did that come about?’
‘Her concerts were always very popular here. Out of the kindness of her heart, Jenny Lind refused to take any of the ticket receipts. It was decided use the money to build an infirmary for sick children and to name it after her. The hospital admitted its first inpatients in 1854 – all thanks to the Swedish Nightingale.’
‘We once had the privilege of hearing her sing in Birmingham. She really was a nightingale.’
‘It was wonderful,’ recalled Leeming. ‘I’d never heard anything like it. We were acting as her bodyguards at the time. Mrs Freed might like to hear about that.’
‘Not for a while,’ warned Colbeck. ‘It can wait. The murder takes precedence over everything else.’ His gaze shifted to Jellings. ‘We’ve gathered information from the railway policemen, inspector, but your men will also have been busy.’
‘Anything we’ve garnered is at your disposal,’ said Jellings.
‘Thank you.’
‘I’m sure that you’d like to view the body. I’ll take you to the police station and hand over whatever information we have. It’s not far away. We can talk at leisure there.’
‘There won’t be much leisure during this investigation.’
‘Don’t say that,’ protested Leeming. ‘We can’t be on duty twenty-four hours a day.’
‘We might have to be. This is going to be a complex case.’
‘Then we’ll need plenty of what you call thinking time.’
‘That sort of thing is best done with a pint of beer,’ said Jellings with a smile. ‘My brain seems to work so much better in a pub.’
Leeming nodded. ‘You’re a man after my own heart, inspector.’
‘Let’s have something to celebrate before we raise our glasses,’ said Colbeck, firmly. ‘We’re a long way from achieving anything yet. We need to settle in here and to carry out exhaustive research. Your help will be invaluable, inspector.’
‘It’s yours to command,’ said Jellings.
‘I assume that Mr Swarbrick’s son has been contacted?’
‘Yes, he has. I sent off a telegraph immediately. Andrew Swarbrick will have received it hours ago.’ He narrowed his eyelids. ‘You won’t have to teach us everything, inspector.’
There was more than a hint of pique in his voice.
Sergeant Eric Burridge had been a policeman far too long to be surprised by anything. He knew all about man’s inhumanity to man and was equally aware of the lengths that ruthless women would go to in order to achieve their ends. It fell to him that afternoon to conduct Andrew Swarbrick to the morgue to view the body of his father. Burridge found it best to say as little as possible on such occasions, standing close to relatives of the deceased in case they were overcome by grief. Over the years, he’d carried out a number of people unable to bear the sight of a loved one on a cold slab. Burridge never rushed anyone. If someone wanted to gaze at a corpse for a long time, he allowed them to do so, remaining invisible until he or she was ready to leave.
Andrew Swarbrick arrived at the police station and demanded to see the body of his father. Burridge escorted him down the dank steps to the morgue. He unlocked the door, invited Swarbrick in, then gently pulled back the edge of the shroud to reveal the face. The son looked down at his father long enough to see the ugly wound in the forehead and the distorted face.
‘That’s him,’ he said, brusquely.
Without another word, he walked straight out of the room. From start to finish, the whole thing had taken less than fifteen seconds.
Detective Constable Alan Hinton was feeling cruelly underused. Having just helped to catch a burglar, he was now awaiting his next assignment. In the interim, he was given mundane tasks at Scotland Yard itself. It bordered on humiliation. Months earlier, he’d assisted Colbeck and Leeming in the capture of the two men who’d kidnapped and tortured the superintendent. Hinton thought he was entitled to be treated with a new respect and given more challenging crimes to solve. Instead of that, he was cooling his heels in an office. At the very least, he’d expected Tallis to be grateful to him and, whenever they met, to acknowledge the bravery shown by the constable in securing the older man’s release. It had been signally lacking. Whenever he passed the superintendent in a corridor, Hinton didn’t even get so much as a nod. It was as if he was not there. The eager, fresh-faced young constable was hurt by his treatment.
When he was asked to take a report to the commissioner’s office, Hinton obeyed at once, concealing his annoyance at being given such a simple errand. Something did then lift his spirits slightly. As he handed over the report, the commissioner not only thanked him, he used Hinton’s name. That simple act of recognition buoyed the detective up. His route back to the office took him down a flight of stairs and across a hall. He was halfway down the steps when he saw a figure sitting motionless on a chair and gazing fixedly in front of him. It was Edward Tallis. Here was Hinton’s opportunity. Rather than wait until the superintendent actually remembered who he was and what initiative he’d shown, Hinton decided to remind Tallis of his existence. Standing in front of him, he cleared his throat noisily. Nothing happened. Hinton clapped his hands but there was still no response. It was as if he was confronted by a statue of Tallis.
In the end, he resorted to shaking the man by the shoulder. It brought the superintendent back to life with a vengeance. He leapt to his feet and subjected Hinton to his fiercest glare.
‘What do you want?’ he shouted.
‘I just wondered if you were all right, sir.’
‘Of course, I’m all right. Why shouldn’t I be?’
‘No reason at all, sir.’
‘Who are you?’
‘I’m Detective Constable Hinton. You may recall that I was …’ His voice died as he looked into a pair of molten eyes. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I’ll get out of your way.’
‘Good,’ said Tallis, nastily. ‘Stay there.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
Colbeck, Leeming and Jellings arrived at the police station to find a reporter from a local newspaper awaiting them with his notebook open. He pressed them for details of the investigation. Colbeck gave him a short statement then the three of them went straight to the inspector’s office. It was much smaller and far more cluttered than the one that Colbeck had at Scotland Yard. A stickler for order and tidiness, he recoiled from the mild chaos around him. It would hamper any work done there rather than facilitate it. They were soon joined by Eric Burridge who told them that the murder victim’s son had turned up earlier and viewed his father’s body. When he explained how quickly Andrew Swarbrick had come and gone, they were astounded.
‘Was the visit really that perfunctory?’ asked Colbeck.
‘Yes, sir,’ said Burridge.
‘Did he express no emotion at all?’
‘He didn’t stay long enough, sir.’
&n
bsp; ‘Where is he now?’ asked Jellings.
‘He told me that he was going home.’
‘But he hasn’t been inside that house for years.’
‘Things are different now, inspector,’ said Burridge. ‘Young Mr Swarbrick made that point to me. In effect, it’s his property now. He’s here to claim it.’
‘That’s going to cause friction,’ said Jellings, worriedly. ‘I don’t want his stepmother waking up to find him standing there and threatening to evict her. If he’s not moved by the fact that his father was shot dead, then he certainly won’t show any pity towards her.’
‘One moment,’ advised Colbeck, ‘let’s not make assumptions. How do we know that his father has bequeathed the property to him?’
‘He must have done, inspector. It’s been the family home for generations. To preserve tradition, he’ll want to hand it on to his son.’
‘Mr Swarbrick may have changed his mind.’
‘There’s no chance of that happening, I promise you. Once he made a decision, he stuck to it. To him, it was a matter of honour. I’m sure that he’s made adequate provision for his second wife,’ said Jellings, ‘but his only child will be the main benefactor.’
‘That doesn’t give him the right to barge in there and upset his stepmother,’ said Colbeck. ‘Andrew Swarbrick will get nothing until the will is proved and that may take some time. Until then, he has no legal right to ownership.’
‘It won’t stop him trying to hassle his stepmother.’
‘Is he that impatient?’
‘He could be,’ said Jellings. ‘I’m sorry, inspector, but I feel that I should get over to the house right now to tackle him. Mrs Swarbrick needs rest and sympathy, not someone barking at her heels.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ decided Colbeck. ‘The sooner I meet Andrew Swarbrick, the better.’
‘Be warned – it won’t be a pleasant experience.’
‘I’m accustomed to dealing with awkward individuals.’
‘We get plenty of practice at it,’ said Leeming as an image of Tallis popped up in his mind. ‘Do you want me to come with you, inspector?’
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