‘What’s the joke?’ said Leeming.
‘I can see you’re no sailor, sir,’ said the older of the two. ‘Ships and boats are not like trains. They don’t stick to timetables because you can never tell what the sea will be like.’
‘You told us the Flying Fish would be back here this morning.’
‘I said that it might be. I gave no promises.’
‘It’s a long voyage for a small vessel,’ said the other man. ‘All sorts of things might happen to it on the way. It could get caught in a squall and blown off course or forced to pull into port somewhere if the weather really turned nasty.’
‘When is it likely to come back, then?’ asked Leeming.
‘It may be later today, or it may be tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘The Flying Fish is at sea to make money, sir, not to fit in with your demands. Come back every few hours. That’s the best thing.’
Though he was disgruntled, Leeming accepted that the delay was not their fault. He apologised for being so impatient and took their advice, electing to return at regular intervals. Resigned to a longer stay in the town than anticipated, he headed for the pub where he and Colbeck had enjoyed refreshment on their visit. Meanwhile, even in the searching wind, he could breathe in the clear air of a coastal resort.
After the perpetual grime and stink of London, it was a real tonic for him. The sound of children’s laughter and the sight of people bathing joyfully in the sea made him wish that he could bring his family to somewhere like Yarmouth instead of keeping them within the bounds of the biggest and dirtiest city in Europe. It was, however, a doomed hope. Holidays of that kind only existed for him in the mind. They were for other people. His life was mortgaged to the Metropolitan Police Force. He was so busy thinking about the sacrifices he was compelled to make that he failed to notice he was being followed.
As he was about to leave the house, Cecil Freed was intercepted by Colbeck, who asked if he’d reported the scuffle outside the front door to Grace Swarbrick.
‘It was impossible to keep it from her, inspector,’ said Freed. ‘Andrew has a very carrying voice. Grace heard every word.’
‘That’s unfortunate.’
‘As for Andrew, he was like a man possessed.’
‘Actually, it was more a case of being dispossessed.’
Freed laughed grimly. ‘That’s horribly true.’
‘Did you explain what the argument had been about?’
‘I had to, inspector. Grace asked me, and I could hardly tell her a lie. When she heard that she was the chief benefactor of her husband’s will, she was struck dumb. It was clearly unexpected.’
‘Her stepson thinks that his father was duped by her.’
‘How typical of him!’ said Freed. ‘Andrew has many admirable qualities, but he has no insight into the way that women behave. He can’t accept that Grace was exactly the person his father needed when his first wife died. In her own quiet, undemonstrative way, she transformed him.’
‘That’s what your wife told me and she’s in the best position to know. According to Mrs Freed,’ said Colbeck, ‘Grace was a lively, handsome woman when she met Mr Swarbrick. Someone that buoyant and attractive must have had other suitors.’
‘I’m sure that she did but Grace ignored them. She, too, was mourning the death of a spouse, remember. Anyone else trying to pay court to her was disregarded.’
‘How would they have reacted to that?’
‘Naturally, they’d have been disappointed.’
‘Disappointment can often fester and become a cause for revenge.’
‘Nothing like that happened,’ said Freed, confidently.
‘How do you know?’
‘Had it done so, Grace would surely have confided in my wife. Anthea and she have become like sisters. There are no secrets between them. If there’d been another man pursuing Grace, then my wife would certainly have known about it.’
‘How much time did Swarbrick and his wife spend together?’
Freed gave a wan smile. ‘How much time do you and your wife spend together?’
‘Not enough,’ said Colbeck, regretfully. ‘The demands of my work push us apart far too often.’
‘It’s the same with me, inspector. I’m often away from home on business. Anthea misses me but accepts that it’s necessary. Yet I will wager this,’ he went on. ‘Jarvis Swarbrick saw far less of the woman he loved than we see of our respective wives. Members of Parliament work all the hours God sends.’
‘Some of them do, perhaps. Many treat their job as a sinecure.’
‘Jarvis didn’t. He was indefatigable. I believe that’s why he chose Grace as his wife.’
‘She never complained?’
‘She faded dutifully into the background, inspector. Yet the moment Grace was needed, she was at his side to offer the love and unconditional support he needed.’
Much of the time, they sat in silence. Anthea Freed would read a book or make notes about the next meeting she had to attend. Grace always had a book to hand but she barely glanced at it. She liked to drift in and out of conversations, often breaking off in mid-sentence if she was caught on the raw by a painful memory. The two of them were now sitting opposite each other in the drawing room. After a prolonged silence, Grace finally spoke.
‘I think I’m ready now,’ she said, quietly. ‘I can’t keep hiding.’
‘You’re under great strain, Grace. Nobody will blame you for retreating from the world for a while.’
‘I’m ready to face the inquest and … to discuss the funeral with Andrew.’
‘You and he are best kept apart,’ said Anthea. ‘Have you forgotten what happened on our doorstep last night?’
‘How can I forget something for which I was responsible?’
‘The responsibility lies wholly with Andrew.’
‘Indirectly, I’m to blame,’ said Grace, sadly. ‘I’m to blame for failing to achieve some sort of reconciliation with my stepson. I’m to blame for not being good enough for his father.’
‘That’s nonsense – Jarvis worshipped you.’
‘In spite of everything, he still loved his son. I came between the two of them, Anthea. I caused both of them suffering.’
‘You’re the one who suffered, and it’s Andrew’s fault.’
‘The house should have been bequeathed to him, not to me.’
‘Jarvis’s wishes must be respected, Grace.’
‘But I don’t deserve it. Having been his wife for such a relatively short time, I can’t inherit things he spent a lifetime building up. I feel so uncomfortable about it.’
‘You’ve earned every single thing he’s left you.’
‘I wish I could believe that.’
‘Listen to me,’ said Anthea. ‘Death can sometimes bring out the worst in families. Underlying tensions suddenly come to the fore. Look at the way Andrew behaved last night. It was unforgivable. You, however,’ said Anthea, ‘have conducted yourself with dignity. It puts your stepson to shame.’
‘I can see why he feels so cheated.’
‘Let me just say this, Grace. Don’t make any rash decisions or you’ll come to regret them one day. It will be months – even longer, perhaps – before you start to recover. Only then can you look at the situation in a clear light.’
‘Thank you, Anthea,’ said the other, squeezing her friend’s hand. ‘That’s good advice.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The discussion with Donald Kitson had been illuminating. On his way back home, Wardlow was able to reflect on it at length. Keeping the horse at a steady trot, he rattled along in the dog cart. When his friend had asked about Edward Tallis’s symptoms, Wardlow had mentioned his lapse into a kind of trance, followed by a savage outburst and terminating in an abject apology. Kitson had suggested there might be a symptom that had escaped Wardlow’s notice. To cope with his problem, Tallis was very likely to be drinking heavily to block out the torment he was so clearly experiencing. Since army
life had given both of them a taste for generous amounts of alcohol, Wardlow saw nothing unusual in the way that Tallis had behaved when, after dinner the previous evening, they’d talked into the small hours with a decanter of brandy between them.
Now that he thought about it, however, he recalled his wife telling him that the maid who’d gone to turn down Tallis’s bed had seen a bottle of whisky tucked under it. Having dismissed the news at the time, he now came to take it more seriously. Was his friend actually dependent on alcohol now? In turning to drink as a form of anaesthetic, could it be that Tallis was actually making his condition worse? Wardlow resolved to watch his guest more closely from now.
Of all the things Kitson had told him, however, the most interesting were two cases he’d cited. In both instances, there’d been a long delay before the impact of a traumatic event had been properly felt. One man had been rowing his wife in a boat when it struck a concealed rock and was overturned. Since she couldn’t swim, the woman immediately began to panic, flailing around before going under. The man did his best to rescue her but they were too far from the shore and the tide was against them. By the time they were washed up on to the sand, he was exhausted and she was dead. Wardlow was surprised to hear that the man seemed to recover completely from the tragedy until – three years later – it came back to haunt him. He turned to drink, behaved irrationally, was forced to give up his job and ended up in an asylum.
The second case described by Kitson followed a similar pattern, except that the trauma at the root of it had occurred over ten years earlier. Having lain dormant for a decade, it had suddenly sprung to life again and reduced the man concerned to a gibbering wreck. Was that the fate that Edward Tallis was heading towards? Wardlow hoped and prayed that there was some way to rescue him. Persuading him to take a rest from work had been one important step but his friend was not quite sure what the next one should be. Kitson had advised that he should try to create the best conditions for recovery since Wardlow was now, in effect, in a parental position. If Tallis’s behaviour worsened dramatically, it would be time to refer him to an asylum for treatment. The very idea of doing that was anathema to Wardlow. He couldn’t bear to think of his friend being treated as a mental patient. It would be a failure on his part. When his house came into sight, he vowed to make a greater effort to offer comfort to Tallis and to be more tolerant of his aberrations.
He entered the house and found his friend waiting for him.
‘What did Dr Kitson say about me?’ asked Tallis.
‘Kitson is a retired stockbroker,’ said Wardlow, limply.
‘You always were a poor liar, Terence. Now tell me the truth.’
Alan Hinton arrived back at Scotland Yard to find a letter waiting for him. He recognised the handwriting and tore open Lydia’s missive eagerly. Without providing any details, she simply requested his help. After reading it a few times, he slipped it into his pocket and resolved to call on her the moment he finished work. With something so pleasurable to look forward to, he knew that time would race by.
After three hours away from it, Leeming returned to the harbour only to be told that there was no sign of the Flying Fish and that he should wait longer before coming back for the second time. Since he was facing the prospect of spending the whole day in Yarmouth, he decided to explore the town itself. There were shops in abundance and plenty of people milling around. Though he was not fond of reading, he was attracted to a little bookshop with trays of books set up on trestles. Leeming joined the few people who were browsing there. Searching for something that might be suitable for his children, he instead spotted an old atlas with frayed edges and discoloured front. He picked it up and began to leaf through it, pausing at a map of south-east England that also included a large segment of northern France. As he studied it, he realised why it was taking such a long time for the Flying Fish to sail to and fro.
Something then galvanised Leeming and sent him rushing into the shop. He waved the atlas at the old woman behind the counter.
‘How much is this?’ he asked.
‘How much is it worth to you, sir?’
‘It might be worth a great deal but I can’t see a price on it.’
‘Pay what you think is fair,’ she said. ‘That’s our policy. It may look rather down-at-heel but it’s still serviceable. We never argue about price. You make your own estimate. I’ll be happy with that.’
‘Then so will I.’
Thrusting a hand into his pocket he took out some coins and put them on the counter. She smiled in gratitude. For his part, he felt that he’d made a good purchase. With the atlas in his hand, he rushed back to the harbour. As soon as Leeming had disappeared around a corner, the man who’d been following him went into the bookshop.
‘What did he buy?’ he asked.
‘It was a tattered atlas, sir,’ replied the old woman.
‘Did he say why he wanted it?’
‘No, he didn’t. He paid too much for it. It’s falling to pieces.’
‘Thank you.’
Leaving the shop, the man broke into a trot until he caught sight of Leeming in the distance, heading once more for the harbour.
Colbeck went to the railway station in order to send a telegraph only to find that one awaited him. It was from Acting Superintendent Vallence, asking him for the latest news about the investigation. More worrying for Colbeck was the information that Superintendent Tallis was likely to be away for some considerable time. The loss of someone as dedicated as Tallis at the helm would be nothing less than a minor catastrophe. It would mark the end of an era.
After sending his telegraph to Scotland Yard, Colbeck saw the stationmaster walking along the platform. Grigson waved cheerily.
‘Good day to you,’ he said, joining Colbeck. ‘You’ve spent so much time here that I’ll have to count you as part of the staff.’
‘Watching trains all day would be a source of joy to me.’
‘I suspect that catching criminals brings more satisfaction.’
‘Infinitely more,’ said Colbeck. ‘The problem is that it’s vastly more difficult. That’s why I’m so grateful for any help I’m offered. We can’t thank you enough for your suggestion that the killer practised his attack beforehand. Instead of my becoming part of your staff, you should be co-opted on to mine.’
Grigson laughed. ‘Oh, I don’t think I’d make a good detective.’
‘You’ve already shown that you would.’
‘It’s kind of you to say so, inspector, but I know my limitations. The truth is this,’ he went on, seriously, ‘I love this city and I love the job I do here. The murder has sullied us. It’s made people feel unsafe. That’s why I’ll do everything in my power to help you clean up the mess left behind by the killer. Please catch him for us so that we can breathe easily once again.’
After checking his watch, Grigson put it back in his waistcoat pocket and walked off down the platform. Colbeck was not left alone for long. Bartram Duff suddenly materialised beside him.
‘I hear that the sergeant has gone off to Yarmouth again,’ he said.
‘That’s right.’
‘Was there any need for him to go back a second time?’
‘We’ll have to wait and see.’
‘What exactly is he hoping to find there?’
‘You’re being very inquisitive this morning. Why is that?’
‘I’d hoped to be more involved in the investigation,’ said Duff.
‘I have all the manpower required.’
‘Yet it doesn’t seem to have produced any results.’
‘Is that a criticism?’ asked Colbeck, giving him a challenging glare. ‘The only reason that Sergeant Leeming and I have come here is that a railway policeman was not vigilant enough to see someone switching the points and making a heinous crime possible. As the person in charge of security here, you must accept some of the responsibility for that.’
‘It wasn’t my job to watch the tracks,’ said Duff, indignantly.
; ‘It is your job to keep the other policemen alert. Since you clearly failed to do that, you can’t be surprised that we’ve chosen to conduct this investigation without your direct involvement.’
‘That could be a mistake.’
‘Why?’ asked Colbeck. ‘Do you think that you could do far better than we seem to be doing?’
‘What I think is that you should show us some respect.’
‘You need to earn it first.’
‘I’ve had years of experience in uniform, inspector. When I served in the Metropolitan Police Force, I was commended for the number of arrests I made. I was in line for a promotion.’
‘Then why did you leave London?’
‘I wanted to return to my roots.’
‘Was that the only reason?’
‘Yes, it was.’
‘So it was nothing whatsoever to do with the incident that led to your dismissal, was it?’ said Colbeck, pointedly. ‘According to your record, you were caught on duty in a public house with a female at one o’clock in the morning. I take it that the female was not your wife.’
Duff’s face turned crimson. He tried to stammer an excuse but soon gave up and fled. Colbeck had the feeling that the man wouldn’t bother him again.
While he expected some sort of apology, Cecil Freed didn’t think that Swarbrick would be quite so penitent. It was a side of the younger man that he’d never seen before. Admitted to Freed’s office, Swarbrick was racked with contrition and couldn’t stop saying how ashamed he was of his behaviour. It was several minutes before he could be persuaded to calm down and take a seat. Even then, the apology continued.
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