WETTING THE COAL

Dawn was breaking when the locomotive backed slowly but noisily towards the coal stage. Tall, brick-built and topped by a massive water tank, it was a ghostly shape looming above them. As they came to an abrupt halt beneath the chutes, Ezekiel Ryde, the fireman, urinated over the dwindling stock of coal in the tender.

‘Always keep it wet,’ he said, cheerfully. ‘It burns better that way.’

‘Then make sure you use the hose when you’re up there,’ said the driver.

‘I will, Perce.’

Percy Denton waited patiently until Ryde had finished relieving himself and adjusted his trousers. The driver looked into the tender.

‘We need two tub loads.’

‘Are you sure, Perce?’

‘There’s less than half a hundredweight so we can manage a full ton.’

‘Right.’

Ryde was a stocky man in his late twenties who thrived on the physical demands of his job. Jumping down from the footplate, he crossed to the ladder that rose vertically against the wall of the coal stage. It took him seconds to climb up the metal rungs and step into the cavern above. Ryde had expected to shovel coal from the bunker into the two small wheeled tubs but, to his surprise, both had already been filled. He switched on the tap and used a hose to give both piles of coal a thorough soaking. Bending down, he then gave the first tub a firm shove and sent it rolling along the ramp towards the chute where it was tipped up so that its load cascaded down into the tender. The thunderous noise was accompanied by clouds of coal dust, rising up at him out of the gloom.

When he pulled the empty tub back to its original position, he addressed the full one and was puzzled by its weight. Although it seemed to have the requisite half-ton of coal, it felt lighter than its predecessor. Ryde heaved it forward and tipped it down the chute, causing another small avalanche. But this one was very different. As the second load hit the tender, Percy Denton let out a cry of alarm.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Ryde, mystified.

‘He is,’ replied the driver, pointing at the tender.

‘Who are you talking about?’

‘Can’t you see, man?’

Ezekiel Ryde narrowed his eyelids and peered down. In the poor light he could just make out the shape of a human body sprawled lifelessly across the pile of coal.

‘This will annoy my father-in-law,’ said Colbeck with amusement.

‘It annoys me, sir,’ complained Leeming.

‘Because he works for a rival company, he hates it when we travel on the Great Western Railway. He loathes Brunel.’

‘I loathe anyone who builds railways.’

‘But they’ve been such a boon to us, Victor,’ argued Colbeck. ‘Even you must admit that. Look at this latest case. News of the murder was sent to us by telegraph as soon as the body was discovered. The station is over fifty miles from London. Think how long it would take us by stagecoach. The train will get us there in a fraction of the time.’

‘That doesn’t mean I have to enjoy the journey, sir.’

Leeming folded his arms and looked disconsolately out of the window. He had a rooted objection to rail travel. When they arrived at their destination, however, he would forget the discomfort and throw himself into the investigation with alacrity. For that reason, Colbeck did not try to reconcile him to a railway system that had revolutionised the lives of the whole nation. Instead, he speculated on the nature of the crime they’d been engaged to solve. The telegraph’s scant details had been enough to rouse his interest and set his mind racing. Didcot was a tiny Berkshire village that had grown steadily since the station was opened there. As a junction, it saw rail traffic going in different directions. Any killer wishing to flee the scene of the crime would have a choice of exits.

Colbeck wondered which one he might have taken.

Percy Denton and Ezekiel Ryde were at once reassured and intimidated by the arrival of two detectives from Scotland Yard. Though both were strong men, they’d been badly shaken by the discovery at the coal stage. Denton had almost fainted and Ryde had promptly emptied the contents of his stomach. As Colbeck and Leeming interviewed them in the stationmaster’s office, the murder took on more definition. The victim, it transpired, was Jake Harnett, a porter in his early twenties. What he was doing in the coal stage, nobody knew. A single man who lived locally, Harnett hailed from Bristol. Colbeck made a mental note to arrange for his family to be informed of his death. Passing on the bad news to Harnett’s landlady was a task he reserved for himself.

Inevitably, the versions given by the two men were jumbled, repetitive and even contradictory at times. Colbeck sought to make them relax.

‘I see that your locomotive is one of the Iron Duke class,’ he said.

‘Yes,’ said Denton in amazement. ‘You recognised it?’

‘Well, it is very distinctive. Was it built in Swindon?’

‘Bolton.’

‘Then it’s one of the later batch,’ said Colbeck. ‘Built by Rothwell and Co.’

As he talked knowledgeably about the locomotive’s salient features, he could see that he had a calming effect on both men. He was speaking their language. As a result, the rest of the interview was more productive.

Having dispatched Leeming to ask the station staff about their dead colleague, Colbeck made his way up the rising mound to the rear of the coal stage. Open to the elements at the front and the back, it was a cold, unwelcoming place with a coal bunker, two tubs, a large shovel and a hose attached to a tap in one wall. There was no sign of blood or any other evidence of a violent assault. What interested him was the size of the tubs. They were quite compact. To cram the body of a grown man into one of them would not have been easy. Jake Harnett would have been bent double before being covered with coal. It explained why one truck was lighter than the other.

Colbeck walked over to the storage hut to which the body had been moved. The railway policeman on guard stood respectfully to attention when Detective Inspector Robert Colbeck introduced himself. Harnett lay on his back, covered by a rough piece of sacking. When he drew it back, Colbeck solved two mysteries. The victim was short and slight enough to be concealed in a tub and the cause of death was apparent. Harnett was wearing a suit and Colbeck, the dandy of the Metropolitan Police, winced when he saw how badly it had been torn, scuffed and blackened. However, the coal dust could not hide the blood that had seeped through the man’s waistcoat. He’d been stabbed in the chest.

When Leeming had finished talking to the staff, he met Colbeck on the station platform to compare notes. A clear portrait of Jake Harnett had emerged. He was conscientious and popular with his colleagues and with passengers alike. Facial injuries sustained when he fell into the tender had made it impossible for Colbeck to notice how allegedly handsome he’d been.

‘He had an eye for the ladies, sir,’ said Leeming, disapprovingly.

‘That shouldn’t necessarily make him a target for murder.’

‘Jealousy is a powerful motive.’

‘Indeed, it is, Victor,’ agreed Colbeck. ‘What was the general feeling?’

‘They didn’t so much admit it as hint at it,’ said Leeming, ‘but they suspected that Harnett might have … taken liberties with the wrong person.’

‘In other words, she was a married woman.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Were any names suggested?’

‘Not at first but I could see that they all had suspicions. So I reminded the stationmaster that a murder would bring bad publicity to the GWR. If he knew anything, he had to tell us. I was blunt with him, sir.’

‘Did your bluntness produce a result?’

Leeming nodded. ‘Her name is Rose Brennan,’ he explained. ‘She’s the wife of a local dairy farmer. Whenever she came with milk churns, Harnett was quick to help her and pay compliments. He was a charmer, by all accounts.’

‘I fancy that Mrs Brennan’s husband was immune to his charms.’

‘Oh, he was, Inspector. According to the stationmaster, Edgar Brennan was enraged when he saw the attention his wife was getting. He took Harnett aside and threatened him. I think Brennan could be our man.’

‘There’s a huge difference between “could be” and “definitely is” so we mustn’t rush to judgement. How far away is the Brennan farm?’

‘It’s less than a mile.’

‘Good,’ said Colbeck, ‘we can discuss the possibilities on the walk there.’

Edgar Brennan was a big, brawny man in his early forties with a weather-beaten face. He looked startled when the detectives arrived to speak to him. He showed his visitors into the low-ceilinged parlour with a bare floor and sparse furniture. When Colbeck explained the reason for their visit, Brennan was impassive.

‘Don’t you have a comment to make, sir?’ enquired Colbeck.

‘No,’ replied the other, gruffly.

‘Yet you knew Mr Harnett.’

‘I disliked the man.’

‘You did more than that,’ said Leeming. ‘You were heard threatening him.’

Brennan stiffened. ‘I’d every right to do so, Sergeant.’

‘When did you last see him?’

‘It was not after dark at the station, if that’s what you mean. I haven’t seen him for days so you can stop accusing me.’

‘We’re not accusing you, Mr Brennan,’ said Colbeck. ‘You happen to be an interested party, that’s all. We came to break the sad news.’

‘It’s not sad news to me, Inspector.’

‘I’m sorry you take that attitude.’ He exchanged a glance with Leeming. ‘Could we speak to your wife, please, Mr Brennan?’

‘There’s no need to talk to Rose.’

‘I’m afraid that we must insist, sir.’

The farmer was aggressive. ‘You can’t come barging in here, telling me what I can and can’t do.’

‘You’re obstructing the police in the exercise of their duties,’ said Colbeck, meaningfully. ‘That renders you liable to arrest. Why are you afraid to let us talk to Mrs Brennan?’

‘That’s none of your business.’

Leeming confronted him. ‘We are making it our business, sir.’

There was a tense moment as the farmer squared up to him, fists bunched. In the event, the argument went no further because the door opened and Rose Brennan stepped into the room. She was taken aback at the sight of the two well-dressed visitors. For his part, Colbeck was momentarily stunned. Several years younger than her husband, the wife had the kind of arresting natural beauty that was unimpaired by her tousled hair and rough working clothes. She reminded Colbeck so much of his own wife, Madeleine, that he stared in wonder at her. It was left to Leeming to introduce them and to explain why they were there.

Rose gasped. ‘Jake Harnett has been murdered?’

‘We believe that you knew him, Mrs Brennan.’

‘The man was a nuisance to my wife,’ said the farmer, curtly. ‘But Rose never really knew him.’

‘Let Mrs Brennan speak for herself,’ suggested Colbeck.

Rose glanced nervously up at her husband before shaking her head.

‘What Edgar tells you is right,’ she said, uneasily. ‘I met Jake … Mr Harnett, that is, at the station a few times but I never really got to know him.’

‘There you are, Inspector,’ said Brennan, dismissively. ‘We can’t help you. If you’re looking for people who warned Harnett, I’m not the only one, by any means. There’s Tom Gilkes, for instance.’

Colbeck’s eyebrow lifted. ‘Who is he?’

‘Tom is part of the family. His wife, Lizzie, is my sister-in-law. She had the same trouble with Harnett as Rose.’

‘Where might we find Mr Gilkes?’

‘He lives at Greenacres Farm. You came past it on your way here.’

‘Then we’ll bid you good day,’ said Colbeck, looking from one to the other.

Brennan had a smirk of satisfaction on his face but Rose was patently upset and kept biting her lip. Colbeck opened the door to leave then turned round.

‘We may be back,’ he said, quietly.

On the walk to the other farm, Leeming’s earlier prediction had hardened into fact.

‘Brennan did it,’ he said.

‘I dispute that.’

‘He’s full of anger, sir. And he’s more than strong enough to kill a man.’

‘Granted,’ said Colbeck, ‘but you have to remember how Harnett was killed. He was stabbed through the heart. That would be far too quick a death to appease Brennan. He’d have preferred to batter him to death with his fists. Then,’ he added, ‘there’s his wife to consider.’

‘She was young enough to be his daughter.’

‘What happened when she heard about the murder?’

‘She was very shocked.’

‘And what would you do if your wife had a terrible shock?’

‘I’d put my arms around Estelle to comfort her.’ Leeming realised what he was being told. ‘Brennan did nothing. He just stood there. Doesn’t he care for his wife?’

‘He cares enough to guard her jealously,’ said Colbeck, ‘and she’s obviously afraid of him. But he’s not our man. If he’d gone off somewhere last night, it would have shown in her face. Rose Brennan is not clever enough to hide her emotions. That look in her eye gave the game away.’

Leeming was confused. ‘What game is that, sir?’

‘Harnett wasn’t a nuisance to her at all. She enjoyed his interest.’

Aided by a yapping dog, Lizzie Gilkes was rounding up the cows and driving them towards the milking parlour. She carried a stick and used it viciously on the rumps of any animals who tried to stray. Lizzie was an older version of her sister. Though she lacked Rose’s beauty, she had the same shapely figure. When she saw the two men approaching her, she crossed over to them.

‘Can I help you?’ she asked, warily.

‘I believe that you can,’ said Colbeck. ‘Are you Mrs Gilkes?’

‘That’s me — Lizzie Gilkes.’

Colbeck performed the introductions then told her why they were there. News of the murder made her step back in disbelief.

‘Jake Harnett is dead?’ she gulped. ‘He can’t be.’

‘When did you last see him?’

‘It was yesterday morning when I put our churns on the milk train.’ She heaved a sigh. ‘I can’t believe it. Who would want to …?’ She broke off as a thought struck her. ‘Someone’s been gossiping, haven’t they? That’s why you’re here. Someone told you about Tom.’

‘Your husband was mentioned,’ admitted Leeming.

‘Well, he didn’t do it,’ said Lizzie with a touch of belligerence. ‘I can swear to that. Tom works all hours during the day so he needs every ounce of sleep he can get. He was snoring beside me all night.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Are you married, Sergeant?’

‘Yes, I am, as a matter of fact.’

‘You’d know if your wife wasn’t beside you in bed wouldn’t you? Tom and me are two of a pair. We work till we drop then sleep like logs. Don’t take my word for it,’ she went on. ‘Tom will say the same.’

When she hauled her husband out of the milk parlour, he ambled towards the detectives. Gilkes was a tall, rangy man in his late forties with a beard.

‘What’s this about Harnett?’ he asked. ‘Is it true?’

‘I’m afraid that it is, Mr Gilkes,’ said Colbeck.

‘Then find the killer for me. I’d like to shake his hand.’

‘Don’t speak ill of the dead, sir,’ said Leeming, reproachfully.

‘You didn’t know Harnett.’

‘Did he bother your wife?’

‘No, he didn’t,’ she said, sharply.

‘But he bothered my sister-in-law, Rose,’ said Gilkes. ‘He cornered her one day and I had to rescue her. I gave the little bastard a flea in his ear. Edgar did the same — that’s Rose’s husband.’

‘We’ve met Mr Brennan,’ explained Colbeck. ‘We had the feeling that he would not be sending a wreath to the funeral.’ Gilkes gave a harsh laugh. ‘It’s not a laughing matter, sir. You are, after all, a suspect.’

‘It was nothing to do with me!’ protested Gilkes.

‘I told you that, Inspector,’ said Lizzie, hotly.

‘Nevertheless,’ said Colbeck, ‘we’re bound to take the threat made to Mr Harnett seriously. Your husband is like Mr Brennan. My guess is that neither of them minced their words.’

‘You’re quite right there,’ agreed Gilkes. ‘I told that slimy porter to …’

He was silenced when his wife put a hand on his arm. She took over.

‘I can see how it looks to you, Inspector,’ she said with a conciliatory nod, ‘and I don’t blame you. Tom and Edgar had to speak to Jake Harnett but that’s all they did. Edgar is no killer and I’d swear on my mother’s grave that Tom didn’t murder Harnett. Yes, it’s only fair that they’re suspects, I suppose, but you’ll have to look elsewhere for the person you want.’

‘I accept that,’ said Colbeck, graciously. ‘One last question, if I may. Why did your sister marry a much older man?’

‘Edgar’s first wife died,’ said Gilkes, sadly. ‘She was trampled to death when she tried to stop a runaway horse. She was with child at the time. It was a tragedy.’

‘That’s why my sister did it,’ said Lizzie. ‘She took pity on him.’

May Tranter was a plump, grey-haired woman in her fifties with a local accent. When she heard that her lodger had been murdered, she was so overwhelmed with horror that she collapsed into Leeming’s arms. He eased her into a chair. It was minutes before she was able to speak.

‘What was Mr Harnett like?’ prompted Colbeck.

‘Oh, he was a delight to have around the house,’ she said. ‘We treated him like the son we never had. He always had a smile on his face.’

‘Did he have any enemies, Mrs Tranter?’

‘Dear me! No, he didn’t! Who could dislike Jake?’

‘Someone obviously did,’ murmured Leeming.

‘They teased him at the station but that was only because he was so handsome. I think they were all jealous. Jake was a good, kind, hard-working man. He was always ready to help us. My husband was a platelayer till someone was careless with his pickaxe,’ she told them. ‘He’s never been able to walk proper since. Jake used to do the things that Eric just couldn’t do any more.’

‘He sounds like an ideal lodger,’ said Colbeck.

‘He was, Inspector — in every way.’

‘Was there a young lady in his life?’

‘There must have been. A man with such good looks is bound to make hearts flutter.’ She gave a girlish laugh. ‘I know that mine did. Not in an improper way,’ she added, quickly. ‘I just felt … motherly towards him.’

‘Did he go out often?’

‘Yes, he went for a walk most evenings.’

‘Are you sure that it was only a walk?’

She frowned. ‘It wasn’t my place to pry, Inspector.’

‘What time did he go out yesterday evening?’ asked Leeming.

‘It was quite late, Sergeant. Eric and I were just about to go to bed.’

‘Did he tell you where he was going?’

‘He was off on one of his walks. Jake looked so smart, especially when he was wearing his uniform at work. He always took pains with his appearance.’ She grabbed Colbeck’s shoulder to plead with him. ‘You will catch the man who did this to him, won’t you?’

‘The killer will soon be arrested, Mrs Tranter,’ said Colbeck, confidently. ‘I can guarantee it.’

‘Where are we going?’ asked Leeming as they headed for the railway station.

‘We’re going to retrace Harnett’s footsteps.’

‘Are we off to the coal stage, then?’

‘No,’ said Colbeck, ‘because that isn’t where he went.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Put yourself in his position, Victor. You’re a young man on his way to an assignation. When you’re wearing your best clothes, you’d never go anywhere near dirt and dust. I’ve been to the coal stage,’ Colbeck reminded him, ‘and it is markedly deficient in romance. It would cool any man’s ardour.’

‘So where did Harnett go?’

‘It was somewhere not too far away, I suspect.’

‘Ah,’ said Leeming, reading his mind. ‘I realise what you mean now, sir. Harnett arranged a rendezvous with a young lady but her husband found out about it and came in her stead — or he simply followed her. Whichever way it happened, he killed Harnett and carried his body to that truck.’

‘That’s why it can’t have been too far away.’

‘Why not leave the body where it fell?’

‘I think that someone resented that handsome face and that smart suit. They wanted to besmirch the immaculate porter. Squeezing him into a small tub was a final humiliation for him.’

When they reached the coal stage, Colbeck looked in all directions. His gaze settled on a stand of trees nearby. They’d offer protection from the wind and a degree of privacy. Leeming, meanwhile, was studying the bunker.

‘Does the fireman have to shovel all that coal into the tubs?’

‘Yes, Victor, it’s dirty work. Would it interest you?’

‘No job on the railways interests me, sir.’

Colbeck laughed. ‘Not even being a detective?’

He walked towards the trees with Leeming at his heels. They split up to look for clues that might indicate a struggle had taken place. Colbeck searched for the place most suitable for an assignation. He found it at the very heart of the copse. It was a clearing overhung with branches that made it feel enclosed and secretive. Colbeck was certain that he’d found Jake Harnett’s lair. Working systematically, he went from tree to tree, examining the ground beside each of them with care. It was slow, painstaking work but he was rewarded with the thrill of discovery.

‘Victor!’ he called out.

‘I’m coming,’ said the other, blundering through the undergrowth and into the clearing. Seeing what Colbeck held up, he was disappointed. ‘It’s only a piece of cloth.’

‘Oh, I think it may turn out to be a useful clue.’

Leeming was baffled. ‘Why are you grinning like that?’

They were not the only visitors to Greenacres Farm. Edgar and Rose Brennan had got there before them. They were in the parlour with Tom Gilkes. At the sight of the two detectives, the farmers became combative. Brennan took a step towards them.

‘How many times must I tell you?’ he demanded. ‘I did not kill Harnett.’

‘Neither did I,’ said Gilkes, arms akimbo.

‘Stop pestering us, Inspector.’

‘Jake Harnett was a menace to women. He deserved what he got.’

Leeming wagged a finger. ‘That’s a very cruel thing to say.’

‘Don’t ask for an apology,’ warned Brennan.

‘What about you, Mrs Brennan?’ asked Colbeck, turning to her. ‘Do you take the same view as your husband and your brother-in-law?’

‘No, I don’t,’ she whispered, lowering her head.

‘Yes, you do, Rose,’ scolded her husband.

‘You were the one he pestered most,’ said Gilkes.

Rose looked up. ‘What happened to him was … very wrong.’

She burst into tears. Revealingly, it was Tom Gilkes who put a consoling arm around her. Edgar Brennan looked distantly embarrassed. Colbeck felt that he would take his wife to task when they were alone together. Leeming was eyeing the two men, trying to work out which of them had put an end to the porter’s life. Colbeck’s interest, however, had shifted to an entirely new suspect.

‘Where’s Mrs Gilkes?’ he asked.

‘She’s feeding the chickens,’ said Gilkes. ‘Why do you need to bother her?’

‘I just want to confirm something she said earlier, sir.’

‘Haven’t you asked her enough questions?’

‘I won’t keep her long.’ As Gilkes moved towards the door, Colbeck raised a hand. ‘Don’t bother, sir. I’ll find her.’

He went out, leaving Victor Leeming to face the hostile glares of the men.

Lizzie Gilkes had just finished feeding the chickens when Colbeck strode towards her. There was truculence in her tone.

‘What are you doing here, Inspector?’

‘I came to discuss your husband’s sleeping habits.’

‘I’m busy. I can’t talk now.’

‘And there’s another reason I came,’ said Colbeck, holding up the piece of cloth. ‘I came to return this. It came off the dress you were wearing last night.’

She bridled. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘I’m talking about the rendezvous you had with Jake Harnett in that stand of trees near the coal stage. It’s where I found the piece of cloth that he must have torn off your dress as you stabbed him in the chest.’ Her face blanched. ‘You were far too cool when we spoke earlier, Mrs Gilkes. You’d rehearsed what to say. But I saw you wielding that stick when you rounded up the cows. You’re a strong and determined woman. You could easily drag the body of a slight man like Harnett to the coal stage from that clearing.’

‘I was asleep all night behind my husband,’ she said, voice rising.

‘He was asleep but you were awake. When you were certain that he’d slumber for hours, you slipped out and made for the station. It’s only ten minutes away. The sergeant and I timed the walk. You met Harnett, killed him, put the body in that truck, covered it with coal then came back here — all in well under half an hour.’

Lizzie backed slowly away towards the barn. Colbeck followed her.

‘You and Mr Harnett were close friends, weren’t you?’

‘No,’ she snarled. ‘I despised him.’

‘Then why did you agree to an assignation?’

‘I didn’t, Inspector. Jake wasn’t expecting me. He never looked twice at me when Rose was around.’ She was rancorous. ‘I’ve had to put up with years of seeing my sister get all the praise and attention. I’m the plain one, she’s the beauty. Jake took it too far.’

‘Mrs Brennan was fond of him, wasn’t she?’

‘She liked him a lot more than she liked that oaf of a husband. Rose let him write to her. When she replied, she begged me to deliver the letter. Can you imagine how painful that was for me?’ she wailed. ‘I was just a go-between. It was all I was good for and Jake rubbed it in. So I lied to him.’

‘Yes,’ said Colbeck, recreating the scene, ‘you told him that your sister would meet him last night but you went there instead. In the dark, he couldn’t tell the difference between you — until it was too late.’

‘I was doing it to save Rose,’ she said with passion. ‘Edgar would have beaten her black and blue if he’d realised what she was up to.’

‘That’s arrant nonsense. Don’t pretend that you thought of anyone else but yourself. You were jealous, Mrs Gilkes, jealous of your sister to the point where you couldn’t bear to see her enjoying a romance with a man nearer her age.’ He moved towards her. ‘Because you wanted Jake Harnett, you made sure that your sister would never have him.’ He beckoned her. ‘I shall have to place you under arrest.’

Lizzie was like a hunted animal, looking for a means of escape. Snatching up a hayfork leaning against the barn, she jabbed it at him. He stepped out of reach.

‘You’re ready to fight for your life,’ said Colbeck with feigned admiration. ‘I take my hat off to you, Mrs Gilkes.’

As he whisked the top hat from his head, he flung it in her face and distracted her long enough to duck under the fork and grapple with her. Colbeck twisted her wrist until she dropped her weapon then he tried to overpower her. But years of manual work had toughened her and she fought back hard, yelling obscenities and trying to bite him. It was no time for gentlemanly politeness. Lifting her bodily in one swift move, Colbeck carried her to the horse trough and dropped her into the water with a splash. Before she could begin to get out, he had the handcuffs on her.

When they caught the train back to Paddington, Lizzie Gilkes had been left in custody and her family had been left in a state of utter confusion. Victor Leeming was amazed that a woman had committed the murder and equally astounded at the way Colbeck had dropped her in the horse trough.

‘It’s not the sort of thing I’d expect you to do, sir,’ he said.

‘It worked, Victor. That’s all that matters.’

‘You should have called for me to help you.’

‘I managed on my own,’ said Colbeck. ‘Lizzie Gilkes was a desperate woman with a fire blazing inside her. I put it out by wetting the coal.’