Railway to the Grave

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Bertram Reader’s office was much more than just the inner sanctum from which he controlled the running of the bank. It was the place where he met important clients, a confessional box where he heard tales of financial woe, a strong room where the cash was kept in a massive safe and, when the bank was closed at the end of each day, a haven of rest from the pressures of administration. That afternoon, however, it was something entirely different – the setting for a tender marital scene. Agnes Reader was locked in her husband’s embrace as she sobbed on his shoulder. Staying there for several minutes, she fought to overcome her emotions. Reader waited until his wife finally began to emerge from her grief then he offered her his handkerchief. She thanked him with a wan smile. After dabbing at her moist cheeks, she crossed to the mirror to look at herself.

‘I can’t go out like this,’ she said, clicking her tongue. ‘What on earth will your staff think?’

‘They’ll be too busy to think anything, my dear.’

‘Anyone can see that I’ve been crying.’

‘That’s not unusual,’ he said with a wry smile. ‘This room has seen rather a lot of tears in its time. You’d be surprised how many apparently strong-willed people fail to cope with bad news about the state of their finances. I had one client who collapsed on the carpet.’

‘I spared you that embarrassment, Bertram.’ She applied the handkerchief to her face again. ‘How do I look now?’

‘You look fine.’

‘Oh, dear,’ she said, gritting her teeth to ward off another attack of weeping. ‘I didn’t realise that it would have this effect on me.’

‘I did warn you, Agnes.’

‘I know.’

‘There was no need for you to go there,’ he said, softly. ‘You should have remembered Miriam as she was, not as she is now. At the very least, you should have let me come with you.’

‘It was something I had to do on my own.’

‘Why?’

‘I had to take my leave of her.’

‘Well, I still think you suffered unnecessary pain. The time to pay your respects is at the funeral. Miriam had already been formally identified by her son. That was enough. She wouldn’t have wanted you to see her in that condition.’

‘No,’ she conceded, ‘that’s probably true.’

He put his arms around her. ‘How do you feel now?’

‘I feel a lot better. When I left the undertaker’s, I was in a complete daze. I almost got run over by a cart when I crossed the High Street. All I could think about was getting here to you.’

‘You did the right thing,’ he soothed. ‘You’re always the first to comfort others, but there are times when you need consolation as well.’

‘I discovered that.’

Releasing her, he stood back. ‘There’ll be a big hole in our lives from now on, Agnes.’

‘I’m well aware of that.’

‘We’ll have to find someone else with whom to play cards.’

‘Aubrey and Miriam were much more than mere card players,’ she said, stung by the remark. ‘They were our closest friends. We were practically aunt and uncle to the children.’

‘To Eve, maybe – she was more approachable. I don’t feel that we were ever wholly accepted by Adam. We were too respectable for him. He had the fire of youth in his veins and wanted to run wild. Some might say that that was only natural.’

‘Did you ever feel like that, Bertram?’

He grinned. ‘It’s such a long time ago that I can’t remember. I like to think that I wasn’t as obnoxious as Adam Tarleton but, then, that would be a tall order. No,’ he said after consideration, ‘I never did try to kick over the traces. As a young man, I fear, I was ridiculously well behaved.’

‘There’s nothing ridiculous in good breeding.’

‘I suppose not.’

‘Your good character has been the foundation of your career.’

‘Yes, one must never forget that.’

She glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘I’ve taken up far too much of your time.’

‘You could never do that, Agnes.’

‘I’ll let you get on with your work.’

‘Are you sure that you feel well enough to go?’

‘I think so.’

‘I could always finish early for once and get Ferris to close the bank for me. What’s the point of having a deputy manager if I don’t make use of him?’

‘No,’ she said, ‘you stay here. I’d appreciate a little time on my own. I’ve a lot to think about. By the time you get home, I’ll be in a better frame of mind. But thank you, Bertram,’ she said, planting a token kiss on his cheek. ‘When I most needed support, you were here to help me.’

‘That’s what husbands are for, my dear.’ He took her by the shoulders. ‘I mourn them as well, you know. I loved them both dearly. Aubrey and Miriam were such an important part of our life.’ He stifled a sigh. ‘I’d give anything to have them back here again.’

Colbeck read the broadside with a mingled sadness and revulsion. Its crude verses both mocked and accused an innocent man who was in no position to defend himself. Unlike Tallis before him, Colbeck read Railway to the Grave through to the end.

‘I’m sorry it’s so crumpled, Inspector,’ said Clifford Everett. ‘When I showed it to the superintendent, he screwed it up into a ball.’

Colbeck handed the paper back to him. ‘I’m not surprised, sir. Mr Tallis knew that his friend had nothing whatsoever to do with the murder of his wife.’

‘That’s not what people around here think.’

‘How can they when they’re being fed that kind of defamatory nonsense? That broadside tells them what they want to believe. There’ll be a lot of red faces when their ignorance is finally dispelled. People will feel thoroughly ashamed at thinking such abominable things of a decent man.’

‘I hope that the fiend who wrote those malign verses will be among them.’

‘Then you hope in vain, Mr Everett. He’ll be too busy counting the money he made out of selling his wares. It was ever thus,’ said Colbeck with asperity. ‘When a murder is committed, there are always self-appointed poets who descend out of the sky like vultures. They’ll pick the bones of anyone’s reputation as long at it serves their purpose. Once there’s no more profit to be made, they’ll sneak off with their blood money.’

‘Do you really believe you can clear the colonel’s name?’

‘I haven’t the slightest doubt, sir. All that I have to do is to catch the man who really did murder Mrs Tarleton and that person is already starting to take shape in my mind.’

‘I’m heartened to hear it.’

It was a warm day and, even though the window of his office was open, Everett was perspiring. A wet line decorated the top of his collar and his tufts of hair looked as if they’d been recently irrigated. The lawyer fidgeted with some papers on his desk, rearranging them needlessly. His piggy eyes were dull.

‘Have you ever been to Doncaster?’ asked Colbeck.

‘I’ve got too much sense,’ replied Everett with disdain. ‘Who in his right mind would go there? It’s a railway town and that means smoke and noise and general filth. I’ve seen all I need to see of Doncaster through the window of a train. Why do you ask?’

‘The colonel used to go there.’

‘Really? I didn’t know that.’

‘That’s a pity. I was hoping you could explain why he went there on a regular basis at one time. It does seem an unlikely destination for a fastidious man such as the colonel.’

‘He might have had relations there, of course, or friends.’

‘Then why did he suddenly stop going? I’m told that his visits came to an abrupt end well over a year ago. Yet the odd thing is that, when he left the house for the last time, he told Mrs Withers that he was catching a train to Doncaster.’

‘Given what happened, that was a grotesque euphemism.’

‘Perhaps the housekeeper can enlighten me.’

‘Perhaps she can,’ said Everett, shuffling some papers again. ‘As to your request, Inspector, you didn’t really give me a great deal of time to gather the relevant data.’

‘I apologise for that, sir.’

‘Nevertheless, I was able to rustle something up at short notice.’

‘That sounds promising.’

‘It helps that the prison is right here in Northallerton. I sent one of my clerks over there. He came back with the names of three people who’ve been released in the past couple of months.’

‘Were they all sentenced by the colonel?’

‘They were indeed,’ said Everett, glancing at a sheet of paper before him. ‘The first man was Douglas McCaw but you can rule him out of your calculations. He’s already back in prison for another offence altogether.’

‘Who were the others?’

‘One was Harry Keedy. He served a short sentence for poaching. He’s an old man now and suffered a mild stroke while in prison. I don’t think he’d pose much of a threat to anyone. That leaves us,’ he went on, tapping the paper with a chubby finger, ‘with a much more interesting individual – Michael Bruntcliffe.’

‘That name sounds familiar.’

‘It should do. If you came here by train, you’ll have passed Bruntcliffe’s Flour Mills. It’s a moneyed family so Michael wants for nothing. Yet he’s been a thorn in his father’s side for years. Fraud, petty theft, drunkenness, criminal damage – he has quite a long record. When he was last hauled up before the magistrates,’ said Everett, ‘the colonel gave him the maximum sentence for defacing some of the signs at the railway station with paint. It was only horseplay but Bruntcliffe paid dearly for it.’

‘So he had good reason to resent the colonel.’

‘No question about it. He was bound to feel that he was the victim of personal prejudice, Inspector.’

‘Why should he feel that?’

‘Years ago,’ said the lawyer, ‘Bruntcliffe used to be friendly with Adam Tarleton. When they were together, their high spirits often got the better of them and there was trouble. The colonel always believed that it was Bruntcliffe who led Adam astray – though, in my opinion, it might well have been the other way round.’

‘In other words,’ deduced Colbeck, ‘there might have been an element of revenge in the sentence.’

‘That’s how it would have been perceived by Michael Bruntcliffe, anyway. He’d feel he was being punished for past indiscretions with the colonel’s stepson. That sort of thing rankles,’ Everett went on. ‘While he was in prison, I daresay Bruntcliffe had very little else to think about.’

‘Where are you going?’ asked Eve Doel. ‘I need you here with me.’

‘I’m bored simply doing nothing,’ said her brother.

‘We’re in mourning, Adam. You can’t just go gallivanting around the countryside. It’s improper.’

‘I can do what I wish.’

‘You’re not even dressed properly.’

‘I can’t ride a horse in mourning attire, Eve. I’d look absurd.’

‘I want you to stay here. I need company.’

‘You’ve got Mrs Withers to provide that. It’s about time she did something useful. I feel cooped up in the house. It’s like a morgue in there. I want a breath of fresh air.’

They were standing outside the stables which were detached from the house. The horse had been saddled and Adam Tarleton was about to mount it. Distressed at being left alone, his sister had followed him out there to tug at his sleeve.

‘Please don’t go.’

‘It will only be for an hour or two.’

‘We have so much to discuss,’ she said, plaintively.

‘I don’t think so. Let’s be honest,’ he said, airily. ‘It’s only a question of dividing the spoils. The real decision is what to do with the house. You don’t need it and it’s far too big for me on my own. Besides,’ he went on, ‘I’m not cut out for the life of a country squire. Having to be on my best behaviour all the time would drive me to distraction. I need the freedom to enjoy myself in my own way.’

She was wounded. ‘How can you say such things at a time like this?’ she pleaded. ‘Our parents both died in the most indescribable ways and all you can talk about is enjoyment. Don’t you care, Adam?’

‘Of course I do.’

‘Weren’t you upset when you viewed Mother’s body?’

‘Yes.’

‘You didn’t seem anguished when you got back here.’

‘Well, I was,’ he said, feigning solemnity, ‘I was shocked. When I identified the body, I could hardly bear to look.’

‘Then how can you go off cheerfully for a ride? It’s not just the inheritance we have to discuss. That, quite frankly,’ she said, ‘can wait. I find it rather tasteless even to raise the subject when we have more immediate problems to confront.’

‘Such as?’

‘There’s the inquest into Mother’s death, for a start.’

‘That should be quite straightforward, Eve.’

‘I’ll be in agony from start to finish.’

‘Then you don’t need to attend. I’ll go on your behalf.’

‘I have to be there,’ she said. ‘Don’t you understand? However upsetting the details, I have to know them. And once the inquest is out of the way, there’s the problem of the funeral arrangements.’

‘They’ll both be buried at St Andrew’s.’

‘That’s not what the rector says.’

‘I don’t give two hoots for his opinion.’

‘He seemed so determined, Adam. He won’t entertain the notion of letting someone who committed suicide lie in the churchyard.’

‘He has no choice. When I was in Northallerton, I called in on Mr Everett and asked him where we stood on the matter. He told me that the law is quite clear. It’s in our favour.’

‘That will mean nothing to the rector.’

‘Then it’s high time someone knocked some sense into that thick skull of his,’ said Tarleton, putting his foot in the stirrup. ‘I’ll ride over there this afternoon.’ He hauled himself up into the saddle. ‘I don’t care if he is our godfather,’ he continued, ‘we’ll make the funeral arrangements that we choose and nobody will be allowed to obstruct us. The rector can go hang!’

Digging in his heels, he rode off at a canter. Eve quailed.

Victor Leeming got to the house to learn that Agnes Reader was not there. Since she was expected back soon, however, he was invited in and asked to wait in the drawing room. It gave him time to take a detailed inventory of the place and to realise that bank managers were paid a lot more than detective sergeants. The room was sizeable. In fact, the whole ground floor of his house would have fitted into it and still left additional space. The furniture and fittings were of high quality, the carpet exquisite and the paintings indicative of excellent taste. Leeming was mesmerised by the contents of a china cabinet, marvelling at the intricate porcelain and realising how impractical it would be for use by his own family. With two lively children to accommodate, he made sure that all the crockery was solid and durable. The idea of putting it on show behind glass was a concept wholly foreign to him. The only thing on display in the Leeming household was the cup he’d helped to win as part of a police tug-of-war team and that would soon be relinquished to another member of the team so that he could have his allotted time with it.

Working as a detective was an education. It allowed him to have access to social circles that he’d never otherwise enter. Whenever he’d had to visit one of the grander houses in London, he was used to calling at the servants’ entrance. It was Colbeck who’d taught him to knock on the front door and be more authoritative. Leeming’s confidence had increased but he still lacked the inspector’s ability to be at ease in any social situation. Low taverns and hazardous rookeries were the sergeant’s natural habitat. Even in a home like the present one, the whiff of middle-class luxury unsettled him.

‘I’m sorry to keep you waiting,’ said Agnes Reader when she eventually arrived. ‘Have you been here long?’

‘Not really,’ he told her, glancing towards the fireplace. ‘I was admiring your ornaments. You obviously don’t have children if you can put so many fragile objects on your mantelpiece.’

‘No, we don’t have children, Sergeant.’

‘Yet this would make a wonderful family house.’

Her voice was subdued. ‘I daresay that it would but…it was not to be. Have you been offered refreshment?’

‘Yes, Mrs Reader,’ he said, ‘but I wanted nothing.’

‘Do sit down,’ she said, waving him to a seat and taking an armchair opposite him. ‘Is it too much to ask that you’ve brought some good news?’

‘You’ve already had that. Inspector Colbeck is in charge of the investigation. That’s the best news possible.’

‘He seems to be a very astute man.’

‘He has a sixth sense when it comes to solving crimes.’

‘I was at the house with Mrs Doel when he called yesterday.’

‘So I hear,’ said Leeming. ‘The inspector felt that you were more helpful than Mrs Doel because she hasn’t recovered from the shock of what happened yet.’

‘I’m not sure that I have either,’ she admitted. ‘But, if there’s anything else I can tell you, I’ll be pleased to do so.’

‘Did the colonel ever talk about cases that came before him when he sat on the bench?’

‘Yes, he often did that. It was rather unnerving.’

‘Why was that?’

‘Well, I’d always thought of Northallerton as a very safe place so I was alarmed to hear that it had its share of thieves, drunkards and other undesirables. In the countryside, one feels very secure but the town is definitely not a place to be late at night.’

‘It’s the same wherever you go, Mrs Reader. Crime is universal.’

‘Colonel Tarleton taught us that. Some of the people who came before him were dreadful thugs. They made the most blood-curdling threats against him but he just shrugged them off. After all those years of facing real danger in battle, he always told us, he wasn’t going to be scared by local villains.’

‘Can you recall any of the names of those villains?’

‘I’m afraid not, Sergeant.’

‘Did anyone try to carry out the threats?’

‘Not to my knowledge.’

‘Let me ask you something else,’ he said, changing his tack. ‘Were you aware that the colonel was in the habit of going to Doncaster at one time?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I knew that he spent occasional days away but Miriam – Mrs Tarleton – never told me that he went to Doncaster. What could have taken him there, I wonder?’

‘That’s what we’re trying to find out.’

‘Then you’ll have to look elsewhere.’

‘What about Mrs Tarleton – did she do much travelling?’

‘She visited a cousin in Edinburgh now and then. As a rule, she stayed the night there. I’m told that it’s a beautiful city.’

‘I wouldn’t know,’ said Leeming. ‘I’m a Londoner, born and bred. I’m only happy when I’m there. If I go too far north, I start to get giddy. One last question,’ he added, noting the sadness in her face and not wishing to prolong his stay. ‘It seems as if the colonel and his wife had some financial problems. They had to make economies.’

‘That’s true. Apart from reducing the number of servants, they even had to sell off some land.’

‘Do you happen to know why, Mrs Reader?’

‘I don’t,’ she said, crisply.

‘Presumably, your husband would know.’

‘My husband is the soul of discretion, Sergeant. That’s what makes him such a reliable banker. He never discloses details of any client’s accounts to me or to anyone else.’

‘I know. He refused to go into details for us. I just thought that Mrs Tarleton might have given you a hint.’

‘All that she told me was that they had to make a few changes.’

‘They were quite big changes, by the sound of it.’

‘They happened so gradually, one hardly noticed.’

Behind her politeness, Leeming could sense a deep sorrow. To lose two close friends in such a short period of time had rocked her. It made him feel like an interloper, barging in when she really wanted to be left alone. As he rose to his feet and made to leave, something popped into his mind.

‘Did the colonel and Mrs Tarleton ever go on holiday?’

‘Only infrequently,’ she replied.

‘Was there any reason for that, Mrs Reader?’

‘They were contented where they were. What they did do was to visit Eve and the grandchildren in Sussex. At other times, Eve and her family would visit them.’

‘What about young Mr Tarleton?’

‘Oh, they saw very little of him,’ said Agnes with a slight edge. ‘He more or less cut himself off from them. His mother told me that she didn’t even know where he was living.’

‘His sister must have known.’

‘I don’t think so, Sergeant.’

‘Then how did he become aware that his mother was missing?’

‘I’m not sure that he did at first. He certainly didn’t turn up to assist in the search. Eve and her husband came but not Adam. I assumed that he had no idea what was going on.’

‘Yet he came when the colonel committed suicide.’

‘That caused more of a stir,’ she explained. ‘When someone goes astray here, it will be reported in the local newspapers. But when a man of the colonel’s standing takes his own life in the most ghastly manner, even the London press will take notice. That’s how Adam must have picked up the news. He made contact with his sister and they came together.’ She got up from her chair. ‘It’s the only possible way that it could have happened. Don’t you agree?’

‘No, Mrs Reader,’ said Leeming, pensively. ‘I don’t.’

Adam Tarleton liked to make heads turn. As he galloped through the village, his horse’s hooves clacked on the hard surface and people stared in annoyance at his recklessness in riding so fast along the narrow street. When he reached the rectory, he reined the animal in and dismounted. After tethering it to a post, he rang the bell. It tinkled somewhere deep inside the house. A pretty maidservant eventually opened the door. A recent addition to the domestic staff, she didn’t recognise him.

‘Can I help you, sir?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ he said, brushing her uncaringly aside. ‘You can get out of my way so that I can see the rector.’

‘You can’t disturb him, sir,’ she wailed. ‘He’s in his study.’

‘Then that’s where I’ll talk to him.’

Striding down the passageway, he came to a door and banged on it before flinging it open. Frederick Skelton was horrified at the interruption. He jumped up from the chair behind his desk.

‘What’s the meaning of this?’ he demanded.

‘I have something to discuss with you.’

‘You can’t just charge in here like this, Adam.’

‘I’m sorry, sir,’ said the maidservant, appearing at the door and anticipating a rebuke. ‘I couldn’t stop him.’

‘That’s all right, Ruth. This is my godson, Mr Tarleton.’

‘Oh, I see.’

‘You can leave us alone.’

‘Very well, sir,’ she said, bobbing once before leaving.

‘I’ve come to talk about the funerals,’ said Tarleton.

‘This is not a convenient moment.’

‘It’s convenient enough for me.’

‘You should have made an appointment like anyone else,’ said Skelton, peevishly. ‘I’m busy writing to the Dean of York Minster.’

‘I don’t care if you’re writing to the Archangel Gabriel.’

Skelton flushed. ‘That’s a blasphemous remark!’

Tarleton was resolute. ‘I’m not moving from here until we’ve had this out,’ he warned, standing in the open doorway, arms akimbo. ‘As our godfather, you’re supposed to offer spiritual guidance. Instead of that, you’ve reduced my sister to despair by your intransigence and you’ve lost all respect from me.’

‘I never knew that you were capable of respect,’ said Skelton, acidly. ‘As for Eve, I merely wanted to acquaint her with my decision.’

‘And where did you choose to do it? Of all places, it was at the inquest. Her nerves were frayed enough without you upsetting her even more. Have you no tact at all?’

‘I have both tact and sensitivity – two laudable qualities, I feel I must point out, entirely lacking in you. I could add several others to the list, Adam.’

‘You can insult me all you like. I expect it of sanctimonious old fools like you.’ Skelton was outraged. ‘What I will not let you do is to insult our stepfather in this way. He will be buried at the church where he worshipped for so many years.’

‘Not as long as I have breath in my body,’ said Skelton, adopting the posture of an avenging angel. ‘As for insulting the colonel, I bow to your superior skill in doing that. You insulted and disobeyed him for years. You were a disgrace to his name.’

‘This is one way of making amends for that.’

Skelton was sardonic. ‘Oh, you’ve discovered the concept of redemption at last, have you? I suppose that we should be grateful for that unlooked-for sign of hope.’

‘Sneer all you wish. We’ll have our stepfather buried here.’

‘Suicide is a subversive act,’ said Skelton. ‘It breaks the law of the land and the divine law of the Ten Commandments. Murder of any kind is abhorrent but at least we can have the satisfaction of hanging the perpetrator. An eye for an eye is a comforting doctrine. No such comfort exists in the case of suicide,’ he said, tossing back his hair. ‘And in this particular instance, there is something else to consider. The colonel took his life in a manner designed to shock and disgust. It was a deliberate attempt to make us suffer. So don’t you try to browbeat me on this issue,’ he continued, as if admonishing his flock from a pulpit. ‘Such a man should never lie in consecrated ground.’

Tarleton pretended to yawn. ‘Your sermons always did make me go to sleep.’

‘Get out of here, Adam.’

‘You never liked my stepfather and this is your means of taking a spiteful revenge against him. It would be deplorable in any man. In an ordained priest, it’s nothing short of malevolence.’

‘God is my mentor. I merely follow his direction.’

Tarleton did not stay long enough to reply. Swivelling on his heel, he went out and slammed the door behind him with such force that the sound reverberated throughout the whole house. Stunned by the violence of his godson’s departure, Skelton took refuge in prayer.

By prior agreement, they met early that evening at the Waggon and Horses, a large establishment in Northallerton with a convivial atmosphere. It gave them the opportunity to review their findings over a quiet drink. Colbeck had been the more assiduous. After his visit to the lawyer’s office, he’d done his best to find out as much as he could about Michael Bruntcliffe. It had been a journey of discovery and it began with the parents. They were deeply embarrassed by the antics of their younger son and almost relieved that he’d disappeared on his release from custody. Their other three children had been a credit to them but Michael was the archetypal black sheep of the family. His father couldn’t understand why he felt compelled to cause so much mischief and he believed that the person to blame was Adam Tarleton. It was when the two young men became close friends that Michael Bruntcliffe’s life took a decisive turn in the wrong direction. What grieved the parents most was that their son was always the one to be put behind bars while Tarleton invariably escaped with a fine.

Since he couldn’t pick up Bruntcliffe’s trail, Colbeck had taken the trouble to call at the prison to ask the governor how he’d fared while serving his time.

‘What did he tell you?’ asked Leeming.

‘That he was sullen and withdrawn,’ replied Colbeck. ‘He seemed to be brooding on what he saw as the injustice of his sentence. Bruntcliffe couldn’t wait to get out. His father offered to collect him on his release but the son refused even to see him. He preferred to go his own way.’

Leeming was puzzled. ‘How can someone from such a good family end up like that? It’s perverse. Bruntcliffe had everything.’

‘So did Adam Tarleton – until the money ran out.’

‘Yes, sir, I’d like to know exactly what happened to it but Mrs Reader was as discreet as her husband. The truth is bound to come out in the end when the estate is valued.’

‘We can’t wait until then, Victor. The information being kept from us could be useful in the investigation. That’s why I went back to the bank earlier on. Mr Reader was too busy to see me but suggested that we meet him here. Over a pleasant drink,’ said Colbeck, sipping his whisky, ‘he may be a little forthcoming.’

Leeming rhapsodised about the china cabinet and the delicate ornaments in the Reader household, wishing that his wife had been able to see something so fine and so beautifully displayed. Colbeck had noticed the items on their previous visit.

‘Which would you rather have?’ he asked. ‘Your home in London with a loving family to share it with you or that rambling edifice you saw again today?’

‘Oh, I’d choose my home every time, sir. The other house is much bigger but it feels empty without children. They make all the difference. But then,’ he added with a knowing smile, ‘you’ll find that out in due course when you have children of your own.’

‘Hold on,’ said Colbeck, stopping him with a gesture. ‘Let’s not rush things. I’m not even married yet. Confiding that to the superintendent is going to be challenging enough. What sort of a response would I get if I told him that I was about to become a father?’

‘I hope I’m not in the building when you do so.’

Bertram Reader noted their laughter as he entered the bar.

‘Is there a cause for celebration?’ he asked, coming over.

‘It’s a private matter, sir,’ said Colbeck, ‘and unconnected with the case. Thank you for joining us. May I get you a drink?’

Reader sat down, the drink was ordered and the three of them were soon talking about the investigation. The banker was able to supply some more detail about Michael Bruntcliffe.

‘He came into some money on his twenty-first birthday,’ he said. ‘Any hopes that it might make him more responsible were soon dashed. He started to fritter it away on gambling. In that respect, he and Adam were partners in crime. When they weren’t gambling or seeking female company of a dubious kind, they went out shooting together.’

‘Oh?’ Colbeck was surprised. ‘Young Mr Tarleton told me that his stepfather didn’t allow him access to any firearms. The colonel didn’t trust him.’

‘That’s why Adam borrowed a shotgun from Bruntcliffe. It was another way of defying the colonel. The pair of them went off shooting game birds. When they’d had too much to drink, they sometimes shot out people’s windows for the sheer fun of it.’

‘Weren’t they ever prosecuted?’

‘No, Inspector – nothing could ever be proved.’

‘Where could I find Bruntcliffe? He seems to have vanished.’

‘Oh, I don’t think he’ll be too far away,’ said Reader. ‘He’s probably living in sin with a loose woman, if I know him. He always did have a certain raffish charm.’

‘Should he be considered as a murder suspect?’

‘He’s not an obvious one, I must confess, because he’s never been guilty of real violence. But he did make dire threats when he was sentenced. I remember the colonel telling me about them.’

‘Wait a minute,’ said Leeming. ‘Surely, the threats were against the colonel and not Mrs Tarleton.’

‘I suppose that the way to hurt him most would be to kill his wife,’ said Reader. ‘The colonel would then be left behind in torment until he could bear it no longer.’

‘You seem to have known him better than anyone, Mr Reader,’ said Colbeck. ‘Perhaps you can tell us why he used to make regular visits to Doncaster?’

Reader shrugged. ‘I wasn’t aware that he did so.’

‘Didn’t he confide in you?’

‘Well, yes, but there were certain areas of his life that he never talked about. His army service was a case in point. Evidently, he enjoyed that period yet it remained a closed book to me. I could give you other examples of his secretiveness.’

‘This could be another example,’ said Leeming. ‘Your wife had no idea why he might choose to go to Doncaster, sir. Do you?’

‘No, I don’t,’ replied Reader. ‘I’m as intrigued as you are.’

‘What really intrigues us,’ said Colbeck, ‘is the abrupt change in the family’s fortunes. How did they come to lose so much money?’

Reader was brisk. ‘That will be revealed in the fullness of time. Even the children are unaware of the full details so I’m not able to divulge them to you. After all, they have no bearing on the murder.’

‘They might have a bearing on the suicide,’ argued Colbeck.

‘I’m sorry. My lips are sealed, Inspector. I have a professional duty here. The colonel and his wife were clients of mine for many years. I don’t feel able to discuss their affairs with you.’

‘So be it.’

‘I daresay that you’ve tried to wheedle the information out of Mr Everett as well. I can see that you failed.’

‘He was as reticent as you, sir,’ said Colbeck, ‘so we’ll bide our time. The priority now is to find and question Michael Bruntcliffe. I’m surprised that his name hasn’t come into consideration before.’

‘It didn’t need to,’ suggested Leeming. ‘When Mrs Tarleton went missing, everyone here seemed to think her husband had killed her.’

‘ We didn’t think so,’ stressed Reader, ‘but you’re quite right, Sergeant. The colonel was the prime suspect and, to most people, he still is. There have even been broadsides published to that effect.’

‘Yes,’ said Colbeck. ‘I read one of them. It was almost as vicious as this.’ He took an envelope from his pocket. ‘This is a poison-pen letter sent to taunt the colonel. Do you recognise the hand, sir?’

Reader studied it. ‘I can’t say that I do.’

‘Take the letter out, if you wish.’

‘There’s no need, Inspector. Looking at the name and address is enough. It’s a distinctive calligraphy. I’d remember it.’ As Colbeck put the envelope away, Reader tasted his drink then ran his tongue over his lips. ‘A malt whisky at the end of a working day is an excellent tonic. So,’ he went on, becoming serious, ‘have you made any progress in the investigation?’

‘We believe so, Mr Reader.’

‘The person we’re after is used to handling a shotgun,’ said Leeming, ‘and you’ve just told us that Bruntcliffe comes into that category. We need to track him down quickly. But what about the people with whom the colonel went out shooting? You were one of them, I presume.’

‘Oh, I was hopeless with a weapon in my hands,’ said Reader, modestly, ‘so I rarely joined a shooting party. I love eating game but take no pleasure from killing it. I could name several people who often made up a shooting party but there was only one person who went out alone with the colonel.’

‘Oh?’ said Colbeck. ‘Who was that?’

‘A rather unexpected marksman,’ replied Reader with a smile. ‘To look at him, you’d never believe that he knew one end of a shotgun from the other, but I have it on good authority that he is a dead shot.’

‘What’s his name, sir?’

‘Clifford Everett.’