Timetable of Death

CHAPTER TWELVE

Philip Conway was disappointed to learn that Leeming had gone back to London without any explanation. The reporter had been hoping to hear about the progress of the investigation. Instead, he was forced to gather what evidence he could on his own, talking to local people of all kinds and seeing if the newspaper appeal regarding the wheelbarrow had borne fruit. Distressingly, most people had not even been aware of the appeal because they didn’t read the newspaper. None of those who did actually buy the Derby Mercury could recall having seen a wheelbarrow on the night of the murder. Conway baulked at the prospect of returning to his editor with nothing new to say about the case so he made continuous sweeps of the village, asking questions of everyone he met. His rewards were scant. It was when he walked past the church that he had his most interesting encounter. Spotting a familiar figure in the churchyard, he went over to him.

Jed Hockaday was staring intently at the grave of Cicely Peet.

‘What are you doing here, Mr Hockaday?’ asked Conway, joining him.

‘Oh.’ The cobbler looked up. ‘I’m just paying my respects.’

‘Did you know Mrs Peet well?’

‘She was a customer of mine and kind enough to praise my work. When she needed something repaired, of course, a servant always brought it to me but, if ever I did bump into Mrs Peet at the annual fair or such like, she always had a good word for me.’

‘Most people do — you’re proficient at your trade.’

‘Kind of you to say so, Mr Conway,’ said the other with a lazy grin. ‘Though, between you and me, I’d rather be thought of as a constable than as a cobbler at the moment.’ He nudged the reporter. ‘What’s the latest news?’

‘Why ask me?’

‘I’ve seen you nestling up to the sergeant.’

‘I’m paid to get the facts, Mr Hockaday.’

‘Then what are they?’

‘Read the Mercury and you’ll know all that I do.’

‘Don’t be like that, Mr Conway,’ said the cobbler. ‘I got your measure. I spoke to the landlord at the Malt Shovel. Sergeant Leeming stayed there and I’m told the pair of you was chirping away together like two birds in a nest.’

‘The sergeant wanted to know about the Enoch Stone case.’

Hockaday squinted at him. ‘What did you tell him?’

‘I told him the truth. It’ll never be solved.’

‘It will one day. We owe it to Enoch.’

‘I thought that you and he fell out over something.’

‘Oh, that was forgot as soon as it happened,’ said Hockaday, dismissively. ‘Me and Enoch were friends, really. We went to school together. I always liked him.’ His voice hardened. ‘That’s why I want to catch the villain who battered him to death.’

‘The killer is long gone.’

‘No, Mr Conway — he’s right here. I’ll dig him out eventually.’

‘You’ve had three years to do that.’

‘That means he thinks he safe — but he’s not. If I catch up with the rogue, I’ll strangle him to death with my bare hands.’ His anger subsided and he grinned again. ‘That’s a silly thing for a constable to say, isn’t it? I’ve been sworn in to follow the due processes of law. I’ll have to hand him over to the court.’

‘Did you ever mend Enoch Stone’s boots?’

‘That’s a strange question to ask!’

‘What’s the answer, Mr Hockaday?’

The cobbler shook his head. ‘No, I didn’t. Enoch mended his own boots.’

‘I thought you were friends.’

‘We were — but we didn’t live in each other’s pockets.’ He slapped the reporter on the arm. ‘Good to see you, Mr Conway. Be sure to let me know what’s afoot if the sergeant turns up again.’

‘You can ask him yourself.’

‘He’s taken to you. You’re the only one he’ll give the real titbits.’

After a final glance at the grave, Hockaday ambled off, leaving the younger man to wonder why the cobbler had been there in the first place. The chances of his having ever spoken more than a few words to Cicely Peet were remote. If he was likely to visit any grave to pay his respects, it would have been that of Enoch Stone, his alleged friend. Conway was baffled. As he was turning away, he saw the vicar trotting towards him. There was an exchange of greetings.

‘What did Jed Hockaday have to say to you?’ asked Sadler.

‘It was rather odd, Vicar. Is he a religious man?’

‘He doesn’t come to church very often, if that’s what you mean. You can always tell when he does. Walk past him and you catch a strong whiff of leather.’

‘He was standing beside Mrs Peet’s grave.’

‘That’s the second time today, Mr Conway.’

‘Oh?’

‘He was here first thing this morning, holding a vigil here then walking over to look into the open grave.’

‘Does he have an obsession with death?’

‘I didn’t ask him. I was just grateful when he was chased away.’

‘Who chased him?’

‘I was speaking figuratively. Bert Knowles drove past on his cart. When he saw Hockaday beside the first grave he’d dug for Mrs Peet, he yelled out a warning to leave it alone. I won’t give you his exact words,’ said Sadler, meekly, ‘because they were rather ripe. What they amounted to is this. If Hockaday so much as touched the earth piled up beside the grave, Bert threatened to bury him alive.’

When the cab dropped them off outside the house, Leeming paid the fare then turned to look up at it. It was an attractive terraced property with a small garden in front of it. He and Madeleine opened the gate and went through it to the front door. A ring on the doorbell brought a maidservant who opened the door and looked from one to the other with a pleasant smile.

‘May I help you?’ she said.

‘Does a Miss Beatrice Myler live here?’ asked Madeleine.

‘Yes, she does.’

‘May we speak with her, please?’

‘I’ll handle this, Dora,’ said a voice from behind her and the servant immediately moved away. The newcomer appraised the callers. ‘I’m Beatrice Myler. Can I help you in any way?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ said Madeleine, hopes vanquished by the sight of a middle-aged woman.

‘I told you it was the wrong house,’ said Leeming.

‘We do apologise for disturbing you, Miss Myler. We thought you might be someone else, you see.’

‘But obviously you’re not Miss Lydia Quayle.’

‘No,’ said Beatrice, defensively. ‘You’ll have to look elsewhere.’

‘You share the same interest in Italy with her,’ explained Madeleine. ‘That’s how the mistake arose. You and Miss Quayle are obviously kindred spirits.’

Beatrice was keen to send them on their way but Lydia suddenly appeared.

‘Did I hear my name?’ She looked at the visitors. ‘I’m Lydia Quayle.’

‘Oh,’ said Leeming. ‘We were led to believe that-’

‘We’ve found you at last,’ said Madeleine, interrupting him and ignoring the fact that Beatrice had lied to them. ‘May we have a word with you, please?’

‘If you wish,’ said Lydia, guardedly. ‘Please come in.’

She stood aside to let them enter the house. Beatrice was less welcoming. As they went through the door, Madeleine could feel that the older woman resented their arrival. It had aroused her protective instinct.

Colbeck had found the conversation with Lucas Quayle illuminating. He now had far more insight into the mechanics of the family. Having secured the address where Lydia was living, he went to Derby railway station and sent a telegraph that would eventually reach Leeming at Scotland Yard. When he stepped out of the office, he saw Donald Haygarth standing on the platform. In a remarkably short space of time, Haygarth was behaving as if already appointed to the post of chairman of the Midland Railway. A distinct air of ownership surrounded him.

‘Good day to you, sir,’ said Colbeck.

‘Hello, Inspector,’ replied the other. ‘What brings you here?’

‘I’ve been making use of your telegraph station. Thank you for putting Mr Cope at my disposal, by the way. He’s been very helpful.’

‘Cope is both knowledgeable and loyal, two qualities I happen to admire.’

‘He told me that he rides here from Kedleston every day.’

‘Yes, he’s much more robust than he looks.’

‘How did he get on with Mr Quayle?’

‘He treats every member of the board in the same way,’ said Haygarth, smoothly, ‘and was on excellent terms with Vivian Quayle. Men like Cope are true servants of this company.’

‘That confirms my impression.’

‘Do you have anything to report, Inspector?’

‘We continue to make progress, sir.’

‘But you’re nowhere near making an arrest yet, I fancy.’

‘There’s a lot more evidence to collect before we can do that,’ said Colbeck. ‘What happens when a train comes into the station?’

‘Apart from the ear-splitting noise, there’s a lot of smoke and steam.’

‘It’s the same with a murder investigation, sir. At the start, everything is covered with smoke and steam. It takes time for it to clear. We’re starting to make out the shape of the carriages and even the outline of the locomotive. What we can’t yet see is the killer on the footplate.’

‘Will he have had a fireman to help him?’

‘It’s possible, Mr Haygarth, or he may be on his own.’

‘What have you been doing since I last saw you?’

‘The most significant development was a breach in the wall of silence around the Quayle family. Stanley Quayle was virtually unapproachable.’

‘How did you get through to them?’

‘I didn’t,’ replied Colbeck. ‘In fact, they got through to me. To be more precise, I had a visit from Lucas Quayle. He was vastly more informative than his elder brother.’

‘Did he tell you anything that advanced the investigation?’

‘I think so. He put flesh and bone on a number of nebulous characters. I have a much clearer image of the family now. He also had something interesting to say about Gerard Burns.’

‘He still sounds the most likely killer to me.’

‘If you have any evidence to support that view, sir, I’d be happy to see it.’

Haygarth was peevish. ‘You said yourself that he had to be considered as a suspect.’

‘He’s only one of a number, sir.’

‘Who are the others?’

‘I’m not at liberty to tell you at the moment.’

‘But you do have people in mind?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Colbeck. ‘We have a list of possible names.’

‘What about Sergeant Leeming? Has he turned up anything of interest in Spondon?’

‘The sergeant always uncovers useful information. But he’s not in the village at the moment. I sent him back to London.’

‘What on earth is he doing there?’

‘He’s following a line of inquiry, sir. I suppose that I should have asked him to speak to you,’ Colbeck went on before the other man could question him further. ‘If he wanted information about Spondon, you could have given it to him. After all, you were born there.’

‘That’s beside the point.’

Hiding his irritation, he glanced down the line at the approaching train.

‘Superintendent Wigg didn’t seem to think so.’

‘The superintendent can be a troublemaker at times. It’s one of the reasons I didn’t want him to handle this case. He has too many axes to grind.’

‘How long did you live in Spondon?’

‘We moved when I was only a boy.’

‘But you were baptised in the local church, I take it.’

‘Yes, I was.’

‘And you know the geography of the village.’

‘I’ve probably forgotten most of it, Inspector. I haven’t been near Spondon for decades. My time is divided between making sure that my silk mills are operating at maximum efficiency and keeping the Midland Railway under surveillance.’

‘That’s a taxing demand on any man.’

‘I’ve learnt to bear responsibility lightly.’

‘Then you deserve congratulation, sir.’

‘It’s something that Vivian Quayle was unable to do,’ said Haygarth as the train got ever closer. ‘When he got involved with this company, he handed over the control of his coal mines to his elder son. I like to keep my hand on the tiller. I’ve given my sons managerial positions but retained overall control of the mills. Unlike Quayle, I’m able to wear more than one hat at a time.’

Colbeck was about to ask him another question but the train surged past and made conversation impossible. Haygarth was lost in a fug of smoke and steam. When it began to clear, he had disappeared into a compartment.

It took time to win Lydia Quayle’s confidence. When she realised why they’d called, Lydia was tempted to ask them to leave and Beatrice was patently anxious to get rid of them. But Madeleine was very persuasive and Leeming had the sense to let her do most of the talking. Alone, he knew, he would have been unable to draw anything out of Lydia. He could now understand why Colbeck had suggested that his wife should be involved in tracing the exiled member of the Quayle family. She had a lightness of touch that Leeming signally lacked.

‘Let me assure you,’ said Madeleine, ‘that we are not here to advise you to return to Nottingham. We’d have no right to do so. That’s a personal decision for you, Miss Quayle.’

‘It certainly is,’ said Beatrice. ‘And that decision has already been made.’

‘How did you find me?’ asked Lydia.

‘We went to Mudie’s Lending Library.’

‘But I’m not even a member.’

‘Miss Myler is.’

When Madeleine explained that Lydia’s predilection for Italy had helped them to run her to earth, Lydia was impressed.

‘That was very enterprising of you, Mrs Colbeck.’

‘It was my husband’s suggestion. He’s had a lot of experience at finding missing persons.’

‘I don’t wish to be pedantic,’ said Beatrice, ‘but Miss Quayle does not qualify as a missing person. When she parted company with her family, she came to London because she preferred to live here. Nobody came in search of her because she was not really missing.’

‘What do you wish to know?’ asked Lydia.

Madeleine was apologetic. ‘We’d have to intrude on your private life.’

‘That’s not permissible,’ Beatrice interjected. ‘Miss Quayle has put that whole world behind her. She has no wish to revive unpleasant memories.’

‘Everybody must want to have a murder solved,’ said Leeming, ‘especially if the victim happens to be their father.’

‘The sergeant is right,’ conceded Lydia.

‘You don’t have to do this,’ Beatrice argued.

‘I feel that I do.’

‘You’ve turned your back on Nottingham.’

‘The situation there has changed. If I can help the investigation in any way, then I ought to do it. There’s no danger. I’ve learnt to confront my past.’

Madeleine was unable to read the glance that was exchanged between the two women but she could see that Beatrice Myler was very unhappy. Lydia, however, was offering to answer questions so Madeleine pressed on.

‘It’s only fair to tell you that my husband has already spoken to Mr Burns.’

‘I see,’ said Lydia.

‘He talked very candidly about the reason he left your father’s employ.’

‘Need we dredge all that up again?’ asked Beatrice, tetchily.

‘If it’s relevant,’ said Lydia, firmly, ‘then we must.’

‘It would be like opening a wound that’s starting to heal.’

‘My father was murdered, Beatrice. He was the person who inflicted the wound. It no longer smarts so much now that I know he’s dead.’

It was Madeleine’s turn to communicate with a glance and Leeming read it correctly. It was the sort of look that his wife gave him when she wanted to have a private discussion with a female neighbour who’d just called in. He rose to his feet.

‘I feel I’m rather in the way,’ he said. ‘I’ll wait outside.’

‘Beatrice will take you into the other room,’ said Lydia, indicating that she’d rather be left alone with Madeleine. She smiled at her friend. ‘Would you mind?’

‘Of course not,’ replied Beatrice, her face impassive as she got up from the chair. ‘Follow me, Sergeant Leeming.’

She led him out then closed the door harder than she needed to have done.

‘I may have to tell you something rather distasteful,’ warned Madeleine.

‘Don’t hold back on my behalf, Mrs Colbeck. I’ve received some terrible blows in my life and I managed to survive them all.’

‘It concerns your friendship with Mr Burns.’

‘Let’s call it by its proper name, shall we?’ said Lydia. ‘It was a romance, an ill-advised one, perhaps, but it meant everything to me at the time.’

‘I can understand that.’

‘I knew from the start that it was an impossible dream but that’s what drove me on, somehow. I wanted to shock and defy convention. Have you ever harboured impossible dreams, Mrs Colbeck?’

‘Yes,’ answered Madeleine, thinking of her marriage to Colbeck and her career as an artist. ‘In my case, the dreams came true.’

‘Did you have no opposition from your father?’

‘None at all — he’s approved of what I’ve done.’

‘Then he must have been a lot more tolerant than mine.’

‘What about your mother? Did she take your side?’

‘She was never consulted properly. All that Mother was told was that I was in disgrace and had to be punished. As you doubtless know, I was taken abroad.’ Lydia pulled a face. ‘Going to Italy had always been my ambition but not under those circumstances. It was an ordeal — until I met Beatrice, that is.’

‘When you lived at home, did you see much of your father?’

‘I saw very little. He was not really interested in me any more than in Agnes, my younger sister. We were simply part of the furniture. Father only took proper notice of my brothers, Stanley and Lucas. They were raised in his image, though Lucas was something of a rebel.’ She smiled fondly. ‘That’s why I got on with him so well. At heart, we were two of a kind.’

‘You must have been to social gatherings of one kind or another.’

‘Oh, yes, we were all dragged off to those — Mother, Agnes and me. Father hardly noticed us. He was too busy shaking hands with people who might be useful to him one day.’

‘You strike me as an observant woman, Miss Quayle. Did you ever see any sign of … enmity towards your father? I don’t mean outright hostility. People are far too careful to show that. But I fancy that you’d have been able to sense if some of the so-called friends were not quite as friendly as they appeared.’

‘Yes,’ said Lydia, ‘I was. When you’ve nothing to do but sit on the sidelines, you notice all manner of things that give people away.’

‘Did you pick out any false friends of your father’s?’

‘Two of them picked themselves out, Mrs Colbeck.’

‘One of them, I suspect, was Mr Haygarth,’ said Madeleine, recalling what she’d read in Colbeck’s letter. ‘He was your father’s rival, wasn’t he? Who was the other person you spotted?’

‘His name is Elijah Wigg. He’s a police superintendent.’

Madeleine was caught off balance. There’d been no mention of Wigg in her husband’s long and detailed missive. She wondered what Vivian Quayle had done to make an enemy in the police force.

‘Why he and father were at odds with each other,’ said Lydia, ‘I don’t know, but they were bound to meet at certain functions. There was a dinner when we found ourselves sitting at the same table as the Wigg family. Father didn’t exchange a single word with him.’

‘How strange! Let’s move on to Mr Burns,’ suggested Madeleine. ‘I do apologise if this is embarrassing for you.’

‘Years have passed since then. I’m a different person now.’

‘Your friend gave my husband a very clear account of … what had happened between you and him. There was even talk of an elopement, I believe.’

‘You snatch at anything to be with the person you love, Mrs Colbeck. We were talking about it the night we were seen together.’ Her face showed anger for the first time. ‘That put a stop to all our plans.’

‘Yet you tried to get in touch on your return from Italy.’

‘I tried and failed — so did Gerard.’

‘Do you know why, Miss Quayle?’

‘They kept him away from me.’

‘There was rather more to it than that,’ explained Madeleine. ‘This is what I meant when I said I might have to pass on something distasteful. Your father paid two ruffians to assault Mr Burns and they warned him that, if he dared to get anywhere near you again, he’d suffer even more injury.’

‘I can guess the nature of that injury,’ said Lydia, quietly, ‘because my father made the same threat to me. I was not as familiar with the ways of the world then so you can imagine the profound shock that it gave me. I was horrified.’

‘What did your father threaten to do?’

‘He said that if I made any attempt to get in touch with Gerard again …’ She broke off and wiped away a tear that had just trickled out of her eye. ‘It was the way that Father said it that turned my stomach. Keep well away from him, I was told, or the man I’d loved would be castrated.’

Philip Conway had returned to the offices of the Derby Mercury to discover that the editor was not there. Expecting a reprimand for not bringing back from Spondon the latest news about the murder investigation, Conway was heartily relieved. He was able to write an article on an unrelated subject. Instead of vanishing altogether, however, the chastisement had only been postponed. When the editor finally turned up, he summoned the reporter to his office and asked for details of the latest developments. Unable to provide them, Conway was given a verbal roasting and sent off to the Royal Hotel to speak to the man in charge of the case.

The Railway Detective was in the lounge, talking to Superintendent Wigg. From the gestures made by the latter, Conway deduced that an argument was taking place. He lurked nearby until Wigg’s temper had cooled then drifted across to them. The superintendent’s manner changed at once. He always made an effort to cultivate the press even if only dealing with a young reporter.

‘Ah, come on over,’ he invited, beckoning with a finger. ‘This is Philip Conway from the Mercury, Inspector, but I daresay that you’ve met.’

‘As a matter of fact, we haven’t,’ said Colbeck, ‘but Sergeant Leeming has mentioned him favourably to me. How do you do, Mr Conway?’

‘I’m pleased to meet you, Inspector. The sergeant worships you.’

‘I certainly don’t,’ said Wigg under his breath. ‘Well, I’ll be on my way, Inspector, but do bear in mind what I said.’

Colbeck rose from his chair in tandem with Wigg and they exchanged a farewell handshake. The superintendent beamed at the reporter.

‘Do give my regards to the editor,’ he said.

Conway gave a dutiful nod and stood aside so that Wigg could leave. After sizing the newcomer up, Colbeck waved him to a chair, asked if he would like a drink then summoned a waiter to place an order for two glasses of whisky. The reporter was clearly delighted to be in his presence.

‘I didn’t realise that the sergeant had returned to London,’ he said.

‘It’s only a temporary return.’

‘Is he there in relation to the investigation?’

‘Yes,’ said Colbeck in a tone that announced he would give no details. ‘I’ve read your articles in the Derby Mercury. They’ve been reassuringly accurate.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘The sergeant will have told you how often we get traduced or misrepresented in the London press. They always expect us to solve a crime instantly, whereas it may take weeks, if not months. Look at the other murder in Spondon.’

‘I meant to tell you about that, Inspector.’

‘They present a curious contrast, don’t they?’ observed Colbeck. ‘On the one side, we have Mr Quayle, a native of Nottingham without any discernible link to the village, being found dead in its church. On the other, we have a local man robbed and killed on a road leading out of it. Compare the nature of their deaths. The wealthy industrialist is dispatched with poison while the framework knitter was battered to the ground. Which of the crimes is easier to solve?’

‘Neither has been solved yet.’

‘The latest one will be.’

‘What about the earlier one?’

‘That should have been solved three years ago. The sheer brutality of the attack tells us something about the character of the attacker. The facts would suggest to me that he’s a local man, aware of the route home that Enoch Stone would take after a night drinking in a public house.’

‘Most people believe it may have been a traveller, seizing his opportunity.’

‘Were any strangers seen in the village that day?’

‘Not as far as I know, Inspector.’

‘Then I’d plump for someone in Spondon. I took the trouble to find out the wage earned by a framework knitter and it’s not a large one. The killer didn’t get away with a lot of money so perhaps robbery was not the motive, after all. It was made to look as if it was. What prompted the murder might have been something else entirely.’

‘I agree,’ said the reporter.

‘Now in the case of Mr Quayle,’ said Colbeck, ‘there was a sizeable amount of money in his wallet and he had an expensive pocket watch. Neither was stolen. How do you explain that?’

‘I don’t but, then, I’m not a detective.’

‘Don’t be modest. You ferret out stories so you’re in an allied trade.’

The waiter arrived with the whisky on a tray. He set a glass down in front of each of them then withdrew. Colbeck sampled his drink before speaking.

‘You said earlier that you meant to talk to me about Enoch Stone.’

‘Sergeant Leeming may already have mentioned this.’

‘No, he hasn’t said anything to me about it.’

Conway took a hasty sip of his whisky and had a minor coughing fit. When he’d recovered, he described his visit to Spondon that day and his encounter in the churchyard with Jed Hockaday. He quoted the vicar then recalled Leeming’s assessment of the cobbler. After listening carefully, Colbeck said that he would make a point of speaking to the man himself. Hockaday’s behaviour was too peculiar to be ignored and it called his status as a constable into doubt.

‘I’ll pass on your comments to Sergeant Leeming.’

‘Is he on his way back here this evening?’

‘No,’ replied Colbeck, ‘he’ll spend the night at home then catch an early train. Before then, he may find a surprise awaiting him at Scotland Yard.’

After what he saw as his earlier triumph over the superintendent, Victor Leeming entered the office without the usual tremors. Indeed, there was a spring in his step and a radiant smile igniting his features. He and Madeleine had succeeded in their task. Lydia Quayle had been located and a fund of information about her family had been elicited from her. The person who’d drawn it out, of course, was Madeleine but there would be no mention of her part in the visit. Congratulations were in order and Leeming was ready to enjoy them.

‘Good evening, Superintendent,’ he said, airily.

‘What kept you?’ snarled the other.

‘I had to follow a twisting trail, sir.’

‘You’ve been away for hours.’

‘But I did what the inspector asked me to do,’ Leeming contended. ‘By dint of careful research, I found out the address where Miss Quayle is living.’

‘It’s number thirty-eight, Bloomfield Terrace, Pimlico.’

‘That’s right, sir. Thirty-eight, Bloomfield Terrace …’ His smile froze and his confidence died instantly. ‘How on earth do you know?’

‘Colbeck sent me a telegraph with the details.’

‘But I had to spend ages finding the place.’

‘All you found was something we already know. Now, then,’ said Tallis, reaching for a cigar. ‘Since you were so certain that you’d collect vital evidence from the young lady, tell me what you actually discovered.’ He lit the cigar, had a few puffs to make sure that it was fully alight then issued a grim challenge. ‘Come on, man. Impress me.’

Leeming could hear the firing squad shuffling into position.