Timetable of Death

by Edward Marston

  ‘I’m told that you’re a good cricketer,’ said Colbeck.

  Cleary smiled. ‘I do my best, sir.’

  ‘You and Gerard Burns were outstanding.’

  ‘Ah, well, we’ve lost him, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Are you sorry about that?’

  ‘Very sorry.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘Gerard was a friend. There are not too many of those around here.’

  ‘Have you played any cricket matches since he left?’

  ‘Yes, sir – we lost them all.’

  Cleary was saddened rather than embittered. Since he excelled at cricket, the game was important to him and he’d enjoyed a run of success in the past. Without Gerard Burns in the side, the team was condemned to a series of losses.

  ‘What I’m trying to find out,’ explained Colbeck, ‘is where Mr Quayle went on the day of his murder. You drive him to the railway station, I understand.’

  ‘That’s true, Inspector, but he never said where he was going that day.’

  ‘Where did he usually go?’

  ‘Oh, he went to his office in Derby, even on Sundays sometimes.’

  ‘Did he catch a particular train?’

  ‘Yes, he kept to a strict timetable,’ replied Cleary. ‘Mr Quayle always caught the same train in the morning and if he needed me to meet him in the evening he’d tell me what time to be there.’

  Colbeck warmed to the man. The coachman answered questions without hesitation and looked him in the eye as he did so. There was no hint of the evasion he’d met elsewhere. Cleary wanted to help.

  ‘What sort of a man was Mr Quayle?’

  ‘I’m not the best person to ask that, sir.’

  ‘Why not? You saw him almost every day.’

  ‘Yes, but all he did was to give me my orders. In all the years I’ve been here, we never talked properly. Don’t misunderstand me,’ he went on, ‘I had the greatest respect for Mr Quayle. He was a good employer and treated me well but I never really got to know him as a person.’ He waved an arm that took in the stable yard. ‘This is where I belong, sir.’

  ‘I’m not asking you to tell tales about him, Mr Cleary.’

  ‘There are none to tell.’

  ‘What about his row with Mr Burns? I’d call that a tale worth hearing.’

  ‘All I know is that we lost a good gardener and a decent man. Not that I’m taking sides,’ said Cleary, quickly. ‘Mr Quayle did what he felt was right. I’ve no argument with that.’ He removed his cap and ran a hand through his hair. ‘But I do miss Gerard on the cricket field. I’ve never seen a bowler like him.’

  ‘Has he ever been back here?’

  ‘No, Inspector.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘He told me he was going for good.’

  ‘Was that before or after he was beaten up?’

  Cleary was surprised. ‘You know about that?’ he asked, replacing his cap.

  ‘I’ve spoken to him twice.’

  ‘What happened to him was bad. Gerard could hardly walk.’

  ‘Did that make you look at Mr Quayle in a different way?’

  ‘I do what I’m paid to do,’ said Cleary, levelly.

  Colbeck studied him. He could see why the coachman had befriended the gardener. Apart from cricket, they had much in common. They were younger than most of the servants and had positions that they cherished. In his mind’s eye, Colbeck could see them slipping off to a local inn together after the day’s work was done.

  ‘Did he ever talk to you about Miss Lydia Quayle?’

  Cleary was emphatic. ‘No – it was none of my business.’

  ‘Were you shocked when the truth came out?’

  ‘We all were, Inspector.’

  ‘Did it cause a lot of upset here?’

  ‘Yes, it did. But that’s all in the past.’

  ‘The murder of Mr Quayle has brought it alive again,’ said Colbeck, ‘because Mr Burns is bound to be viewed as someone with a strong motive to kill his former employer.’ Cleary shook his head violently. ‘You disagree?’

  ‘Gerard would never do such a thing, sir.’

  ‘Have you seen him since he moved away from here?’

  ‘Only once – but I don’t need to see him. I know him. He’s not a killer.’

  ‘People can change, Mr Cleary.’

  ‘Our sort stay the same,’ said the other, steadfastly.

  His identification with the gardener was complete. Cleary and Burns were kindred spirits. The coachman refused to believe that his friend was capable of murder. While he admired the man’s loyalty, Colbeck doubted his judgement.

  ‘Did Mr Quayle ever stay away from home?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, sir – he often went to London on business.’

  ‘Where else did he go?’

  ‘I don’t know. All I was told was when he was coming back.’

  ‘Let me ask you a final question, Mr Cleary,’ he said, ‘and I want you to take all the time you need before answering it. On the day of the murder, you took Mr Quayle to the railway station at the usual time. Presumably, he caught the usual train but you are in no position to confirm that. Was there anything – anything at all – that was different that day? Did Mr Quayle say or do anything out of the ordinary? Now, please – think carefully.’

  The coachman needed only a few seconds to recall something unusual.

  ‘I could be wrong, of course,’ he warned.

  ‘What do you remember?’

  ‘Well, Mr Quayle took very little notice of me as a rule. When he got out of the carriage, he just muttered his thanks.’

  ‘Was there something different on the last day you saw him?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Cleary, ‘there was. He didn’t say a single word to me at the railway station and … I had a feeling that he’d been crying.’

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  As the wheel of the cab hit another deep pothole, Edward Tallis cursed the fact that Melbourne did not have its own railway station. The drive to the village was an ordeal of bumping, jerking, twisting and sudden lurches that threw him against the side of the vehicle. Every possible hazard in the road seemed to have been explored, leaving the passenger with unwelcome bruises. It was almost as if the driver had set out to injure Tallis. When he finally reached the Hall, he paid the man his fare and left a series of stinging complaints in lieu of a tip. Having introduced himself to the housekeeper, he asked to see Burns in his own domain. The gardener was poring over a catalogue when Tallis appeared. He scrambled to his feet.

  The housekeeper introduced the visitor then left them alone.

  ‘Can I help you, sir?’ asked the gardener.

  ‘I believe that you’ve met my colleague, Inspector Colbeck.’

  ‘I spoke to him a few hours ago. There’s nothing else I wish to add.’

  ‘My wishes are paramount here, Burns. I require your attention.’

  Burns sighed and put the catalogue aside. He indicated the bench and they both sat down. During his career in the army, Tallis had dealt with a large number of men and developed a knack of summing up a person’s character at a glance. Burns might seem polite and open-faced but the superintendent saw a hint of the unspoken insolence that broke out in the ranks from time to time and on which he’d always stamped firmly. In his opinion, the gardener looked as if he might have a mutinous streak.

  ‘How long have you worked here, Burns?’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘I’ll ask the questions.’

  ‘Then talk to the inspector before you ask the same things he did. He’ll tell you my history. There’s no point in going through it again. I was honest with him about my setbacks. I’m much happier with my lot now.’

  ‘Is your happiness connected with the death of Vivian Quayle?’

  Burns was jolted. ‘That did give me pleasure,’ he said, slowly.

  ‘It must have been a cause for celebration.’

  ‘I’m too busy here to think about such things, sir.
’

  ‘The inspector told me about the weedkiller you use.’

  ‘I’m not the only gardener who’s experimented with it. I could name two or three. When I worked for Mr Quayle, I used a similar preparation on weeds. Perhaps you should be talking to the head gardener there.’

  ‘There’s no need for flippancy.’

  ‘Then I apologise.’

  Tallis gazed around. The gardens were spectacular and the man in charge of them was clearly knowledgeable. It seemed unlikely that he’d desert his post to plot the murder of an old enemy. Yet he had a strong motive, access to one of the poisons found in the dead man and was known to have been close to Spondon on the night in question. Added to that was the calculated stubbornness he was now displaying.

  ‘I’m told that you’re a fine cricketer,’ said Tallis.

  ‘I used to be.’

  ‘Did you never wish to play for the All-England team?’

  ‘Gardening always came first.’

  ‘But you were encouraged to play the game when you were in Mr Quayle’s employ. It seems that your bowling was the crucial ingredient of the team’s success. You must miss the chance to play to such a high standard.’

  ‘There are compensations, sir.’

  ‘In your position, I’d resent the man that took that chance away from me.’

  ‘I still play cricket now and then,’ said Burns, arrogance showing through, ‘and Mr Quayle had more cause for resentment than me. Since I left, his team haven’t won a single game.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Gossip travels.’

  ‘I thought you’d lost all interest in what happens on his estate.’

  ‘I can’t help it if I hear rumours, Superintendent.’

  Tallis removed his top hat carefully and used a handkerchief to dab at the light perspiration on his brow. His next question came without warning.

  ‘You’re hiding something, aren’t you?’ he challenged.

  ‘No, sir, I’m not.’

  ‘You’re hiding the fact that you’ve kept in touch with your old place of work so that you could be aware of the movements of the man you hated. You’ve been biding your time, Burns, haven’t you?’

  ‘I’ve not seen Mr Quayle since the day I left.’

  ‘You didn’t need to if you had a confederate who still worked there.’

  ‘But I don’t.’

  ‘We only have your word for it.’

  ‘I’m telling the truth.’

  ‘It doesn’t sound like it to me – or to Inspector Colbeck, for that matter.’

  Burns was angry. ‘What has he been saying about me?’

  ‘He thought that you couldn’t be trusted. I’m inclined to agree. It was his suggestion that you might have someone working on Mr Quayle’s estate who reported back to you.’

  ‘I haven’t been anywhere near the place,’ yelled the other.

  ‘There’s no need to shout.’

  ‘I don’t like being accused of something I didn’t do.’

  ‘Where were you on the day that the murder took place?’

  ‘You know quite well,’ said Burns with exasperation. ‘I played cricket in Ilkeston then went to Derby in the evening.’

  ‘But you refuse to say what you were doing there.’

  ‘I went to see a friend.’

  Eyes glinting, Tallis put his face close to that of the other man.

  ‘Was it a friend or an accomplice?’

  The directness of the question made Burns recoil slightly. For the first time, he looked uncomfortable. As Tallis glared at him from close range, the gardener lapsed into a bruised silence.

  The visit to the Quayle house had been profitable. Colbeck had learnt far more than he’d managed on the first occasion when he called there. It was the conversation with John Cleary that had been revelatory. He’d made some illuminating comments about his former employer. Colbeck was interested in the news that Quayle often stayed away from home at some unknown location. If the man had been crying on his way to the station on his last day alive, it was highly uncharacteristic. After taking soundings from a number of quarters, Colbeck had built up a picture of a man who savoured power and exercised it mercilessly. It was an image reinforced by the portrait of Vivian Quayle that hung in his house. The man in that, Colbeck recalled, looked as if he’d never shed a tear in his life.

  Against the excitement of finding new and important information, Colbeck had to set the discomfort of having Tallis as an unwanted assistant. Apart from the fact that the superintendent would insist on leading the investigation, there was the certainty that he would get under the feet of Colbeck and Leeming. The inspector had devised strategies of dealing with Tallis but the sergeant had not. As long as the older man was there, Leeming would be working with reduced effectiveness, always looking over his shoulder. With the arrival of the superintendent, a complicated case had instantly become even more difficult to solve. If there was some way to dispatch Tallis back to London, it had to be seized.

  Colbeck was still enjoying fantasies about how to get rid of him when his cab rolled up outside Nottingham railway station. After paying the driver, he went onto the platform and looked up and down. At the far end, a smartly dressed woman was perched on a bench. She looked so much like Madeleine that he stared at her for a minute before deciding that it couldn’t possibly be his wife because he didn’t recognise the hat she was wearing. He was about to turn away when she glanced in his direction for the first time.

  ‘Robert!’ she exclaimed, jumping to her feet.

  Fired by his good fortune, he ran the length of the platform to embrace her.

  ‘What on earth are you doing here?’ he asked in disbelief.

  ‘I came with Miss Quayle. She’s decided to return home.’

  Bolstered by Madeleine’s presence, Lydia Quayle had felt confident that she would be given a welcome at the house. As soon as her cab turned in through the main gates of the estate, however, that confidence was replaced by apprehension and, in turn, by cold fear. Her break from the family had been so dramatic and final that she couldn’t imagine that any member of it would wish to see her, let alone be delighted by her reappearance. Lydia was tempted to abandon the visit altogether and ask the driver to take her back to the station. Somehow she fought off that temptation. Memories flooded back to please and unsettle her simultaneously. She passed a glade where she and Gerard Burns had often met in secret, and there were other places that brought their romance fleetingly alive again. It died instantly as the grotto where she and Burns had been discovered together appeared in her mind’s eye. Her memories darkened at once and she shook her head in an effort to get rid of them but they were too vivid to be dislodged. She had returned to an estate that had held joy and terror for her. When the house came into view, her heart sank. It looked so forbidding.

  The cab drew up on the gravel in front of the portico and she needed time to compose herself before she stepped uncertainly out of the vehicle. As she stood alone in front of what had once been her whole world, she felt lonely and unwanted. Someone must have seen her through the windows but nobody came out. The door remained closed as if delivering a blunt message. Lydia waited for minutes. She was on the point of leaving when the door suddenly swung open. Her brothers and her sister stepped out together, staring at her as if she was a complete stranger. The sense of rejection was like a physical blow.

  In a flash, the mood changed. Her younger brother suddenly ran out to greet her and threw his arms around her.

  ‘Welcome home!’ cried Lucas. ‘Thank God you’ve come at last.’

  There was so much news for Colbeck to hear that it wasn’t until the train arrived, and she sat opposite him in an empty compartment, that he noticed how pale his wife was.

  ‘Are you unwell?’ he asked in concern.

  ‘No, no, I’m just tired after the journey. Trying to keep up Lydia’s spirits has put a lot of strain on me. I do hope that the effort was worthwhile.’

 
; ‘She obviously has great faith in you.’

  ‘I don’t think she’d have come back without me.’

  ‘I’m glad that you were able to offer her support, Madeleine. The murder of a father – even if one dislikes him – is bound to have a profound impact. She needs to be with the rest of the family at such a time.’

  ‘Only if they want her there,’ she pointed out.

  He peered at her. ‘You’re wearing a new hat.’

  ‘I bought it the day you left. I needed something to cheer me up.’

  ‘It’s wonderful to see you again,’ he said, beaming.

  ‘I had no idea that you’d be in Nottingham today, Robert.’

  ‘It’s a case of happenstance, my love.’

  ‘What stage is the investigation at now?’

  ‘After my visit this morning,’ he explained, ‘it’s moved forward in the right direction. But there’s still a long way to go.’

  ‘In your first letter, you mentioned that Mr Haygarth was a possible suspect.’

  ‘He still is, Madeleine.’

  ‘If he’s the acting chairman of the Midland Railway, you ought to ask him why Nottingham isn’t on the main line. Lydia told me that her father had plans to make it easier to reach by train.’

  ‘Quayle was a man with vision. Haygarth is merely a man with a vision of power and monetary gain. The one loved railways for their own sake and the other loves them for what they can deliver to him.’

  ‘Lydia spoke very harshly of Mr Haygarth – but even more so of her father.’ She pursed her lips. ‘Oh, I do hope that she’s reconciled with her family.’

  ‘What will happen if she isn’t?’

  ‘Then she’ll try to join me in Derby. Having come this far, I wasn’t going to miss the chance of seeing my husband. I know it was presumptuous of me but I hoped I’d stay with you at the Royal Hotel.’

  ‘I can’t think of anything nicer, Madeleine.’

  She saw his brow corrugate. ‘Is there a problem?’

  ‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘and I’ve just remembered it. But it’s an obstacle we can circumvent. Superintendent Tallis turned up out of the blue. You can imagine how Victor and I feel.’