Timetable of Death

by Edward Marston

  Reaching into the wooden chest, Cleary took out the last object in there. It was the appointments diary he’d stolen from Quayle on the night of the murder. A casual glance would suggest that it was merely a list of endless meetings about the Midland Railway. To the coachman’s eye, it was also a record of adultery. The dates of auctions at Christie’s had a tick beside them as did other occasions when Quayle had stayed at Brown’s Hotel. Each rendezvous with Mrs Peet was there.

  Cleary had not needed to search through the ledger at the auction house or inspect the booking register. Harriet Quayle had insisted on ocular proof. She trusted her coachman enough to engage his services, sending him off to follow her husband to London. Cleary soon got conclusive proof for her. He saw the couple entering Christie’s together and he watched them getting out of the same cab at the hotel. While Harriet was in no position to fight back at her husband, the coachman was. All that Cleary had to do was to choose his moment to strike.

  In a fit of anger, he tore the diary to shreds and tossed it away. Then he stood the top hat in the middle of the room and stamped on it several times until it was virtually flat. It was his final act of rebellion against a master he’d come to hate.

  ‘Why didn’t Burns tell you all this before?’ asked Leeming.

  ‘He’d given his word to his friend.’

  ‘He’s not the sort of friend that I’d want, sir.’

  ‘You’ve never played cricket,’ said Colbeck. ‘I have. It’s a game that breeds camaraderie. Burns and Cleary were the solid foundation of the team. It must have irked them to see Stanley Quayle receiving the plaudits as captain when the players who actually won games were them, the gardener and the coachman – with some help from Lucas Quayle, I fancy.’

  ‘Cricket’s not for people like me,’ Leeming said. ‘It’s too difficult. I could never hold a bat properly because I’m all fingers and thumbs. The only sport I ever liked was the tug of war. This case has been a bit like that,’ he added, reflectively. ‘First of all we were tugged in one direction and now we’re pulling in the opposite one.’

  ‘That’s a good metaphor, Victor.’

  ‘I loved the feeling of the rope in my hands.’

  ‘Cleary is going to feel it around his neck fairly soon,’ said Colbeck, wryly.

  They were in a cab that had just passed between the main gates of the Quayle estate. Overawed as a rule when he visited mansions, Leeming felt no queasiness now. They were on their way to arrest a killer and that concentrated the mind. When the house rose up before them, he ignored it altogether. Like Colbeck, he turned his attention to the stables. As their cab got closer, they saw a lone horseman emerge and kick his mount into a canter. Colbeck recognised him at once. It was John Cleary.

  ‘Follow him!’ he barked.

  The cabman obeyed the command, cracking his whip and making his horse jerk forward with sudden speed. The cab rocked and rattled. The chase was on.

  The house was in turmoil over the death of Harriet Quayle. Nobody was taking the slightest interest in the stables. Cleary had therefore expected to steal quietly away and that his departure wouldn’t be noticed for several hours. Yet a cab was now in pursuit of him. Who the passengers were, he didn’t know and he wasn’t prepared to wait in order to find out. The horse felt his heels again and was soon galloping hell for leather along the track.

  Inside the cab, meanwhile, Colbeck and Leeming were urging the drive to go faster but they knew it was an impossible task. A horse with one rider was always going to outpace a cab with three people aboard. The detectives were in luck. What the chase had done was to instil panic in the coachman. Fearful that he might be caught, he rode off the main track towards a stand of trees, hoping to dash through spaces that were far too narrow for the cab. It was a sensible course of action and it would have ensured his escape if it had not been for the badger’s sett in amongst the trees. Galloping wildly, the horse caught a foot in the cavity and lost its balance, tumbling forward and rolling over. Cleary was thrown free and he hit soft ground before somersaulting a few times. Dazed but unhurt, he got to his feet, grabbed the saddlebags from the stricken animal and began to run as fast as he could.

  Unable to go into the trees, the cab was pulled to a halt. Colbeck and Leeming jumped out of the cab at once and ran towards the sound of the frantic neighing. When they saw Cleary lumbering off with the heavy saddlebags, they knew that they’d catch him easily. Colbeck gave the sergeant the honour of making the arrest. He let him surge ahead and dive onto the coachman’s back, knocking him to the ground. Leeming got up, dragged Cleary to his feet then stumbled backwards as a hefty punch caught him on the chin. Snatching up the saddlebags, the coachman used them as a weapon, swinging them hard to keep the detectives at bay. Colbeck was outraged when, as he tried to duck beneath the flailing saddlebags, his top hat was knocked off. He stepped back several yards then ran forwards and flung himself at Cleary’s legs, grasping him round the ankles and pulling his feet from under him.

  The ensuing struggle was fierce. It took the two of them to overpower and handcuff the coachman. Colbeck retrieved his top hat and brushed off the dirt.

  ‘This is one hat you’re not going to have, Mr Cleary.’

  Edward Tallis was not going to let a sore ankle keep him away from work. He sat behind his desk with one shoeless foot resting on a velvet footstool. Seen from the front, he looked to be in rude health. In addition, he was in unusually good spirits. A murder had been solved and a full report lay in front of him. Local and national newspapers had congratulated two of his detectives and he’d received further praise from the commissioner. After being ridiculed in the pages of Punch, Sir Richard Mayne had been delighted by the ringing endorsement of his leadership that came after the events in Derbyshire had finally been resolved.

  It was the day after the arrest of John Cleary. Now in custody, he’d taken full responsibility for the murder so that the victim’s wife was not in any way implicated. Colbeck knew that there was something missing from the prisoner’s sworn statement. When he and Leeming called on the superintendent that morning, it was the first thing that the inspector raised.

  ‘He had an accomplice.’

  ‘It must have been that friend of his,’ said Tallis. ‘Gerard Burns.’

  ‘No, sir. He’s completely innocent.’

  ‘Then why was he so evasive when I questioned him?’

  ‘He wanted to protect his friend.’

  ‘Aiding and abetting a killer is an indictable offence.’

  ‘That’s not what he did, sir,’ said Colbeck. ‘When he was asked to say nothing of that meeting with Cleary, he thought he was simply saving the man’s job. He had no inkling of the coachman’s real motives.’

  ‘So who was his real accomplice?’

  ‘We can never prove this, of course, because the person is dead and Cleary is determined to take the secret to the grave. The real killer was not a loyal coachman. In my opinion it was a vengeful wife.’

  Tallis’s mouth was agape. ‘Mrs Quayle?’

  ‘It surprised me, too, sir,’ said Leeming.

  ‘But the woman was extremely poorly.’

  ‘Much of her illness,’ argued Colbeck, ‘was caused by the immense stress she was under from being overlooked by her husband in favour of a younger and healthier woman. The irony is that it was Mrs Peet who died first. I believe that Harriet Quayle instructed her coachman to exact revenge on her behalf. She lived in a huge house filled with people but the one who got closest to her was John Cleary. Look at the way the victim died. Poison is often thought of as a woman’s weapon.’

  ‘How did Cleary get hold of the poison?’

  ‘His explanation was that he used a weedkiller that Burns bought when he was a gardener there. It was mixed with other toxic elements. Where he got them from, and how he got hold of a syringe, he refused to say. But if Mrs Quayle had been unwell for so long, it’s likely that she’d have been given a variety of drugs, some of which would be administered by a sy
ringe. On the night of the murder,’ said Colbeck, ‘Cleary had been told to pick up his master from Derby station and drive him to Spondon. Before that, of course, he spent the evening with Burns. According to the coachman, Quayle was so drunk when he arrived that he had to be helped off the train. Cleary had brought a brandy flask, spiked with a strong sedative. Thinking it would steady his nerves, Quayle took several swigs from the flask. The sedative made him defenceless. By the time they reached Spondon, he was fast asleep.’

  ‘So the coachman was able to inject the poison,’ said Leeming.

  ‘Yes, Sergeant, he confessed it. He hid the carriage near the church then waited until Quayle was dead. When he felt it was safe to do so, Cleary borrowed a wheelbarrow from a nearby garden and used it to push his master up the hill and into the grave dug for Mrs Peet. Though he denies it, I’m certain that he was obeying instructions from Mrs Quayle and I’m equally certain that she supplied the sedative.’

  ‘Have you confided this theory to anyone else?’

  ‘No,’ said Colbeck. ‘The sergeant knows but nobody else will.’

  ‘I think Mrs Quayle’s memory should be unsullied, sir,’ asserted Leeming. ‘There’s no need to reopen the case because nothing can be gained by doing so.’

  ‘What the world will see – and that includes her children – is a sick and lonely old woman collapsing under the weight of her bereavement. I think that’s all they should be allowed to see, Superintendent.’

  Tallis was worried. ‘I don’t like the thought that she got away with it.’

  ‘You can’t prosecute a corpse, sir.’

  ‘It means that this case has loose ends hanging from it.’

  ‘You have your victim and his killer is in custody,’ said Leeming, bluntly. ‘What more do you need, Superintendent?’

  ‘I’m troubled. Colbeck’s theory is oddly convincing.’

  ‘But it is only a theory,’ said Colbeck. ‘My view is that it can never be substantiated with proof and is best left unexplored. Everyone is happy at the outcome of the case. The family is relieved, you are feted in the press and there is a glowing testimonial of the sergeant’s tenacity in the Derby Mercury.’

  Leeming grinned. ‘Mr Conway was kind enough to show me a copy before it was printed in today’s edition.’

  ‘The praise was well deserved.’

  ‘Both of you are worthy of a commendation,’ said Tallis. ‘I will be pointing that out to the commissioner at our meeting later today.’

  ‘Thank you, Superintendent.’

  ‘Whoever first gave you the name of Burns set you off on a false trail.’

  ‘That had to be Maurice Cope,’ guessed Colbeck. ‘He actually had the reward posters printed and sent me one before the others had even been put up.’

  ‘I didn’t take to the fellow,’ said Tallis. ‘He looked too sly and devious. I’m grateful that we’ll have no more dealings with him.’ His smile was almost paternal. ‘Mr Haygarth must be overjoyed with what my detectives have done. In solving the murder, the pair of you removed an ugly stain from the Midland Railway.’

  ‘Some people think that Mr Haygarth is the ugly stain,’ observed Leeming.

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘We heard rumours in Derby, sir.’

  ‘They’re more than rumours,’ said Colbeck. ‘According to Superintendent Wigg, there’s been something of a revolt. Mr Haygarth thought that his election simply needed to be confirmed but he now faces a challenger and many board members are turning to the new man. To quote an old adage,’ he went on, ‘there’s many a slip between cup and lip. I fancy that Donald Haygarth has contrived to drop the chalice altogether.’

  As he was driven towards the church, Haygarth was still seething. The latest information from Maurice Cope was that some of those who’d agreed to support the acting chairman were now wavering. It was now likely that victory could be snatched away from him. Every board member would be attending the funeral of Vivian Quayle. Though he would not be wanted by the dead man’s family, Haygarth had decided to go in order to defy them and to be seen by the colleagues who’d anoint him as the successor. Dozens of vehicles were converging on the church. The local aristocracy and gentry were coming to pay their respects to a man who’d built a towering reputation in the county. Representatives from each of his coal mines had been given the day off to be there, miners whose whole lives depended on the Quayle family. A veritable multitude was coming to honour Haygarth’s hated rival.

  When the carriage got within fifty yards, he lost his nerve completely.

  ‘Turn around,’ he shouted. ‘I’m not going to the funeral, after all.’

  It was mid-evening before Colbeck finally got back home. Madeleine was waiting for him in the drawing room. After a welcoming kiss, she sat beside him on the sofa.

  ‘What did the superintendent say about your report?’ she asked.

  ‘He was very impressed.’

  ‘It’s just as well he doesn’t know the full story.’

  ‘Your role had perforce to be suppressed, my love,’ he said. ‘Superintendent Tallis is in enough pain with his ankle. If I told him that you’d helped to further the investigation by befriending Miss Quayle, he’d be in complete agony.’

  ‘I’m glad that you mentioned Lydia. I had a letter from her today.’

  ‘Really? What did it say?’

  ‘Well, it was written in the wake of her mother’s death,’ said Madeleine, ‘so it’s very emotional. I was touched that she chose to turn to me. Recent events have made her think twice about what she’s going to do. She’s staying in Nottingham until the funerals of both her parents are over then she’s coming back here. I thought that she and Miss Myler had parted company for ever,’ she explained, ‘but it appears that she’s been invited back by her friend. How long she’ll stay there is debatable. I fancy that Lydia will strike out on her own one day. The death of her parents has made a difference to her. It’s given her total independence. For the time being,’ she went on, ‘she’ll be living in London again.’

  ‘Until her father’s murder, she was perfectly contented here.’

  ‘She was such a pleasant woman. I’d like to see her again.’

  ‘Then you must invite her here at some point, Madeleine.’

  ‘I will,’ she replied. ‘I’m going to need female company if I’m to spend more time alone here. I can talk to Lydia. We got on so well together.’

  Colbeck was startled by what he suspected might be a wonderful revelation. He remembered the fatigue she’d shown in Derby and how pale she’d seemed. He smiled tentatively and looked at her with nervous hope. When Madeleine nodded, he laughed with joy and grabbed her hands.

  ‘When is the …?’

  ‘Early in the New Year,’ she told him.

  ‘How long have you …?’

  ‘Does it matter, Robert? It’s certain now. Are you happy?’

  ‘I’m delirious,’ he said, taking her gently in his arms. ‘I feel as if that turntable is on the move again. There’ll be three of us from now on. We’ll have to look at life from a wholly different angle.’

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  About the Author

  EDWARD MARSTON was born and brought up in South Wales. A full-time writer for over forty years, he has worked in radio, film, television and theatre, and is a former chairman of the Crime Writers’ Association.

  www.edwardmarston.com

  By Edward Marston

 
; THE RAILWAY DETECTIVE SERIES

  The Railway Detective • The Excursion Train

  The Railway Viaduct • The Iron Horse

  Murder on the Brighton Express • The Silver Locomotive Mystery

  Railway to the Grave • Blood on the Line

  The Stationmaster’s Farewell • Peril on the Royal Train

  A Ticket to Oblivion • Timetable of Death

  Inspector Colbefck’s Casebook:

  Thirteen Tales from the Railway Detective

  The Railway Detective Omnibus:

  The Railway Detective, The Excursion Train, The Railway Viaduct

  THE BOW STREET RIVALS SERIES

  Shadow of the Hangman

  THE RESTORATION SERIES

  The King’s Evil • The Amorous Nightingale • The Repentant Rake

  The Frost Fair • The Parliament House • The Painted Lady

  THE CAPTAIN RAWSON SERIES

  Soldier of Fortune • Drums of War • Fire and Sword

  Under Siege • A Very Murdering Battle

  THE BRACEWELL MYSTERIES

  The Queen’s Head • The Merry Devils • The Trip to Jerusalem

  The Nine Giants • The Mad Courtesan • The Silent Woman

  The Roaring Boy • The Laughing Hangman • The Fair Maid of Bohemia

  The Wanton Angel • The Devil’s Apprentice • The Bawdy Basket

  The Vagabond Clown • The Counterfeit Crank

  The Malevolent Comedy • The Princess of Denmark

  THE HOME FRONT DETECTIVE SERIES

  A Bespoke Murder • Instrument of Slaughter

  Five Dead Canaries • Deeds of Darkness