Railway to the Grave

by Edward Marston

  He was there. Colbeck sensed it. Somewhere in the crowded room was the man who’d taken the life of Miriam Tarleton. He scanned the faces of those who’d come to give testimony, those who sat on the jury and those who’d packed the coroner’s court out of sadness or curiosity. There was no sign of an obvious killer and no hint of a troubled conscience. Whoever had done the deed was unaffected by feelings of guilt. It made Colbeck even more determined to catch him.

  Seated near the front with Leeming, he was able to see at close quarters the main participants in the inquest. The coroner controlled the proceedings, a tall, stooping man of advanced years who peered over the top of his pince-nez with mild alarm at the way even more people were trying to get in. Colbeck had a first sighting of the colonel’s children. Eve was a study in bereavement, mourning the death of her stepfather and still poleaxed by the disappearance of her mother. Adam had the courtesy to keep his head bowed but Colbeck thought he detected the ghost of a smile on his lips. Others were patently consumed by grief but it had not yet touched Adam Tarleton. He was detached from the whole event.

  While he felt sorry for Eve Doel, Colbeck was more concerned about Edward Tallis. Since his visit the previous day to the solicitor, the superintendent had been preoccupied and uncommunicative. Saying nothing about what passed between him and Clifford Everett, he showed scant interest in what his colleagues had learnt from their respective conversations with Bertram and Agnes Reader. Tallis looked ill, visibly bracing himself for the ordeal of being called as a witness.

  ‘The strain is too much for him,’ decided Leeming.

  ‘He’ll rally when it’s his turn,’ said Colbeck.

  ‘What if he collapses?’

  ‘That won’t happen, Victor. If anyone is going to feel faint, it will be one of the ladies.’

  ‘Then it will be the colonel’s daughter. She seems to be such a delicate creature.’

  ‘What do you make of her brother?’

  ‘He looks as if he’d rather be playing billiards somewhere.’

  ‘That was my impression. He’s a denizen of gentlemen’s clubs and drinking establishments, I fancy.’ He glanced around. ‘Keep your eyes peeled, Victor.’

  ‘What am I looking for, Inspector?’

  ‘A murder suspect – he’s here.’

  Though he looked senile and doddery, the coroner turned out to be brisk and efficient. When he rose from behind the table to declare that the court was in session, the hubbub died immediately. In clear and concise detail, the coroner explained the procedure and reminded everyone that they were simply there to reach a verdict about the death by his own hand of Colonel Aubrey Redvers Martin Tarleton. The first witness was sworn in and the searching questions began.

  Margery Withers came first, telling them how the colonel had behaved in the wake of his wife’s disappearance and insisting that he appeared to be his usual self on the day of his suicide. Her testimony was interspersed with tears. Lottie Pearl was too recent an employee to have built up any emotional ties with the colonel and his wife so her comments – though delivered in a quaking voice – were more objective. She agreed that there had been no sign at all of what the colonel had in mind when he left the house for the last time.

  The same story was repeated time and again by those whom he’d passed in the village on his way to commit suicide. Dorcas Skelton, the rector’s wife, a plain, pallid, roly-poly woman with a tendency to sniff at the end of each sentence, took her turn.

  ‘Did you encounter the colonel that day?’ asked the coroner.

  ‘I did, sir,’ she answered.

  ‘At what time would that be, Mrs Skelton?’

  ‘It was nearly eleven o’clock in the morning.’

  ‘Did any words pass between you?’

  ‘None at all,’ she said. ‘The colonel simply tipped his hat to me and smiled. In view of my feelings about the fate of his wife, I was unable to acknowledge his smile.’

  ‘The fate of Mrs Tarleton is immaterial,’ said the coroner, quelling the heavy murmur that arose. ‘We are here simply to make a judgement in respect of her husband. Did you notice anything at all unusual about him that morning?’

  ‘I did not, sir.’

  ‘You’d consider him to be of sound mind, then?’

  ‘Yes, I would – indubitably.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Skelton.’

  Peeved that her testimony had been so short, she returned to a seat beside her husband who patted her hand in approval of her performance. Others came forward in succession until Tallis’s name was eventually called. Leeming’s fears were groundless. As Colbeck had predicted, the superintendent straightened his shoulders and set his jaw as he stood before the coroner. The fact that he had a faint resemblance to the deceased caused a ripple of interest. Nobody was surprised when they heard that he served many years in the army.

  ‘When did you last see your friend?’ asked the coroner.

  ‘I’m ashamed to say that it was some time ago,’ replied Tallis. ‘My work precludes any travelling for pleasure.’

  ‘Could you be more precise, Superintendent?’

  ‘It was five and a half years ago – just before the rector came to the village. The last service I attended at the church was taken by his predecessor, Canon Jermyn. However,’ he went on, ‘the colonel and I remained in constant touch by letter. I was his confidant.’

  ‘May we hear what he said to you in his farewell missive?’

  Tallis was uneasy at having to read a private message in such a public place but he spoke the words aloud. Mrs Withers was moved to tears and had to be consoled by Eve Doel. Others, too, were affected by the poignancy of the letter. Some, however, were immune to its implications. Frederick Skelton pursed his lips in disdain, Sergeant Hepworth, standing at the back of the room, gave a wry grin and Adam Tarleton had to put a hand over his mouth to suppress a snigger. As the witnesses continued to have their fleeting moment under oath, Colbeck was concerned that the verdict had already been reached. It seemed like a foregone conclusion. Everyone had testified that the deceased had been in full possession of his faculties during the period before he committed suicide.

  Suddenly, it all changed. Eve Doel, who spoke of her stepfather with affection, recalled the visit she and her husband had made to the house immediately after her mother had been reported missing. During a long conversation that went on into the night, the colonel had made some strange remarks which, in retrospect, had been indications that he was considering suicide. At the time, she hadn’t recognised them as such. She blamed herself for not staying with him at the house to offer support but she’d been so overwrought at her mother’s disappearance that her husband insisted on taking her home and seeking medical help for her. When Eve finished her testimony, she returned unsteadily to her seat.

  Bertram Reader told of the intense pressures under which the colonel had been and he remembered a time when his friend had been so distracted that he’d driven to Northallerton in the middle of the night to bang on their door and to ask if his wife was still there. Agnes Reader later endorsed the statement and, between sobs, told of other occasions when the strain had taken its toll on the colonel. But it was the evidence of the family doctor that was really crucial. Slowly and with some reluctance, he described the colonel’s inability to sleep and of his wild request for a venomous poison that he could take to end his agony. There were several instances of worrying conduct by the colonel, culminating in a frightening incident when he accused the doctor of murdering his wife and tried to attack him.

  While the whole room was roused by these revelations, the coroner treated them dispassionately. Adjusting his pince-nez, he sought to get a definitive medical opinion.

  ‘Did you see signs of mental instability?’ he asked.

  ‘I did, sir,’ said the doctor, ‘and they were unmistakable.’

  ‘Was there any deterioration in his condition?’

  ‘After the disappearance of his wife, the colonel consulted me four times in
a row. Each time, there was a slight deterioration in his state of mind. He could keep it from less discerning eyes but not from mine.’

  ‘Do you believe he was unbalanced when he took his own life?’

  The doctor was unequivocal. ‘I’d stake my reputation on it.’

  There was a mild uproar and it had to be subdued before the coroner could make his voice heard. The court was adjourned while the jury retired to consider their verdict. Most people dispersed in search of fresh air, ready to return in due course when they were called to hear the verdict.

  Colbeck’s only concern was for the health of the superintendent. Tallis was still reeling from the doctor’s opinion, refusing to accept that his friend’s mind had finally crumbled. Colbeck was firm.

  ‘This has taxed you too much, sir,’ he said. ‘I think that you should return to the village on the next train and try to get some rest. I’ll stay here to await the verdict.’

  Tallis shook his head. ‘I’m not running away now.’

  ‘It could take hours before they reach a decision. There’s no point in lingering here for that long. The sergeant will see that you get back safely to the Black Bull.’

  ‘My place is here,’ said Tallis.

  Colbeck was frank. ‘Your place is behind your desk in London, sir,’ he argued, ‘organising the fight against crime in the capital. That’s where you belong, sir, and that’s where you’ll be most effective. Time and again, you’ve preached a sermon on the importance of remaining impartial in our work. You’re unable to follow your own precepts here. Since you and the colonel were such close friends, your response to events is bound to be subjective. Simply being here is hurting you, superintendent. It’s better for all concerned if you spare yourself any further agony.’

  Fists clenched and eyes ablaze, Tallis seemed to be on the point of eruption. Leeming could not believe that Colbeck had dared to speak to the superintendent so bluntly and he expected devastating retaliation. Miraculously, it never came. Instead, Tallis reached out to shake Colbeck’s hand.

  ‘Thank you, Inspector,’ he said. ‘Not for the first time, you are quite right. I can’t see beyond the respect and affection I have for a cherished friend. Even the slightest criticism of him makes me wince. When I read a scurrilous broadside about him yesterday, my stomach heaved. The longer I stay here, the more torture I’ll suffer. So, yes,’ he decided, ‘for my own sake, I will return to London.’

  ‘Does that mean I can have your room at the Black Bull, sir?’ asked Leeming, hopefully.

  ‘It means that I trust you and Colbeck to do what I came here to do myself. Find out what happened to Mrs Tarleton. Pursue her killer with all the vigour you can muster. Most of all,’ he went on, looking at each of them in turn, ‘clear the colonel’s name. His reputation has been unjustly fractured. I count on you to restore it.’

  ‘We’ll do our utmost, sir,’ said Colbeck.

  ‘One last thing,’ added Tallis, taking a letter from his pocket and handing it over. ‘This is the malicious letter sent to Colonel Tarleton on his last day alive. Fortunately, he never had to read it but he received many others like it. Seek out this fellow with a poisoned pen and put him under arrest. I want the vindictive fiend behind bars.’

  Eve Doel could not bear to remain in the coroner’s court. Hearing evidence about her stepfather had been a continuous torment for her. She’d found the strength to bear up in public but, the moment she returned to the carriage which had brought them to the inquest, she dissolved into tears. Mrs Withers, sharing her grief, put a comforting arm around her. It was twenty minutes before they’d recovered enough to wipe their eyes and to be able to review what they’d heard. The housekeeper was adamant.

  ‘I don’t care what the doctor said,’ she said. ‘There was nothing amiss with the colonel’s mind. He was perfectly sane.’

  ‘You saw more of him than anybody, Mrs Withers.’

  ‘He was a private man. He kept his thoughts to himself.’

  ‘He must have suffered so much. Had I been there to help him, it might not have ended so tragically.’

  ‘You had your own anxieties to cope with, Mrs Doel.’

  ‘I should have done more.’

  ‘You came,’ the housekeeper reminded her. ‘When your mother went missing, you came to the house at once. That was not the case with your brother. The colonel had no idea how to reach him. He had no address to which he could write.’ She tried to keep disgust out of her voice. ‘You’d have thought he’d let his mother and stepfather know where he was living.’

  ‘Adam was always on the move,’ said Eve, sadly. ‘He’d lost touch with Mother and with our stepfather. I deeply regret that but there was nothing I could do about it.’

  The conversation was interrupted by sounds of commotion. They looked out of the carriage to see people hurrying back toward the court. Evidently, the jury had reached its verdict.

  ‘Have they made up their minds so soon?’ asked Mrs Withers.

  ‘It appears so.’

  ‘Do you wish to go back in there, Mrs Doel?’

  ‘I don’t think that I could manage that,’ said Eve. ‘Adam is still inside. He’ll tell us what they’ve decided.’

  Before she could speculate on what the verdict would be, Eve saw Frederick Skelton and his wife approaching the carriage. The sight of her godfather made her sit up and she made an effort to regain her composure. The newcomers offered their condolences and congratulated Eve on bearing up so well at the inquest. The rector then felt the need to broach a sensitive topic.

  ‘Much as it grieves me to say this,’ he began, ‘I owe it to my conscience – and to God – to do so. Whatever verdict is reached today is irrelevant to me. Suicide is suicide. It’s a deplorable act. It’s against the law and expressly against Christian teaching. “Thou shalt not kill” is one of the Ten Commandments and it must be obeyed. Those who disobey it,’ he said, ‘must suffer the consequences.’

  Eve was flustered. ‘What consequences do you mean?’

  ‘I hate to say this – especially to a god-daughter whom I love and respect – but there is no place for the colonel’s remains in my churchyard. My refusal is absolute. I simply can’t stand by and see him buried in consecrated ground.’

  ‘But that’s his right.’

  ‘Not in my opinion.’

  ‘It would be cruel to deny him that right.’

  ‘Suicide is self-murder. By taking his life, your stepfather surrendered all rights. St Andrew’s church, I must insist, is closed to him. The funeral must take place elsewhere.’

  Eve was so overwhelmed with emotion that she was unable to speak. Having issued his command, the rector raised his hat in farewell then he walked away with his wife on his arm. Mrs Withers was as shocked as Eve. At a time when they most needed the succour of the Church, it was being withheld from them. They were still trying to absorb the shock when Adam came out of the court and ran across to the carriage.

  ‘The jury returned its verdict,’ he declared. ‘Suicide while the balance of mind was disturbed. I always said that the old man was insane.’

  ‘Mr Tarleton!’ cried the housekeeper, reproachfully.

  ‘And what are you doing in our carriage, Mrs Withers?’ he demanded. ‘Get out of there at once and make your way back by train. And take that pathetic waif of a maid with you. There’ll be plenty of work for the pair of you when you get back to the house.’

  The departure of the superintendent on a train to London allowed Victor Leeming to take over his room at the Black Bull. Though he was still unhappy to be separated from his family, the sergeant was pleased by the improvement in his accommodation. He and Colbeck met for a drink in the bar.

  ‘I never thought that he’d go so meekly,’ said Leeming.

  ‘It was in his best interests, Victor, and he was sensible enough to realise that. He needed to put distance between himself and events in South Otterington. The field has now been left clear for us.’

  ‘Where do we start, sir
?’

  ‘The first thing I’d like to do is to take the same journey that Mrs Tarleton took on the day of her disappearance. We’ll walk back in the direction of Northallerton.’

  ‘That stretch of ground has already been covered by the search parties. What can we expect to find that they didn’t?’

  ‘A likely place of ambush,’ said Colbeck. ‘Supposing she was dead, they were looking for her body and I don’t believe it’s there. Working on the same supposition, we’ll be trying to locate the spot at which she was intercepted. There may be signs of a struggle, small clues that others may have missed. If she was such a keen walker, Mrs Tarleton must have been a robust woman. She’d have had the strength to resist any attack.’

  ‘Yet you say that the body will not be there.’

  ‘No, Victor, it could be miles away. The killer would know in advance where the search would take place. To cover his tracks, I suspect that he took the body well away from the area.’

  ‘Then it could be anywhere in the North Riding,’ said Leeming in despair. ‘It would take us years to search an area of this size.’

  ‘I’m hoping that we may not have to do it entirely on our own,’ said Colbeck. ‘This is walking country. People are out and about all the time. It was broad daylight on the day she went missing. If she is indeed dead, whoever murdered her wouldn’t have taken the chance of digging a proper grave. He’d have concealed the body as quickly as he could then got away from there fast. My guess is that Miriam Tarleton probably was killed and that she’s waiting to be found,’ he concluded. ‘Sooner or later, someone is going to stumble on her remains.’

  When they left the farm, their hearts were beating fast. They couldn’t believe their boldness in sneaking out in the middle of the night. Hand in hand, they ran through the darkness until they felt it was safe enough to laugh aloud. The girl was a milkmaid and her swain was a labourer. All that they’d done so far was to exchange warm smiles and meaningful glances. Yet a bond had gradually developed. When the friendship evolved gently into a form of romance, they both yearned to be together and this was their moment.