Instead of getting off the train at South Otterington, he stayed on until it reached Northallerton so that he could call on Clifford Everett. Even on a Saturday, the lawyer was at his office. Colbeck tripped up the stairs and was soon settling into a chair opposite Everett. After exchanging a few niceties with him, Colbeck came to the point.
‘I understand that you’re quite a marksman, sir,’ he said.
‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that,’ replied Everett with a self-deprecating smirk. ‘I just seem to be lucky with a shotgun in my hands.’
‘I think you’re being too modest.’
‘I will admit to having some success – much to the chagrin of our cook, I may say. Whenever I bring home pheasants or other game birds, she hates having to pick the shot out of them.’
‘What about the colonel?’
‘He was the best of us all – until his eyesight began to fade.’
‘I’m told that you and he often went out together.’
‘It was my one indulgence, Inspector,’ said Everett. ‘My wife is very tolerant because she knows that it could be far worse. Other husbands turn to drink or gambling to while away their free time.’
‘How often did you and the colonel go shooting?’
‘We went whenever we could. If there was a shooting party at the weekend, we always joined in. Office work is very sedentary. It’s important to get some exercise.’
Colbeck gave a nod of agreement even though the lawyer didn’t look like a man who got much exercise. He couldn’t imagine Everett with a shotgun in his hands but knew that appearances could be deceptive. He saw the perspiration forming on the other man’s upper lip and wondered if he was making him nervous.
‘One of the things that puzzles me,’ admitted Colbeck, ‘is how the killer knew that Mrs Tarleton would be walking here that day.’
‘There’s no mystery there, Inspector. It was the day of the week when she always visited Agnes Reader. Miriam Tarleton was as methodical as her husband. She had a day for this, a day for that and so on. Everyone in her circle knew her routine,’ said Everett. ‘On a Saturday morning, for instance, you’d always find her at St Andrew’s, arranging the flowers. She had a real knack for it.’
‘Did Mrs Reader visit her on a particular day?’
‘Oh, yes. You could probably set your watch by it. What did fall by the wayside a little were the occasions when the four of them played cards together. If they met at the colonel’s house, it would mean feeding the guests and savings had to be made. Bertram Reader was very understanding about that.’
‘Yes,’ said Colbeck, ‘he seems a very understanding man.’
‘You have to be if you’re a banker. Bertram gets to see even more human misery in his office than I do. Money troubles can destroy whole families.’ He sat back and regarded Colbeck for a few moments. ‘If you’ve come to see me again, Inspector, I suspect that you’ve made very little progress.’
‘That’s not true, sir. We’ve already made some connections.’
‘Between whom, may I ask?’
‘Between Adam Tarleton and Michael Bruntcliffe, for example,’ said Colbeck. ‘It seems that they’ve been in touch quite recently.’ Everett was startled. ‘Young Mr Tarleton visited his friend in prison.’
‘Then why didn’t he tell his parents he was in the area?’
‘I doubt if he wanted them to know.’
‘What are those two up to, I wonder?’
‘That’s what I intend to find out. Even as we speak, Sergeant Leeming is conducting a search for Bruntcliffe. I’m hoping that he may have made another connection for us as well – the link between the colonel and Doncaster.’
‘Yes, I’d be interested to know that.’
‘The sergeant spent the morning in the town.’
‘Do you have any theories about what he might have found, Inspector?’
‘There’s a connection with the railways somehow,’ said Colbeck. ‘I felt that from the start. It’s worth bearing one thing in mind. When he committed suicide that day, the colonel was walking in the direction of Doncaster.’
Though the bank was closed, Bertram Reader was not off duty. He visited one client in Cowton that morning then had luncheon with another in Thirsk. It was mid afternoon when he finally returned home and was able to anticipate a period of rest. His wife gave him a sympathetic smile as he came into the drawing room.
‘You shouldn’t have to work on a Saturday,’ she said. ‘People ask too much of you. They should visit you during banking hours.’
‘Most of my clients do that Agnes,’ he told her, ‘but there are exceptions. When someone asks for a loan to extend their house or to increase the size of their herd – which is exactly what today’s clients wanted to do – I like to take a close look at their premises to make sure that everything is as it should be. I always ask to see their account books as well. My predecessor lost his job because he advanced loans without due care. One of the clients absconded with two thousand pounds that was never repaid.’
‘You’re back home now, that’s the important thing.’
‘What have you been doing?’
‘I’ve been thinking about this and that.’
‘Have you been brooding again?’ he asked, taking her by the shoulders. ‘You mustn’t keep blaming yourself.’
‘But if Miriam hadn’t been coming here…’
‘How many times must I say it? You did nothing wrong.’
‘Then why do I feel so guilty?’
‘It’s because you’re a dear, lovely, caring woman. I have my share of guilt, you know. If I hadn’t been with a client that day, you could have summoned me from my office to begin the search. I let you down and, indirectly, I let Miriam down.’
‘You weren’t to know, Bertram.’
‘Exactly,’ he said, taking his hands away. ‘I wasn’t to know any more than you were. We can’t be held responsible for what happened. It was a terrible tragedy but it can’t be laid at our door.’
‘You’re right.’
‘Then remember that I’m right,’ he said with mock sternness.
When they moved to the sofa and sat down, he noticed a piece of paper on the table beside her. Seeing his interest, she picked it up and passed it over to him. Reader studied the long list of names his wife had compiled.
‘I didn’t spend all my time brooding,’ she said.
‘Who are all these people?’
‘They’re murder suspects.’
He was offended. ‘Do you mind?’ he said with mild outrage. ‘My name is down here.’
‘And so is mine, Bertram.’
‘What do we have to do – confess?’
‘Don’t be silly,’ she scolded. ‘I’ve tried to be useful. Every person on that list knew that Miriam would be coming to see me that day. They could have planned an ambush.’
‘You’ve got well over twenty names here,’ he said.
‘That’s the trouble. There were so many of us. Clifford Everett is one of them, though I ought to exclude him because he’s the least likely person to have committed a murder.’
He examined the list. ‘There’s something you’ve forgotten, Agnes. Anyone on this list could inadvertently have mentioned that Miriam came to Northallerton on a particular day. Sharp ears might have picked up the information. Or there’s something else we ought to consider,’ he went on. ‘The culprit may simply have watched Miriam for weeks beforehand and seen a pattern emerge. Inspector Colbeck said that calculation was involved.’
‘Are you telling me that my list is useless?’
‘No, no – simply that it’s not comprehensive.’
‘Oh dear!’ she said, forlornly. ‘I wasted my time.’
‘Don’t think that,’ he urged. ‘It was a very useful exercise and the villain may well be hidden somewhere in that list. I think that I should show it to the inspector.’
‘Very well, Bertram – please do that.’
He looked at her fondly. Though she was still in mo
urning attire, he was glad to see that she was not as pale and distraught as she had been. There were no visible signs of another bout of sustained weeping. Agnes was composed and dignified. He was reassured. As he let his gaze drift to the mantelpiece, he noticed a card that hadn’t been there before. He got up from the sofa.
‘What’s that?’ he asked.
‘It came this morning,’ she replied.
‘Who sent it?’
The question was answered when he saw the name at the bottom of the message inscribed inside the card. As he read it, his body tensed and his face hardened.
‘Is something wrong?’ she asked, noting the sudden change in his demeanour.
‘It is, my dear,’ he said, moving to the door. ‘You’ll have to excuse me. I have to find Inspector Colbeck as soon as I can.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
One of the first things that Victor Leeming had learnt when he joined the Detective Department was that perseverance was a virtue. No matter how intractable a murder case might seem at first, it could always be solved, he was told, by a blend of patience and tenacity. A day spent largely on his feet had made the sergeant question the dictum. While he remained as tenacious as ever, his patience was wearing thin. The visit to Doncaster had brought what he considered to be a marginal success but the search for Michael Bruntcliffe was a story of sustained failure. His starting point had been the family of the released prisoner but they’d been able to give him scant help. While the mother still yearned for him to come home and mend his ways, the father had abandoned all hope of his doing so and wished never to see his son again.
What the parents were able to give Leeming, however, were the names and addresses of some friends of Bruntcliffe. The sergeant’s perambulation around Northallerton began in earnest. He went from house to house, only to be met by the same response. Bruntcliffe’s former friends all claimed that they were merely acquaintances and tried to distance themselves from someone who’d ended up in prison and brought disgrace to the family name. While nobody could say where Bruntcliffe was, the general feeling was that he wouldn’t be too far away. His first move on release, they all agreed, would be to search for amenable female company. Leeming managed to elicit the names of three young ladies who’d been close to Bruntcliffe in the past.
That set him off on the next stage of his journey. Since none of the trio lived in the town, he had to hire a trap in order to drive out to the respective houses where they lived. For a man like the sergeant, questioning a young lady about an emotional attachment they once had was highly embarrassing. Leeming had married the only woman he’d ever loved and had never been tempted to stray. He was therefore shocked to learn that Bruntcliffe had dallied with three beautiful women without the slightest intention of proposing marriage to any of them. It had left all three with a deep reservoir of bitterness. The first hotly denied ever knowing Bruntcliffe, the second was horrified that what had been a clandestine relationship was now the subject of police interest and the third, daughter of a minor aristocrat, was so indignant at being asked such personal questions that she ordered the butler to show Leeming out. All that the sergeant had to show for driving many unproductive miles in unfamiliar countryside was a bill from the man who’d provided the horse and trap.
When he finally caught the train back to South Otterington, he found Colbeck waiting for him at the Black Bull. Each told the other what their day had so far yielded. Leeming seized on a threat.
‘Superintendent Tallis is coming here?’ he cried.
‘I did my best to dissuade him.’
‘We’ll be here for ever if he takes charge. I’ll never get home to Estelle and the children.’
‘There is one way to head the superintendent off,’ said Colbeck, ‘and that’s to solve the murder by Monday.’
Leeming goggled. ‘We can’t do that, sir. We seem to be going around in circles. I’ve spent all morning and most of the afternoon hard at work and I’ve come back empty-handed.’
‘Don’t be so defeatist, Victor. You brought back the name of this gentleman from Doncaster. He may unwittingly have some useful evidence for us. As for Michael Bruntcliffe,’ he continued, ‘you found out a great deal more about our prime suspect than we knew before.’
‘He was a philanderer,’ said Leeming with revulsion. ‘I met three of his victims and I suspect there were many others.’
Colbeck was thoughtful. ‘A successful philanderer must have two attributes – charm and money. We know that Bruntcliffe has great charm, though it might have been blunted somewhat by his time behind bars. What he no longer has is the wherewithal to fund his romantic entanglements. He’ll need money,’ he said. ‘Where could he get it?’
‘He won’t get a penny from his parents, I discovered that.’
‘Then he might turn to Adam Tarleton.’
‘But he doesn’t have any money either, does he?’
‘He has prospects, Victor,’ said Colbeck. ‘He probably stands to inherit half of the estate. On the strength of that, he wouldn’t have much difficulty in raising a loan.’
Leeming snapped his fingers. ‘That makes it almost certain that Bruntcliffe is the killer. His old friend paid him to commit the murder.’
‘You’ve overlooked something. That, on its own, wouldn’t have brought in the cash that Adam Tarleton coveted. He needed both his mother and his stepfather to die. Only on the death of the colonel would he be able to claim his inheritance.’
‘Ah!’ Leeming was instantly deflated. ‘I never thought of that, Inspector. How could Tarleton know that his stepfather would take his own life?’
‘He’d know how bereft the colonel would be at the loss of his wife,’ reasoned Colbeck, ‘and he’d be aware that his stepfather would be under suspicion. The pressure on the colonel was intense. It may even be that his stepson added to that pressure by getting someone to write poison-pen letters on his behalf.’
‘It’s all beginning to make sense at last,’ said Leeming.
Colbeck was cautious. ‘Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. At the moment, we’re constructing a hypothesis on the basis of limited facts. We need far more information, Victor, and we only have until Monday to get it.’
‘Then we’re doomed, sir.’
‘Have more faith, Victor. Our efforts will soon be rewarded. Remember what the superintendent always tells us.’
‘Perseverance is a virtue,’ groaned Leeming.
They were in the bar at the Black Bull, enjoying a drink at a table in a quiet corner. Neither of them looked up when the door opened. It was only when a shadow fell across them that they realised they had company. Bertram Reader was relieved to see them.
‘I was hoping that I’d catch you here,’ he said.
‘Then do join us,’ invited Colbeck, pointing to an empty chair. ‘Can I get you anything to drink, sir?’
Reader sat down. ‘No, thank you.’
‘Why did you wish to see us?’
‘I may have some evidence for you, Inspector.’
‘Thank goodness someone does!’ said Leeming under his breath.
‘First, let me give you this list drawn up by my wife. All the people on it knew that Miriam would be visiting her that day.’ He handed it over. ‘Now, do you still have that letter you showed me?’
‘Yes,’ said Colbeck, reaching inside his coat.
‘May I have another look at it, please?’
Colbeck gave it to him. ‘Be my guest, Mr Reader.’
‘Thank you.’
Reader took out the letter and unfolded it, scanning the lines as if searching for a secret code. At length, he gave a decisive nod.
‘I knew that I was right,’ he said. ‘It’s the same hand.’
‘Would you care to explain, sir?’ asked Colbeck.
‘My wife and I worship at All Saints’ church in Northallerton. We rarely come to the church here. But when we heard that Miriam’s body had been found, my wife sought a visible way to express our grief. I suggested that she m
ight buy flowers to adorn St Andrew’s this Sunday when the prayers will certainly be offered for Miriam – if not, I regret to say, for her husband.’
‘That was a very kind gesture, sir.’
‘It was much appreciated,’ said Reader, taking a card from his pocket, ‘and this was sent from the rectory in acknowledgement. As soon as I saw it, I thought I recognised the handwriting.’
Opening the card, he laid it beside the letter so that Colbeck and Leeming could compare the two. Each had the same neat, looping hand. One person had obviously written them both and the polite phrases on the card came in sharp contradistinction to the vile insinuations in the letter. Grateful for such evidence, the detectives were astounded to see the name at the bottom of the card.
It was Dorcas Skelton.
The arrival of her husband was the blessing for which Eve Doel had prayed. She collapsed into his arms, confident that he would take over and provide the commiseration that her brother had signally failed to supply. Lawrence Doel, a stocky yet elegant man of middle years, was mortified that he’d been away when tragedy had struck his family and upset that his wife had been unable to make contact with him while he was negotiating contracts with merchants in various European cities. His presence was not only succour to Eve, it had a curative effect on Adam Tarleton, who dressed and bore himself in a way more suited to the circumstances.
Mrs Withers noted the changes with approval. During a lull in what had been almost endless activity, she was in the kitchen with Lottie Pearl who was mending the tear in her dress.
‘This is how it should be,’ said the housekeeper. ‘It’s started to feel like a house of mourning at last.’
‘Mr Doel seems such a capable person,’ said Lottie, seated on a chair as she repaired her hem. ‘You can tell by looking at him.’
‘He’s also a true gentleman.’
‘How long will he stay, Mrs Withers?’
‘They’ll all be here until the funeral is over. When that is, I fear, hasn’t yet been decided. They have to wait for the inquest.’
‘I overheard Mrs Doel saying that the colonel wouldn’t be buried in the churchyard.’
Railway to the Grave Page 19
