Railway to the Grave

by Edward Marston

  ‘Yes, I do – but I have standards. I won’t take in anyone just to have companionship. I’m too old to change my ways, so any wife would have to accept me as I am.’

  ‘Then you can abandon all hope of marriage,’ she teased.

  ‘It’s a serious business, Maddy. It takes time to make up your mind. Well, look how long it took you and the inspector to come to a decision.’

  ‘That was because of Robert’s work.’

  ‘It won’t be a problem in my case,’ he said, ‘because I’m near retirement. I’ll be here most of the time. That’s another thing,’ he added. ‘I don’t want a wife who’ll be under my feet all day long.’

  ‘The truth is, Father,’ she said with an affectionate smile, ‘you don’t want a wife at all, do you?’

  He chuckled. ‘Probably not – but I’m open to offers.’

  When the meal was over, they adjourned to the parlour. He saw the copy of Cranford on the table beside her chair.

  ‘Did you mention what I said about it?’

  ‘We had other things to discuss.’

  ‘What did he tell you about the investigation?’ asked Andrews. ‘It says in the newspaper that it’s come to a halt.’

  ‘Reporters know nothing.’

  ‘They must get their information from somewhere, Maddy.’

  ‘Well, they didn’t get it from Robert. He’s much more optimistic. He’s hoping to make an arrest before long.’

  ‘He ought to arrest you for reading nonsense like Cranford.’

  ‘It’s a lovely book and much more restful than Dickens.’

  ‘I like blood and violence,’ said Andrews.

  ‘You wouldn’t say that if you had to deal with them every day as Robert does,’ she told him. ‘He has to see and do the most dreadful things. Take this case, for instance. How would you like to dig up a rotting corpse in the middle of the night?’

  ‘I’d be more than happy to do so, Maddy,’ he replied, cackling, ‘as long as it was the corpse of the man who runs the Great Northern Railway, that is. I’d go so far as to say it’d be a real pleasure.’

  While Colbeck went off to confront the rector, Leeming stayed at the Black Bull in case the visitor from Doncaster turned up. The pub served good beer but the sergeant only drank in moderation so that his mind was not befuddled. The bar was quite full and, when he heard the door open, he was unable to see over the heads of the people standing between his table and the entrance. Hoping that Kinchin had at last arrived, Leeming was perturbed to see the unlovely face of Eric Hepworth beaming down at him.

  ‘Good evening, Sergeant,’ said Hepworth.

  ‘Good evening.’

  ‘May I join you?’

  ‘Actually,’ said Leeming, ‘I’m waiting for someone.’

  ‘Oh – and who might that be?’

  ‘That doesn’t concern you, Sergeant.’

  ‘If it’s related to the murder – and it obviously is – then it does concern me. I live here and I don’t want this hanging over us. It gives us a bad name. I want to cleanse the village. The sooner you arrest Michael Bruntcliffe, the better.’

  ‘We have to find him first and that’s proving difficult. Besides, we only have circumstantial evidence that he may be involved. The inspector is not fully persuaded that Bruntcliffe is our man.’

  ‘Who else could have committed the murder?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ admitted Leeming.

  ‘That’s why you need me. I can help. If the inspector spoke to my superintendent, I could be released from my duties to join in the search for Bruntcliffe.’

  ‘You do your job, Sergeant, and we’ll do ours.’

  ‘But you’ve made no progress at all.’

  ‘Yes, we have – though I can’t go into detail.’

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ challenged Hepworth.

  ‘You can believe or disbelieve what you like,’ said Leeming without rising to the bait. ‘And it’s not only the murder that we’ve been investigating. There’s the series of poison-pen letters that were sent to the colonel. It might interest you to know that we’ve already identified one of the people who sent them.’

  Hepworth was shocked. ‘Who was that?’

  ‘You’ll have to wait until it becomes public knowledge.’

  ‘Why bother about a few silly letters when there’s a killer on the loose?’

  ‘Those letters were not silly,’ said Leeming. ‘They were malicious and helped to drive the colonel to suicide. I read one of them. It was disgusting. The people who wrote such poisonous things need to be tracked down.’ Hepworth plucked nervously at his beard. ‘You talked about cleansing the village of an ugly stain. We need to cleanse a few filthy minds around here as well.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Hepworth, backing away, ‘I agree. If you’re expecting company, I won’t intrude any longer.’

  The railway policeman vanished into the crowd but his place was almost immediately taken by a dapper individual with a walrus moustache flecked with grey. Guessing that it must be Royston Kinchin, Leeming got up and introduced himself to the newcomer. Kinchin had the partly-hesitant, partly-defensive look of a man who’s been summoned by the police without knowing why. When he’d bought the visitor a drink, they sat down at the table. Leeming glanced around the bar to make sure that Hepworth was not lurking nearby but there was no sign of their self-appointed assistant. The sergeant turned to Kinchin.

  ‘Thank you for coming, sir,’ he began.

  ‘Ned Staddle said that it was important.’

  ‘It could be. It concerns Colonel Tarleton.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Kinchin with a pained expression. ‘I read about the suicide. It shocked me. The colonel always seemed such a level-headed sort of man. I’d never have expected him to do such a thing.’

  ‘How well did you know him?’

  ‘I wouldn’t call myself a close friend but we did see each other from time to time. We had a mutual interest.’

  ‘I had a feeling you might have been in the army, sir.’

  ‘No, you’re quite wrong there, Sergeant. I’m an engineer. I was lucky enough to be in the right place when the railways began to develop. Most of my career was spent in management. When the Great Northern extended its line, I bought a house in Doncaster.’

  ‘Is that where the colonel used to visit you?’

  ‘He didn’t come to see me,’ explained Kinchin. ‘I met him at the station so that I could give him a lift in my carriage.’

  ‘And where did you take him?’

  ‘More often than not, we went to a concert. Sometimes, we simply attended a rehearsal. The colonel was one of the sponsors, you see.’ Leeming was baffled. ‘Evidently, you don’t see, Sergeant.’

  ‘What sort of concerts are you talking about, sir?’

  ‘The colonel and I shared a passion for brass bands. When he heard that a railway band had been formed in Doncaster, he got in touch with it and offered a generous donation. That’s why we were allowed to attend rehearsals,’ said Kinchin. ‘I, too, was a supporter of the band. We whiled away many an hour, listening to them. The Doncaster Loco Band has real quality.’

  ‘I’ll take your word for it.’

  ‘Indeed, when I first heard of his death, I wondered if I should ask the band to play at his funeral. Then I realised that it would hardly be appropriate. The booming harmonies of a brass band have no place around a grave. On the other hand,’ added Kinchin, stroking his moustache, ‘if there’s to be a memorial service, we might think again. The band has a wide repertoire of hymns.’

  ‘So that’s all it was,’ said Leeming with disappointment. ‘The colonel went to Doncaster to listen to a band. I was hoping for some information that might assist us in our investigation.’

  ‘I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful, Sergeant.’

  ‘It’s not your fault, Mr Kinchin. And at least we’ve now solved one little mystery.’

  ‘Perhaps you can solve one for me in return.’

  ‘What do you mean?’


  ‘Well,’ said the other, ‘the colonel was as passionate as I am about brass band music. Neither his wife nor his friends would understand that. They preferred orchestral concerts.’

  ‘Is that why he kept the secret to himself?’

  ‘Probably – but it’s not his only secret. This is where the mystery comes in. The colonel stopped coming to Doncaster. Without warning and with no explanation, he stopped.’

  ‘Did you try to make contact with him?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Kinchin, ‘I wrote two or three times but I didn’t even get a reply. It was as if he’d cut the band out of his life altogether. It was very upsetting. To be honest, I felt like a jilted lover. I wondered if he’d taken against me for some reason.’ He gave a hopeful smile. ‘Do you happen to know why he lost interest so suddenly?’

  ‘I’m afraid that I don’t, sir,’ said Leeming, ‘but I’d be interested to find out. Can you give me an exact date when he deserted you?’

  Since the rector’s obstinacy with regard to the funerals had caused the Tarleton family such distress, Colbeck drove over to the house to alleviate their anxiety. He decided against giving them full details of his visit to the rectory because he didn’t want to add to their grief and felt that they should, in any case, wait until Skelton made a public acknowledgement of what he’d done. The family needed reassurance and that was why Colbeck was ringing the doorbell.

  Lottie Pearl answered the door and let him in. They had gathered in the drawing room after dinner. Colbeck was introduced to Lawrence Doel and was pleased to see how her husband’s arrival had lifted Eve’s spirits. There was also a marked difference in her brother’s bearing. Adam Tarleton had contrived to look as if he was bereaved. Declining the offer of a seat, Colbeck told them that he’d simply come to pass on information that it was important for them to hear.

  ‘I’ve just come from the rectory,’ he said. ‘You’ll be relieved to hear that there’ll be no more squabbling over the colonel’s funeral.’

  ‘There you are,’ declared Tarleton. ‘I brought the rector to heel. All it needed was a few harsh words from me.’

  ‘There’s rather more to it than that, sir, but I think the full story best left untold at the moment. If you attend church tomorrow, you need fear no awkwardness. The Reverend Skelton will not be taking the service. He’s instructed his curate to take his place.’

  ‘I’m so relieved to hear that,’ said Eve. ‘I was terrified that Adam would create a scene.’

  ‘I was looking forward to it,’ said Tarleton.

  ‘Thankfully,’ observed Doel, ‘it won’t be necessary. You always were a trifle too belligerent, Adam.’

  ‘I got the result we all wanted.’

  ‘Believe that, if you wish,’ said Colbeck, ‘but your intervention was more likely to anger him than cow him into submission. When I arrived earlier, he’d already written his sermon for tomorrow and had not relented over the proposed burial of your stepfather.’

  ‘Then what changed the old goat’s mind?’

  ‘Listen to the inspector, Adam,’ said Doel. ‘He’s told us all we need to know for the time being and I, for one, am very grateful. The service tomorrow should be a dignified event that’s not marred by any histrionics from you. In view of the tragedies, we should expect a large congregation.’

  ‘I think I can guarantee that, Mr Doel,’ said Colbeck. ‘There’ll be family friends coming over from Northallerton and perhaps from even farther afield. I know that Mr and Mrs Reader will be there and I fancy you can count on Mr Everett and his wife being present.’

  ‘Good,’ Tarleton blurted out. ‘I need to speak to Everett. He can give us some hints about the terms of the two wills.’

  ‘Adam!’ exclaimed his sister. ‘Can’t you think of anything else?’

  ‘It means a lot to me, Eve.’

  ‘It means a lot to everyone involved,’ said Colbeck, ‘but you’ll have to wait until the formal reading of the wills. Having met Mr Everett, I doubt if he’s a man to divulge any details beforehand.’

  ‘All I’m asking for is a rough indication of what I’ll get.’

  ‘Then you’re asking too much,’ said Doel with unforced authority. ‘Eve is right. The last thing you should be thinking about now is the possibility of your own pecuniary gain. Apart from being indecent, it has a mercenary smack to it.’

  ‘Let’s hear no more about the subject,’ decreed Eve.

  Tarleton offered a reluctant apology and lapsed back into what he felt was the acceptable pose for someone grieving over the loss of parents. Colbeck was not convinced by his performance. To Adam Tarleton, he could see, the funerals were an irritating obstruction in the way of his inheritance.

  ‘Well,’ said Colbeck, ‘I’m sorry to have disturbed you but I felt that my news might provide you with some solace.’

  ‘It’s done exactly that, Inspector,’ said Eve.

  ‘We can’t thank you enough, sir,’ added her husband.

  ‘In that case,’ said Colbeck, ‘I’ll take my leave. I’ll be seeing you all again tomorrow at St Andrew’s. It’s comforting to know that there will now be no danger whatsoever of any trouble at the church.’

  Moonlight filtered down through the yew trees and drew intricate patterns in the churchyard. Standing at its centre was a large, stone cross that acted both as a cynosure and as a kind of nocturnal sentry. A bird was perched on the cross but it flew away with a disgruntled squawk when somebody walked towards it through the gravestones. The man checked to see that nobody else was about then he tied a rope around the cross, securing the other end to the pommel of his saddle. Slapping his horse on the rump, he made it jump forward. At first it was checked by the solidity of the cross but a second slap made it pull with more vigour. With a resounding crack, the stone split at the base of the upright and toppled onto the grass. Undoing the rope, the man put it away in his saddlebag.

  He then returned to the plinth on which the cross had stood. Chiselled into it was the name of the benefactor who had donated the money for the erection of the cross. The man lowered his breeches and urinated, taking careful aim at the name of Colonel Aubrey Tarleton.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Because the bar was too full and noisy to allow a private conversation, the detectives adjourned upstairs to Colbeck’s room. Leeming was eager to hear about the dramatic confrontation at the rectory and sorry to have missed the sight of such an outwardly respectable married couple exposed as the authors of malign letters. Colbeck described what had happened and how the rector had been compelled to accept that resignation was his only course of action. He also told the sergeant about his visit to the house to pass on the welcome tidings that the Reverend Skelton would not be taking the service next morning. Colbeck recalled that Adam Tarleton had made no effort to conceal his selfish preoccupation with the wealth he was due to inherit.

  ‘The young man may have a shock coming,’ he said.

  ‘Why is that, Inspector?’

  ‘He’s working on the assumption that he’ll get half of whatever has been bequeathed, and that may not be so. Instead of looking to the future, Mr Tarleton should remember the past. A stepfather he consistently defied is unlikely to be overgenerous to him. Nor will his mother have looked kindly on a son who became estranged when he could no longer have such ready access to her purse. Mr Tarleton may end up with far less than he anticipates.’

  ‘That would serve him right,’ said Leeming. ‘Well, it sounds as if your evening was more interesting than mine.’

  He went on to talk about his abrasive few minutes with the railway policeman and how Hepworth had withdrawn rather hastily when the poison-pen letters were mentioned. Colbeck was curious about the way the man had reacted.

  ‘Did you see any guilt in his face?’ he asked.

  ‘I didn’t see a thing with that beard of his, sir. It just about covers everything. He looks like a large dog staring through a bush.’

  ‘What was your feeling?’

  �
��He was uneasy,’ said Leeming, ‘and that set me thinking. I wondered if Hepworth had also been sending the colonel some nasty, unwanted mail. Do you think we should challenge him about it?’

  ‘There’d be no point, Victor. He’d only deny it. Mrs Withers was told to burn the earlier letters so the evidence has gone up in smoke. However,’ Colbeck said, thoughtfully, ‘there may be another way to find out the truth. Let’s bear the egregious fellow in mind, shall we?’

  ‘I do my best to forget him, sir.’

  Leeming recounted his meeting with Kinchin and bewailed the fact that it had not provided the breakthrough for which he’d hoped.

  Colbeck listened without interruption and made a mental note of the date when the colonel had abruptly ceased to visit Doncaster. He then went off into a trance for a few minutes. Leeming wondered if anything was wrong with him. Eventually, he tapped the inspector on the arm.

  ‘Excuse me, sir.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Colbeck as if waking up. ‘I left you for a while. I’m sorry about that. There was something I was trying to remember.’

  ‘And did you recall it?’

  ‘Yes, I did. It made me think that, in retrospect, Mr Kinchin’s visit may not have been as unprofitable as you feared.’

  ‘He told me nothing of real use, sir.’

  ‘Yes, he did. You learnt that the colonel loved brass bands.’

  ‘What use is that?’

  ‘Well, it’s something the superintendent didn’t know about him and he was the colonel’s close friend. He didn’t tell Mr Tallis because he was aware – as we both are – that the superintendent hates music of all kinds. The only instrument for which he has the slightest time,’ said Colbeck, ‘is a church organ. The prospect of a brass band would probably make him run for cover.’

  Leeming laughed. ‘I’d love to see him doing that.’

  ‘What you confirmed is what we’ve already found out – namely, that the colonel was very guarded.’

  ‘He seems to have told Mr Kinchin nothing about his home life.’

  ‘Their only point of contact was a brass band.’

  ‘It’s a very good one, I’m told,’ said Leeming. ‘Not that it matters. I just felt rather embarrassed at having dragged Mr Kinchin all the way from Doncaster on a fool’s errand.’