‘What can I do for you, Bishop?’ he asked.
Phillpotts handed him the letter. ‘Read that.’
The secretary did as he was told, noticing that the words were given more impact by the beautiful calligraphy. He put the missive on the desk.
‘I can’t fault it, Bishop,’ he said. ‘It’s clear, concise and authoritative.’
‘It should produce the desired result. I wish I’d written it earlier. It must be dispatched immediately,’ said Phillpotts with polite malice. ‘I’ll stand for no more of it. Someone has to put salt on Inspector Colbeck’s tail.’
‘I lied about this beer,’ said Leeming, quaffing his pint. ‘I think it’s very good.’
‘You’ve earned it, Victor.’
‘It’s much better than the stuff they sell at the Barnstaple Inn.’
Colbeck smiled. ‘Oh, you sampled that, did you?’
‘Well, since I was there, I thought I might as well.’
It was evening and they’d adjourned to the Acland Tavern. Over restorative drinks, they were pooling the information they’d gathered. After interviewing Woodford, the sergeant had talked to other members of the station staff. He’d then made his way to the Barnstaple Inn in Lower North Street.
‘There’s never any harm in checking, sir,’ he said.
‘I’m very glad that you did.’
‘The landlord knew Mr Woodford well because he goes in there a lot. But he wasn’t there on the night before Guy Fawkes Day. Mr Woodford lied.’
‘Was the landlord certain about that?’
‘Yes, sir — he knows his regular customers.’
‘Do you think that Woodford deliberately misled you?’
‘I’m sure that he did, sir. But how did you get on at the house?’
‘Oh, we discovered that someone else can tell barefaced lies. His name is Michael Heygate.’
Colbeck went on to discuss the search he’d made with the superintendent. The brother’s letter had been significant and the absence of any cash was very worrying. Leeming agreed that it had been wise to leave a policeman on guard at the house.
‘So,’ he said, ‘we have two additional suspects. Which one is the killer?’
‘It’s too early to tell, Victor,’ replied Colbeck. ‘One thing is certain. They’d never have acted together. Woodford was impelled by envy whereas the brother would have been activated by hatred. The question is whether or not his wife was party to the murder or even directly involved in it.’
‘Mrs Heygate wouldn’t be the first female killer we’ve arrested.’
‘Superintendent Steel still favours Bagsy Browne.’
‘That’s not surprising, sir. He’s a seasoned criminal whereas the others are not. I just wonder why the police haven’t caught him yet.’
‘From what I’ve heard, he’s a slippery customer and he’s as bold as brass. Well, you’d have to be to relieve yourself on the bishop’s lawn.’ Leeming chortled. ‘Bishop Phillpotts didn’t find it very funny,’ Colbeck went on. ‘He’d like nothing better than to see Browne dangling from the gallows.’
Adeline Goss didn’t even hear him come in. She was dozing on the bed that evening when she felt something brush across her face like a cobweb. When she tried to push it aside, she found herself holding the tassels of a beautiful silk shawl.
‘Bagsy!’ she cried, sitting up.
‘I brought you a gift, Ad,’ he said, letting go of the shawl.
She ran it between her fingers. ‘It feels like real silk.’
‘You deserve only the best, my love.’
‘Thank you, Bagsy.’ She put it around her shoulders but it was rather skimpy on her. ‘How does it look?’
‘Not as nice as I’d expected. The woman I stole it from was smaller than you. I’ll choose a bigger target next time.’ He sat on the bed and stole a kiss. ‘It’s my way of saying thank you, Ad. After what I’ve done, a lot of women would have turned me away in horror but you let me hide here. I’m grateful.’
‘There’s always a place for you here, Bagsy,’ she said, seriously, ‘whatever you’ve done. I don’t care if you burn down the bleeding cathedral.’
He cackled merrily. ‘Now there’s a good idea …’
CHAPTER SIX
When she got to the stationmaster’s house that morning, Dorcas was disturbed to find a uniformed policeman on guard outside it. It was a chilling reminder that its former occupant had died a hideous death. Now that she’d taken the canary into her own home, there was no point in peeping through the window for a glimpse of Peter. She was therefore glad to hurry past the house and walk along the platform. Because she’d left the inquest before Mrs Rossiter gave her evidence, she was quite unaware of the manageress’s outburst and subsequent collapse. All that she knew was that Mrs Rossiter — in the face of damning evidence — was steadfastly refusing to believe that Joel Heygate was dead. At least, that had been the case when the two women were last together. As she entered the refreshment room, she discovered that the situation had altered dramatically. Agnes Rossiter had not only been compelled to accept the truth, she’d somehow promoted herself to the status of Heygate’s widow. Standing behind the counter, she was wearing full mourning dress with a black lace hat and gloves. It was an incongruous sight. She looked as if she should be at home, weeping into a black-edged handkerchief, rather than moving teacups about. Dorcas was stunned by the extreme to which the woman had now gone.
‘There you are at last, girl,’ said Mrs Rossiter with a censorious sniff. ‘I thought you’d never come. Mr Heygate would have disapproved.’
‘But I’m earlier than usual, Mrs Rossiter.’
‘That makes no difference. I feel as if you’re late.’
‘How long have you been here?’
‘I came in over an hour ago. In deference to Mr Heygate’s memory, I was prepared to put in extra time without hope of any reward. I’d like to think that you might do the same but that was too much to expect.’
Dorcas went over to her. ‘Do you feel well, Mrs Rossiter?’
‘What an absurd question! How can anyone feel well in the wake of a tragedy like the one I have to endure? I’m mourning a great man and a special friend.’
‘Do you really think you should have come into work this morning?’
‘It’s my duty, Miss Hope. I had to come.’
‘Have you spoken to Mr Woodford?’
‘I’m only answerable to Mr Heygate and his precious memory,’ said Mrs Rossiter, brusquely, ‘so I suggest that you take off your coat and hat and get to work. Before too long, the next train will be due.’
Dorcas obeyed but she was very worried about Mrs Rossiter’s state of mind and wondered what the new stationmaster would say when he saw the older woman behind the counter. A manageress in widow’s weeds was not the most inspiring welcome for any customers entering the refreshment room. In the event, it was not Woodford who first appeared but Colbeck and Leeming. Having heard Mrs Rossiter’s impassioned denial of Joel Heygate’s death, they were astonished to find that she was now marking it as if she were the bereaved wife. Leeming gasped in amazement but Colbeck was anxious about the woman. With her flashing eyes and waving arms, she looked quite deranged.
‘What may we get you, gentlemen?’ she asked.
‘Actually,’ said Colbeck, ‘I wanted a private word with Miss Hope. Sergeant Leeming and I have come from London to investigate the murder. My name is Inspector Colbeck, by the way. We were at the inquest yesterday when you seemed to think that the victim had been wrongly identified.’
‘I sensed that it had,’ said Mrs Rossiter, ‘because we had such a bond between us. This morning, however, it was very different. The moment I opened my eyes, I knew that it had to be Joel — dear Mr Heygate — and I felt obliged to mourn him in the proper way.’
Dorcas was nervous. ‘Why do you want to speak to me, Inspector?’
‘I’d like to speak to you both in turn, Miss Hope, but I can’t take you out of here together or n
obody would be served refreshments.’
‘You can’t have my assistant,’ complained the manageress. ‘I need her.’
‘All that you need is a willing pair of hands,’ said Colbeck, ‘and I’m sure that the sergeant will provide them.’
Leeming was aghast. ‘You want me to act as waitress, sir?’
‘Only for a short time, Victor — you’ll cope admirably.’
‘But I’ve never worked in a refreshment room before.’
‘Mrs Rossiter will teach you all you need to know.’
‘Yes,’ she said, regarding him sternly, ‘and the first thing you must do is to take off your coat and hat. There’s a spare apron under the counter. You can put that on. Appearance is everything in here.’
‘I can’t see how this will solve a murder,’ grumbled Leeming.
‘You’re solving a problem of keeping the refreshment room open,’ Colbeck told him, ‘and we’re very grateful.’
He took Dorcas out and escorted her to the stationmaster’s office. Quinnell had given him permission to use it whenever necessary and Woodford had been quick to agree. It was empty when they got there so they stepped out of the cold. Dorcas was fearful, eyes widening and stomach churning. She was glad when Colbeck doffed his hat. He looked less intimidating now. He offered her a chair then sat opposite her.
‘There’s no need to be afraid,’ he soothed. ‘You’re not in any kind of trouble. It’s just that you may be able to help us.’
‘I said all I know at the inquest, sir — until it got too much for me, that is.’
‘I felt that there were things you may have overlooked.’
Dorcas was confused. ‘Were you there, sir?’
‘Yes, we were.’ He appraised her. ‘You’re the young lady we saw when we first arrived here, I fancy. You were carrying a large birdcage.’
‘That was Mr Heygate’s canary. His name is Peter. I used to look after him when Mr Heygate was away.’ Her face clouded. ‘I’ve done nothing wrong, have I, sir? Mr Woodford said I could have Peter. It’s not against the law, is it?’
‘Not at all,’ said Colbeck with a smile. ‘I’m only glad that the bird has gone to someone who’ll care for him. When the superintendent and I searched the house yesterday, we found a couple of books on canaries.’
‘Mr Heygate loved birds.’
‘Yes, I’m told that he rescued an injured pigeon once and nursed it back to health. Is that true?’
‘Oh, yes,’ she said, gathering confidence, ‘it was lying on the track. I was allowed to feed the pigeon sometimes. He kept it here in the back room. We called it Lucky because it almost got run over by a train.’
‘It sounds to me as if it was lucky in finding people like you and Mr Heygate as well. You obviously have an affinity for birds.’
‘What does that mean, sir?’
‘You like them and they like you.’
‘Well, yes, that’s true. But Mr Heygate was the expert.’
‘Did he ever mention a barn owl to you?’
‘Oh, he did,’ she replied, shedding her apprehension and talking with a degree of excitement. ‘He stumbled on it by accident when he was out walking. He used to go and see it after dark and take it food. That was the best time, he said. The owl came to the shed most nights.’
‘Do you happen to know where that shed was, Miss Hope?’
‘No, sir, but it wasn’t all that far away. Mr Heygate said that it only took him a quarter of an hour to get there.’
‘According to Mr Woodford,’ said Colbeck, ‘he was going to see the owl on the night that he was … on the night that he disappeared. Did you know about that?’
‘Yes, sir — Mr Heygate told me.’
‘You were obviously a friend in whom he could confide.’
‘He was a very nice man.’
‘You must have gone into his house a number of times.’
‘Yes — and not only to feed Peter. Mr Heygate invited me to tea on a Sunday once in a while. My parents were happy to let me go. They knew they could trust him.’
‘Did you ever see any sign of money in the house?’
‘Money?’
‘Mr Heygate earned a good wage, yet we found no sign of money in the house and we searched hard. I wonder if he had a hiding place somewhere.’
‘I’m sorry, Inspector. I wouldn’t know about that.’
‘Fair enough,’ he said. ‘Do you like working here, Miss Hope?’
She was hesitant. ‘I used to like it.’
‘What about now?’
‘Things have changed. Mr Woodford is …’ She needed time to find the right words. ‘Well, he’s very different and Mrs Rossiter is behaving strangely. She’s nothing to do with Mr Heygate’s family but she’s pretending that she is. To be honest, sir, I was upset when I saw her dressed up like that.’
‘I can imagine,’ said Colbeck. ‘What we need to establish is where exactly Mr Heygate was going that night when he set off to see this owl. You may not know. Is there anyone else who might?’
‘No, sir — he was a very private man.’
‘So we’ve discovered.’
‘But there is one way to find out where he went.’
Colbeck’s interest quickened. ‘Is there?’
‘Yes, sir,’ she said. ‘Mr Heygate kept a diary. He always made a note of where he’d seen certain birds. It was his hobby, you see.’
‘We found no diary during our search and we were very thorough.’
‘It ought to be there somewhere, sir. All you have to do is to look at the diary and it will tell you what you want to know.’
Victor Leeming had a well-earned reputation for handling a crisis and police work had given him plenty of practice. One thing he’d never done, however, was to handle a sudden influx of customers who poured out of a train and demanded refreshments before they continued their journey to Plymouth. Caught up in a whirl of non-stop activity, he could only marvel at the way that Mrs Rossiter took a stream of orders, accepted payment for them and set tea and food on the counter for Leeming to carry to respective tables. He was embarrassed to be wearing an apron and humiliated by being treated as a menial. The occasional tip did nothing to sweeten his temper. Passengers were given fair warning when the train was about to depart and they left in a solid group. Overwhelmed with relief, Leeming collapsed on to a chair.
‘There’s no time to sit down, Sergeant,’ snapped the manageress. ‘The tables need clearing and you can wash some of the crockery.’
He stood up wearily. ‘Is it always like this?’
‘No, we’re usually much busier.’
He began to collect teacups and plates from the tables before stacking them on the counter. Mrs Rossiter, meanwhile, was boiling a fresh supply of water in readiness for the next invasion. When he heard the door open, Leeming feared another horde of passengers but it was only the stationmaster.
‘Good God!’ yelled Woodford, seeing the manageress for the first time that morning. ‘What on earth do you think you’re doing?’
‘I’m remaining at my post out of loyalty to Mr Heygate,’ she said, crisply.
‘You can’t work in here dressed like that.’
‘I can and I will, Mr Woodford.’
‘Think how it must look to our customers,’ said the stationmaster. ‘They want to eat and drink — not to take part in a funeral service.’ He stared at Leeming’s apron. ‘And whatever are you doing, Sergeant?’
‘It wasn’t my idea,’ said the other, disconsolately.
‘Where’s Miss Hope?’
‘She’s being interviewed by Inspector Colbeck.’
‘Did I hear my name being taken in vain?’ asked Colbeck, entering the room with Dorcas. ‘I’ve brought your waitress back, Mrs Rossiter.’
She tossed her head. ‘Not before time, if I may say so.’
‘This is preposterous,’ said Woodford, taking charge. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Rossiter, but I can’t allow you to deal with the general public in mourning garb. Yo
u must either change into something more presentable or stay at home until you’re ready to do so. I suggest that you leave at once.’
‘I refuse to go,’ she said, folding her arms.
‘I’m giving you an order.’
‘I prefer to obey my instincts.’
‘If you don’t do as you’re told,’ he warned, ‘then you’ll face dismissal.’
She was visibly shaken by the threat and Dorcas was utterly dismayed. Trying to relieve the tension, Colbeck stepped in with an emollient smile.
‘There’s no need for talk of dismissal,’ he said. ‘Mrs Rossiter is clearly an asset to this refreshment room. As it happens, I need to speak to her alone, so I’ll borrow her if I may. I’m sure that Mrs Rossiter is as eager as the rest of us to move the investigation on to the next stage. Isn’t that so?’
‘Yes, it is, Inspector,’ she confirmed.
‘Very well,’ said Woodford, ‘but I’m not having any member of the staff dressed in mourning wear. When you’ve concluded your interview, Inspector, don’t send her back in here.’
‘Leave it to me,’ suggested Colbeck. ‘Mrs Rossiter and I have a lot to discuss. I’ll certainly be touching on the subject of her appearance.’ He indicated the door. ‘Shall we go, Mrs Rossiter?’
She weighed up the situation carefully, looking first at the grim countenance of the stationmaster, then at Colbeck. After deliberation, she picked up her reticule, took her coat from its hook and walked towards the door.
Dorcas was alarmed. ‘I can’t manage in here on my own.’
‘You won’t have to,’ said Colbeck. ‘The sergeant will assist you.’
Leeming turned puce. ‘Am I to be subservient to a waitress?’
The Stationmaster's farewell irc-9 Page 8
