‘Who did?’
‘Well, it was Mr Woodford who asked,’ gabbled Dorcas. ‘He talked to a man who’s something to do with the railway company. According to Mr Woodford, the man didn’t want me to have Peter. He said the bird was railway property because the house belongs to them. But Mr Woodford spoke up for me and said how I’d fed him in the past, then the superintendent agreed that I should have him. They argued over it and I won in the end.’
‘I’m not sure that I follow this,’ said Maud, using the back of her hand to wipe away the tears that always streamed when she chopped onions. ‘Are you talking about Mr Woodford the clerk?’
‘Yes, Mother – he was kind to me.’
‘I thought you didn’t like him.’
‘I don’t. He looks at me in a funny way. But he was different today. He was friendly for once. Mr Woodford has taken over as stationmaster.’
‘Your father won’t like that. He’s got no time for the man.’
‘All I know is that he helped me and rescued Peter.’ Setting the cage down on the table, Dorcas removed the cloth. The bird cocked its head to inspect its new home. ‘He’s so sweet, isn’t he? I couldn’t leave him in an empty house.’
Maud smiled indulgently. ‘No, I suppose not.’
‘I can’t stop. I have to get back to the refreshment room. Mrs Rossiter can’t manage on her own for long.’
‘How has she taken the awful news?’
‘She doesn’t believe in it. She thinks that Mr Heygate is still alive.’
‘But that’s silly. He’s dead. Everyone knows that.’
‘Mrs Rossiter says it’s not true. They made a mistake. It was someone else.’
‘Well, she’ll have to believe it one day,’ said Maud, laughing abruptly as the canary began to sing. ‘He’s a happy little fellow, isn’t he?’
‘Mr Heygate used to let him out of the cage. Peter would fly around the room then perch on his shoulder. He did it to me once.’ She became anxious. ‘Father will let me have him, won’t he?’
‘I’m sure that he will, dear. Where are you going to keep him?’
‘The best place is in my room. I’ll make sure he isn’t a nuisance.’ She picked up the cage. ‘He eats hardly anything and only drinks water.’
‘Leave him downstairs,’ said her mother, amused by the bird’s antics as it hopped about. ‘Put him in the parlour where I can enjoy watching him. I wouldn’t trust myself to carry that cage.’
‘He can sit on the table,’ said Dorcas, taking the cage out. She was back within seconds. ‘I must go now.’
‘Are you sure you feel well enough to go to work?’ asked Maud, a hand on her shoulder. ‘You were terribly shaken when you heard about Mr Heygate. He was such a good friend to you.’
‘He was, Mother. Whenever I think about what happened, I want to burst into tears. But I can’t let Mrs Rossiter down. She needs me.’ About to leave, Dorcas paused at the door. ‘Oh, there was one thing I meant to mention.’
‘Yes?’
‘It’s something that Mr Woodford overheard.’
‘And what was that, dear?’
‘They’ve sent for a famous detective to come here from London.’
‘Goodness!’ exclaimed Maud.
‘The superintendent didn’t like the idea. He said that the police could solve the crime on their own. But the man from the railway company said that they needed this inspector from London. He’s in charge from now on.’ She scratched her head. ‘I did hear his name. Now, what was it?’ After a moment’s cogitation, she snapped her fingers. ‘Colbeck – that was it. His name is Inspector Colbeck.’
The police station was like the many others that they’d visited over the years. It was a nondescript building that comprised a reception area dominated by the duty sergeant’s desk, a cluster of cells, a larder, a tiny kitchen and a sizeable room where the police could gather and rest. Two outside privies stood at the bottom of the bare garden. Superintendent Steel’s office was in the largest of the upstairs rooms with a window that afforded him a good view of the street below. Clean and tidy, the office had shelves along two walls with books and documents stacked neatly along them. A fitful fire provided minimal warmth. On the wall hung a framed charcoal sketch of Steel in uniform. He’d given the visitors an unenthusiastic welcome and waved them to the two upright chairs, perching on the desk himself so that he occupied a position of strength. Sensing the man’s resentment, Colbeck tried to mollify him.
‘We’re most grateful for your help, Superintendent,’ he said. ‘Though we’ve managed a measure of success over the years, it’s not been entirely attributable to our own efforts. We’ve relied heavily on local police forces.’
‘It’s true,’ confirmed Leeming. ‘We’d have got nowhere in a murder investigation in Cardiff without the help of Superintendent Stockdale.’
‘And the same goes for a case we dealt with earlier this year. Our enquiries took us to Manchester, where Inspector Boone gave us invaluable assistance. We always make a point of acknowledging such people,’ stressed Colbeck, ‘and giving them their share of the credit.’
Steel relaxed slightly. ‘That’s good to hear, Inspector,’ he said. ‘I must admit that it was galling to learn that my authority had been undermined. Mr Quinnell didn’t even have the grace to discuss it with me beforehand. Your arrival was presented to me as a fait accompli.’
Leeming’s brow furrowed. ‘What’s that?’
‘Something already done and beyond alteration,’ explained Colbeck.
‘That’s unfair.’
‘It’s also typical of Quinnell,’ said Steel, bitterly. ‘Be warned. He likes to throw his weight around and he’s a man with influence.’
‘He offered us accommodation in his own home,’ said Colbeck, ‘but I decided that that would not be in the best interests of the investigation.’
‘You were quite right, sir,’ said Leeming. ‘I’d hate to have been forced to stare at him over breakfast every morning. He didn’t like the look of me and he let me know it straight away. He made me feel like something nasty he’d stepped in.’
‘Where will you stay, then?’ asked Steel.
‘We were hoping you could recommend somewhere,’ said Colbeck. ‘On the drive here, we passed a number of public houses.’
‘At the last count, there were something like a hundred and twenty in all. At one end of the scale, we have pubs like the Pestle & Mortar in Guinea Street. I think we make more arrests there than almost everywhere else. There are some very squalid drinking establishments in the slums of St Mary Major’s as well. The stink there is abominable.’
‘What about the other end of the scale, Superintendent?’
‘My choice would be the Acland Tavern in Sidwell Street.’
‘Is that far away?’
‘It’s within easy walking distance of here and is an extension of High Street. You’ll find it comfortable but it can get noisy if a function is being held. The last time I was there, it was for a banquet with almost a hundred guests. When drink flowed, the din became ear-shattering.’
‘We live in London, sir,’ said Leeming. ‘It’s pandemonium there.’
‘I know. I served there as a young constable.’
‘It sounds to me as if the Acland Tavern will be ideal,’ decided Colbeck. ‘Before we book rooms there, I’d like to know what action you’ve so far taken.’
‘I had the debris cleared from the cathedral close and the remains taken away. Too many people were coming to goggle even though there was a tarpaulin over the man. It’s rather taken the fun out of the events of Guy Fawkes Day. An inquest will be held in the coroner’s court tomorrow.’
‘Good,’ said Colbeck, ‘that should throw up a lot of information for us. And I’m glad that the formalities will be held in the appropriate place. The first inquest I attended was in the house where an old woman had been stabbed to death. She lay dead in the next room while neighbours were called in to give evidence. It was positively gruesome.�
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‘The inspector thinks that Mr Heygate was killed before the bonfire was lit,’ said Leeming. ‘By the time the flames got to him, he was already dead.’
‘That’s borne out by our findings,’ said Steel. ‘The cause of death was a blow to the head – several blows, in fact. The skull was smashed to a pulp. Frankly, I was astonished. Joel Heygate was a man who seemed to have no real enemies. He was an institution in Exeter.’
‘So the cab driver told us.’
Colbeck stood up. ‘We’ll find our way to the Acland Tavern,’ he said, resting his hat against his thigh. ‘Before we do that, Superintendent, I have three simple questions to put to you. First, how many men do you have at your disposal?’
Steel pulled a face. ‘I have far too few – less than forty altogether.’
‘Second, have you ever led a murder investigation?’
‘No, Inspector,’ confessed the other, ‘I haven’t. We have a lot of crime here but it’s largely confined to theft, disorder, drunkenness, fraud and prostitution. The last murder in Exeter was over fifteen years ago and that was before my time.’
Leeming was interested. ‘Who was the victim?’
‘It was a man named Bennett who worked for an insurance company. After visiting the Bonhay Fair, he fell in with some unsavoury characters in the Cattle Market Inn. Someone followed him home. He was later found floating in the river near Trews Weir.’
‘Did they catch the killer?’
‘Yes,’ replied Steel, ‘but the case against him rested on the word of an accomplice who turned Queen’s evidence. The general feeling was that the accomplice was more of a villain than the man in the dock. Incredibly, the killer was found not guilty of murder but guilty of the lesser charge of larceny. Instead of being hanged, he was sentenced to fifteen years’ transportation.’
Colbeck was impressed that he’d taken the trouble to look into details of the case. Steel struck him as an honest, straightforward, diligent man who took pride in his work and who was justifiably upset by the arrival of two detectives from Scotland Yard. Colbeck could see why Quinnell had described him as awkward. Steel was his own man and would not be browbeaten by others. If they could win his approval, he could be a useful ally.
For his part, Steel had been taken aback when he first met them. Leeming reminded him of the ruffians who glared at him from behind bars in his cells and Colbeck looked like anything but an experienced detective. Five minutes of talking to them, however, had convinced the superintendent that he should perhaps take them on trust. Colbeck was intelligent and incisive, while his sergeant was patently a man accustomed to the rough and tumble of policing. There was a mutual respect between the two and they seemed to complement each other. Some of Steel’s reservations about them faded away.
‘You said that there were three questions, Inspector,’ he remembered. ‘I fancy that I can guess the third one. Do we have any suspects?’
Colbeck smiled. ‘You must be a mind-reader.’
‘The answer is that we do. We have one in particular. He’s a man well known to us and he’s been arrested on previous occasions. Though he travels a great deal, he’s been seen in the vicinity recently and that’s always a worrying sign.’
‘What makes you think he’s capable of murder?’
‘He has a violent temper and loses control of it when he’s drunk. He also nurses grudges and we know that he had a grudge against Heygate.’
‘I thought you said that the stationmaster had no real enemies.’
‘I was thinking of people in Exeter,’ said Steel, ‘and Bagsy Browne doesn’t live here. He simply infects the city from time to time.’
‘Why is he called Bagsy?’ asked Leeming.
‘Heaven knows – his real name is Bernard.’
‘Tell us about this grudge he holds,’ prompted Colbeck.
‘It’s rather more than a grudge, Inspector. They have troublesome passengers at St David’s now and then but the stationmaster can usually handle them. Then Bagsy Browne rolled up roaring drunk one day and became obstreperous. When Heygate tried to eject him, Bagsy gave him a mouthful of abuse and broke some of the windows in the ticket office. He used foul language to female passengers then attacked one of the porters. Heygate was not standing for that,’ said Steel, ‘so he took matters into his own hands.’
‘What did he do?’
‘He knocked Bagsy out with the flat of a garden spade.’
‘Good for him!’ said Leeming.
‘Needless to say,’ Steel went on, ‘Bagsy wanted him arrested for unprovoked assault. He was furious when I told him that Heygate was only acting in defence of his staff and of railway property. The stationmaster was a hero and Bagsy went off yet again to cool his heels in prison.’
‘When did all this happen?’
‘It was earlier this year, Sergeant. When he’d served his sentence, Bagsy went off somewhere, threatening that he’d be back one day and that he’d come looking for Joel Heygate.’
‘Is that what you think may have happened?’ asked Colbeck.
‘Yes, Inspector – he got his revenge.’
With his shirt flapping and his breeches around his ankles, Bagsy Browne pumped away rhythmically between the thighs of a full-bodied woman with swarthy skin and long black hair. When he reached the height of his passion, he let out a piercing cry of triumph and simultaneously broke wind.
Adeline Goss lay back on the pillow and shook with mirth.
‘You always do that, Bagsy,’ she said.
‘It’s the beer,’ he explained, reaching for the flagon on the floor beside them and taking a long swig. ‘It makes me fart.’
She hugged him. ‘Oh, it’s so good to have you back again!’
‘You’re entitled to have a real man for once.’
Putting the flagon back on the floor, he pulled out of her and rolled over on to his back. The bed creaked under his weight. Browne was a big, barrel-chested man in his forties with a pockmarked face half-hidden beneath a black beard. His hair hung to his shoulders and there was hardly any part of his body that was not afforested. His naked companion was a middle-aged woman of generous dimensions with powder dabbed liberally over her cheeks and a beauty spot on her left breast. They were in one of the brothels in Rockfield Place. No money would change hands. Browne was there as a friend rather than a client. He’d once saved her from being badly beaten by a gypsy and she was eternally grateful to him.
‘Did you miss me?’ she asked, angling for a compliment.
‘I always miss you, Ad.’
‘Is that true?’
‘You’re my favourite girl.’
‘Tell me why.’
‘I just showed you why,’ he said with a ripe chuckle.
She snuggled up to him. ‘Where have you been all this time?’
‘I’ve been here, there and everywhere.’
‘Someone said they saw you at Honiton Fair.’
His shrug was non-committal. ‘Maybe I was there, maybe not.’
‘Don’t you remember?’
‘What’s past is past, Ad. Forget it.’
‘At least you got here in time for Guy Fawkes Night.’
‘I wasn’t going to miss that,’ he said with a throaty laugh, ‘and I wasn’t going to miss you. You’re the light of my life.’
‘Then why don’t you come here more often?’
‘I’ve got things to do elsewhere.’
‘Couldn’t I go with you one time?’
‘No, Ad – they’re things I have to do on my own. Stop asking me questions,’ he chided. ‘Why not just enjoy me while I’m here?’
‘I will,’ she said, running her fingers through the matted hair on his chest.
‘Good – I feel at home in your bed.’
‘How long will you stay in Exeter?’
‘Who knows?’
‘Will it be a matter of days or weeks?’
‘There’s only one thing I’m sure of,’ he said with a grin of satisfaction. ‘I’m goin
g to stay long enough for the stationmaster’s funeral. If I had the chance, I’d piss on his coffin as they lower it into the grave.’
* * *
No sooner had Colbeck settled into his room at the Acland Tavern than a policeman came looking for him with a message. The inspector was summoned to the bishop’s palace to meet Henry Phillpotts. He told Leeming where he was going and suggested that the sergeant used the hours before dinner by finding his way around Exeter. It was dark when Colbeck walked along High Street but there were plenty of people abroad. Since there was a lot of animated discussion, he surmised that the topic of conversation was the cruel death of Joel Heygate. In a city that had not witnessed a murder for so many years, it caused a sensation. When he reached the cathedral close, he found Steel waiting for him. The superintendent indicated the scene of the crime.
‘The body was found right here,’ he said.
‘I’d like to view it before the inquest, if I may.’
‘That can be arranged.’
‘I take it that it was in a deplorable condition.’
‘It was, Inspector. All bodily hair had been burnt off and the skin was black and shrivelled. Michael Heygate – the stationmaster’s brother – was unable to say that it was definitely him.’
‘Have there been any other reports of missing persons?’
‘None that would tally,’ said Steel.
‘And can anyone account for Mr Heygate’s disappearance?’
‘No – it was highly uncharacteristic. The chances are that he is the murder victim but I want that established at the inquest before I fully accept it as fact.’
‘That’s very wise of you,’ said Colbeck. ‘Never rush to judgement.’
He looked up at the cathedral. In the gloom it seemed quite menacing. Its west face was covered with an extraordinary array of sculpture but it was invisible now. The cathedral had dominated the city for centuries and its successive bishops had wielded immense power. There was no reason to suppose that Henry Phillpotts had surrendered one iota of it.
‘I assume that you’ve been asked to present yourself to the bishop as well,’ said Colbeck, turning to Steel.
‘Indeed, I have.’
The Stationmaster's Farewell Page 4
