Edward Marston - Timetable of Death

Two close friends had just reached an impasse, unable to decide if they’d somehow been drawn closer by their respective mistakes or if their relationship had been shattered beyond recall.

Since he knew the train that Leeming would catch in London that morning, Colbeck walked to Derby station to meet it. When an earlier train steamed in, one of the passengers who alighted was Elijah Wigg, adjusting his hat and jacket. He was obviously so proud of his uniform that Colbeck wondered if the man could ever be persuaded to take it off. Wigg strode across to him.

‘Where are you going, Inspector?’ he asked.

‘I’m waiting for someone to arrive, actually.’

‘My day clearly starts much earlier than yours. I was in Spondon at eight o’clock to see what, if anything, the local constables had managed to discover. I’m known for my sudden inspections. It keeps men on their toes.’

‘Has any new evidence come to light?’

‘If it has, they didn’t get a sniff of it. I told them where and how to look.’

‘Ah,’ said Colbeck, ‘I’m glad that you mentioned the Spondon constables. One of them accosted Sergeant Leeming. He’s a local cobbler by the name of Jed Hockaday.’

‘Yes, he’s very committed and you can’t say that of all of them. Hockaday’s a man of low intelligence but I like that in a policeman. It’s more important to have someone who obeys orders at once than someone who thinks too much.’

‘Then we must agree to differ, Superintendent,’ said Colbeck. ‘Given the choice, I prefer a thinking policeman every time. He usually knows that discretion is the better part of valour and never rushes in regardless.’

‘I can’t see you rushing in anywhere,’ joked Wigg. ‘It might crease that impeccable attire of yours.’

‘Oh, you’d be surprised how often I’ve had torn garments and scuffed shoes. During a case I handled in Kent,’ recalled Colbeck, ‘my frock coat acquired a nasty tear when someone shot at me. As a thinking policeman, I had the presence of mind to fall to the ground and feign injury.’

‘Hockaday would never dream of doing that.’

‘How long has he been a constable?’

‘He volunteered when Enoch Stone was killed.’

‘According to that reporter, Philip Conway, the fellow is still carrying out a one-man investigation into the murder.’

‘It’s not confined to one man,’ corrected Wigg. ‘That case remains open.’ He stroked a whisker and grinned. ‘I see that the love affair with Mr Haygarth is over.’

‘I can’t imagine what you mean.’

‘When he sent for you, he told me that you were the cleverest detective in England. His enthusiasm has waned a bit since then. After I left you at the Royal last night, I bumped into him outside the Midland headquarters. Haygarth was less than complimentary about you.’

‘He’s entitled to his opinion,’ said Colbeck, easily. ‘I daresay that even you have your detractors, Superintendent, impossible as it may seem.’

Wigg leant in close. ‘Haygarth is not your detractor,’ he said, quietly. ‘His fear is that you’ll do your job too well and discover that he’s implicated in this murder somehow. I told you that he had to be a suspect. His change of attitude to you is clear proof of it.’ He tugged his jacket into shape. ‘And where Haygarth goes, that slimy creature of his called Maurice Cope goes as well. Watch your back, Inspector. They’re dangerous men.’

Of all the members of the family, Agnes Quayle had been the one most unnerved by the news of the murder. Her life might be dull and repetitious but at least, she had always consoled herself, it was both comfortable and supremely safe. Those guarantees had suddenly disappeared. She was profoundly discomfited and no longer felt safe at the house. If her father could be killed in mysterious circumstances, then the rest of the family might also be in jeopardy. The thought made her afraid to leave the house alone for her daily walk. Her main concern, however, was for her mother. In defying her children and going for a drive in the landau the previous day, Harriet Quayle had been taking an unnecessary risk, yet she’d returned with a touch of colour in her cheeks. Even so, Agnes agreed with her elder brother’s argument that their mother should be kept inside the house and more or less confined to her room. While Stanley and Lucas would pop their heads in to exchange a few words with her, the burden of looking after the old woman would fall as usual on Agnes. It was a burden that was feeling increasingly heavy.

With the disappearance of the man who had dominated the house for so long, there would be considerable changes. None of them, Agnes feared, would be of any advantage to her. The open antagonism between her brothers was worrying but she lacked the ability to reconcile them. She would now be at the mercy of her elder brother’s dictates and Stanley Quayle tended to treat her more like one of the servants than a member of the family, assigning her tasks rather than involving her in any discussions about the future. Lydia would not have allowed herself to be treated in that way. While never daring to strike out on her own like her sister, Agnes wished that she’d had something of Lydia’s bravado. And secretly, in her darkest moments, she’d even wished that there’d been a Gerard Burns in her life to add the excitement that was so cruelly missing. When she remembered what the outcome of the liaison between Lydia and the gardener had been, however, she was relieved that her life had been so uneventful.

As she went up the stairs that morning, she envisaged another day of sitting at a bedside and she gritted her teeth. Agnes tapped on the door of her mother’s bedroom and expected an invitation to go in. When it never came, she opened the door gently and peeped in to see if her mother was still asleep. But Harriet Quayle was not even there. The bed had clearly been slept in but the sheets had now been thrown back. There was no sign of the old woman. Agnes conducted a frantic search but it was in vain. Wondering what had happened and fearing that she would be blamed, Agnes was so distressed that she slumped to the floor in a dead faint.

‘I felt like a complete fool, Inspector.’

‘You did nothing wrong, Victor.’

‘I spent all that time and effort finding that address, only to discover that the superintendent had it already.’

‘It fell into my lap when you’d already set off on your search,’ said Colbeck. ‘I sent the address by means of a telegraph in case you failed to locate the house.’

‘Where did you get the information?’

‘Lucas Quayle came to see me. It was quite fortuitous.’

Having met Leeming at the station, Colbeck was walking down the street with him. The sergeant had caught the designated train from London and brought a letter from Madeleine and a stream of complaints. Not only had he had to leave his wife and family again, he was still haunted by his last confrontation with Edward Tallis. It was time to apply balm to his wounds.

‘You’ll be staying with me at the Royal Hotel from now on, Victor.’

‘Oh,’ said the other, partially mollified, ‘that’s a relief.’

‘I think you’ve seen all you need to of the Malt Shovel in Spondon.’

‘It was such a pleasure to spend the night in a soft bed.’

‘How were Estelle and the boys?’

‘It was wonderful to see them again.’

‘You deserved a treat. A happy family is the perfect antidote to any harsh treatment at the hands of the superintendent.’

‘I just hope that he never finds out that Mrs Colbeck was involved in the search for that address. If he does, both of our necks will be on the block.’

‘It was a risk worth taking.’