Edward Marston - Timetable of Death

‘Why are we losing support?’ he asked, rancorously.

‘I wish I knew, sir.’

‘You must have heard something .’

‘There have been whispers,’ said Cope. ‘Where they’ve come from, I don’t know, but they’ve damaged you.’

‘What sort of whispers are you talking about?’

‘Not everyone accepts that it was a coincidence, sir. They argue that you were poised to take advantage of Mr Quayle’s death. Indeed, you were so prepared to react to his murder that you must have been party to it.’

‘That’s slanderous!’

‘I’m only reporting what I’ve heard, Mr Haygarth.’

‘Then you must go back to the whisperers and warn them. I’ll not be tainted by the murder of Vivian Quayle. He was never my friend but I had respect for him. Everyone knows that. Who has been circulating this foul calumny?’

‘It has to be Superintendent Wigg, sir.’

‘I’ll get even with that meddling fool, if it’s the last thing I do.’

Hitting his stride, Haygarth unleashed a torrent of vituperation against Wigg. It soon descended into a string of expletives. The intemperate language was still echoing around the room when the door opened and a secretary showed in Robert Colbeck. His arrival silenced Haygarth at once and made Cope freeze on the spot.

‘Have I come at an awkward time?’ asked Colbeck.

As the train drew up alongside the platform, Victor Leeming sighed with relief. The return journey to Derby seemed to him to be even longer and more tedious than the one he’d earlier made to London. The saving grace was that he didn’t have Tallis as a companion this time. Alighting from the train, he took a cab to the hotel and was astonished to see Madeleine sitting in the lounge with Lydia Quayle. He’d known that Madeleine was in the hotel but had not expected to see the other woman again. When he joined them, he exchanged greetings and slumped wearily into a chair.

‘You look exhausted, Sergeant,’ noted Lydia.

‘I’ve been to London and back.’

‘That means you’ve travelled hundreds of miles.’

‘It felt like a thousand. But what are you doing here, Miss Quayle?’

Lydia explained why she couldn’t stay at the family home and how she would be returning there the following day. Meanwhile, she claimed, she was able to hear the latest news about the murder inquiry.

‘Then I wish you’d pass it on to me,’ said Leeming. ‘The truth is that I don’t know what’s going on. Inspector Colbeck said something about a turntable.’

‘I can tell you about that,’ volunteered Madeleine.

‘Please do, Mrs Colbeck. I’m very confused.’

When she told him about her husband’s theory, he was only mildly interested at first but that interest became more intense as Madeleine presented Colbeck’s argument to him. By the time she’d finished, he was completely won over.

‘That would explain so much,’ he said.

‘It’s only a supposition.’

‘Robert’s suppositions are usually reliable,’ said Madeleine.

‘Yet he hasn’t made much progress so far.’

‘That’s because we’ve had so much contradictory evidence,’ said Leeming. ‘If you start from the wrong place, as we did, you end up at the wrong destination. I think that the inspector has got us on the right track at last. All we have to do is to find the link between Mr Quayle and the Peet family.’

Lydia was sceptical. ‘I’m not sure that there is one.’

‘You said yourself how little you knew of your father’s business affairs,’ Madeleine reminded her.

‘Yes, I own that I did.’

‘The link may have nothing to do with business,’ ventured Leeming. ‘It may be of a more personal nature.’

A waiter arrived and the sergeant took the opportunity to order a glass of whisky. He needed something to revive him and he always enjoyed buying something at the expense of the Midland Railway. Leeming was able to relax properly for the first time in hours. The only danger, he feared, was that he might fall asleep out of fatigue.

Entering the hotel, Colbeck made straight for the lounge. He was pleased to see the sergeant ensconced with the two ladies.

‘Ah, you’re back, Victor,’ he said. ‘How was the superintendent?’

‘I can’t say that I enjoyed his company, sir.’

‘You’d obviously prefer to travel to London alone.’

‘It would be much more restful.’

‘I’m glad that you think that,’ said Colbeck, ‘because I’m sending you back there immediately. Something has come up and it needs verification.’

‘I can’t leave now,’ protested Leeming. ‘I’ve just ordered a whisky.’

‘It won’t be wasted. I’ll drink it in your stead.’

‘That does seem unfair on the sergeant,’ said Lydia.

‘Necessity is often unjust. In this case,’ Colbeck went on, ‘the loss of the whisky is offset by the pleasure of spending a night with his family.’ Leeming brightened at once. ‘You won’t be able to make enquiries until tomorrow.’

‘Do I have to go this minute, Inspector?’

‘There’s a train in twenty minutes. That will give you time to collect your bag and take your orders from me.’

‘But I’ve already made an arrangement, sir.’

‘It’s just been cancelled.’

‘I feel bad about letting him down,’ said Leeming. ‘It’s Mr Conway’s last day in Spondon. He’s making the most of it by staying well into the evening. I promised to meet him here to see if he has anything new to tell us.’

‘I can listen to Mr Conway as well as you, Victor.’ Colbeck turned to Madeleine. ‘He’s a reporter from the Derby Mercury . We’d better not be seen together. If he discovered that my wife is here, it might just creep into his newspaper and that would cause ructions.’ His head swung back to Leeming. ‘Fetch your valise then take the next cab on the rank.’

‘Will you give my apology to him?’

‘Have no fear, Victor. I’ll take care of Mr Conway for you.’

It was dark when Philip Conway came out of the Union Inn. The stiff breeze was like a slap on the face that reminded him just how much he’d drunk in the course of the evening. His legs were rubbery and he took a moment to steady himself. Since he would be working on another story the next day, he’d done his utmost to gather a few last clues relating to the murder. Though he went to three public houses in a row, he heard nothing of consequence from any of the patrons there. Everyone was glad to see him and to offer their versions of what must have happened on the night in question but no hard facts emerged. The large reward had failed to produce the significant evidence needed.

Before leaving the town, Conway decided to take a last look at the churchyard where the body of the murder victim had been found. Letting himself in through the gate, he walked across to the plot where Cicely Peet should have been buried. When he’d passed it earlier, the grave was still yawning wide. During his time in the village, it had somehow been filled in. Conway bent down and took up a handful of earth before letting it fall through his fingers. He didn’t hear the footsteps behind him. When the blow struck him on the head, he pitched forward on the ground and lapsed immediately into unconsciousness.

Gerard Burns was deeply troubled. He’d now had to endure visits from a Scotland Yard detective, each one more searching than its predecessor. The next time he had to be questioned, he was warned, it might well be in a police station and he would be under arrest. The threat made him pause for thought. After being dismissed from one post in the most brutal manner, he had done his best to start afresh in the neighbouring county and had impressed everyone with his industry and horticultural expertise. There had been years of continuous repair. He’d repaired his confidence, repaired his career and repaired his heartbreak by finding someone else to love. At a time when his life was better than it had ever been before, the hated name of Vivian Quayle had risen up in front of him like a spectre.