Edward Marston - Timetable of Death

Haygarth’s face darkened. ‘We’ll have to see about that.’

Big, solid and with a commanding presence in the town, the Royal Hotel offered good accommodation and an excellent menu in its dining room. As they enjoyed their meal there that evening, Robert Colbeck had no cause for complaint. Victor Leeming, however, kept glancing wistfully around. From the next day onwards, he knew he’d be eating plainer fare and sleeping in a far less comfortable bed above a noisy bar in a Spondon public house. Sensing the sergeant’s dismay, Colbeck tried to cheer him up.

‘You’ll like it there, Victor. It’s what you’ve yearned for, after all.’

Leeming was baffled. ‘Is it?’

‘Yes, I’ve lost count of the times you’ve moaned about bringing up your family in a big city with all the dangers that that implies. Whenever our work has taken us to smaller communities — Dawlish was a case in point — you said how nice it would be to live in such a place.’

‘That’s true,’ admitted the other. ‘The air would be a lot cleaner than it is in London and it would certainly be a lot safer and quieter.’

‘There you are, then. Spondon answers all your needs. It’s a pleasant village, just the kind of place for you, Estelle and the boys.’

‘No, it isn’t. I’d soon tire of it.’

‘Why?’

‘There’s so little to do in a small village. Nothing ever happens there.’

Colbeck grinned. ‘I wouldn’t describe two murders in three years as a case of nothing ever happening. There are six constables there, remember, so there must be a lot of petty crime to police.’

‘Throwing drunks out of a bar and keeping naughty children out of the churchyard is not my idea of work, Inspector. I thrive on action.’

‘Don’t treat naughty children with such contempt. It was two of them who first discovered that a murder had occurred. They set this investigation in motion. Bear that in mind. You should make a point of meeting the pair of them.’

‘I will, sir,’ said Leeming, ‘and I’m sorry to complain. It’s only right that one of us explores Spondon properly. If truth be told, I’ll feel more at home in a village pub. Luxury like this always makes me uneasy.’

‘It’s a strange paradox. Comfort makes you uncomfortable.’

‘I’m like a fish out of water here. It’s Spondon for me. That’s where the crime took place and where, in all probability, the killer lives.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘He knew that there was an empty grave handy at St Mary’s.’

‘That could have been a case of serendipity.’

Leeming frowned. ‘You’ve used that word before but I forget what it means.’

‘It means that, if you stumble upon something that serves your purpose, you take full advantage of it. When the killer chose St Mary’s, he may have been unaware that there was an appropriate place for a dead body. He’s obviously somebody who knows the village,’ Colbeck agreed, ‘but that doesn’t mean he still lives there. What we do know about him is that he has a macabre sense of humour. Most killers try to conceal their victims in order to slow down the process of detection. This man did the opposite. He wanted that corpse to be found.’

‘I keep thinking about that missing top hat.’

‘If we find that, it will have the name of Mr Quayle inside it.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I checked the label on his coat. His name was sewn into it. Among the many places I need to visit is the Nottingham tailor patronised by Mr Quayle. He was a man of exquisite taste.’

‘Where else will you go, sir?’

‘I’ll visit the home of the deceased and make discreet enquiries there and I’ll certainly need to look into the workings of the Midland Railway. Mr Quayle was intimately involved in them. He had power and that always creates enemies.’

‘Mr Haygarth was one of them,’ said Leeming, recalling their meeting with the acting chairman. ‘He made a song and dance about the importance of catching Mr Quayle’s killer but I didn’t get the impression that he was really sorry that the man had died. Secretly, he must be delighted. He’s just too cunning to show it.’

‘My feeling exactly, Victor.’

‘Do you think that someone from the Midland Railway is behind it all?’

‘It’s not impossible,’ said Colbeck, thanking the waiter with a smile as the man cleared away their plates. ‘It’s equally possible that someone employed by a rival company is implicated. One sure way to disable the Midland is to get rid of the man who is about to become its chairman. Think of the impact on the morale of all the employees of the company. This will have shaken them badly.’

‘It didn’t shake Mr Haygarth.’

‘I noticed that.’

‘I know that Superintendent Wigg only said it by way of a jest but should we put Haygarth on the list of suspects? I can’t see him killing another man but he looks capable of hiring someone to do his dirty work.’

‘We must keep an open mind, Victor.’

‘I like to have something to bite on in an investigation.’

‘The cheese will be served very soon. Bite into that.’ They both laughed. ‘I’ll warrant that you won’t find the same quality in the Malt Shovel or the Union Inn or wherever you choose to stay.’

‘I’ll be where I fit in better,’ said Leeming.

‘Exactly,’ said Colbeck. ‘You can blend into that village in a way that I can’t. There are times, I readily accept, when my educated vowels are a positive drawback. You’re more down to earth and you’re a good listener. It’s one of your strengths.’

Leeming pulled a face. ‘I didn’t know that I had any.’

Colbeck laughed and patted his companion’s shoulder. ‘You’re awash with them, Victor.’ He saw the waiter approaching. ‘It looks as if our cheese is on its way.’

But the waiter was bringing something more than just a selection of cheeses. After setting down the platter on the table, he put a hand inside his coat to extract a letter.

‘This is for you, Inspector,’ he said, giving it to him. ‘It was handed in by someone at reception and passed on to the head waiter.’

‘Thank you,’ said Colbeck, scrutinising it and noting the neatness with which his name had been written. The man nodded and walked away. ‘Let’s see what we have here, shall we?’ He opened the letter and took something out. ‘Well, well, well …’

‘What is it, sir?’

‘It’s a reward notice, Victor. A very tempting amount of money is being offered for information that leads to the arrest of the killer of Mr Quayle.’ He turned the paper over. ‘However, that’s not all we’ve been given.’ He passed it over to Leeming. ‘Do you see what someone has written on the back?’

After reading details of the reward, Leeming looked at the reverse side.

‘Gerard Burns — is he the person who sent this to you?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Then who is he?’

‘As of now,’ said Colbeck, ‘I fancy that he’s our prime suspect.’

The day began early at the vicarage. Funerals were always unsettling occasions for Michael Sadler but he was looking forward to the latest one with real trepidation. In view of what had happened to the grave originally dug, he was afraid that he’d lost the hitherto unquestioning support of Roderick Peet, the bereaved husband. Other members of the family might also look askance at him. The fact that he’d finally persuaded Bert Knowles to dig a fresh grave might not be enough to win back the Peet family. It was something he should have done instantly, before Peet was drawn into the blistering row with Knowles. Deeply troubled, the vicar hardly touched his breakfast and heard very little of his wife’s customary wittering.