Edward Marston - Inspector Colbeck's Casebook

There had been a trap for hire at the station but, since he had no luggage to carry, Colbeck had elected to walk. When the sergeant saw him coming towards the hotel, he went downstairs to meet him. They adjourned to the lounge so that they could talk in private.

‘I waited until the undertaker arrived to take away the body,’ said Colbeck.

‘Yes, I saw him driving up the street.’

‘What have you found out, Victor?’

‘Well, I may have the name of the deceased,’ said Leeming. ‘According to the manager here, it’s someone called Joan Metcalf.’

‘That’s not what I heard. The stationmaster said it was Maggie Hobday.’

‘Ah, yes, that name came up as well but the manager said it couldn’t possibly be her. He claimed she was up in Bowness.’

‘Tell me about Joan Metcalf.’

‘She lives wild, sir,’ explained Leeming. ‘It’s a sad case. The husband she loved devotedly was killed at sea but she’s never accepted that he was dead. She walks up and down the coast in the hope that he’ll come back to her one day. Someone saw her near Selker Bay earlier in the week. I don’t know where that is but the manager says that it’s not far south of here.’

‘When did her husband die?’

‘It was all of twenty years ago. Her faith that he’s still alive must be very strong to keep her going that long. She begs for food and will do odd jobs to earn a penny. She’ll sleep wherever she can. People in Ravenglass are kind to her.’

‘Then she’s very different to Maggie Hobday. The women here are more likely to drive her away because she sells favours to the men. Which one is it,’ asked Colbeck, pensively, ‘the wife with a broken heart or the lady of easy virtue?’

‘We may never know, sir.’

‘We have to know, Victor. Only when we’ve identified the victim can we start looking for people who might have a motive to kill her.’ He stood back to appraise Leeming. ‘I think that it’s time you had a haircut.’

‘Do you?’ asked the other in surprise.

‘I passed the barber’s shop on my way here. It’s still open.’

‘Why should I have a haircut, sir?’

‘Because it’s the ideal way to get information without appearing to be doing so,’ said Colbeck. ‘There can’t be more than four hundred souls in a place like this. A barber will know almost everyone and have a lot of customers among the men.’

‘So?’

‘If he realises you’re a detective, he may not be so forthcoming. If you tell him that you’re a visitor to the area, however, he’ll talk more freely. Find out all you can about Ravenglass and the men who live here.’

Leeming ran a hand over his head. ‘I don’t really need a haircut, you know.’

‘Pretend that you do. It’s in a good cause.’

‘Where will you be, sir?’

‘Oh, I’ll be here, doing something of great importance.’

‘What’s that?’

‘I’ll be studying the dinner menu.’

Most of the barber’s customers were fishermen or local tradesmen so the sight of a frock coat and top hat caused Ned Wyatt, the barber, to look up. An elderly man was having what little remained of his hair trimmed by Wyatt. They had been chatting happily until the newcomer stepped into the little shop. The conversation trailed off. Removing his hat, Leeming took a seat and waited. When his turn came, he replaced the other customer in the chair and had a white cloth put around him.

‘What can I do for you, sir?’ asked Wyatt.

‘Just … make my hair look a little tidier, please.’

‘It doesn’t need much taking off.’

‘You’re the barber. I rely on your judgement.’

He could see Wyatt in the mirror. The barber was a tall, thin, sour-faced individual in his fifties but his pronounced hunch took several inches off his height. Beside the mirror was a small framed portrait of a man in a black cloak and white bands. He looked vaguely familiar to Leeming.

‘Who’s that?’ he asked.

‘John Wesley.’

‘Ah, I see. You’re a Methodist.’

‘Wesley often came to Cumberland. He preached in Whitehaven twenty-five times. Listening to him must have been an inspiration.’

‘I sometimes fall asleep during our vicar’s sermons,’ said Leeming.

‘What brings you to Ravenglass?’ asked Wyatt, starting to snip away.

‘Friends of mine had a holiday here once and told me what a pleasant spot it was. Since I was travelling north by train, I thought I’d make a small diversion and see what it was that they liked so much.’

‘I hope you’re not disappointed.’

‘Not at all — it’s very …’ He groped for the right word. ‘It’s very quaint.’

‘It’s a nice place to live, sir.’

‘So I should imagine,’ said Leeming, starting to relax into his role. ‘But there seems to be some commotion here. I saw some of the remains of a carriage at the station and overheard the manager of the King’s Arms talking about a tragic death.’

‘That’s right.’

‘What exactly happened?’

‘Nobody can say with any certainty, sir. Everyone who comes in here has a different view. Bert Longmuir, who just left, reckons as how someone wanted to kill theirselves by setting fire to that carriage.’ He gave an expressive shrug. ‘I’m not sure that I believe that.’

‘Oh — what do you think happened?’

As his scissors clicked away, Wyatt gave him a range of theories about the crime and told him the names of the people who held those opinions. What he was careful not to do was to commit himself to a point of view. Leeming tried to prod him into voicing his own opinion.

‘You must have thought some of those comments ridiculous.’

‘I’m in business, sir. I never argue with customers.’

‘Has anything like this ever happened in Ravenglass before?’

Wyatt was crisp. ‘ Never , sir — and we don’t want it to happen again. It leaves a bad feeling in the town. People start to suspect each other and arguments break out. That’s not good for us. It could well be that nobody from Ravenglass is involved.’

‘No, that’s right. He might have come from somewhere else.’

‘And he might be a she, sir.’

Leeming was startled. ‘What’s that?’

‘Women know how to light a fire.’

Wyatt finished cutting the hair and looked at Leeming from both sides before he was satisfied that his work was done. He removed the white cloak and used a brush on his customer’s shoulders. After examining his haircut, Leeming got up, thanked him and paid the barber.

‘I’ll be on my way then,’ he said.

‘You’ll notice that the barman at the King’s Arms has also had a haircut,’ said Wyatt, impassively. ‘He were talking to manager when you went in to book rooms. Then he came in here and told me who you were.’

‘Oh,’ said Leeming, uneasily. ‘I see.’

‘I hope you enjoy your stay, Sergeant Leeming. They’re decent people in Ravenglass. They like honesty.’ He held the door open. ‘So do I, sir. Goodbye.’

After a visit to the undertaker, Colbeck returned to the crime scene. He borrowed a rake from the stationmaster and used it to sift through the debris, taking excessive care not to soil his well-polished shoes. Nothing had survived the fire intact. What few possessions the victim had owned had been eaten up by the flames. He was still raking through the embers when Victor Leeming came towards him.

‘They told me at the hotel that you’d be here, sir.’

‘Yes,’ said Colbeck, ‘now that the body has been removed, I wanted a closer look at the scene.’ He appraised the sergeant. ‘Take your hat off.’

‘Why?’

‘I want to see what the barber did.’