Edward Marston - Railway to the Grave

‘Suicide is a subversive act,’ said Skelton. ‘It breaks the law of the land and the divine law of the Ten Commandments. Murder of any kind is abhorrent but at least we can have the satisfaction of hanging the perpetrator. An eye for an eye is a comforting doctrine. No such comfort exists in the case of suicide,’ he said, tossing back his hair. ‘And in this particular instance, there is something else to consider. The colonel took his life in a manner designed to shock and disgust. It was a deliberate attempt to make us suffer. So don’t you try to browbeat me on this issue,’ he continued, as if admonishing his flock from a pulpit. ‘Such a man should never lie in consecrated ground.’

Tarleton pretended to yawn. ‘Your sermons always did make me go to sleep.’

‘Get out of here, Adam.’

‘You never liked my stepfather and this is your means of taking a spiteful revenge against him. It would be deplorable in any man. In an ordained priest, it’s nothing short of malevolence.’

‘God is my mentor. I merely follow his direction.’

Tarleton did not stay long enough to reply. Swivelling on his heel, he went out and slammed the door behind him with such force that the sound reverberated throughout the whole house. Stunned by the violence of his godson’s departure, Skelton took refuge in prayer.

By prior agreement, they met early that evening at the Waggon and Horses, a large establishment in Northallerton with a convivial atmosphere. It gave them the opportunity to review their findings over a quiet drink. Colbeck had been the more assiduous. After his visit to the lawyer’s office, he’d done his best to find out as much as he could about Michael Bruntcliffe. It had been a journey of discovery and it began with the parents. They were deeply embarrassed by the antics of their younger son and almost relieved that he’d disappeared on his release from custody. Their other three children had been a credit to them but Michael was the archetypal black sheep of the family. His father couldn’t understand why he felt compelled to cause so much mischief and he believed that the person to blame was Adam Tarleton. It was when the two young men became close friends that Michael Bruntcliffe’s life took a decisive turn in the wrong direction. What grieved the parents most was that their son was always the one to be put behind bars while Tarleton invariably escaped with a fine.

Since he couldn’t pick up Bruntcliffe’s trail, Colbeck had taken the trouble to call at the prison to ask the governor how he’d fared while serving his time.

‘What did he tell you?’ asked Leeming.

‘That he was sullen and withdrawn,’ replied Colbeck. ‘He seemed to be brooding on what he saw as the injustice of his sentence. Bruntcliffe couldn’t wait to get out. His father offered to collect him on his release but the son refused even to see him. He preferred to go his own way.’

Leeming was puzzled. ‘How can someone from such a good family end up like that? It’s perverse. Bruntcliffe had everything.’

‘So did Adam Tarleton – until the money ran out.’

‘Yes, sir, I’d like to know exactly what happened to it but Mrs Reader was as discreet as her husband. The truth is bound to come out in the end when the estate is valued.’

‘We can’t wait until then, Victor. The information being kept from us could be useful in the investigation. That’s why I went back to the bank earlier on. Mr Reader was too busy to see me but suggested that we meet him here. Over a pleasant drink,’ said Colbeck, sipping his whisky, ‘he may be a little forthcoming.’

Leeming rhapsodised about the china cabinet and the delicate ornaments in the Reader household, wishing that his wife had been able to see something so fine and so beautifully displayed. Colbeck had noticed the items on their previous visit.

‘Which would you rather have?’ he asked. ‘Your home in London with a loving family to share it with you or that rambling edifice you saw again today?’

‘Oh, I’d choose my home every time, sir. The other house is much bigger but it feels empty without children. They make all the difference. But then,’ he added with a knowing smile, ‘you’ll find that out in due course when you have children of your own.’

‘Hold on,’ said Colbeck, stopping him with a gesture. ‘Let’s not rush things. I’m not even married yet. Confiding that to the superintendent is going to be challenging enough. What sort of a response would I get if I told him that I was about to become a father?’

‘I hope I’m not in the building when you do so.’

Bertram Reader noted their laughter as he entered the bar.

‘Is there a cause for celebration?’ he asked, coming over.

‘It’s a private matter, sir,’ said Colbeck, ‘and unconnected with the case. Thank you for joining us. May I get you a drink?’

Reader sat down, the drink was ordered and the three of them were soon talking about the investigation. The banker was able to supply some more detail about Michael Bruntcliffe.

‘He came into some money on his twenty-first birthday,’ he said. ‘Any hopes that it might make him more responsible were soon dashed. He started to fritter it away on gambling. In that respect, he and Adam were partners in crime. When they weren’t gambling or seeking female company of a dubious kind, they went out shooting together.’

‘Oh?’ Colbeck was surprised. ‘Young Mr Tarleton told me that his stepfather didn’t allow him access to any firearms. The colonel didn’t trust him.’

‘That’s why Adam borrowed a shotgun from Bruntcliffe. It was another way of defying the colonel. The pair of them went off shooting game birds. When they’d had too much to drink, they sometimes shot out people’s windows for the sheer fun of it.’

‘Weren’t they ever prosecuted?’

‘No, Inspector – nothing could ever be proved.’

‘Where could I find Bruntcliffe? He seems to have vanished.’

‘Oh, I don’t think he’ll be too far away,’ said Reader. ‘He’s probably living in sin with a loose woman, if I know him. He always did have a certain raffish charm.’

‘Should he be considered as a murder suspect?’

‘He’s not an obvious one, I must confess, because he’s never been guilty of real violence. But he did make dire threats when he was sentenced. I remember the colonel telling me about them.’

‘Wait a minute,’ said Leeming. ‘Surely, the threats were against the colonel and not Mrs Tarleton.’

‘I suppose that the way to hurt him most would be to kill his wife,’ said Reader. ‘The colonel would then be left behind in torment until he could bear it no longer.’

‘You seem to have known him better than anyone, Mr Reader,’ said Colbeck. ‘Perhaps you can tell us why he used to make regular visits to Doncaster?’

Reader shrugged. ‘I wasn’t aware that he did so.’

‘Didn’t he confide in you?’

‘Well, yes, but there were certain areas of his life that he never talked about. His army service was a case in point. Evidently, he enjoyed that period yet it remained a closed book to me. I could give you other examples of his secretiveness.’

‘This could be another example,’ said Leeming. ‘Your wife had no idea why he might choose to go to Doncaster, sir. Do you?’

‘No, I don’t,’ replied Reader. ‘I’m as intrigued as you are.’

‘What really intrigues us,’ said Colbeck, ‘is the abrupt change in the family’s fortunes. How did they come to lose so much money?’

Reader was brisk. ‘That will be revealed in the fullness of time. Even the children are unaware of the full details so I’m not able to divulge them to you. After all, they have no bearing on the murder.’

‘They might have a bearing on the suicide,’ argued Colbeck.