‘That would have to be his brother — undeservedly, in my opinion.’
‘It was kind of you to let us in so early,’ said Colbeck, ‘and we’re grateful that you did so. In a profession like yours, you must have become acquainted with a large number of families in the city.’
‘Everyone who dies an unexplained death needs a coroner.’
‘That’s a cheerful thought!’ murmured Leeming.
‘We cater for rich and poor alike. Men, women and children of all ages and all faiths have lain on that slab. We’ve had two Negroes, an Arab and a Chinaman. One gets to see a complete cross section of humanity as a coroner. What we haven’t had,’ he continued, glancing down at the body, ‘are murder victims. To my knowledge, this is the second this century.’
‘I hope it’s the last.’
‘Does the name Bagsy Browne mean anything to you?’ asked Colbeck.
‘Oh, yes,’ said the coroner with a flash of vehemence. ‘He’s well known in these parts. From time to time, his name is in the newspapers with details of his latest crime. He’s a menace, Inspector. There are a lot of people in Exeter who’d prefer it if it was Bagsy Browne’s body under this shroud.’
He was fast asleep when she came bursting into the room. Adeline shook him by the shoulder but she failed to rouse him. She resorted to more drastic methods. Lifting his head up with one hand, she used the other to slap his cheeks hard. When he still refused to wake up, she reached for a jug of water and poured it over his face. Bagsy Browne let out a yell and sat bolt upright in bed.
‘Damnation!’ he exclaimed. ‘I dreamt that I was drowning.’
‘You’ve got to wake up.’
He opened a bleary eye. ‘Is that you, Ad? Come back to bed.’
‘You must read this first,’ she said, brandishing a newspaper. ‘The police are looking for you. There’s even a reward being offered.’
Coming fully awake in an instant, he snatched the newspaper from her.
‘Where’s the bit about me?’
‘It’s at the bottom of the page.’
Unable to read properly, he needed her help to decipher all the words. While the report terrified Adeline, it caused him no unease. Instead, he guffawed.
‘It’s not funny, Bagsy. What if they come here?’
‘Nobody would dare to give me away.’
‘The police might search the premises.’
‘I thought you all paid them to look the other way.’
‘Only the ones who’ll take money,’ she said, ‘and there aren’t many of those. The others even turn down the offer of free entertainment.’
He was appalled. ‘You’d never give your body to a peeler, surely?’
‘I wouldn’t but there are those who would — and who do. Anyway, forget about them, Bagsy. We have to get you out of here somehow.’
‘But I’m enjoying it here. Did you get that pork pie for my breakfast?’
She was amazed at his calm. ‘Aren’t you afraid that they’ll find you?’
‘No,’ he said, blithely. ‘The peelers are looking for Bagsy Browne, that ugly bugger with the long hair and the beard. When I get rid of the hair and shave off the beard, they won’t know me from Adam. Before that, however,’ he went on, grabbing her and pulling her on to the bed, ‘I’d like to work up an appetite for that pork pie.’ Pulling off her clothes, he tossed them on to the floor. ‘This is my idea of a hearty breakfast.’
The inquest was held in the coroner’s court and it was packed to capacity. Colbeck was seated between Leeming and Superintendent Steel, who was almost friendly towards the detectives now. He was also more confiding. Colbeck put it down to the fact that he and Steel had together weathered the howling storm that was the Bishop of Exeter. It was a bonding experience. Each man had been impressed by the way that the other had withstood the wild threats and imprecations without blenching. As they tried to solve the crime, they knew that they would forever be hampered and hectored by the Right Reverend Henry Phillpotts.
When the jury was sworn in, the coroner maintained an expression of professional inscrutability. He was commendably thorough, questioning almost all of Heygate’s staff at the railway station as well as other people who’d claimed to have seen him on the eve of Guy Fawkes Day. Everyone told much the same story. The stationmaster had gone about his duties in the usual way, then returned to his house in the evening. They all praised his unblemished record of service. Colbeck had to give Gervase Quinnell credit for one thing. In order to allow his employees to attend the inquest, he’d brought in staff from other stations under his aegis to cover for them. Quinnell himself sat at the rear, watching with keen interest.
Most people managed to answer the questions put to them, albeit tentatively, but the effort was too much for Dorcas Hope. Being in front of such a large gathering unnerved her and memories of the stationmaster’s kindness to her kept lapping at her mind. Overcome with emotion, she was unable to get any coherent words out and had to be helped sobbing out of the court. The most confident performance came from Lawrence Woodford. After singing his predecessor’s praises, he gave a clear account of everything that Heygate had done on the fatal day and said that the stationmaster had talked about going to see a bird that evening.
The coroner was surprised. ‘Going to see a bird in the
‘It was a barn owl. Joel had more or less tamed it by taking it food. And yes,’ he added, ‘it was after nightfall but there was a moon. Besides, Joel would have taken a lantern with him.’
‘Is there a lantern missing from the station?’
‘Yes, there is.’
‘Did he say where he’d find this owl?’
‘He said nothing to me.’
Colbeck was interested by this new piece of information. Unlike the others, Woodford was measured and articulate. In fact, it occurred to Colbeck that he was rather too articulate, like an actor who’d memorised his lines perfectly. The man was not so much giving evidence as auditioning for the post of stationmaster.
Colbeck nudged Leeming. ‘Find out more about this gentleman, Victor.’
‘He’s a cocky devil, sir.’
‘He’s also too ambitious for my liking.’
All the witnesses so far had accepted that the dead man was unquestionably Joel Heygate and the fact that the police search for him had been futile supported this view. The next person to face the coroner contradicted everyone else. Agnes Rossiter had put on her best clothes for the occasion, including the new hat with the ostrich feathers. She went on the attack at once.
‘I think it’s dreadful the way that the rest of you want to bury poor Mr Heygate when he’s not yet dead. He’s still very much alive,’ she asserted, looking around defiantly. ‘He’s just gone astray, that’s all.’
‘Why do you think that, Mrs Rossiter?’ asked the coroner.
‘If anything had happened to him, I would know.’
‘On what grounds do you make that claim?’
‘Mr Heygate and I were … close friends.’ The announcement caused a buzz of curiosity. ‘We agreed to meet at the bonfire but he never turned up.’
‘Isn’t that because he lay dead beneath the blaze?’
‘No, no, no!’ she shouted. ‘I don’t believe that. It’s cruel of you to try to
‘We need rather more proof than that, Mrs Rossiter.’
‘Can’t you take my word for it? I knew him better than anyone.’
‘Then where is he?’
‘Give him time and he’ll come back.’
‘Why did he go away in the first place?’
‘Mr Heygate will explain that.’
‘Let me ask you this, then. If
‘It was someone else.’
‘But nobody else has been reported missing. Superintendent Steel will confirm that. When I question him in
