The Stationmaster's farewell

she looked quite deranged.

‘What may we get you, gentlemen?’ she asked.

‘Actually,’ said Colbeck, ‘I wanted a private word with Miss Hope. Sergeant Leeming and I have come from London to investigate the murder. My name is Inspector Colbeck, by the way. We were at the inquest yesterday when you seemed to think that the victim had been wrongly identified.’

‘I sensed that it had,’ said Mrs Rossiter, ‘because we had such a bond between us. This morning, however, it was very different. The moment I opened my eyes, I knew that it had to be Joel — dear Mr Heygate — and I felt obliged to mourn him in the proper way.’

Dorcas was nervous. ‘Why do you want to speak to me, Inspector?’

‘I’d like to speak to you both in turn, Miss Hope, but I can’t take you out of here together or nobody would be served refreshments.’

‘You can’t have my assistant,’ complained the manageress. ‘I need her.’

‘All that you need is a willing pair of hands,’ said Colbeck, ‘and I’m sure that the sergeant will provide them.’

Leeming was aghast. ‘You want me to act as waitress, sir?’

‘Only for a short time, Victor — you’ll cope admirably.’

‘But I’ve never worked in a refreshment room before.’

‘Mrs Rossiter will teach you all you need to know.’

‘Yes,’ she said, regarding him sternly, ‘and the first thing you must do is to take off your coat and hat. There’s a spare apron under the counter. You can put that on. Appearance is everything in here.’

‘I can’t see how this will solve a murder,’ grumbled Leeming.

‘You’re solving a problem of keeping the refreshment room open,’ Colbeck told him, ‘and we’re very grateful.’

He took Dorcas out and escorted her to the stationmaster’s office. Quinnell had given him permission to use it whenever necessary and Woodford had been quick to agree. It was empty when they got there so they stepped out of the cold. Dorcas was fearful, eyes widening and stomach churning. She was glad when Colbeck doffed his hat. He looked less intimidating now. He offered her a chair then sat opposite her.

‘There’s no need to be afraid,’ he soothed. ‘You’re not in any kind of trouble. It’s just that you may be able to help us.’

‘I said all I know at the inquest, sir — until it got too much for me, that is.’

‘I felt that there were things you may have overlooked.’

Dorcas was confused. ‘Were you there, sir?’

‘Yes, we were.’ He appraised her. ‘You’re the young lady we saw when we first arrived here, I fancy. You were carrying a large birdcage.’

‘That was Mr Heygate’s canary. His name is Peter. I used to look after him when Mr Heygate was away.’ Her face clouded. ‘I’ve done nothing wrong, have I, sir? Mr Woodford said I could have Peter. It’s not against the law, is it?’

‘Not at all,’ said Colbeck with a smile. ‘I’m only glad that the bird has gone to someone who’ll care for him. When the superintendent and I searched the house yesterday, we found a couple of books on canaries.’

‘Mr Heygate loved birds.’

‘Yes, I’m told that he rescued an injured pigeon once and nursed it back to health. Is that true?’

‘Oh, yes,’ she said, gathering confidence, ‘it was lying on the track. I was allowed to feed the pigeon sometimes. He kept it here in the back room. We called it Lucky because it almost got run over by a train.’

‘It sounds to me as if it was lucky in finding people like you and Mr Heygate as well. You obviously have an affinity for birds.’

‘What does that mean, sir?’

‘You like them and they like you.’

‘Well, yes, that’s true. But Mr Heygate was the expert.’

‘Did he ever mention a barn owl to you?’

‘Oh, he did,’ she replied, shedding her apprehension and talking with a degree of excitement. ‘He stumbled on it by accident when he was out walking. He used to go and see it after dark and take it food. That was the best time, he said. The owl came to the shed most nights.’

‘Do you happen to know where that shed was, Miss Hope?’

‘No, sir, but it wasn’t all that far away. Mr Heygate said that it only took him a quarter of an hour to get there.’

‘According to Mr Woodford,’ said Colbeck, ‘he was going to see the owl on the night that he was … on the night that he disappeared. Did you know about that?’

‘Yes, sir — Mr Heygate told me.’

‘You were obviously a friend in whom he could confide.’

‘He was a very nice man.’

‘You must have gone into his house a number of times.’

‘Yes — and not only to feed Peter. Mr Heygate invited me to tea on a Sunday once in a while. My parents were happy to let me go. They knew they could trust him.’

‘Did you ever see any sign of money in the house?’

‘Money?’

‘Mr Heygate earned a good wage, yet we found no sign of money in the house and we searched hard. I wonder if he had a hiding place somewhere.’

‘I’m sorry, Inspector. I wouldn’t know about that.’

‘Fair enough,’ he said. ‘Do you like working here, Miss Hope?’

She was hesitant. ‘I used to like it.’

‘What about now?’

‘Things have changed. Mr Woodford is …’ She needed time to find the right words. ‘Well, he’s very different and Mrs Rossiter is behaving strangely. She’s nothing to do with Mr Heygate’s family but she’s pretending that she is. To be honest, sir, I was upset when I saw her dressed up like that.’

‘I can imagine,’ said Colbeck. ‘What we need to establish is where exactly Mr Heygate was going that night when he set off to see this owl. You may not know. Is there anyone else who might?’

‘No, sir — he was a very private man.’

‘So we’ve discovered.’

‘But there is one way to find out where he went.’

Colbeck’s interest quickened. ‘Is there?’

‘Yes, sir,’ she said. ‘Mr Heygate kept a diary. He always made a note of where he’d seen certain birds. It was his hobby, you see.’

‘We found no diary during our search and we were very thorough.’

‘It ought to be there somewhere, sir. All you have to do is to look at the diary and it will tell you what you want to know.’

Victor Leeming had a well-earned reputation for handling a crisis and police work had given him plenty of practice. One thing he’d never done, however, was to handle a sudden influx of customers who poured out of a train and demanded refreshments before they continued their journey to Plymouth. Caught up in a whirl of non-stop activity, he could only marvel at the way that Mrs Rossiter took a stream of orders, accepted payment for them and set tea and food on the counter for Leeming to carry to respective tables. He was embarrassed to be wearing an apron and humiliated by being treated as a menial. The occasional tip did nothing to sweeten his temper. Passengers were given fair warning when the train was about to depart and they left in a solid group. Overwhelmed with relief, Leeming collapsed on to a chair.

‘There’s no time to sit down, Sergeant,’ snapped the manageress. ‘The tables need clearing and you can wash some of the crockery.’

He stood up wearily. ‘Is it always like this?’

‘No, we’re usually much busier.’

He began to collect teacups and plates from the tables before stacking them on the counter. Mrs Rossiter, meanwhile, was boiling a fresh supply of water in readiness for the next invasion. When he heard the door open,