He stretched out an arm. ‘Shall we go and find a cab, Mrs Rossiter?’
‘Yes,’ she said, taking his hand and rising to her feet. ‘Have you ever lost someone you adored, Inspector?’
‘I’ve lost several people who’d qualify under that description, alas. There was my mother, father and my younger brother, not to mention four grandparents. I’m no stranger to family funerals.’
‘Are you married?’
‘Not at the moment,’ he replied, ‘but our wedding is arranged for the end of this month. It’s not the ideal time of the year but I’m blessed in having the ideal bride and that’s wonderful compensation.’
‘I hope that she never has to suffer what I’ve had to endure,’ she said with sudden acrimony. ‘Fate can be so cruel at times. It’s happened to me twice now. I pray that your wife will be spared such unspeakable horror.’
It was no use. No matter how hard she tried, Madeleine Andrews could not concentrate on her work. Though she’d been standing at her easel for hours, she’d put very little on the canvas. It was Colbeck who’d spotted her artistic talent and who’d urged her to develop it. His encouragement was all the incentive that she needed. By dint of study and incessant practice, she produced paintings that were eventually good enough to be shown to a dealer and her first sale had been a joyous experience. Building on that early success, she’d managed to make a regular income of sorts from her brush. What had attracted the art dealer was her unusual choice of subject. Instead of painting a pretty landscape or a portrait, she took her inspiration from the railways. Locomotives were conjured on to the canvas with a mixture of love and growing expertise. She knew how to bring them alive. Her success was a source of continuous pleasure for her father, who boasted — correctly at times — that he’d been able to give her the benefit of his professional advice.
But she could not address her mind to the painting in hand that afternoon. All that she could think about was the wedding and the dress she’d wear to the event. It was years since she’d first met Robert Colbeck and, though their friendship deepened with each passing month, they seemed to get no closer to marriage. Then, when she least expected it, he proposed to her in the middle of the Birmingham Jewellery Quarter, where he’d bought the engagement ring she wore so proudly on her finger. The date was set, the church was booked, the invitations sent out and her wedding dress ordered. With so much to think about, Madeleine was mad even to imagine that she could work properly. Whenever she looked at her painting of a locomotive her father had once driven, the face of Colbeck smiled back at her from the easel. She was alternately aroused and dejected, lifted by the thought of the wedding day ahead and crestfallen at the prospect of some harm befalling her future husband. Danger always lurked in a murder investigation. She had to accept that.
The sound of approaching footsteps reminded her that she was not the only person in the house. Recognising her father’s distinctive gait, she broke off and used a piece of cloth to wipe her brush dry. Caleb Andrews unlocked the door and stepped into the house. It was the day when he’d taken tea at Dirk Sowerby’s. Among the guests was a lady in whom Andrews had taken more than a passing interest. Madeleine searched his face for a hint at the success or otherwise of the occasion but her father was unduly impassive.
‘Well,’ she asked, ‘did you enjoy the visit?’
‘It was pleasant enough, Maddy.’
‘Is that all?’
‘Dirk’s wife makes a poor cup of tea.’
‘Was Mrs Langton there?’
‘Who?’
‘The lady you were hoping to meet.’
‘Yes, yes,’ he said, off-handedly, ‘I think she was there.’
‘Can’t you even remember? That was the whole point of going, wasn’t it?’
‘I forget, Maddy.’
She saw the telltale glint in his eye. ‘You’re teasing me, Father.’
‘I’d never do that.’
‘What happened?’ she demanded. ‘If you’re expecting a meal this evening, you can stop playing games with me. How did you get on with Mrs Langton?’
His face was split by a grin. ‘I got on very well,’ he said, whisking off his cap. ‘Binnie has invited me to her own home — and promised me a better cup of tea than I had today. Who knows where things will lead from there?’
‘Am I invited to go with you?’
‘We don’t need a chaperone at our age, Maddy. That’s the beauty of it. Binnie and I can do exactly as we please with nobody to stop us.’
Madeline felt a pang of unease. There could be trouble ahead.
It had been almost an hour before Leeming was rescued from his unsought role as an assistant waitress. In that time, three trains had come into the station and disgorged dozens of passengers in search of refreshment. Leeming had had no time to rest. While Dorcas handled the money and set up the various trays, he had been confined to the tedious job of carrying orders to the different tables. Even when the bulk of the customers departed, others drifted in to kill time over a cup of tea while they waited for a later train. It had seemed an age before Woodford was able to rustle up a young porter to replace the sergeant and assist Dorcas Hope.
Leeming had torn off his apron and flung it aside.
‘It was demeaning, Inspector,’ he said.
‘Someone had to save the day, Victor, and you were the chosen man.’
‘Why couldn’t you have done it?’
‘I was too busy interviewing Miss Hope and, later on, the manageress. In the latter case,’ said Colbeck, ‘I had to take the lady home in a cab because she was too unstable to travel alone. The woman is possessed by a fantasy.’
‘So am I,’ said Leeming. ‘My fantasy is that I’m a sergeant in the Detective Department at Scotland Yard. Clearly, I’m not. I’m the lowest of the low, a drudge.’
‘I’m serious about Mrs Rossiter. She needs medical help.’
‘When the doctor’s finished with her, please send him on to me. I need my head examining as well.’
Colbeck laughed. They were at the police station, having spent the afternoon dealing with bogus claims by people over-excited by the amount of money being offered for information. Two of them insisted that they’d seen a corpse being dumped on the bonfire the night before it was lit, a third remembered a dead body cunningly disguised as a guy, while a fourth maintained that he’d actually seen Joel Heygate being murdered before being concealed under the heap of timber. Since he said that the victim had been stabbed to death, this last claimant was the easiest to unmask as a blatant liar. Had he read newspaper reports, he would have known that Heygate had, in fact, been bludgeoned. The detectives had quickly exposed the tissue of deceit and, after arresting and charging them, handed all four men over to a magistrate.
Having moaned about his stint in the refreshment room, Leeming turned his thoughts back to the investigation. His concern was the prime suspect.
‘Do you think he’s still in Exeter, sir?’ asked Leeming.
‘Are you talking about Bagsy Browne?’
‘In his place, I’d make myself scarce.’
‘I fancy that he’s here. He doesn’t want to miss the fun of the funeral.’
Leeming was startled. ‘Fun!’
‘That’s how he’ll see it, Victor. It’ll be a celebration to him. If you loathe someone enough to murder them, you might well take pleasure out of seeing their remains lowered into the earth. That,’ said Colbeck, ‘might be our chance to catch the elusive Mr Browne.’
‘Do we have to wait until the funeral?’
‘We’ll wait a lot longer if called upon to do so. That’s assuming that Browne is our man, of course. I still think that we should keep Michael Heygate and Lawrence Woodford in mind. Patience is our watchword. We bide our time.’
‘This case could drag on and on,’ said Leeming, gloomily. ‘I may not get to see my family again for weeks — and what about the wedding?’
‘I try not to think about that, Victor.’
‘Then you’re very different from me, sir. When I was about to get married, it preyed on my mind for months
