deer, shrubberies, plantations, lawns and pleasure grounds, all of it bronzed by the glow of autumn sunshine. Its Belvedere Tower soared above all else and looked down on the River Exe as it flowed between broad banks to join the sea. For someone who led an urban existence and who saw nothing but bricks and mortar in a normal day, the view was breathtaking. Leeming wished that he’d been able to bring his wife and children away from the grimy streets of London to this delightful watering place. It spoke of a healthier, quieter, better way of life.
He had to remind himself that he was there to work and not to enjoy the scenery and the fresh air. Dawlish was equally picturesque, a village situated on the shore of the English Channel and well established as a seaside resort. The train chugged along with the sea on its left and he noted the beach huts, baths and other amenities built for visitors. Leeming was glad that the tide was out, exposing the gentle curve of the bay and an array of jagged rocks. At high tide — he’d been warned by Colbeck — the sea would frequently splash over the railway tracks and slap against the side of the locomotive and its carriages. It was an experience that he was more than willing to miss. Trains were uncomfortable enough in his opinion without being lashed by angry waves. As he stepped on to the platform, he was greeted by a cold wind that blew in off the sea and threatened to dislodge his top hat.
While he took his bearings, he looked up at the red sandstone cliffs looming over the village and adding a sense of grandeur. After taking directions, Leeming ventured out of the station. Even at that time of year, Dawlish itself was so endearingly pretty that he longed to bring his family there one day. Long hours of work and a modest income meant that such holidays were rarities for him. He still savoured a trip he’d once made to Brighton with tickets provided by a grateful railway company for whom he and Colbeck had worked. His children talked fondly of their magical time on the beach. Though on a much smaller scale, Dawlish would provide them with similarly vibrant memories. He looked forward to describing the place to them when he returned to London. The village was bisected by a brook that meandered its way towards the sea with a flotilla of ducks and the occasional swan gliding on its bubbling waters. Dawlish looked serene, unrushed and parochial. Gulls wheeled, dived and perched on rooftops. The salty tang of the sea was bracing.
It was easy to find the address he sought. He walked past a row of houses and shops that ran alongside the brook. Several of the properties offered accommodation and there was an inn and a chapel to satisfy the competing needs of the populace. Leeming arrived at a tiny shop that looked irredeemably closed. Blinds had been drawn down over the window and a sign announced that business had been suspended. Michael and Lavinia Heygate lived with their two children at the rear of the premises. After ringing the bell, Leeming had to wait some time before the door was eventually opened. Heygate was unwelcoming.
‘We’re closed,’ he said.
‘I came to see
Heygate was insulted. ‘Why come here? I had nothing to do with it.’
‘I’d just like to discuss a few things with you, sir.’
‘It’s not a convenient time.’
‘Really?’ said Leeming, looking him in the eye. ‘Are you telling me that you’re too busy to help in the search for your brother’s killer? The shop is closed and your business no longer exists. What is it that’s of such importance that it takes precedence over the death of your closest blood relation?’
Heygate had the grace to look slightly shamefaced. After considering what could be the awkward consequences of turning his visitor away, he decided to let him in. He stood aside so that Leeming could step into the passageway. It led to a parlour at the back of the property. Lavinia was seated beside the fire. Rising to her feet, she was introduced to Leeming and hid her displeasure behind a forced smile. Like her husband, she was in mourning attire but there was little sense of actual mourning. Both of them were plainly irritated at the notion of having to answer questions about the stationmaster.
Heygate gestured towards the chairs and they all sat down around the fire.
‘I watched you at the inquest, Mr Heygate,’ Leeming began. ‘I was interested to hear that you’d spoken to your brother on the day of his death.’
‘It was only for a short time,’ said Heygate.
‘Why were you in Exeter at that time?’
‘I explained that. We came for the celebrations.’
‘But that was on November 5th, the following day,’ Leeming pointed out. ‘Why come twenty-four hours earlier?’
‘We wanted to enjoy the atmosphere that builds up beforehand.’
‘I believe that you have two children.’
‘That’s right,’ said Lavinia. ‘We have two sons, one of twelve and one of ten.’
‘Then why didn’t you take them with you, Mrs Heygate? Our information is that the day is really intended for the young of Exeter. I’m sure that your children would have loved the occasion.’
‘We chose to leave them in Dawlish.’
‘Was there any reason for doing that?’
‘It’s a private matter,’ said Heygate. ‘They stayed here with friends.’
‘While you and your wife spent the night at an inn, I presume.’ When he got no answer, Leeming changed his tack. ‘What sort of a mood was your brother in when you met him?’
‘Joel was … rather testy.’
‘At the inquest, you said he was calm and polite.’
‘That wasn’t entirely true. He was short with us.’
‘He mentioned an owl to you.’
‘That’s right, Sergeant.’
‘Did he say where he’d found it?’
‘No,’ replied Heygate. ‘It was in an old shed somewhere. That’s all we know.’
‘He was always going off to look at birds,’ said Lavinia with a slight edge. ‘In fact, he was more interested in them than he was in us. It was unnatural, Sergeant. What sort of man cares more for birds than for human beings?’
‘Now, now, Lavinia,’ warned Heygate. ‘Let’s not speak ill of the dead. Joel may have had some strange ways but he was my brother. And there was a time when we were much closer.’
‘Why did you drift apart, sir?’ asked Leeming.
‘He let us down.’
‘Could you be more specific?’
‘Well,’ said Heygate, trading an uneasy glance with his wife, ‘he refused to help me in a time of need. That’s what I’d have done in his place. I’ve always had a generous nature. Joel wasn’t like me. When I needed some money to put into the business, he turned me away. It was very hurtful.’
‘What did you sell in the shop?’
‘It was fishing tackle. There was a steady demand for it but we never had enough stock to give all our customers what they wanted. All that I needed was some extra capital, then I could have rented a storeroom nearby and maintained a large stock. As it was,’ said Heygate, sullenly, ‘we had to turn custom away and it went to a shop in Teignmouth instead. Their profit was our loss.’
‘And you blame your brother for that, do you?’
‘Of course — it was his fault.’
In Leeming’s estimation, both man and wife would be adept at shifting the blame for any failures on to something else. Neither was ready to take responsibility for the collapse of their business and their inability to raise finance from elsewhere. The stationmaster was the scapegoat for their lack of success.
‘Did your brother ever lend you money in the past?’ asked Leeming.
‘As a matter of fact, he did,’ admitted Heygate. ‘It helped to set up the business in the first place.’
‘And did you repay the loan in due course?’
‘That’s immaterial.’
‘I don’t think so, sir. If I’d given money to a relative of mine, I’d think twice about giving him a second loan when he hadn’t repaid the first one. Was that the situation with your brother?’
Heygate was roused. ‘I thought you came here to talk about Joel’s death,’ he said, seething with resentment, ‘and not about our financial affairs. He and I had our differences — I’m not disguising that. But I mourn him
