slowly in the dark. Even so, he reasoned, Heygate might have gone a fair distance. He strode in a westerly direction, taking note of all the buildings he passed. There was no shortage of sheds. In fact, he counted over a dozen before he’d gone more than a couple of hundred yards. Housing then began to thin out, separated by patches of open ground. Trees abounded. It was a natural habitat for birds. When he stopped to check his watch, Leeming saw that he’d been walking for the best part of a quarter of an hour. He was at the fullest extent of his range. Yet he could see a cottage in the middle distance and there was an old shed at the bottom of its garden. Perhaps the stationmaster had moved faster than he thought. The shed was clearly worth investigation.
Lengthening his stride, he pressed on, pausing from time to time to peer into a clump of bushes. But there was no trace of the missing lamp. The closer he got to the shed, the more dilapidated it looked, with holes in the roof large enough for birds to get in easily. Leeming’s hopes rose. If it was the old shed mentioned by the stationmaster, then — in all probability — it was the place where Heygate had been ambushed and killed. He walked around it and searched the ground but there were no bloodstains visible and no sign of a struggle having taken place. Leeming was undaunted. He somehow felt that he’d found the murder scene. The shed was unlocked. Pulling the door open, he fully expected to see some clue relating to the crime. Instead he was forced back in alarm as a large black cat came out of the shadows to snarl angrily at him before darting off between his legs.
Frances Impey was both amazed and relieved at the difference in her sister. Agnes Rossiter had shaken off her gloom and seemed her old self. But for her black attire, nobody would have known that she was in mourning. Mindful of what had happened at the cathedral, Frances tried to guide her sister away from it but the latter insisted on walking through the precinct. There was no repeat of her earlier outburst. In fact, Mrs Rossiter glanced apologetically towards the cathedral as if keen to make amends. Her sister found that heartening. It was a clear indication of recovery.
The undertaker’s premises were in the High Street and Frances implored her sister not to go there, arguing that it would upset her too much.
‘It’s my duty, Frances,’ she said, calmly. ‘Joel would never forgive me.’
‘Mr Heygate was badly burnt. The body will be in a terrible condition.’
‘I don’t care. It’s him — that’s all that matters.’
‘You don’t belong here,’ said her sister with concern. ‘Let’s go home, Agnes.
Mrs Rossiter ignored the plea and turned into the High Street. When she reached the undertaker’s premises, she rang the bell. All that Frances could do was to stand a few yards away in trepidation. The undertaker opened the door, listened to Mrs Rossiter’s request and politely refused to let her in. There was a brief argument but the man was firm. He would not admit her to view the remains of Joel Heygate. Stepping back, he closed the door. Mrs Rossiter gave a shrug of acceptance and rejoined her sister.
‘I told you that they wouldn’t let you in,’ said Frances.
‘They have to,’ insisted Mrs Rossiter, looking down at the ground. ‘It’s my right. Nobody is going to keep me away from Joel.’
‘What are you searching for?’
‘I won’t be turned away like that. I’ll fight back.’
Seeing what she was after, Mrs Rossiter bent down and picked up a large stone. Before her sister could stop her, she hurled it at the window with all force. As the glass shattered, the undertaker’s name painted on it was split into a thousand shards. Mrs Rossiter had not finished. Scrambling through the window and cutting herself in the process, she pushed aside the black drapes and stepped into the building.
‘I’m coming, Joel!’ she yelled. ‘I’m coming!’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
By prior arrangement, Colbeck met Leeming at noon at the railway station so that they could exchange information. Since a train had recently left, they were able to sit in the empty waiting room. Colbeck described his interview with Woodford and felt that the man had been shifty. The stationmaster had done nothing to remove his name from the list of suspects. Leeming then took over, explaining that he’d walked in all directions but to no avail.
‘I found far too many old sheds, sir,’ he moaned. ‘How do I know which was the one we’re after? It certainly wasn’t the first one I looked in, I know that. There was this vicious black cat in there. He’d frighten away any birds.’
‘Black cats are supposed to bring good luck, Victor.’
‘This one didn’t. Given the chance, he’d have scratched my eyes out.’
‘All we know is that Heygate must have been killed somewhere between here and the place he was going to that night. He could have been ambushed anywhere along the way.’
‘What if he was marched into the city and
‘That seems unlikely,’ said Colbeck. ‘The place was teeming with people. Excitement about the event had been building for days. The likelihood is that he was battered to death in some quiet location, then smuggled into the precinct at night and hidden underneath the bonfire. It’s a pity you didn’t find that lamp.’
‘The killer must have taken it with him, sir.’
‘Not if he had a body to carry. He might have used a cart, of course, but the lamp was the property of the railway. It has the name painted on it, as you can see.’ He gestured towards the large metal lamp beside the door. ‘That might have caught someone’s eye. I know it was dark but there are street lamps aplenty. The killer may have thought it was too risky to be seen with railway property. Any policeman who saw it would assume that it was stolen.’
‘Well,’ said Leeming, ‘I didn’t find the lamp and I didn’t see the owl.’
‘That’s not surprising, Victor. Owls are nocturnal.’
‘I hope you’re not going to send me out after dark, sir.’
Colbeck grinned. ‘Wouldn’t you like to go birdwatching at night?’
‘No, I wouldn’t.’
‘Then I’ll spare you the ordeal.’
‘Our job would be so much easier if we found that missing diary.’
‘Woodford claimed that he didn’t know it existed, but I had a sneaky feeling that he was lying. And yes, that diary could well be a godsend. Perhaps we should ask Peter where Heygate used to keep it.’
‘Who’s Peter?’
‘He’s the canary that Miss Hope is looking after.’
‘I’d forgotten him.’
‘Heygate and Peter were inseparable. The owl and the canary,’ said Colbeck with a smile. ‘It’s like one of Aesop’s fables, isn’t it?’
‘I remember learning about those at school.’
‘Owls are usually regarded as birds of ill omen.’
‘Mr Heygate should have taken heed of that.’
People were drifting into the waiting room now because the next train was due very shortly. They broke off their conversation and stepped outside on to the platform. Woodford walked past and tipped his hat to them. He was clearly relishing his elevation to a position of power. Leeming looked towards the stationmaster’s house and saw the policeman standing outside it.
‘Do we really need to have it guarded day and night, Inspector?’
‘I suppose not, Victor,’ said Colbeck. ‘I was being overcautious in asking for protection. If the killer came in search of the diary — and we don’t even know that he’s aware of its existence — he’s not going to find it there. Superintendent Steel and I looked in every nook and cranny. I’ll tell him to stand his man down.’
‘Talking of superintendents,’ said Leeming, ‘how can we convince ours that he’s needed in London?’
‘I wish I knew.’
‘I get so nervous when I have him looking over our shoulders.’
‘Blame the bishop. It was his letter that brought Mr Tallis here. If he wants to do something really useful,’
