interest in those boxes of ammunition.’
‘It’s only one box that I want to examine, sir.’
‘Is there any special reason?’
‘There are two of them,’ said Colbeck, opening a hand to show him the spent cartridges he was holding, ‘and here they both are. I recovered these from the shallow grave in which your mother was buried.’
Tarleton was startled. ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘I didn’t realise that you were here as part of your investigation. What are you trying to prove?’
‘I just want to satisfy my curiosity, sir. On the day that your mother went missing, your stepfather was carrying a shotgun.’ He indicated one of the cabinets. ‘In all likelihood, it was that Purdey with his initials carved on it. I gather that it was his favourite. Major Tallis, as he was known here, told me that he’d seen the colonel take this particular weapon out regularly so it’s logical to assume that he had it with him on the day in question. Thanks to the way he’s marked these boxes,’ he went on, reaching to take one off the shelf, ‘we know that this is the correct ammunition. Would you care to open the box for me, sir?’
‘I will if you insist, Inspector.’ Taking the box, Tarleton opened it. ‘What am I supposed to do now?’
‘Put one of the cartridges into my hand.’
Colbeck extended an empty palm and Tarleton placed a shotgun cartridge into it. For the first time since he’d arrived back at his old home, he’d lost some of his arrogance. He watched as the inspector put the two spent cartridges beside the other one.
‘Well?’ said Colbeck.
Tarleton blanched. ‘It’s a perfect match.’
‘And what do you deduce from that?’
‘The old rogue killed my mother!’
‘That’s not what I see, sir.’
‘Open your eyes, man. It’s so obvious.’
‘It’s rather too obvious for my liking. What you see is proof of your stepfather’s guilt. What I see, however,’ said Colbeck, looking at the cartridges, ‘is clear evidence that he was completely innocent of the crime. Colonel Tarleton did not commit murder.’
When he got back from work that evening, Caleb Andrews found his daughter hunched over the table with a pen in her hand. Taking off his cap and his coat, he hung them on a peg.
‘Who are you writing to, Maddy?’ he asked.
‘Who else would I write to but Robert?’
‘Do you know his address?’
‘I know more than that,’ she said, looking up. ‘I even know which room he’s staying in at the Black Bull. I had a letter from him, delivered in person by Sergeant Leeming.’
‘Is he the ugly one with a face like death?’
‘I think he has a rather kind face.’
‘You wouldn’t think that if it jumped out of an alleyway at you on a dark night. Anyway, what did the inspector say?’
‘That he’s going to be away for some time.’
‘Well, you can tell him that your father wants to know when the wedding is going to be.’
‘I’ll tell him nothing of the kind.’
‘There are times when a man needs prodding along.’
‘Living with you has taught me that,’ said Madeleine, signing the letter before folding it to put it in an envelope. ‘You need to be prodded more or less every day.’ She sealed the envelope. ‘There – it’s all done.’
‘Aren’t you going to address it, Maddy?’
‘I don’t need to. I have a courier.’
‘Oh…and who’s that?’
‘It’s Sergeant Leeming, of course.’
‘I’d never trust a man with a face like that.’
‘He’s the most trustworthy man you could find, Father.’
‘Is he going back to Yorkshire, then?’
‘Yes,’ said Madeleine, ‘he’s leaving tomorrow on the early train. That brings me to your breakfast. You’ll have to eat it on your own when you get up. It will be set out for you.’
‘Where will you be?’
‘I’ll be walking to King’s Cross, of course.’
‘Won’t the sergeant pick up the letter from here?’
‘He doesn’t even know that I’ve written it. But since he told me which train he’d be on, I’ll be able to intercept him and use him as my courier. My letter will go speeding to Robert.’
‘Does it mention that I was thinking of looking for a bride?’
Madeleine blinked. ‘Are you really serious about that, Father?’
‘Of course,’ said Andrews, chortling, ‘and you should use that fact to give the inspector a good, hard prod. Otherwise, you could be getting yourself a stepmother before you have a husband.’
Eve Doel and Agnes Reader were stunned by the information that the cartridges found in the shallow grave matched those used by the colonel in his favourite shotgun. They reached the same devastating conclusion as Adam Tarleton. Holding her stomach as if she were about to be sick, Eve shook her head in disbelief.
‘He simply couldn’t have done it,’ she said.
‘Oh, yes, he could,’ asserted her brother. ‘The more I think about it, the more certain of it I am. Our stepfather was a killer.’
Agnes was dazed. ‘I find it hard to accept that, Adam.’
‘The only shotgun that uses those particular cartridges is the one with his initials on it. He used to boast how it’d been made specifically for him with features that no other gun possessed. That’s why he committed suicide,’ he argued. ‘He felt so guilty over Mother’s death that he took his own life.’
‘No, no!’ cried Eve, ‘I simply don’t believe it.’
‘You don’t have to believe it, Mrs Doel,’ said Colbeck, ‘because it just isn’t true.’
The four of them were in the drawing room. Tarleton had burst in and told the women that the name of the killer had been revealed at last. It was none other than that of his stepfather.
‘Don’t listen to the inspector,’ advised Tarleton. ‘He didn’t know him the way that I did. I saw the swirling anger that was just below the surface. I was the victim of that black rage of his many times. It was scary. When he lost his temper, he was capable of anything. After all, he was a soldier – he used to kill for a living.’
‘Stop and think for a moment, sir,’ counselled Colbeck. ‘The first thing apparent about this case was that the killer was not acting on impulse. This crime wasn’t perpetrated in a fit of temper. He looked ahead. Knowing that the route taken by your mother that day would be searched with a fine-toothed comb, he moved the body miles away. It was only by sheer chance that it was actually found. The killer even allowed for that eventuality.’
‘In what way, Inspector?’ asked Agnes.
‘He left these by the body.’ He opened his palm to show off the two spent cartridges. ‘Now ask yourselves this. Why would a man shoot his victim in one place then take these some distance away so that he could bury them with the corpse? As far as I can see, there’s only one explanation.’
‘I fail to see it,’ confessed Eve.
‘So do I,’ said Agnes.
‘Permit me to explain,’ said Colbeck. ‘The killer deliberately wanted to incriminate someone else. Cartridges are important clues. He knew that. By planting them with the body, he could point the finger of suspicion at the colonel and thereby avoid culpability himself. How convenient it would be for the real killer if we all believed that the man who murdered Mrs Tarleton was already dead.’
‘I still think it was him,’ maintained Tarleton.
‘Then you have to provide a motive, sir.’
‘He and Mother fell out.’
‘That’s not true, Adam,’ said Eve, passionately. ‘If it had been, I’d have heard about it.’
‘Would you consider the colonel to have been an intelligent man?’ asked Colbeck.
‘Yes, Inspector, he was very intelligent.’
