‘But if you are,’ she went on, searching for guidance. ‘If you are overruled and forced to let the colonel lie beside his wife in the churchyard, what will we do then?’
‘I know exactly what I’ll do.’
‘And what’s that?’
‘If the colonel is buried against my will in the churchyard,’ he said with unexpected savagery, ‘I’ll come back in the middle of the night and dig him up again. That’s how strongly I feel on this issue, Dorcas. I simply won’t have him here.’
Leeming was amazed how much information Colbeck had gathered while the sergeant had been away in London. The visit to the house had eliminated the colonel as a possible suspect and the encounter with Eric Hepworth had yielded some valuable intelligence. Leeming was interested to learn that Hepworth’s son had been the colonel’s gun-bearer during shooting parties. For his part, Colbeck was pleased to see his friend again and touched to receive Madeleine’s letter. When he heard that she’d walked all the way to King’s Cross station in order to hand it over, he was impressed by her enterprise.
‘How did you get on with the superintendent?’ he asked.
‘Quite well, I suppose,’ replied Leeming. ‘At least I stopped him coming back here to lead the investigation.’
‘Thank you, Victor. That would have been fatal.’
‘He was quite restrained for once – until I made the mistake of telling him that there was a village called Leeming, that is. He nearly burst my eardrums then.’
Colbeck laughed. ‘I can imagine.’
‘So what do we do next, sir?’
‘We continue to gather intelligence. Now that we have a body and a string of clues, the killer will start to get worried.’
‘How do we flush him out of cover?’
‘I don’t know yet.’
They were in Colbeck’s room at the Black Bull. Though small, dark and with a sagging oak floor, it was spotlessly clean and had a homely feel to it. On the little table was the notebook in which Colbeck had listed all the salient details of their investigation. Picking it up, he flicked to the appropriate page.
‘The problem is that we have conflicting evidence. Listen to Hepworth and you’ll believe that his daughter was a conscientious maid-of-all-work dismissed because she uncovered a secret liaison between the colonel and his housekeeper. Look at Mrs Withers and that version of events seems utterly absurd.’
‘What do you think, sir?’
‘I prefer to rely on my instinct,’ said Colbeck, ‘and that absolves the housekeeper of any misconduct. It’s unthinkable that a woman so patently fond of Mrs Tarleton would betray her in that way. I fancy that the girl was genuinely at fault. While I was waiting for you at the station, I talked to Mr Ellerby. He reckoned that Hepworth’s daughter is bone idle and that his son – in Ellerby’s evocative phrase – is as daft as a deaf hedgehog.’
‘He obviously won’t follow Hepworth into the railway police.’
‘I feel sorry for the pair of them, having such an oppressive father. Living under the same roof as that pontificating oaf must be a real trial. However,’ he continued, ‘let’s turn our minds elsewhere. We have much to do, Victor. I’d like to find out why the colonel visited Doncaster so often in the past and why he stopped doing so. I also want to know who usually accompanied him when he went out shooting. Then there’s another avenue for us to explore.’
‘Yes, we must find out who sent those poison-pen letters.’
‘That will come later – along with another confrontation with the rector. We may need to remind him that laws can be enforced. Before that, however, I want to look at potential suspects.’
‘But we don’t have any yet, sir.’
‘Nobody has been able to suggest any, perhaps,’ said Colbeck, ‘but they’ve overlooked the most likely people.’
‘And who are they?’
‘Disgruntled prisoners put behind bars by the colonel. He had a reputation for being ruthless on the bench, always handing out the longest possible sentences.’
‘Prisoners bear grudges,’ said Leeming. ‘We both know that. If they feel they’ve got rough justice, they’ll seek revenge. But how can we find out details of the cases that came before the colonel?’
‘I’ve written to Mr Everett and asked him to help. As a lawyer, he’ll have the necessary contacts. He’ll be able to tell us who was released from prison recently and what sentence the colonel meted out to them. I’ll go over to Northallerton this afternoon to see him.’
‘What about me, Inspector?’
‘You’ll have more amenable company, Victor. While I’m talking to a lawyer, you’ll be having another chat with Mrs Reader. She’s our best source of information about Mrs Tarleton.’
‘I’d have put the children ahead of her.’
‘They’ve been away too long,’ argued Colbeck. ‘They don’t really know what’s been going on here. Besides, I don’t want to intrude into their grief any more than we have to. Mrs Doel deserves time alone to mourn.’
‘I don’t think her brother will do much mourning, sir.’
‘That’s his affair. Having spoken to them, I don’t feel that they have anything more to tell us. Agnes Reader, however, does. She’s been deeply hurt by everything that’s happened but her mind is less clouded by sorrow. She’s eager to help us, Victor, and so is her husband, for that matter. They are our most reliable guides.’
‘We certainly need someone to guide us,’ admitted Leeming, pulling a face. ‘I still feel as if I’m completely in the dark.’
‘Don’t be so downhearted,’ said Colbeck with a confident smile. ‘We’ve made more progress than you imagine. I can see a few candles starting to flicker in the gloom. Before you know it, we’ll have enough light to see exactly where we’re going.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Bertram Reader’s office was much more than just the inner sanctum from which he controlled the running of the bank. It was the place where he met important clients, a confessional box where he heard tales of financial woe, a strong room where the cash was kept in a massive safe and, when the bank was closed at the end of each day, a haven of rest from the pressures of administration. That afternoon, however, it was something entirely different – the setting for a tender marital scene. Agnes Reader was locked in her husband’s embrace as she sobbed on his shoulder. Staying there for several minutes, she fought to overcome her emotions. Reader waited until his wife finally began to emerge from her grief then he offered her his handkerchief. She thanked him with a wan smile. After dabbing at her moist cheeks, she crossed to the mirror to look at herself.
‘I can’t go out like this,’ she said, clicking her tongue. ‘What on earth will your staff think?’
‘They’ll be too busy to think anything, my dear.’
‘Anyone can see that I’ve been crying.’
‘That’s not unusual,’ he said with a wry smile. ‘This room has seen rather a lot of tears in its time. You’d be surprised how many apparently strong-willed people fail to cope with bad news about the state of their finances. I had one client who collapsed on the carpet.’
‘I spared you that embarrassment, Bertram.’ She applied the handkerchief to her face again. ‘How do I look now?’
‘You look fine.’
‘Oh, dear,’ she said, gritting her teeth to ward off another attack of weeping. ‘I didn’t realise that it would have this effect on me.’
‘I did warn you, Agnes.’
‘I know.’
‘There was no need for you to go there,’ he said, softly. ‘You should have remembered Miriam as she was, not as she is now. At the very least, you should have let me come with you.’
