which they’d hired it, the detectives strolled towards the Black Bull. Colbeck savoured the sense of tranquillity. He inhaled deeply.
‘The air is so much cleaner here than in London,’ he noted.
‘That makes no difference, sir,’ said Leeming. ‘I could never settle here. There are too many things I couldn’t stand.’
‘Give me an instance.’
‘Take the way they speak. They all sound funny to me.’
Colbeck smiled. ‘We probably sound funny to them, Victor. What you hear is the genuine Yorkshire accent. I find it very pleasant.’
‘Well, I don’t, Inspector. It grates on my ears. Some of them are not too bad – Mr and Mrs Reader, say, or young Mr Tarleton – but the rest talk in a sort of foreign language. Sergeant Hepworth is the worst. I couldn’t listen to that voice, day in and day out.’
‘His wife has no choice. My guess is that his is the only voice you can hear when he’s at home. He loves to hold forth.’
‘I hope we don’t find him in the bar again this evening.’
‘So does the landlord. Hepworth is bad for business.’
As they approached the pub, Colbeck noticed someone lurking in the shadows nearby. At first, he thought it was someone waiting to ambush them and he got ready to repel any attack. In fact, when they got closer, the figure withdrew completely. Saying nothing to Leeming, the inspector followed him into the bar, handed him his top hat then walked straight through the rooms at the rear of the building and let himself out into the yard. He unlocked the door in the high stone wall and let himself out as quietly as he could. Creeping along, he reached the corner and peeped carefully around it. Colbeck could just make out the shape of someone, crouched furtively against the wall as if waiting to pounce on a passer-by.
The inspector sensed trouble and sought to nip it in the bud. Easing his way around the corner, he moved on tiptoe until he got within reach of the man, then he dived forward, gripped him tightly and pinioned him to the wall.
‘What are you doing here?’ asked Colbeck.
The man struggled to get away. ‘Nothing, sir – let me go.’
‘You’re up to no good.’
‘Is that you, Inspector?’ said the other, respectfully.
Colbeck recognised the voice. ‘Moxey?’ He let his prisoner go. ‘I didn’t realise it was you.’
‘That’s all right, sir.’ The labourer turned to look at him with obvious unease. ‘I’m sorry to cause you any bother, sir. I’ll have to get back to the farm.’
‘No, no, stay here. You came to see me, didn’t you?’
‘It was a mistake,’ said Moxey. ‘I changed my mind.’
‘Well, I’m not letting you go now that you’re here,’ said Colbeck. ‘The first thing I insist on doing is to buy you a drink. You brought us vital information and that deserves a reward.’
The labourer smiled. ‘Oh, I see.’
‘Come on, let’s go inside.’
Before Moxey could resist, Colbeck put an arm around his shoulders and shepherded him into the bar. Leeming was already seated at a table with drinks for himself and Colbeck. The inspector ordered a pint of beer for their visitor then took him across to the table. He knew that Moxey had come to see him and lost his nerve at the last moment. The first task, therefore, was to make the labourer relax. It wasn’t easy. Moxey was overawed. He’d never shared a drink with two gentlemen from London before and couldn’t believe they were so friendly to him. His awkwardness slowly faded. Colbeck let him get halfway through the pint before questioning him.
‘You came about the inquest, didn’t you?’ he asked.
Moxey looked hunted. ‘How did you know?’
‘I couldn’t think of any other reason for you to be here.’
‘It’s nothing to worry about,’ said Leeming. ‘You’ll only be questioned for a few minutes then you’ll be free to go. The inspector and I will then have to take our turn.’
‘Do I have to be there?’ asked Moxey.
‘Yes – you found the body.’
‘What will I be asked?’
‘How you came to be there and how you stumbled on it.’
‘Can’t you write that down and show it to the coroner? That would save me going. Mr Higginbottom’s not happy about me taking time off. Write it down,’ said Moxey with enthusiasm as the idea took hold on him. ‘I’d do it myself but I never learnt writing and such.’
‘I think I see the problem here,’ said Colbeck. ‘When you went out after rabbits that night, you might not have been on your own.’
‘But I was, I was alone, Inspector.’
‘I’m sure that you were, Wilf, but let’s assume – for the sake of argument – that you did have a friend with you. And let’s assume that you have a very good reason for keeping that friend’s name out of it altogether.’ He gave an understanding smile. ‘Do you follow me?’
‘I do, sir.’
‘In that case, there’s a simple solution.’
Moxey went blank. ‘Is there?’
‘Yes,’ said Colbeck. ‘The coroner isn’t really interested in what you were doing in that wood in the middle of the night. The point is that you discovered the body. Until you did that, Sergeant Leeming and I had been floundering.’
‘We didn’t know if the lady was alive or dead,’ said Leeming. ‘All we knew was that she was missing.’
‘You solved the mystery for us, Wilf.’
‘Yes,’ said Moxey with a slow smile, ‘I did, didn’t I?’
‘The coroner will realise that and take it into account.’
‘Will he, sir?’
‘He will, if I speak to him beforehand,’ explained Colbeck. ‘Even on a short acquaintance, I can see that you’re an honest man. It would upset you to lie on oath, wouldn’t it? You’re afraid you’d be committing perjury.’ Moxey lowered his head to his chest. ‘Then the coroner will simply say that he believes you were out walking that night and found the grave by accident. He won’t try to interrogate you about why you went to that particular place.’ Moxey’s head was raised hopefully. ‘How does that sound?’
‘Would you do that for me, Inspector?’
‘We need your evidence and I’ll make sure that you don’t have any embarrassment while giving it.’
‘Then you can go back to the farm and boast about appearing at a coroner’s court,’ said Leeming.
‘It’s nothing to boast about, sir. I’m just sad about the lady.’
‘So are we,’ said Colbeck. ‘But the best way to get rid of that sadness is to catch the man who murdered her. Now then, have I put your mind at rest?’
‘Oh, you have, sir. Thank you. It’s been preying on me.’
‘Have you had a hard day at work, Wilf?’
‘Yes, Inspector, we started to get the harvest in.’
‘Then you’ll have built up a good thirst,’ said Colbeck, patting him on the back. ‘Drink up and the sergeant will get you another.’
Moxey thought about Lorna Begg and laughed inwardly. He’d have so much to tell her when he got back to the farm.
Dorcas Skelton was an obedient wife who readily took instruction from a husband she regarded as a kind of saint. She never questioned his decisions nor tried to take the initiative in their marriage. The fact that it was childless was something she’d long ceased to feel slight qualms about. Life with Frederick Skelton was a blessing. Maternal instincts were smothered beneath a blanket of wifely devotion. Yet she was not the sedate creature that she appeared. Adversity could bring out the essential steel in her character. Whenever she felt that the rector was unfairly criticised or undervalued, she leapt to his defence like a guard dog straining at the leash. The visit of Adam Tarleton had her barking wildly.
