you tell me why the colonel used to come to Doncaster?’
‘It wasn’t to see Forrester, I know that much. Let me think.’ Staddle put a hand to his forehead as he ransacked his memory for details. At length, he gave a sigh of regret. ‘I’m sorry, Sergeant. I did speak to the colonel whenever he came but we never really talked. The only person who might be able to help you is Mr Kinchin.’
‘Who’s he?’
‘Mr Kinchin retired a few years ago. He used to work for the Great Northern as a manager. I seem to remember that he was here to meet the colonel sometimes.’
‘Does this gentleman live in Doncaster?’
‘Aye,’ said Staddle, ‘but you won’t find him at home. He caught the early train to Sheffield. He always goes to see his mother on the first Saturday of the month. She’s in her eighties.’
‘Will he be returning here today?’
‘Oh, aye, he’ll be back in Doncaster this evening.’
‘I take it that you’ll still be on duty, Mr Staddle.’
The stationmaster chortled. ‘I’m always on duty, sir.’
‘Then perhaps you’ll give a message to this gentleman. I’ll write it down, if you wish.’
‘There’s no need. Constable Forrester was right about one thing, but then even a fool says a wise thing sometimes. I do have a good memory. I’ll pass on any message word for word.’
‘Thank you,’ said Leeming, feeling that he was at last getting close to the answer he sought. ‘Impress upon him that he may have some information that will help to further a murder investigation. Tell him to catch the next train to South Otterington and to ask for me or for Inspector Colbeck at the Black Bull.’ He paused to give Staddle time to absorb everything. ‘Can you remember all that?’
‘He’s to come to the Black Bull at South Otterington.’
‘We’ll pay his rail fare. No matter how late it is, it’s vital that he comes. If I had the time, I’d wait here until he returned but I’ve lots of other enquiries to make so I must go back.’
‘I understand.’
‘What sort of person is Mr Kinchin?’
‘He was a manager – the kind you tip your hat to.’
‘Do you know much about him?’
‘Not really, Sergeant Leeming.’
‘Had he ever been in the army?’
‘You’ll have to ask him at the Black Bull in South Otterington,’ said Staddle with another chuckle. ‘See? I did remember. He’s to speak to you or to Inspector Colbeck.’
Having had the pleasure of Madeleine’s company all the way to Peterborough, Colbeck spent the rest of his journey addressing his mind to the investigation. It was a paradox. Though certain that a man committed the murder, he somehow felt that they needed the help of a woman to solve the crime. Their names popped into his head in order of importance – Eve Doel, Agnes Reader, Mrs Withers, Lottie Pearl and Dorcas Skelton. He hadn’t forgotten Ginny Hepworth, the daughter of the railway policeman. Then there was the anonymous female who’d been there when the body of Miriam Tarleton had been discovered. Colbeck began to wish that he’d taken Madeleine all the way with him. In the past, her instincts about other women had always been acute and reliable.
Instead of getting off the train at South Otterington, he stayed on until it reached Northallerton so that he could call on Clifford Everett. Even on a Saturday, the lawyer was at his office. Colbeck tripped up the stairs and was soon settling into a chair opposite Everett. After exchanging a few niceties with him, Colbeck came to the point.
‘I understand that you’re quite a marksman, sir,’ he said.
‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that,’ replied Everett with a self-deprecating smirk. ‘I just seem to be lucky with a shotgun in my hands.’
‘I think you’re being too modest.’
‘I will admit to having some success – much to the chagrin of our cook, I may say. Whenever I bring home pheasants or other game birds, she hates having to pick the shot out of them.’
‘What about the colonel?’
‘He was the best of us all – until his eyesight began to fade.’
‘I’m told that you and he often went out together.’
‘It was my one indulgence, Inspector,’ said Everett. ‘My wife is very tolerant because she knows that it could be far worse. Other husbands turn to drink or gambling to while away their free time.’
‘How often did you and the colonel go shooting?’
‘We went whenever we could. If there was a shooting party at the weekend, we always joined in. Office work is very sedentary. It’s important to get some exercise.’
Colbeck gave a nod of agreement even though the lawyer didn’t look like a man who got much exercise. He couldn’t imagine Everett with a shotgun in his hands but knew that appearances could be deceptive. He saw the perspiration forming on the other man’s upper lip and wondered if he was making him nervous.
‘One of the things that puzzles me,’ admitted Colbeck, ‘is how the killer knew that Mrs Tarleton would be walking here that day.’
‘There’s no mystery there, Inspector. It was the day of the week when she always visited Agnes Reader. Miriam Tarleton was as methodical as her husband. She had a day for this, a day for that and so on. Everyone in her circle knew her routine,’ said Everett. ‘On a Saturday morning, for instance, you’d always find her at St Andrew’s, arranging the flowers. She had a real knack for it.’
‘Did Mrs Reader visit her on a particular day?’
‘Oh, yes. You could probably set your watch by it. What did fall by the wayside a little were the occasions when the four of them played cards together. If they met at the colonel’s house, it would mean feeding the guests and savings had to be made. Bertram Reader was very understanding about that.’
‘Yes,’ said Colbeck, ‘he seems a very understanding man.’
‘You have to be if you’re a banker. Bertram gets to see even more human misery in his office than I do. Money troubles can destroy whole families.’ He sat back and regarded Colbeck for a few moments. ‘If you’ve come to see me again, Inspector, I suspect that you’ve made very little progress.’
‘That’s not true, sir. We’ve already made some connections.’
‘Between whom, may I ask?’
‘Between Adam Tarleton and Michael Bruntcliffe, for example,’ said Colbeck. ‘It seems that they’ve been in touch quite recently.’ Everett was startled. ‘Young Mr Tarleton visited his friend in prison.’
‘Then why didn’t he tell his parents he was in the area?’
‘I doubt if he wanted them to know.’
‘What are those two up to, I wonder?’
‘That’s what I intend to find out. Even as we speak, Sergeant Leeming is conducting a search for Bruntcliffe. I’m hoping that he may have made another connection for us as well – the link between the colonel and Doncaster.’
‘Yes, I’d be interested to know that.’
‘The sergeant spent the morning in the town.’
‘Do you have any theories about what he might have found, Inspector?’
‘There’s a connection with the railways somehow,’ said Colbeck. ‘I felt that from the start. It’s worth bearing one thing in mind. When he committed suicide that day, the colonel was walking in the direction of Doncaster.’
Though the bank was closed, Bertram Reader was not off duty. He visited one client in Cowton that morning then had luncheon with another in Thirsk. It was mid afternoon when he finally returned home and was able to anticipate a period of rest. His wife gave him a sympathetic smile as he came into the drawing room.
‘You shouldn’t have to work on a Saturday,’ she said. ‘People ask too much of you. They should visit you during banking hours.’
‘Most of my clients do that Agnes,’ he told her, ‘but there are exceptions. When someone asks for a loan to extend their house or to increase the size of their herd – which is exactly what today’s clients wanted to do – I like to take a close look at their premises to make sure that everything is as it should be. I always ask to see their account books as well. My predecessor lost his job because he advanced loans without due care. One of the clients
