Timetable of Death (25 page)

‘But until that point, you and he must have got on reasonably well. If he was away a lot, the two of you would have met infrequently.’ Lydia nodded. ‘Yet he was always there for the cricket matches, I suppose.’

‘Father would never miss those.’

‘He loved the game, I’m told.’

‘No, Inspector,’ she corrected, ‘it went deeper than that. He loved to use the game as a way of showing off
and humbling his rivals. And as long as he had the head gardener and the coachman in the team, he could rely on winning, especially as my brother, Lucas, was a talented cricketer as well.’

‘Cricket and railways – it’s an odd combination.’

‘Cricket was only seasonal and very few games were played. Railways, by contrast, absorbed him every day of the year. There’s a portrait of him in his study. That tells you a lot about my father.’

‘I saw it on my first visit,’ said Colbeck. ‘I’m only sorry that Madeleine didn’t paint the locomotive in the background. It would have been more realistic.’

‘Don’t exaggerate, Robert,’ said his wife, modestly.

‘Mr Quayle hired a portrait artist and the result must have been satisfactory or he wouldn’t have hung it on the wall. But the artist lacked your draughtsmanship.’

‘I’d like to see more of your paintings,’ said Lydia. ‘
Puffing Billy
was wonderful. How many other locomotives have you painted?’

‘Oh, they’re not the sort of thing that would interest you.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Your taste is very different,’ said Madeleine. ‘When I came to your house with Sergeant Leeming, I noticed that the house had a few paintings on the walls. Every one of them was a pretty landscape.’

‘They were not my choice.’

Beatrice Myler popped up in her mind again and caused a jolt. Wherever there was a wall without space for a bookshelf, Beatrice had hung a picture. Lydia had had no part in its choice. She was reminded once more of the fact
that she’d left no real imprint on the house. It belonged to her friend and mirrored her taste in every way. A feeling of sadness washed over her. Beatrice had gone and she had definitely lost Gerard Burns to another woman. Her future lay elsewhere. Lydia might be forced to move through a series of hotels again. Conscious that the others were waiting for her to speak, she apologised.

‘If you saw my father’s study,’ she said, ‘you’d have noticed his collection of fine porcelain.’

‘At first,’ recalled Colbeck, ‘I thought it might belong to your mother.’

‘She has no interest in it at all.’

‘How long has your father been a collector?’

‘Many years,’ said Lydia. ‘After making his fortune out of coal, he developed a fondness for something that was less filthy and more delicate. He spent a great deal of money on that collection.’

‘Where did he find the items?’

‘He went to auctions in London. If you’d met him,’ said Lydia with bitterness, ‘you’d have found my father essentially a man’s man. The last thing you’d expect is that he was a regular visitor to Christie’s to buy teacups and saucers.’

The temptation was there but Leeming managed to resist it. After escorting Tallis to the apartments where he lived, the sergeant made sure that he was comfortable then he left. His wife and children were only fifteen minutes away by cab and he was desperate to see them again. What held him back from going home was the certainty that he’d spend much longer there than he intended and would be
late setting off. Colbeck had been specific. Armed with his copy of
Bradshaw
, he’d told Leeming which return train to catch. If he arrived hours later, the sergeant would be in trouble. Besides, he told himself, the investigation took precedence. The sooner the case was solved, the sooner he could enjoy the fruits of family life. Leeming therefore turned his footsteps towards the railway station.

‘I’m glad to see you, Inspector,’ said Elijah Wigg. ‘I have a complaint to make.’

‘What is it?’

‘Your sergeant insulted me.’

‘I find that hard to believe.’

‘He accused me of having a reporter moved from Spondon because he was collecting more evidence than the constables there.’

‘Why
did
you have him moved?’ asked Colbeck, mischievously.

‘I didn’t – that’s the point. It was the editor’s decision.’

‘I’ll explain that to Sergeant Leeming when he returns from London.’

‘What’s he doing there?’

‘He’s probably in flight from your wrath, Superintendent.’

Colbeck had walked to the police station in Derby in search of information but he first had to provide some. When he described Tallis’s accident, he drew a grim smile from Wigg and the observation that a visit to the Works had no bearing on the investigation and was therefore a needless diversion.

‘On the contrary,’ said Colbeck, ‘it’s shown the whole case in a new light. That’s why I’m here, Superintendent.
What do you know of the Peet family?’

Wigg was incredulous. ‘You’re not going to arrest one of
them
, are you?’

‘Tell me about Roderick Peet.’

‘He’s wealthy and well connected. He owns one of the finest houses in Spondon, another in Devon and a third in France. As someone who can only afford to buy one house, I should be envious of Mr Peet but I’m not and I’m sure that nobody else is either.’

‘Why is that?’

‘He’s a man of such decency and uprightness that you can’t begrudge him anything. Roderick Peet has given thousands of pounds to charity. He’s been particularly generous to the village itself.’

‘What about Mrs Peet?’

‘Some people say that it was she who encouraged him to open his wallet so wide. Cicely Peet is his second wife, by the way. His first died after a bad fall from her horse during the Boxing Day hunt. The second Mrs Peet was much younger than him,’ said Wigg, ‘and she got very involved in local activities. Since she had money of her own, she led the way in charitable donations.’

‘Were they happily married?’

‘They were devoted, Inspector.’

‘Did you meet them as a couple?’

‘I did so many times,’ said Wigg. ‘Roderick and Cicely Peet were kind enough to make a substantial donation to the Police Benevolent Fund.’

Colbeck smiled. ‘They obviously recognise a good cause.’

‘As to their private life, I can’t speak with any authority. I was never invited to their home. I know someone who was,
however. If you want to learn more about the Peets, you might speak to him.’

‘Whom do you mean, Superintendent?’

Wigg scowled. ‘Donald Haygarth.’

Haygarth slapped the desk so hard with the flat of his hand that the inkwell jumped an inch into the air and sheets of paper were sent flying. Too frightened to say anything, Maurice Cope sought to win favour by retrieving the papers that had floated to the floor. Haygarth was hoarse with fury.

‘Who’s behind this, Cope?’

‘I can’t be certain.’

‘You’re
paid
to be certain.’

‘It’s one of three people.’

‘Earlier today, you were assuring me that I’d be elected as the new chairman without opposition. Now you tell me that there’s to be a contest, after all.’

‘I’m as disappointed as you, Mr Haygarth.’

‘I want names.’

‘They’re not easy to find,’ admitted Cope. ‘People say one thing and do another. When I canvassed opinion, the majority of board members were firmly behind you. There was no whisper of a challenger.’

‘You failed me, Cope.’

‘All is not yet lost, sir.’

‘I should have been warned that they’re plotting against me.’

‘I was quite unaware of any plot. In any case,’ said Cope, ‘I don’t think that it will command enough votes against you. I still think you’re home and dry.’

‘That’s not enough,’ snarled Haygarth. ‘I want to be elected unanimously.’

The late appearance of a rival for the post of chairman had mystified Cope and fuelled Haygarth’s rage. Both men had assumed that the latter’s election was a foregone conclusion. His supporters had all been impressed by the prompt way he’d stepped in when Vivian Quayle had been murdered and the speed with which he made executive decisions. Those same attributes were not viewed by everyone as assets. Behind the scenes, evidently, some people had changed their minds because they resented the way that Haygarth had appointed himself to the position of control without any prior discussion with board members.

‘Why are we losing support?’ he asked, rancorously.

‘I wish I knew, sir.’

‘You must have heard
something
.’

‘There have been whispers,’ said Cope. ‘Where they’ve come from, I don’t know, but they’ve damaged you.’

‘What sort of whispers are you talking about?’

‘Not everyone accepts that it was a coincidence, sir. They argue that you were poised to take advantage of Mr Quayle’s death. Indeed, you were so prepared to react to his murder that you must have been party to it.’

‘That’s slanderous!’

‘I’m only reporting what I’ve heard, Mr Haygarth.’

‘Then you must go back to the whisperers and warn them. I’ll not be tainted by the murder of Vivian Quayle. He was never my friend but I had respect for him. Everyone knows that. Who has been circulating this foul calumny?’

‘It has to be Superintendent Wigg, sir.’

‘I’ll get even with that meddling fool, if it’s the last thing I do.’

Hitting his stride, Haygarth unleashed a torrent of
vituperation against Wigg. It soon descended into a string of expletives. The intemperate language was still echoing around the room when the door opened and a secretary showed in Robert Colbeck. His arrival silenced Haygarth at once and made Cope freeze on the spot.

‘Have I come at an awkward time?’ asked Colbeck.

As the train drew up alongside the platform, Victor Leeming sighed with relief. The return journey to Derby seemed to him to be even longer and more tedious than the one he’d earlier made to London. The saving grace was that he didn’t have Tallis as a companion this time. Alighting from the train, he took a cab to the hotel and was astonished to see Madeleine sitting in the lounge with Lydia Quayle. He’d known that Madeleine was in the hotel but had not expected to see the other woman again. When he joined them, he exchanged greetings and slumped wearily into a chair.

‘You look exhausted, Sergeant,’ noted Lydia.

‘I’ve been to London and back.’

‘That means you’ve travelled hundreds of miles.’

‘It felt like a thousand. But what are
you
doing here, Miss Quayle?’

Lydia explained why she couldn’t stay at the family home and how she would be returning there the following day. Meanwhile, she claimed, she was able to hear the latest news about the murder inquiry.

‘Then I wish you’d pass it on to me,’ said Leeming. ‘The truth is that I don’t know what’s going on. Inspector Colbeck said something about a turntable.’

‘I can tell you about that,’ volunteered Madeleine.

‘Please do, Mrs Colbeck. I’m very confused.’

When she told him about her husband’s theory, he was only mildly interested at first but that interest became more intense as Madeleine presented Colbeck’s argument to him. By the time she’d finished, he was completely won over.

‘That would explain so much,’ he said.

‘It’s only a supposition.’

‘Robert’s suppositions are usually reliable,’ said Madeleine.

‘Yet he hasn’t made much progress so far.’

‘That’s because we’ve had so much contradictory evidence,’ said Leeming. ‘If you start from the wrong place, as we did, you end up at the wrong destination. I think that the inspector has got us on the right track at last. All we have to do is to find the link between Mr Quayle and the Peet family.’

Lydia was sceptical. ‘I’m not sure that there is one.’

‘You said yourself how little you knew of your father’s business affairs,’ Madeleine reminded her.

‘Yes, I own that I did.’

‘The link may have nothing to do with business,’ ventured Leeming. ‘It may be of a more personal nature.’

A waiter arrived and the sergeant took the opportunity to order a glass of whisky. He needed something to revive him and he always enjoyed buying something at the expense of the Midland Railway. Leeming was able to relax properly for the first time in hours. The only danger, he feared, was that he might fall asleep out of fatigue.

Entering the hotel, Colbeck made straight for the lounge. He was pleased to see the sergeant ensconced with the two ladies.

‘Ah, you’re back, Victor,’ he said. ‘How was the superintendent?’

‘I can’t say that I enjoyed his company, sir.’

‘You’d obviously prefer to travel to London alone.’

‘It would be much more restful.’

‘I’m glad that you think that,’ said Colbeck, ‘because I’m sending you back there immediately. Something has come up and it needs verification.’

‘I can’t leave now,’ protested Leeming. ‘I’ve just ordered a whisky.’

‘It won’t be wasted. I’ll drink it in your stead.’

‘That does seem unfair on the sergeant,’ said Lydia.

‘Necessity is often unjust. In this case,’ Colbeck went on, ‘the loss of the whisky is offset by the pleasure of spending a night with his family.’ Leeming brightened at once. ‘You won’t be able to make enquiries until tomorrow.’

‘Do I have to go this minute, Inspector?’

‘There’s a train in twenty minutes. That will give you time to collect your bag and take your orders from me.’

‘But I’ve already made an arrangement, sir.’

‘It’s just been cancelled.’

‘I feel bad about letting him down,’ said Leeming. ‘It’s Mr Conway’s last day in Spondon. He’s making the most of it by staying well into the evening. I promised to meet him here to see if he has anything new to tell us.’

‘I can listen to Mr Conway as well as you, Victor.’ Colbeck turned to Madeleine. ‘He’s a reporter from the
Derby Mercury
. We’d better not be seen together. If he discovered that my wife is here, it might just creep into his newspaper and that would cause ructions.’ His head swung
back to Leeming. ‘Fetch your valise then take the next cab on the rank.’