‘Have you made an arrest yet, gentlemen?’ he asked.
‘No,’ replied Colbeck, ‘but it’s only a matter of time.’
‘That means you have someone in view.’
‘We have a number of suspects, Sergeant, but we prefer to be certain of our facts before we make a move. Had we listened to you, for instance, we’d have believed that Mrs Tarleton had simply fled from a domineering husband.’
Hepworth bridled. ‘That was only a theory.’
‘A foolish one, as it turned out,’ said Leeming.
‘Ginny heard the colonel arguing with his wife. Others may tell you that they were happily married but I know the truth.’ His tone became placatory. ‘Anyway, the body was found. We know the truth now. All we need to do is to find the killer.’
‘That’s our task.’
‘But I’m the one with local knowledge, Sergeant.’
‘With respect,’ said Leeming, ‘it’s not entirely reliable. Your view of the colonel is coloured by the fact that he dismissed your daughter and treated your son badly.’
‘I saw him for the petty tyrant he really was,’ argued Hepworth.
‘That opinion is not yours alone,’ said Colbeck, thinking of the stationmaster. ‘And we do respect your local knowledge. In fact, I’d like to draw on it now.’
Hepworth beamed. ‘Feel free to do so, Inspector.’
‘We’re trying to find a man named Michael Bruntcliffe.’
‘Why – is he a suspect?’
‘We just wish to speak to him, that’s all, and eliminate him from our enquiries. Do you know who he is?’
‘I should do,’ said Hepworth, proudly. ‘I was the one who arrested him for defacing railway property. That’s a serious offence in my book. Signs and notices are there to guide the travelling public. If someone paints out certain words, the information can be very misleading. What annoyed me was that Bruntcliffe treated the whole thing as a joke.’
‘Did you catch him in the act?’
‘Yes, Inspector, he was painting vulgar messages on the side of a goods wagon.’ He grinned at the memory. ‘Fortunately for me, he resisted arrest. I had to overpower him.’
‘The colonel sent him to prison,’ said Leeming.
‘That’s where he belonged. If it was left to me, he’d still be there. Bruntcliffe likes to make mischief. His family have disowned him. Or, to be more exact, Bruntcliffe has disowned them.’
‘Yes,’ said Colbeck, ‘I spoke to the prison governor. He said that Bruntcliffe refused to see his family on release. He just disappeared. Nobody seems to know if he’s in the area or not.’
‘There’s one person who should be able to tell you.’
‘Oh? And who’s that?’
‘Young Mr Tarleton. He and Michael Bruntcliffe were friends. They were also birds of a feather.’
‘We spoke to Mr Tarleton earlier,’ said Colbeck, ‘and he claimed that he hadn’t seen Bruntcliffe for years.’
‘Then he was lying to you, Inspector.’
‘How do you know?’
‘My brother is a warder at the prison. He tells me what happens there. When you spoke to the governor, did you ask him if Bruntcliffe had had any visitors while he was serving his sentence?’
‘No, I didn’t,’ said Colbeck.
‘Then you should have done,’ said Hepworth, relishing a minor triumph, ‘because you might have learnt what I did. So young Mr Tarleton hasn’t seen Bruntcliffe for years, has he? Ask him to explain why he visited his friend in prison more than once. The last time was less than a month ago.’ He gave a ripe chuckle. ‘Do you see what I mean about the value of local knowledge?’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Instead of mourning the death of an old friend, Edward Tallis threw himself into his work with such commitment that there was little room left for brooding on his grief. Policing a city as large and turbulent as London was well beyond the limited resources allocated to the task. Crime flowed through the capital with the force and inevitability of the River Thames. Nothing could stop it. The most that could be achieved was to divert a small proportion of it into tributaries where it could be contained and, even then, success was only ever temporary. Puffing on his cigar, Tallis looked at the list of serious crimes perpetrated in the previous twenty-four hours. It was daunting. Many of them could be dealt with by uniformed constables but some called for the specialist assistance of the Detective Department.
Before he could begin to assign his men to deal with specific cases, however, there was a tap on the door. It opened to allow Robert Colbeck to step in, looking as suave as ever. Tallis was flabbergasted.
‘How did you get here this early, Inspector?’ he asked.
‘It involved some personal discomfort, sir,’ said Colbeck, smoothly. ‘I took a milk train to York, inveigled my way into the guard’s van of a goods train to Peterborough then picked up an express to King’s Cross. I intend to return by more direct means.’
‘Have you identified the killer yet?’
‘We have two main suspects in mind. It’s our belief that they may have been acting together.’
‘Give me the details.’
Unlike Leeming, the inspector was never intimidated by Tallis. He was able to give a clear, succinct, well-presented account of what they’d been doing since the sergeant had delivered his more garbled report. Tallis was impressed by his thoroughness but he had doubts that Adam Tarleton was involved.
‘He’s not the sort of man to kill anyone,’ he asserted.
‘He may not have done it himself, sir,’ said Colbeck, ‘but he could be capable of hiring someone else to commit the murder.’
‘You believe that he suborned Bruntcliffe?’
‘We are coming around to that view.’
‘I can see that this fellow might have had a strong enough motive. If the colonel sent him to prison, Bruntcliffe could have wreaked his revenge by killing the person the colonel loved most. What I can’t see is a motive for Adam.’
‘Do you remember how he conducted himself at the inquest?’
‘Only too clearly,’ said Tallis, disapprovingly. ‘He didn’t look like a son who’d just lost a stepfather by suicide. There was no sense of genuine bereavement.’
‘We felt the same, Superintendent,’ said Colbeck. ‘While his sister was suffering agonies, he behaved as if he had no connection with the deceased. All that interests him is the money he stands to inherit. When we met him at the house yesterday, he hadn’t even put on appropriate mourning wear.’
‘That’s unforgivable.’
‘He admitted quite freely that he resented the colonel and had never acknowledged him as a father. By the same token, he must have borne a grudge against his mother for foisting her second husband on him. From what I can gather, Mrs Tarleton sought to retain his affection by providing him with money. But as we’re aware,’ said Colbeck, ‘that source of income ceased. How would a parasite like Adam Tarleton react when he could no longer sponge off his mother?’
‘He’d be very angry – even vengeful.’
‘There’s your motive, sir.’
Tallis scratched his head. ‘I wonder.’
‘The only way to get the money he felt was his due was to kill his mother in such a way that suspicion fell on the colonel. The stratagem worked. Most people still believe that he killed his wife.’
‘I know and it’s monstrously unjust.’
‘Yet it’s shared by people like the rector. He’s an intelligent man who wouldn’t simply follow the herd. The problem,’ Colbeck went on, ‘is that he exerts such influence in the village and its environs. He has a hold on people’s minds.’
‘That’s why we must trumpet the colonel’s innocence,’ said Tallis, tugging the cigar from his mouth, ‘and there’s only one way to do that.’ He shot Colbeck a shrewd look. ‘How convinced are you that Adam is the real killer?’
‘To be frank,’ admitted Colbeck, ‘I’m only partially convinced, even though he lied about not seeing Bruntcliffe for years. On his own, he might baulk at the idea of murder. Given assistance, however, it might be a different matter. That’s where Bruntcliffe comes in.’