‘What are you all doing here?’ she asked.
‘We’re looking after you, Mother,’ replied Agnes.
‘I pay a doctor to do that.’
‘You need company,’ said Stanley.
‘Then where have you been for the last few days? I needed company then but you didn’t come anywhere near me.’
‘I did,’ said Lucas, softly. ‘I looked in whenever I could.’
‘But I was the one who actually stayed with Mother,’ said Agnes, virtuously.
Stanley was critical. ‘Then how did she manage to get out of the house?’
‘That’s unjust,’ said Lucas. ‘We owe Agnes a great deal. This little incident has shown that.’
‘Well, it mustn’t happen again.’
‘I went for a walk, Stanley,’ said his mother. ‘Surely I can do that.’
‘It might have harmed you, Mother.’
‘But it didn’t — the doctor agreed.’
‘You’ve got limited strength and you must conserve it.’
Harriet said nothing. She lay back and looked at each of her children in turn. Agnes was a picture of sympathy, Lucas was concerned and Stanley was anxious to leave. As she studied her elder son, Harriet felt that he looked more like his father than ever, impatient, animated and eager to get back to work. She gave an incongruous giggle.
‘You don’t need to sit around my deathbed yet,’ she said.
Stanley was shocked. ‘That’s a terrible thing to say, Mother.’
‘I don’t think it is,’ said Lucas, getting up to kiss her on the forehead. ‘I think it’s a good sign. Get some rest, Mother.’
‘I was resting quite happily in the summer house until I was disturbed,’ she pointed out. ‘Why didn’t you leave me there?’
‘You’re safer here.’
‘Agnes will look after you,’ said Stanley, rising to his feet.
‘Yes,’ murmured his sister, ‘Agnes will look after you.’
As all three of her children hovered over her, Harriet raised a skinny hand.
‘Away with you,’ she said, weakly. ‘I want to sleep.’
The meeting with Philip Conway was a happy accident. The detectives were approaching the Union Inn when he came into view. After an exchange of greetings, they stepped into the inn and found a table. Colbeck ordered drinks and they were able to talk at leisure. The reporter was interested to hear about their confrontation with Jed Hockaday.
‘What did he say when you caught him lying?’ he asked.
‘Oh, he came up with all sorts of excuses,’ replied Leeming. ‘The one he finally settled on was that he got so drunk in Duffield that he didn’t realise his friends had probably put him on the train that night to Spondon.’
‘Did you believe him?’
‘No,’ said Colbeck. ‘And when we asked for the names of the friends with whom he spent that evening, he prevaricated for minutes. We had to chisel their names out of him. He was understandably resentful. As a constable, Hockaday is used to asking awkward questions instead of being forced to answer them.’
Leeming issued a warning. ‘You’d best keep out of his way, Mr Conway.’
‘Why is that?’ asked the reporter.
‘He’ll blame you for setting us on to him.’
‘All I did was to describe his behaviour in the churchyard.’
‘He lied about that as well,’ said Leeming. ‘I wouldn’t have a man like that under me. I think we should report him to Superintendent Wigg.’
‘No,’ decided Colbeck. ‘Let’s make sure that we have proper grounds for dismissal before we do that. We’ve frightened him and people don’t always act sensibly when they’re in that state. Keep an eye on him, Sergeant.’
‘What do you think he’ll do?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he didn’t rush off to Duffield at some stage to tell these friends of his what to say when questioned. We know they exist because Hockaday wouldn’t dare to give us false names.’
‘You can see why he’s not that popular in the village,’ said Conway.
‘Policemen never are,’ moaned Leeming. ‘When you put on a uniform, you lose a lot of friends. I discovered that. In Hockaday’s case, there’s another problem. He tries hard to be liked but he’s just not very likeable.’ He tasted his drink. ‘This is the best beer I’ve tasted in Spondon.’ He put the tankard down. ‘The inspector was telling me what you said about Mr Haygarth.’
‘What did I say?’
‘That your editor finds him a nuisance.’
‘Mr Haygarth is always complaining about something or other.’
‘What about the late Mr Quayle?’ asked Colbeck. ‘Did you have the same trouble from him?’
‘No, not at all — he was on amicable terms with the Mercury. He certainly didn’t charge into the office breathing fire the way that Haygarth does. My editor says that Haygarth is the opposite of the superintendent. Elijah Wigg does everything he can to butter us up but all that Haygarth does is to find fault. However,’ he went on, ‘they have one thing in common. They possess foul tempers.’
‘I know. I’ve had both of them shouting at me.’
‘They should be grateful that we came here,’ said Leeming.
‘We’ll never get gratitude out of the superintendent,’ warned Colbeck. ‘He sees us as trespassers. Mr Haygarth couldn’t have been happier to see us at first. But the moment I started to ask about his link with Spondon, he became angry.’
‘I thought he was born here.’
‘He was, Victor, but he doesn’t like to be reminded of the fact. He left the village as a boy and hasn’t been back here for decades.’
Conway was astonished. ‘Is that what he told you, Inspector?’
‘Yes, and he did so in no uncertain terms.’
‘Then he has a very poor memory. He attended Mrs Peet’s funeral.’
‘I didn’t see him there,’ said Leeming.
‘Then he must have made sure that you didn’t for some reason.’
‘It was easy to miss him in that sea of hats.’
‘Not really — his hat was somewhat taller than the others.’
Colbeck’s ears pricked up. ‘Are you certain that it was him?’
‘I daren’t make mistakes about things like that, Inspector. It’s an article of faith with me. If you look at the list of names we printed with the obituary, you’ll see that Donald Haygarth is among them.’
Anyone involved with the Midland Railway knew the difference between the two men. Vivian Quayle had had a genuine love of the railway system. He was fascinated by each new technical development in the production of steam locomotives and rolling stock and was a frequent visitor to the Derby Works. He would spend hours talking to the chief engineer about the manufacturing process. Those who toiled in the pattern shop, the foundry, the carriage shop, the machine shop and the boiler shop knew Quayle as a regular and respected visitor. They’d never set eyes on Donald Haygarth. His realm was the boardroom and the public platform. He was known to have a desire to stand for Parliament. His ambition for the company was clear. He wanted to maximise its profits and turn the Midland Railway into the best in the country. But he refused to get his shoes dirty as he did so.
He was studying the accounts when Maurice Cope knocked before entering the office. Haygarth was too involved in what he was doing to pay him any attention. Cope had to wait until the other man finally glanced up.
‘What do you want?’ asked Haygarth.
‘This just arrived for you, sir,’ said Cope, handing over a letter. ‘I think that it’s the information you’ve been waiting for.’
‘It’s about time, too.’
As the acting chairman opened and read the letter, Cope watched him like a cat hoping to be tossed a morsel. Haygarth smiled with satisfaction. He could have waited until the announcement was made in the Derby Mercury but he was too impatient for that. He always wanted advance notice.