‘Follow him!’ he barked.
The cabman obeyed the command, cracking his whip and making his horse jerk forward with sudden speed. The cab rocked and rattled. The chase was on.
The house was in turmoil over the death of Harriet Quayle. Nobody was taking the slightest interest in the stables. Cleary had therefore expected to steal quietly away and that his departure wouldn’t be noticed for several hours. Yet a cab was now in pursuit of him. Who the passengers were, he didn’t know and he wasn’t prepared to wait in order to find out. The horse felt his heels again and was soon galloping hell for leather along the track.
Inside the cab, meanwhile, Colbeck and Leeming were urging the drive to go faster but they knew it was an impossible task. A horse with one rider was always going to outpace a cab with three people aboard. The detectives were in luck. What the chase had done was to instil panic in the coachman. Fearful that he might be caught, he rode off the main track towards a stand of trees, hoping to dash through spaces that were far too narrow for the cab. It was a sensible course of action and it would have ensured his escape if it had not been for the badger’s sett in amongst the trees. Galloping wildly, the horse caught a foot in the cavity and lost its balance, tumbling forward and rolling over. Cleary was thrown free and he hit soft ground before somersaulting a few times. Dazed but unhurt, he got to his feet, grabbed the saddlebags from the stricken animal and began to run as fast as he could.
Unable to go into the trees, the cab was pulled to a halt. Colbeck and Leeming jumped out of the cab at once and ran towards the sound of the frantic neighing. When they saw Cleary lumbering off with the heavy saddlebags, they knew that they’d catch him easily. Colbeck gave the sergeant the honour of making the arrest. He let him surge ahead and dive onto the coachman’s back, knocking him to the ground. Leeming got up, dragged Cleary to his feet then stumbled backwards as a hefty punch caught him on the chin. Snatching up the saddlebags, the coachman used them as a weapon, swinging them hard to keep the detectives at bay. Colbeck was outraged when, as he tried to duck beneath the flailing saddlebags, his top hat was knocked off. He stepped back several yards then ran forwards and flung himself at Cleary’s legs, grasping him round the ankles and pulling his feet from under him.
The ensuing struggle was fierce. It took the two of them to overpower and handcuff the coachman. Colbeck retrieved his top hat and brushed off the dirt.
‘This is one hat you’re not going to have, Mr Cleary.’
Edward Tallis was not going to let a sore ankle keep him away from work. He sat behind his desk with one shoeless foot resting on a velvet footstool. Seen from the front, he looked to be in rude health. In addition, he was in unusually good spirits. A murder had been solved and a full report lay in front of him. Local and national newspapers had congratulated two of his detectives and he’d received further praise from the commissioner. After being ridiculed in the pages of Punch, Sir Richard Mayne had been delighted by the ringing endorsement of his leadership that came after the events in Derbyshire had finally been resolved.
It was the day after the arrest of John Cleary. Now in custody, he’d taken full responsibility for the murder so that the victim’s wife was not in any way implicated. Colbeck knew that there was something missing from the prisoner’s sworn statement. When he and Leeming called on the superintendent that morning, it was the first thing that the inspector raised.
‘He had an accomplice.’
‘It must have been that friend of his,’ said Tallis. ‘Gerard Burns.’
‘No, sir. He’s completely innocent.’
‘Then why was he so evasive when I questioned him?’
‘He wanted to protect his friend.’
‘Aiding and abetting a killer is an indictable offence.’
‘That’s not what he did, sir,’ said Colbeck. ‘When he was asked to say nothing of that meeting with Cleary, he thought he was simply saving the man’s job. He had no inkling of the coachman’s real motives.’
‘So who was his real accomplice?’
‘We can never prove this, of course, because the person is dead and Cleary is determined to take the secret to the grave. The real killer was not a loyal coachman. In my opinion it was a vengeful wife.’
Tallis’s mouth was agape. ‘Mrs Quayle?’
‘It surprised me, too, sir,’ said Leeming.
‘But the woman was extremely poorly.’
‘Much of her illness,’ argued Colbeck, ‘was caused by the immense stress she was under from being overlooked by her husband in favour of a younger and healthier woman. The irony is that it was Mrs Peet who died first. I believe that Harriet Quayle instructed her coachman to exact revenge on her behalf. She lived in a huge house filled with people but the one who got closest to her was John Cleary. Look at the way the victim died. Poison is often thought of as a woman’s weapon.’
‘How did Cleary get hold of the poison?’
‘His explanation was that he used a weedkiller that Burns bought when he was a gardener there. It was mixed with other toxic elements. Where he got them from, and how he got hold of a syringe, he refused to say. But if Mrs Quayle had been unwell for so long, it’s likely that she’d have been given a variety of drugs, some of which would be administered by a syringe. On the night of the murder,’ said Colbeck, ‘Cleary had been told to pick up his master from Derby station and drive him to Spondon. Before that, of course, he spent the evening with Burns. According to the coachman, Quayle was so drunk when he arrived that he had to be helped off the train. Cleary had brought a brandy flask, spiked with a strong sedative. Thinking it would steady his nerves, Quayle took several swigs from the flask. The sedative made him defenceless. By the time they reached Spondon, he was fast asleep.’
‘So the coachman was able to inject the poison,’ said Leeming.
‘Yes, Sergeant, he confessed it. He hid the carriage near the church then waited until Quayle was dead. When he felt it was safe to do so, Cleary borrowed a wheelbarrow from a nearby garden and used it to push his master up the hill and into the grave dug for Mrs Peet. Though he denies it, I’m certain that he was obeying instructions from Mrs Quayle and I’m equally certain that she supplied the sedative.’
‘Have you confided this theory to anyone else?’
‘No,’ said Colbeck. ‘The sergeant knows but nobody else will.’
‘I think Mrs Quayle’s memory should be unsullied, sir,’ asserted Leeming. ‘There’s no need to reopen the case because nothing can be gained by doing so.’
‘What the world will see — and that includes her children — is a sick and lonely old woman collapsing under the weight of her bereavement. I think that’s all they should be allowed to see, Superintendent.’
Tallis was worried. ‘I don’t like the thought that she got away with it.’
‘You can’t prosecute a corpse, sir.’
‘It means that this case has loose ends hanging from it.’
‘You have your victim and his killer is in custody,’ said Leeming, bluntly. ‘What more do you need, Superintendent?’
‘I’m troubled. Colbeck’s theory is oddly convincing.’
‘But it is only a theory,’ said Colbeck. ‘My view is that it can never be substantiated with proof and is best left unexplored. Everyone is happy at the outcome of the case. The family is relieved, you are feted in the press and there is a glowing testimonial of the sergeant’s tenacity in the Derby Mercury.’
Leeming grinned. ‘Mr Conway was kind enough to show me a copy before it was printed in today’s edition.’
‘The praise was well deserved.’
‘Both of you are worthy of a commendation,’ said Tallis. ‘I will be pointing that out to the commissioner at our meeting later today.’