“But he still hosted the meetings. I wouldn’t call him senile, just absent-minded at times, and that’s understandable at the end of a long life. Do you want more cream on that scone, officer?”
“It is rather good.” Diamond scooped up some more. “Getting back to the funeral, I believe the solicitor, Miss Hill, made some kind of announcement when you all went back to the house.”
“She indicated, without precisely saying so, that no one present stood to benefit from Max’s will and it later emerged that he’d left everything to the National Railway Museum.”
“Is that Didcot?”
“No, York. And then she told us there was a stack of paper items of no great value that Max had stipulated could be shared among his railway chums. We were welcome to help ourselves to any of them if we desired. If we desired? When you issue an invitation like that to a group of fanatics like us, you’d better stand back. The next half-hour was not dignified.”
“Did you find anything?” Halliwell asked.
“Several fascinating items.”
“And who was involved?” Diamond asked. “Both of you, obviously, and Ivor Pellegrini. Was he in the thick of it?”
“Naturally,” Jake said. “Ivor is as keen as we are. He was so eager that he elbowed some lady and tipped coffee over her skirt. I’m sure he made an apology, but he wasn’t distracted for long.”
“If you were sifting through the papers, I don’t suppose you noticed what the others were up to-the people who weren’t collectors.”
Simon laughed. “It’s just a blur.”
“You can’t tell me if anyone left the room?”
“I can tell you two of the ladies went off to the kitchen to see what they could do about the coffee stain.”
“I don’t know why you’re asking,” Jake said. “Any of us could have slipped out and probably did. The bathroom is upstairs. We know, because we’ve been to the house often enough for our meetings.”
“The meetings, yes,” Diamond said, willing to shift direction. “And you’ve also been to Mr. Pellegrini’s house?”
“That’s the arrangement. We take it in turns.”
“Where does he play host-in his workshop?”
“Have you seen inside?” Simon asked.
Diamond didn’t exactly tell a lie. “I can’t say I have.”
“We’re green with envy.”
“Was he the founder of your club?”
“It’s not really a club,” Jake said. “Just a gathering of like-minded people. We’re an unofficial branch of the Great Western Society, not affiliated in the way some of the bigger branches are. We don’t have the numbers.”
“We were never enough to form a branch,” Simon added.
“More like a twig,” Jake said, “and a thin twig at that.”
“Who started it?”
“We’re an offshoot of the Bath Railway Society. That’s how we met. They’re interested in railways generally and some of us were looking for a more focused approach.”
“Focused on the GWR?”
“We’re anoraks and proud of it,” Simon said. “Jake and I first met as teenagers collecting train numbers on Paddington Station. Did you know that the term ‘anoraks’ was first used about train-spotters? The anorak is the perfect garment for standing on the most exposed bits of draughty station platforms, your large pockets filled with notebooks, your ABC of locomotives and, of course, your sandwiches. So that’s us, glad to be gay, ardent to be anoraks.”
Jake smiled. “But the rest of the world thinks we’re barmy.”
“Not by my reckoning.” Diamond was trying to find a way of asking about the cremation urns without revealing that he’d seen them himself. “Mind you, we had our doubts about your friend Ivor.”
“Why was that?” Jake said. “He’s the sane one. You don’t want to be put off by the clothes he wears.”
“It wasn’t the clothes. It was a remark he made about hops when he was stopped by a police car.”
“HOPS-the electrification project?”
“We didn’t know that at the time.”
“He was probably on his way to watch them at work with their special factory train.”
“That wasn’t the only strange thing he said. He had a plastic pot in his saddlebag that he claimed contained the ashes of his late wife, Trixie.”
“Is that so?” Jake’s attention switched to Simon. “Have you topped up the teapot?”
A clear attempt to get over an awkward moment.
Diamond didn’t hold back this time. “To cut to the chase, gentlemen, we’ve done our research. His wife wasn’t cremated. She was buried. The urn must have contained the ashes of someone else. Your friend Ivor was on his way to scatter them secretly somewhere along the railway.”
Neither of their hosts said anything.
“It’s not a criminal offence,” Diamond added, “but Network Rail wouldn’t look kindly on it. Was such a thing ever discussed at your meetings?”
“I’d better boil some more water downstairs,” Simon said.
“No you don’t,” Diamond said, gesturing to him to sit down. “I want an answer from you.”
“About the scattering of ashes?” Simon said, as if he hadn’t understood. He turned to Jake. “Do you have any memory of this?”
“We’re not the transport police,” Diamond said. “No one’s in trouble. I’m only trying to confirm what Ivor was doing that night.”
Jake had been staring into his cup as if he wished he could dive in. Now he looked up. “There is an understanding between us that when our time comes and we are cremated, someone will unite our remains with the railway we love. Up to now, this service has been performed by Ivor. I expect the ashes were those of Max. While HOPS is in progress it’s not unreasonable for a railway enthusiast to be out and about at night.”
“Ivor did the same for the three who died previously?”
“He did.”
“That’s what I wanted to know. It’s clear you put a lot of trust in him.”
“He’s a great guy, the mainstay of the group. This accident is catastrophic.”
“I’m getting the picture of a group of people sharing an interest so strongly that you thought nothing of inviting them all to your homes. It’s all very cosy. But in any group there are going to be differences of opinion, misunderstandings, even the occasional flare-up. I don’t suppose your lot were any different.”
“What are you getting at now?” Jake asked.
“You spoke about Max losing it towards the end. He had some fine antiques and jewellery in that house in Cavendish Crescent. Was there ever any talk of things disappearing?”
“Hold on a minute,” Jake said, colouring noticeably. “Don’t get me wrong. Losing his concentration, not his property.”
“Some items did go missing,” Diamond said.
“Railway items?”
“Pieces of his late wife’s collection of antiques and jewellery.”
Jake swung to Simon in surprise. “Did you ever hear him speak of this while we were there?”
Simon shook his head. “I’m appalled if it’s true.”
“I’m afraid it is,” Diamond said, “and Max was troubled enough to mention it to his doctor.”
“Did he suspect any of us?”
“He didn’t name anyone.”
“And are you suggesting things were taken at the funeral?”
“It was the last opportunity the thief would have.”
“But there were other people present. Neighbours, his cleaning lady, the solicitor.”
“His old friend Cyril,” Jake said. “And the woman who came with him. Don’t just point the finger at us railway buffs. If we wanted to steal anything, it wouldn’t be jewellery. It would be a locomotive name-plate.”
Diamond believed him.
17
“Why exactly am I doing this?” Keith Halliwell asked nobody in particular towards the end of the day. He hadn’t struck gold with any of the local care agencies. He hadn’t struck anything at all, but he soon would, the way he felt. He was still trying to trace Jessie the housekeeper, giving Cyril’s name and address, and getting more frustrated with each call.