‘You came about the inquest, didn’t you?’ he asked.
Moxey looked hunted. ‘How did you know?’
‘I couldn’t think of any other reason for you to be here.’
‘It’s nothing to worry about,’ said Leeming. ‘You’ll only be questioned for a few minutes then you’ll be free to go. The inspector and I will then have to take our turn.’
‘Do I have to be there?’ asked Moxey.
‘Yes – you found the body.’
‘What will I be asked?’
‘How you came to be there and how you stumbled on it.’
‘Can’t you write that down and show it to the coroner? That would save me going. Mr Higginbottom’s not happy about me taking time off. Write it down,’ said Moxey with enthusiasm as the idea took hold on him. ‘I’d do it myself but I never learnt writing and such.’
‘I think I see the problem here,’ said Colbeck. ‘When you went out after rabbits that night, you might not have been on your own.’
‘But I was, I was alone, Inspector.’
‘I’m sure that you were, Wilf, but let’s assume – for the sake of argument – that you did have a friend with you. And let’s assume that you have a very good reason for keeping that friend’s name out of it altogether.’ He gave an understanding smile. ‘Do you follow me?’
‘I do, sir.’
‘In that case, there’s a simple solution.’
Moxey went blank. ‘Is there?’
‘Yes,’ said Colbeck. ‘The coroner isn’t really interested in what you were doing in that wood in the middle of the night. The point is that you discovered the body. Until you did that, Sergeant Leeming and I had been floundering.’
‘We didn’t know if the lady was alive or dead,’ said Leeming. ‘All we knew was that she was missing.’
‘You solved the mystery for us, Wilf.’
‘Yes,’ said Moxey with a slow smile, ‘I did, didn’t I?’
‘The coroner will realise that and take it into account.’
‘Will he, sir?’
‘He will, if I speak to him beforehand,’ explained Colbeck. ‘Even on a short acquaintance, I can see that you’re an honest man. It would upset you to lie on oath, wouldn’t it? You’re afraid you’d be committing perjury.’ Moxey lowered his head to his chest. ‘Then the coroner will simply say that he believes you were out walking that night and found the grave by accident. He won’t try to interrogate you about why you went to that particular place.’ Moxey’s head was raised hopefully. ‘How does that sound?’
‘Would you do that for me, Inspector?’
‘We need your evidence and I’ll make sure that you don’t have any embarrassment while giving it.’
‘Then you can go back to the farm and boast about appearing at a coroner’s court,’ said Leeming.
‘It’s nothing to boast about, sir. I’m just sad about the lady.’
‘So are we,’ said Colbeck. ‘But the best way to get rid of that sadness is to catch the man who murdered her. Now then, have I put your mind at rest?’
‘Oh, you have, sir. Thank you. It’s been preying on me.’
‘Have you had a hard day at work, Wilf?’
‘Yes, Inspector, we started to get the harvest in.’
‘Then you’ll have built up a good thirst,’ said Colbeck, patting him on the back. ‘Drink up and the sergeant will get you another.’
Moxey thought about Lorna Begg and laughed inwardly. He’d have so much to tell her when he got back to the farm.
Dorcas Skelton was an obedient wife who readily took instruction from a husband she regarded as a kind of saint. She never questioned his decisions nor tried to take the initiative in their marriage. The fact that it was childless was something she’d long ceased to feel slight qualms about. Life with Frederick Skelton was a blessing. Maternal instincts were smothered beneath a blanket of wifely devotion. Yet she was not the sedate creature that she appeared. Adversity could bring out the essential steel in her character. Whenever she felt that the rector was unfairly criticised or undervalued, she leapt to his defence like a guard dog straining at the leash. The visit of Adam Tarleton had her barking wildly.
‘His behaviour was atrocious,’ she cried. ‘He had no right to force his way in here and abuse you in your own study.’
‘It was rather alarming,’ he confessed. ‘He must have been drinking.’
‘That’s no excuse, Frederick. You told me that he might have matured in the time he’s been away. I saw no maturity in the account you gave of him. He sounded like the same wilful young rascal that he always was. Someone should thrash him soundly.’
‘I never resort to violence, Dorcas.’
‘It’s what the colonel should have done.’
‘I’m sure it’s what he would have wanted to do, my dear, but Miriam always interceded. She was far too soft on the lad.’
‘And look at the result,’ she said. ‘Adam has turned into an uncontrollable ruffian with no respect for a man of the cloth. I think that he should be reported.’
‘He already has been,’ he said, casting a pious glance upward.
‘God may punish him for his sins in time but he needs more immediate chastisement. Adam should be reported and flogged.’
‘By whom? There’s no agency to which we can turn.’
They were in his study and she was standing in the precise spot occupied by Adam Tarleton when he unloosed his tirade against the rector. On the wall behind Skelton’s head was the crucifix before which he prayed every morning before beginning work at his desk. Its very presence had buoyed him up at times of crisis and it seemed to fill the room with a precious sanctity. Glancing at the crucifix now, he made the sign of the cross with a grace for which he was renowned. The gesture helped to calm his wife down a little.
‘What are you going to do, Frederick?’ she asked.
‘You know my mind. The colonel will not be buried here.’
‘I wasn’t talking about that. I was thinking about Sunday when you have to take a service in the church. Members of the family might turn up. Eve will want to come and she might even persuade that lout of a brother to accompany her – though I think he should be refused entry to any place of worship.’
He spread his arms. ‘All are welcome in my congregation.’
‘Will you let him abuse you like that again?’
‘I’ll be firmly in control in my church, Dorcas,’ he said. ‘It’s my spiritual fortress. Nobody can attack me there. Besides, I doubt very much if Adam will turn up on Sunday. His sister may come with Mrs Withers and there’ll be friends of the family here as well.’
‘That’s what worries me,’ she admitted. ‘They’ll be here for solace. They’ll want your sermon to give them moral guidance to cope with their loss. They’ll expect eulogies of the deceased.’
He clenched his teeth. ‘I will not offer praise of the colonel.’
‘You could talk about his charitable work, perhaps.’
‘Dorcas,’ he said, stroking his hair with offhand vanity, ‘I’m not a man to compromise. Colonel Tarleton doesn’t deserve even to be mentioned in my church, let alone given a tribute. He flouted the teaching of the Bible. He committed suicide and we both know why he took that desperate and irrevocable step.’ His voice soared like a chord on the church organ. ‘He murdered his wife. I’ll not let his bones corrupt my churchyard. Miriam is the only person for whom we’ll pray on Sunday. My sermon will explain why and it will be fearless.’
Having eaten their supper, the detectives remained at their table to discuss the evidence they’d so far gathered and to decide what they needed to do on the following day. Neither of them was pleased when Eric Hepworth hove into view, his bald head gleaming in the light of the oil lamps, the sight of his uniform causing some of the other customers to sidle out of the bar. Without invitation, Hepworth took an empty seat at the table and gave them a conspiratorial smirk.