‘Do you really mean it, Father?’ she asked.
‘Mean what?’
‘That remark you made about Mrs Hodgkin. One minute you tell me that you intend to get married, and the next you laugh at the idea. Are you simply teasing me?’
‘Only up to a point, Maddy,’ he said. ‘When I first mentioned it, I suppose that I was teasing you a little, but I’m starting to like the idea. The house will be very empty when you’ve gone. Maybe it’s time for me to find another wife before I lose my good looks.’ They laughed together, then he became quite solemn. ‘It’s not the same for you and the inspector. You’re young and have a whole lifetime ahead of you. I don’t, Maddy. But, even at my age, I can still love and be loved.’
‘Of course,’ she said, squeezing his arm.
‘It will be a different kind of love, that’s all.’
Colbeck’s interrogation was so unremitting that he almost reduced Eric Hepworth to tears. Gone was the overweening arrogance of the railway policeman. In its place was a whimpering submission. For all that, the detectives had not caught a murderer. Hepworth had been working on the day that Miriam Tarleton had been killed and could call on several witnesses to prove it. Having decided that Hepworth was the killer, Leeming was depressed. Colbeck was less dismayed because he’d kept an open mind. In his view, the meeting had been of positive value. It had eliminated a suspect. It had also had such a sobering effect on Hepworth that he would behave with more humility in future. There was one flash of his old self.
‘If I’d wanted to kill anyone,’ he’d said, rearing up in his chair, ‘then I’d have shot the colonel not his wife. I’d have blown his head off.’ He calmed down and shrugged an apology. ‘That’s all in the past now. I’d rather forget it.’
‘Then we’ll forget the impulse that made you write those letters,’ said Colbeck. ‘Guard against such wicked feelings next time.’
‘Oh, I will, I will, Inspector.’
‘Go to church and cleanse your mind,’ advised Leeming.
‘Yes, yes, I’ll do that as well.’
Overcome with gratitude at being – as he perceived it – let off the hook, Hepworth rose to his feet and shook hands with each of them. Then he snatched up his hat and left the room swiftly. Leeming was dejected.
‘I felt certain it was him,’ he said. ‘It would have given me such pleasure to arrest that buffoon.’
Colbeck was more philosophical. ‘We exposed him as the author of those wounding letters,’ he said, ‘even though we had no evidence beyond the words of his children. That will have shaken him up. I think that our interview with Sergeant Hepworth may have done the whole village a good turn.’
‘But it’s left us chasing shadows, Inspector.’
‘We made a mistake, that’s all. We’ve been looking for a man who killed Mrs Tarleton in order to get revenge against her husband. What we really needed to search for was someone who had a motive to kill the colonel’s wife. Yes,’ he added as Leeming was about to speak, ‘I know that she was, by common report, such a harmless and likeable woman but even the nicest human beings can sometimes excite hatred.’
‘We’ve lost three suspects in a row,’ complained Leeming.
‘And we may lose a few more before we’re done, Victor.’
‘Superintendent Tallis will have some harsh words when he sees how little we’ve achieved.’
‘That’s unjust,’ said Colbeck. ‘We helped to put a stone cross up in the churchyard. We arrested the man who pulled it over in the first place and who had an additional crime to his name. We extracted a confession from Hepworth with regard to those letters he wrote, and we’ve sent him out of here a reformed man. I don’t think that’s a bad record for a Sunday.’
‘We still haven’t caught the man we’re after, sir.’
‘Then we must look at the other potential suspects.’
‘There are none,’ said Leeming.
‘What about the list that Mr Reader gave us?’ asked Colbeck, taking it from his pocket and laying it on the table. ‘Since his wife went to the trouble of drawing it up for us, we ought to use it.’ He tapped the piece of paper. ‘Everyone on here knew that Mrs Tarleton would be walking to Northallerton that day. The chances are that the killer’s name is right under our noses.’
‘Well, it certainly isn’t Mrs Reader herself, yet her name is at the top of the list. In fact,’ Leeming went on, ‘I’d cross off the names of all the women on that list.’
‘Some women are capable of firing a shotgun, Victor.’
The sergeant gasped. ‘You think the killer was female?’
‘I think that we should rule nothing out.’
‘I still fancy that Adam Tarleton is involved somehow. Why don’t we go and talk to him again?’
‘There’s no point,’ said Colbeck, getting up. ‘Besides, it would be wrong to disturb a house of sorrow. It was very brave of Mrs Doel to attend church this morning but I could see that it was a strain for her. She and the rest of the family should be left alone.’
Leeming rose to his feet, ‘Very well, sir.’
Picking up the list, Colbeck took a last look at it before slipping it into his pocket. He then opened the door and went out. Seconds after he did so, Mrs Withers entered the bar. She was panting hard and her face was lined with anxiety. When she saw Colbeck, she lurched gratefully towards him.
‘Could I speak to you in private, please?’ she begged.
‘Yes, of course,’ he replied. ‘Step in here, Mrs Withers.’
As she went past him into the empty room, he could see that she was in a state of considerable distress. He gestured to Leeming who gave an understanding nod. Colbeck went into the room after her and helped her to a chair. Beneath her black hat, he noticed the perspiration on her brow.
‘Get your breath back first,’ he advised.
‘I ran part of the way,’ she gasped.
‘Then it must be important. The sergeant is getting something for you so there’s no hurry now. You can relax.’
‘I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do that again, Inspector.’
She produced a handkerchief and dabbed at her face. Her shoulders were heaving and there was a look of desperation in her eyes. Leeming had ordered a glass of brandy in the bar. When it was handed to him, Colbeck closed the door and crossed over to his visitor.
‘Take a sip of this, Mrs Withers,’ he said. ‘It may help.’
‘I need something,’ she admitted.
‘It’s brandy. Drink it slowly.’
She took a first sip and it seemed to steady her nerves. Though her panting slowly eased, she was afraid to meet Colbeck’s eyes. He sat opposite her and waited. After a second nip of brandy, she found the courage to speak.
‘Mrs Tarleton trusted me,’ she began. ‘She said that she’d never manage without me.’
‘That’s praise, indeed.’
‘It’s how I came to know about the bureau, you see.’
‘What bureau is that, Mrs Withers?’ he asked.
‘It was in her bedroom. She used it to write letters and to store things in. When it first arrived, she showed me that it had a secret compartment. You’d never guess that there was one there.’
‘Actually, I might,’ said Colbeck. ‘My father was a cabinetmaker and so was my grandfather. They showed me all the tricks of the trade. But do go on,’ he said. ‘What was in this secret compartment?’
‘Mrs Tarleton told me she kept her keys in there – the keys to the wardrobe, the chest of drawers and various other places.’
‘That sounds like a sensible idea.’
‘I had no need to look into the compartment until today…’ Her voice cracked and she used the handkerchief to stem some tears. He put the glass to her lips and she took another sip. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I just wasn’t prepared for such a shock. I still haven’t got used to it.’ She took a deep breath. ‘It all started when Mrs Reader went upstairs. I saw her go into the bedroom and nobody was allowed in there when Mrs Tarleton was alive. When I went in after her, she was standing beside the bureau. Mrs Reader said that she’d been told she could have a keepsake from the jewellery box but that was on the other side of the room. I gave it to her and told her to take it downstairs so that she could choose something while Mrs Doel was there.’