Above the gleaming marble fireplace was the item that told Colbeck most about the dead man. It was a full-length portrait of Vivian Quayle, standing in front of a locomotive with an engine shed in the background. Well dressed and well groomed, Quayle had a smile on his face that spoke of unquestioning confidence in his abilities. He cut an incongruous figure against the industrial grime behind him but the fact that he’d asked the artist to paint the portrait in such a place showed a genuine love for the railway. Colbeck had more than a passing interest in the locomotive itself because his wife had developed her artistic skills to a point where she could sell her paintings of locomotives and he was pleased to see how superior her work was to the one before him. While the portrait painter had captured the essence of Vivian Quayle, he’d struggled to make the locomotive and the engine shed look at all realistic.
‘He loved that painting dearly,’ said a voice.
Colbeck turned to see a tall, sleek man in his thirties who had just opened the door noiselessly and entered the study. At a glance, Colbeck could see that the newcomer bore a close resemblance to the figure in the portrait.
‘I’m Stanley Quayle,’ the son went on without offering a handshake. ‘You’ve come at an awkward time, Inspector Colbeck.’
‘I appreciate that, sir, and I’m deeply sorry to intrude.’ He glanced up at the painting. ‘The locomotive is from the Jenny Lind class, isn’t it?’
‘You’re very observant.’
‘It’s a later model so it was probably built in Derby. The original Jenny Lind, of course, was built in Leeds by E. B. Wilson and Company. Mr Kirtley, the esteemed locomotive superintendent of the Midland Railway, improved on the design. But,’ he said with a smile of apology, ‘you don’t wish to hear me rambling on about locomotives.’
Quayle motioned him to the sofa then made a point of sitting in the chair at the desk as if signalling that he had just claimed part of his inheritance. While he was looking Colbeck up and down, the latter was appraising him.
‘What can you tell me, Inspector?’ asked Quayle.
‘First, let me offer you my sincere condolences, sir. I can imagine how great a shock this has all been to you.’
‘When will the body be released to us?’
‘That will happen as soon as the post-mortem is concluded.’
‘Do you need such a thing?’ demanded Quayle. ‘My father was murdered. Must you add to our grief by cutting him open like an animal on a butcher’s slab?’
‘It’s important for us to know the precise way in which he was killed, sir. We know that he was poisoned by lethal injection. If we can identify the nature of that poison, we may have a valuable clue.’
‘Why is it taking so long?’
‘I’ve no answer to that, sir.’ He glanced towards the door. ‘Is the whole family here at the moment?’
‘Most of us are,’ replied the other. ‘My younger sister lives here and my brother has a house nearby. Both are far too distressed to speak to you. As for my mother, I fear that this whole business may be the death of her. Mother is frail at the best of times. She’s taken to her bed. Only the capture of the villain who committed this foul crime could hope to revive her.’
‘You may leave that in my hands, sir. You said that most of the family were here. Are you expecting anyone else to join you?’
‘No, we’re not. My other sister went away years ago and is … estranged from events here. She may not even be aware of what’s happened.’
‘What will she do if she does become aware of them?’
‘That’s a private matter.’
‘On receipt of such terrible news about her father, any daughter would wish to return home, surely?’
Quayle’s eyes flashed. ‘As I told you, Inspector, it’s a private matter.’
‘As you wish, sir.’
‘So I should hope. Now, what action have you taken?’
‘We’re looking closely at the place where the murder occurred. Can you suggest any reason why your father should have gone to Spondon in the first place?’
‘No, I can’t.’
‘Did he ever mention the village to you?’
Quayle shook his head. ‘Why should he?’
‘When did you last see him?’
‘It must have been three or four days ago.’
‘So you’re unable to give me details of his movements on the day leading up to the murder. What about your brother or your sister?’
‘Neither of them can help you, Inspector. Father was a tireless workhorse. He was always on the move. Lucas saw very little of him and, even though she was under the same roof, Agnes spent almost no time with Father. She’s been too busy nursing our mother, a task that has suddenly become more pressing.’
While he felt sympathy for the man, Colbeck resented the note of arrogance in his voice and the way that he was staring impatiently at his visitor as if anxious to get rid of him as soon as possible. The inspector did not sense a willingness to cooperate or an acknowledgement of his status as the person charged with solving the crime.
‘There’s a question that I’m bound to ask you, Mr Quayle.’
‘I’m not one to flinch,’ boasted the other, jutting out his jaw.
‘Did your father have any enemies?’
‘He was a successful man, Inspector, and, as such, excited a lot of envy.’
‘Envy rarely leads to murder, sir.’
‘That depends how high the stakes are.’
‘Are you referring to the chairmanship of the Midland Railway?’
‘If that’s the construction you wish to place on my remark, so be it. As for long-standing feuds with anyone, one or two may have existed. But in general, my father was a sociable man with a wide circle of friends. Messages of condolence have already started to pour in.’
‘But you’re not prepared to name any likely suspects, is that it?’
Quayle was blunt. ‘You’re the detective — flush them out.’
‘Any help you could give us would be appreciated, sir.’
‘I’ve expressed my feelings,’ said the other, rising to his feet, ‘and I’m unable to give you any more time. The one place where you won’t find the killer is inside this house.’ He opened the door meaningfully. ‘Start looking elsewhere, Inspector.’
‘One last question,’ said Colbeck, getting up. ‘Do you, by any chance, happen to know a man by the name of Gerard Burns?’
Quayle’s cheeks reddened and his body tensed. For a moment, it looked as if he was about to resort to physical violence and Colbeck prepared for an assault. In the event, it never came. Instead, Quayle walked to the door and opened it wide.
‘That’s all the time I can give you, Inspector.’
Colbeck had his answer.
CHAPTER SIX
Since their husbands had worked so closely together for a number of years, a friendship had grown up between Madeleine Colbeck and Estelle Leeming, and they tended to get together whenever their husbands were involved in a case that took them away from London. As it happened, the visit that Estelle made that afternoon to John Islip Street had been arranged a fortnight in advance. It coincided with the departure of both men to Derbyshire. Knowing that her guest would bring her two boisterous young sons, Madeleine had taken the precaution of inviting her father and it was not long before Caleb Andrews led the boys out into the garden to play. Their whoops of pleasure could be heard clearly inside the house.
‘It’s so kind of Mr Andrews to take charge of them,’ said Estelle. ‘It means that we can have a proper conversation for once.’