Tallis put it in a drawer. ‘There’s no point.’
‘Who sent it?’
‘Mr Haygarth — he’s the chairman of the company.’
‘The headquarters are in Derby. Sergeant Leeming and I will go there at once.’ Colbeck gave a non-committal smile. ‘Do you have any instructions, sir?’
‘Yes, I do,’ said Tallis, ominously. ‘First, I expect you and the sergeant to maintain the high standards that I set for all officers in the Detective Department. Second, I’m counting on you for a speedy solution to this crime. When there’s so much work for them here in London, I can’t have my men tied up in the provinces for any length of time. The capital takes priority. Third,’ he went on, rising to his feet and brushing cigar ash from his sleeve, ‘I insist that you send me a full report at the earliest opportunity and keep me informed at every stage of the investigation. Fourth and finally-’
‘I think I can guess what that is, sir,’ said Colbeck, interrupting him. ‘Fourth and finally, if we don’t make rapid progress, you’ll come to Derby in person to take charge of the case.’
‘I will, indeed.’
‘Yet a moment ago you said that the capital must take priority.’
‘And so it must.’
‘Then it will surely be foolish of you to desert London in order to devote your energies to a murder investigation in Derbyshire. You’re needed here, Superintendent. When you are at the helm, the underworld quivers.’
Tallis glared. ‘Do I detect a whiff of sarcasm?’
‘Your senses are far too well tuned to make such a mistake.’
‘Don’t you dare mock a superior, Colbeck.’
‘I’m simply acknowledging your superiority,’ said the other, seriously. ‘The commissioner, after all, is largely a figurehead. In reality, it’s you who bears most of the responsibility for policing the capital and — since you do it with such exemplary style and effectiveness — that’s why you should remain here.’
Edward Tallis was unsure whether to be flattered by the praise or irritated by the smoothness with which it was delivered. By the time the superintendent made up his mind, it was too late. Colbeck had left the room.
Panic had seized the village of Spondon. The shocking discovery of a murder victim in their churchyard had unsettled everyone and set off fevered speculation. Though he did his best to reassure his parishioners, the vicar was unable to quell the mounting alarm. Michael Sadler was a short, slight man in his fifties with the remains of his white hair scattered in tufts over his pate. What made him so popular with his congregation was his kindness, his lack of condescension and the merciful brevity of his sermons. More discerning worshippers also admired the soundness of his theology and the sheer breadth of his learning. Qualities seen at their best inside the church, however, did not fit him for heated confrontations. When he found himself caught up in one that morning, he was clearly out of his depth.
‘I insist!’ yelled Roderick Peet.
‘So what?’ retorted Bert Knowles.
‘Do as you’re told, man.’
‘I done it already.’
‘Don’t be so exasperating.’
‘Now, now, gentlemen,’ said the vicar, trying to intervene. ‘There’s no need for discord. I’m sure that this matter can be settled amicably.’
‘We’re talking about my wife’s funeral,’ said Peet, shaking with rage.
Knowles pointed a finger. ‘Then theer’s ’er grave.’
‘Damn your impudence!’
‘Please,’ chided the vicar, a hand on his arm. ‘Let’s moderate our language, shall we, Mr Peet? Never forget that we’re on consecrated ground.’
Peet bit his lip. ‘I do apologise, Vicar.’
‘You’d do well to remember that this is a churchyard, Bert.’
Knowles shrugged. ‘Aye, ’appen I should.’
But he was clearly unrepentant. Knowles was a sturdy man in his sixties with a gnarled face, a farm labourer who supplemented his low wages by digging graves and doing odd jobs in the village. He was not a churchgoer. Peet, on the other hand, was a pillar of St Mary’s and one of its most generous benefactors. He was a tall, lean man in his seventies with great poise and dignity. He was wearing funereal garb. As a member of the local gentry, he expected the common people to defer to him at all times and most of them did. Knowles was the exception. The gravedigger hated any sign of aloofness and called no man his master.
Sadler understood the positions of the two combatants all too well. Horrified that an interloper had appeared out of the blue in his wife’s grave, Peet wanted a new one to be dug instantly. The original, he felt, was contaminated beyond redemption. For his part, Knowles argued that he’d done exactly what he was told to do and that was the end of it. He saw no reason why his grave could not receive the body of Cicely Peet as planned.
‘There was a murdered man in there,’ howled Peet.
‘Well, ’e’s not theer now,’ countered Knowles.
‘It’s a bad omen.’
‘I don’t see as ’ow it is, Mr Peet. A grave’s a bleedin’ grave.’
‘Bert!’ shouted the vicar in dismay.
Knowles raised a grubby palm. ‘Sorry.’
‘So you should be.’ His voice softened. ‘Mr Peet’s request is very reasonable. He wants a fresh grave for his dear, departed wife.’
‘Dunna axe me to dig it.’
‘You’ll get paid. I’ll happily provide the money myself.’
‘There’s no need for you to do that, Vicar,’ said Peet. ‘I’ll meet the cost.’
Knowles folded his arms. ‘No.’
‘Then we’ll find someone else.’
‘No,’ repeated the other, gruffly. ‘Nobody steals my job.’
‘Bert is our official gravedigger,’ admitted the vicar. ‘We never had the slightest cause to complain about his work in the past. As you see,’ he added, indicating the open grave, ‘he does an excellent job.’
‘Then let him do it again,’ said Peet, struggling to hold in his temper. ‘Doesn’t this idiot understand an order when he’s given one? I’m not making a polite request. What I’m issuing is a demand. And it must be obeyed.’
‘Matter o’ principul,’ said Knowles, stubbornly. ‘If my grave en’t good enough for ter, bury the missus somewheer else.’ He pulled out a pipe and thrust it in his mouth. ‘Gorra bit of bacca abaht thee, Vicar?’
It was too much to expect Victor Leeming to enjoy a journey that took him away from his wife and family, but at least he didn’t launch into his standard litany of objections to steam locomotion. Settling back in a seat opposite Colbeck, he suffered in silence. The train to Derby had set out from King’s Cross station, the London terminus of the Great Northern Railway. Because it had no terminus in the capital, the Midland Railway had been forced to come to an agreement with one of its chief rivals, making use of the latter’s tracks between London and Hitchin. Beyond there, trains ran on lines owned by the Midland. As a company it had endured some very difficult times but, although he was well aware of them, Colbeck saw no point in trying to interest the sergeant in the vagaries of running a railway company. Instead, he pointed out the benefit of their present assignment.
‘Detective work is not merely fascinating in itself,’ he said. ‘It gives us a geography lesson each time.’
‘I’d prefer to stay in London, sir.’
‘I don’t believe it, Victor. Even you must have been uplifted by the wonders of Scotland, the scenic delight of Devon and the novelty of all the other places we’ve been taken to in the course of our work. And what you’ve seen and experienced you doubtless pass on to your children, so they are getting an education as well.’
‘I never thought of that,’ confessed Leeming. ‘And you’re right about the boys. Whenever I’ve been away, they always pester me for details of where I’ve been. So does Estelle, for that matter.’
‘Madeleine is the same. In her case, of course, she has been able to join us from time to time. My dear wife is still talking about our adventure in Ireland.’
‘Let’s hope that the superintendent never finds out about that. If he realised that we had the help of a woman during a murder investigation, he’d have a fit.’