Timetable of Death by Edward Marston Read Free Book Online

to help us?’
    ‘We’re at your command,’ said Wigg, spreading his arms, ‘but it’s not wholly impossible that, through our own individual efforts, we bring this investigation to the desired end.’
    ‘What – as you did so in the case of Enoch Stone?’
    Wigg gritted his teeth. ‘Please answer my question.’
    ‘If that happens,’ said Colbeck, pleasantly, ‘I’ll be the first to shake your hand and to congratulate you. I’ll also point out to Mr Haygarth that, instead of bringing us all the way from London, he should have relied on the local police force instead.’
    ‘Haygarth will never admit that he made a mistake.’
    Colbeck studied him. ‘Why do you dislike the man?’
    ‘It’s not so much a question of dislike as of distrust.’
    ‘He struck me as being very decisive.’
    ‘Haygarth is too decisive, Inspector. He exceeds his authority. Mr Quayle would never have done that. I had my reservations about the man but they can be disregarded. As a future chairman, he had all the right qualities.’ Wigg sniffed loudly. ‘That’s not the case with Donald Haygarth.’
    ‘When we first met you,’ remembered Colbeck, ‘you jokingly put his name forward as a possible suspect.’
    ‘There was no joke involved, I promise you.’
    Colbeck was taken aback. ‘Are you being serious, Superintendent?’
    ‘I was never more so,’ said Wigg. ‘I may have made the suggestion in a light-hearted way but that was deliberate. If you want to compile a list of suspects, you can cross out the name of Gerard Burns and insert Haygarth in its place. He’s involved in this crime somehow and I hope to be the person to place him under arrest.’
     
    ‘How long have you been there?’ asked Leeming.
    ‘Three years.’
    ‘Do you like the work?’
    ‘I love it, Sergeant. It’s opened my eyes in every way.’
    ‘What did you think of the service?’
    ‘It was very dignified.’
    ‘Is that what you’ll say in your report?’
    ‘Yes,’ said Philip Conway, ‘but I can’t guarantee that my words will be printed. The editor always trims my articles to the bone. The main thing he wanted me to get were the names of all the bigwigs who attended. People like to be mentioned in a newspaper – in the right way, that is.’
    Victor Leeming had warmed to the young reporter. Conway had looked shifty at first but, on furtheracquaintance, he’d turned out to be an enthusiastic young man with a questing intelligence. As soon as the sergeant had introduced himself, Conway had fired half-a-dozen questions about Scotland Yard at him, and he was still wide-eyed about meeting a man who worked alongside Inspector Colbeck.
    ‘I’ve followed his career,’ he explained, ‘so I must have seen your name as well. We have all the London newspapers here, you know. They’re delivered by train at a surprisingly early hour.’ He gave a sheepish grin. ‘My ambition is to work on one of those papers one day.’
    They were in the Malt Shovel, the public house where Leeming had booked the room and where he’d invited Conway to share a pint of beer with him. From the table where they sat, they could see a malt shovel perched on two hooks above the bar. The beer was exceptional and the atmosphere flavoursome. Leeming had taken to the place immediately.
    ‘I’ve got some cuttings about the Railway Detective’s cases,’ said Conway with a boyish grin. ‘You saved the royal train from being blown up, didn’t you?’
    ‘We were lucky enough to do so,’ replied Leeming, modestly.
    ‘Then there was a case somewhere in Yorkshire.’
    ‘The village was called South Otterington. Actually, Spondon reminds me of it in some ways. I can’t say that I enjoyed my stay in Yorkshire very much but there was an unexpected bonus.’
    ‘What was that, Sergeant?’
    ‘We found a village named Leeming.’
    They shared a laugh then sipped their drinks. Ordinarily,Leeming would have been very circumspect when talking to a reporter. Colbeck had warned