Read Timetable of Death for Free Online

are times, I readily accept, when my educated vowels are a positive drawback. You’re more down to earth and you’re a good listener. It’s one of your strengths.’
    Leeming pulled a face. ‘I didn’t know that I had any.’
    Colbeck laughed and patted his companion’s shoulder. ‘You’re awash with them, Victor.’ He saw the waiter approaching. ‘It looks as if our cheese is on its way.’
    But the waiter was bringing something more than just a selection of cheeses. After setting down the platter on thetable, he put a hand inside his coat to extract a letter.
    ‘This is for you, Inspector,’ he said, giving it to him. ‘It was handed in by someone at reception and passed on to the head waiter.’
    ‘Thank you,’ said Colbeck, scrutinising it and noting the neatness with which his name had been written. The man nodded and walked away. ‘Let’s see what we have here, shall we?’ He opened the letter and took something out. ‘Well, well, well …’
    ‘What is it, sir?’
    ‘It’s a reward notice, Victor. A very tempting amount of money is being offered for information that leads to the arrest of the killer of Mr Quayle.’ He turned the paper over. ‘However, that’s not all we’ve been given.’ He passed it over to Leeming. ‘Do you see what someone has written on the back?’
    After reading details of the reward, Leeming looked at the reverse side.
    ‘Gerard Burns – is he the person who sent this to you?’
    ‘I don’t think so.’
    ‘Then who is he?’
    ‘As of now,’ said Colbeck, ‘I fancy that he’s our prime suspect.’
     
    The day began early at the vicarage. Funerals were always unsettling occasions for Michael Sadler but he was looking forward to the latest one with real trepidation. In view of what had happened to the grave originally dug, he was afraid that he’d lost the hitherto unquestioning support of Roderick Peet, the bereaved husband. Other members of the family might also look askance at him. The fact thathe’d finally persuaded Bert Knowles to dig a fresh grave might not be enough to win back the Peet family. It was something he should have done instantly, before Peet was drawn into the blistering row with Knowles. Deeply troubled, the vicar hardly touched his breakfast and heard very little of his wife’s customary wittering.
    The fact that it was a dull day with a promise of rain only added to his feeling of dread. He’d known and been very fond of Cicely Peet but it was not her tragic death that filled his mind. What preoccupied him was the image of a murder victim in the grave prepared for her. Fearful that something untoward might have occurred in her new resting place, he bestowed a token kiss on his wife’s forehead then let himself out of the vicarage. When he walked around the church to the site of the fresh plot, he saw movement behind a neighbouring headstone and his heart constricted. The figure of a man rose up as if part of some weird ritual of resurrection. The vicar was now trembling all over. It was only when the initial shock wore off that he realised he was looking at Bert Knowles.
    ‘I slept the night ’ere,’ explained the gravedigger, stretching himself. ‘Nobody was goin’ to jump into this ’ole I dug. I made sure o’ that, Vicar.’ He bared his teeth in a hopeful grin. ‘Is there any charnce o’ some o’ that theer sherry o’ yours to wake me up proper?’
     
    Victor Leeming was no stranger to funerals. There’d been a worrying sequence of them in his own family and he’d watched his grandparents, parents, two brothers and a sister laid to rest over the years, increasing his sense of being a lone survivor. In the course of his work, too, he’d been obliged toattend a number of funerals. Some were of police colleagues, killed in the execution of their duties, and others – as in the latest case – were of murder victims.
    When he walked towards St Mary’s church, a steady drizzle was falling. He’d heard enough about