Free Timetable of Death by Edward Marston

first dismissed from his mind as being unimportant. In view of what had happened, he wondered if he’d instead accidentally bumped into the killer.
    ‘What time was this?’ asked Leeming.
    ‘Oh, it was well after midnight, Sergeant.’
    ‘That was rather late to be out, wasn’t it?’
    The hands fluttered wildly like a pair of doves suddenly released from a cage.
    ‘I was … on my way home f-from a f-friend,’ said the other, introducing a stutter that had never been there before. ‘I was coming down Church Hill when I saw him.’
    ‘How far away was he, Mr Truss?’
    ‘It must have been twenty or thirty yards.’
    ‘Could you see him at all clearly in the dark?’
    ‘No, I couldn’t,’ replied the other, ‘but I saw enough to know that a man was pushing a wheelbarrow and that there was something in it covered with a cloth. I took no notice, to be honest, because it’s not an unusual sight in Spondon. We’ve had to wheel Bert Knowles home in a barrow more than once when he’s been drunk. But this barrow was heading for the church and the person pushing it was struggling as if he wasn’t used to doing anything like that. A dead body can be heavy. Suppose that’s what was under the cloth? I’ve been asking myself that ever since.’ His arms fell to his sides and he grinned inanely. ‘Was I right to tell you, Sergeant Leeming?’
    ‘You were indeed, Mr Truss, and I’m very grateful.’
    ‘Please don’t mention to anyone else that I told you. It could be … awkward for me, you see.’
    Leeming suspected that the real awkwardness would be felt by the friend whom Truss had called on that evening.From the man’s behaviour, he guessed that the glove-maker had had a rendezvous with a woman and that he was anxious to protect her from any gossip and embarrassment. After reassuring him, Leeming sent him on his way and reviewed what he’d just learnt. As he did so, he recalled the old adage that bad news always came in threes. Could it be equally true that good news also came in triplicate? That’s what had happened to the sergeant. Since he’d arrived in Spondon, he’d met Philip Conway, recruited Bert Knowles to his cause and heard about the nocturnal adventures of a glove-maker. He’d had three pieces of good news to pass on to Colbeck.
    Something told him that the last of them was by far the best.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    Robert Colbeck had enjoyed his visit to the tailor’s shop in Nottingham. He felt wholly at ease in such an environment and was so struck by the quality of items on display he had purchased a new cravat there. But it was the missing top hat that had taken him to the establishment and he left with a drawing of it in his pocket. Much as he’d liked Simon Hubbleday and revelled in their conversation, he’d been unable to prise from him all the information about the Quayle family that the tailor clearly knew. Hubbleday had been both discreet and professional, yielding a few details about his customers while holding many others back. Colbeck was certain that the man could have said far more about Stanley Quayle, for instance, and about the reason that drove one of his sisters away from the house.
    His next port of call was the police station where a pleasant surprise awaited him. Having met with muted hostility from the Derbyshire Constabulary, in the person of Superintendent Wigg, he was given an affable welcomeby the duty sergeant, Thomas Lambert, who was quick to offer any help that he could. Lambert was a stolid man in his forties with a flat face enlivened by rosy cheeks and a pair of mischievous eyes. He seemed to radiate goodwill. Colbeck’s reputation ensured him a firm handshake.
    ‘Ask me anything you wish, Inspector,’ said Lambert, obviously thrilled to take part, albeit tangentially, in a murder investigation. ‘We knew Mr Quayle well. We want his killer brought to book.’
    ‘That’s a common objective for all of us, Sergeant.’
    ‘He was a kind and charitable man. At