Timetable of Death by Edward Marston

Leeming. ‘It was … very moving.’
    ‘Thank you. I’ve just come from the family. They’re still bemused by the suddenness of it all. A month ago, Mrs Peet was a healthy, active lady with decades ahead of her – or so it seemed. Then the headaches began and she went downhill with indecent haste. The brain tumour was a silent enemy growing in stealth. It’s ironic.’
    ‘What is, Vicar?’
    ‘Well, my dear wife is plagued by all sorts of minor ailments and has never been very robust, yet she will probably go on forever. A fit and lively person dies without warning while a near invalid soldiers on from year to year.’
    ‘Death can be very cruel.’
    ‘Yet it’s always the working out of God’s purpose. There must have been a reason why he called Mrs Peet into his presence. What that reason was, I’ve yet to decide.’ He looked across at the other grave, now hidden under a mound of fresh earth. ‘You, too, are still looking for reasons, of course.’
    ‘Yes,’ said Leeming, ‘I’m wondering how and why Mr Quayle ended up in Spondon. It’s the first thing I’ll ask the killer when we catch him.’
    ‘I spotted a reward notice on my way back here. It should bring results.’
    ‘It’s already brought your gravedigger to me.’
    ‘What did Bert Knowles have to say?’
    ‘Oh, he made up a story about being in here on the night of the murder and feeling that he was being watched. When I told him his evidence was worthless, he admitted he’d made the whole thing up and had a good laugh.’
    The vicar sighed. ‘That’s typical of Knowles. He’s incorrigible.’
    ‘Actually, he was very helpful. He told someone why I was here and the man, a Mr Truss, came running to see me. He really did have something useful to say.’
    ‘Yes, I know Truss. He’s a sound, God-fearing fellow.’
    ‘Is he a married man?’
    ‘No,’ said the vicar, ‘he can be a little alarming until you get used to those eyes. I think he’s accepted that he holds no attraction for the gentler sex.’
    Leeming didn’t disillusion him by telling him about Truss’s night-time activity. After taking the funeral then trying to comfort the family, Sadler was already in a delicatestate. The loss of faith in one of his parishioners would be painful to him and, in any case, Leeming would not break his promise to the glove-maker.
    ‘I really came to look for the marks of a wheelbarrow,’ he explained.
    ‘You won’t find many of those, I’m afraid. A lot of feet have trampled across the churchyard today.’
    ‘Some marks are still visible.’
    ‘Then they were put there by Bert’s wheelbarrow. It’s monstrously heavy but he shoves it around as if it’s as light as a feather.’ He turned to point. ‘He keeps it out of the way behind the tool shed.’
    ‘I know, Vicar. I made a point of finding it.’
    ‘Why do you have such a fascination with a rusting old wheelbarrow?’
    ‘I wanted to eliminate it,’ explained Leeming. ‘There are traces of it all over the place. But there’s also the marks of another wheelbarrow and they end right here beside the grave. Do you see, Vicar?’ He bent down to pat the earth. ‘This wasn’t made by the wheel on Knowles’s barrow. So I’m bound to ask where it did come from. Mrs Peet arrived for the funeral in a glass-panelled hearse,’ he said. ‘I’m wondering if Mr Quayle got here in a meaner form of transport.’
     
    When Lucas Quayle went in search of his brother, he found him seated at the desk in the study and flicking through the pile of papers he’d taken from a drawer.
    ‘What are you doing in here, Stanley?’ he asked.
    ‘I’m searching for Father’s will.’
    ‘Mother would tell you where that’s kept.’
    ‘She’s far too unwell to be bothered,’ said Stanley. ‘Besides, according to Agnes, the doctor has given her something to make her sleep. Mother needs rest.’
    ‘Are you certain that the will is actually here?’
    ‘I’m convinced of it.’
    ‘Father