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- Herausgeber: Allison & Busby
- Kategorie: Krimi
- Serie: Railway Detective
- Sprache: Englisch
York, 1865. A passenger train stands ready to depart amid the bustle at the station. The flurry of passengers and porters, the swooping pigeons and barking dogs are thrown into a state of turmoil when an explosion rips through the brake van of the train, killing guard Jack Follis. In response to a summons from the North Eastern Railway, Inspector Robert Colbeck and Sergeant Leeming are sent to investigate. Was it an accident, deliberate vandalism or targeted murder? The longer the investigation goes on, the more complex it becomes. With a dizzying array of suspects and motives, will the combined skills of the detectives be enough to identify and catch the culprit?
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Seitenzahl: 413
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023
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PRAISE FOR EDWARD MARSTON
‘A master storyteller’
Daily Mail
‘Packed with characters Dickens would have been proud of. Wonderful [and] well-written’
Time Out
‘Once again Marston has created a credible atmosphere within an intriguing story’
Sunday Telegraph
‘Filled with period detail, the pace is steady and the plot is thick with suspects, solutions and clues. Marston has a real knack for blending detail, character and story with great skill’
Historical Novels Review
‘The past is brought to life with brilliant colours, combined with a perfect whodunnit. Who needs more?’
The Guardian
DEATH AT THE TERMINUS
Edward Marston
To Jane Conway-Gordon, my literary agent, who helped me to bring Robert Colbeck into existence
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
Spring, 1865
York railway station was a cauldron of noise and activity. Hundreds of passengers were bustling about, many of them accompanied by well-wishers eager to offer a few words of farewell. Porters darted everywhere, sizing up those in need of their services and deciding how much, if anything, they would receive by way of a tip. Children’s voices were raised above the hubbub. The spacious booking office was filled with stragglers, buying tickets to take them to a variety of destinations. Slamming doors augmented the general din. Pigeons flew everywhere, swooping dangerously. A woman screeched in dismay as her dog pulled its lead from her hand, barking joyously as it chased the birds.
It was a scene so familiar to the stationmaster that he ignored it. His ears had long ago become immune to the general clamour of his working day. All that concerned him was doing his job properly. After taking out the watch from his waistcoat pocket, he noted the time, then glanced up at the large clock above his head. Watch and clock were in perfect agreement. He was content.
His peace of mind, however, was soon shattered. Emerging from nowhere, the guard ran quickly along the platform, dodging passengers as he did so. He jumped into the brake van and pulled the door shut behind him. Soon afterwards, there was a loud explosion. An eerie silence followed, broken only by the sound of a violin played by a bearded old man in search of an audience. Everyone stared in horror at the flames licking their way hungrily out of the brake van. Nobody moved. Almost a minute passed before the door finally opened, and the guard staggered out, his clothing alight and his cries piteous. People found their voices again, yelling in alarm as he lurched towards them and backing way in a panic.
The guard never reached the buckets of water lined up against the wall. Yards away from them, he had used up the last of his energy. All that he could do was to collapse in a heap on the platform, curling up to form a human inferno that continued to blaze away until the fire buckets were emptied over him.
CHAPTER TWO
Victor Leeming was so upset by the order that he raised his voice.
‘I can’t go to York, sir,’ he protested.
‘Why not?’
‘It’s my son’s birthday next week. I can’t possibly miss that.’
‘You may have to,’ warned Colbeck. ‘Our duties as detectives always come first. We can’t expect murders to fit themselves neatly into our respective diaries. They happen at random. Our task is to respond to them.’
‘But it’s so far away.’
‘I’m sorry, Victor. As a father myself, I know how important a child’s birthday is. Look,’ he advised, ‘try to take an optimistic view. If we solve this crime quickly, you could be back in London in plenty of time to join in the birthday party.’
‘What chance is there of that happening?’ groaned Leeming.
Their discussion was cut short as the cab in which they’d been speeding along began to slow down. When it came to a halt outside the railway station, Colbeck paid the driver then led the way to the ticket office. It was only when they were walking towards their platform that they were able to resume the conversation.
‘Whose birthday is it?’ asked Colbeck. ‘David or Albert?’
‘Albert.’
‘Ah, I see the problem. He’s your younger son.’
‘It’s no fun being in that position,’ said Leeming. ‘I was a younger son myself. You spend your entire life being overshadowed by a brother who is older, bigger and whose clothes are passed on to you. I can’t ever remember getting something to wear that was new,’ he wailed. ‘The one day of the year when you feel important is on your birthday. It’s a time when you get noticed at last. That’s why I’ve always made such an effort to be there for Albert every year.’
‘You must do so again, Victor.’
‘A crime on this scale could take weeks to solve.’
‘Don’t be so defeatist.’
‘I’m being realistic, sir. This is no minor infringement of the law. A brake van was blown up in a crowded railway station. That’s serious.’
Colbeck smiled. ‘So is Albert’s birthday.’
Gregory Maynard walked up and down the platform to relieve his tension. He was a big, heavy, pale-faced man in his sixties and the exercise was soon making him pant. The charred remains of the brake van had been towed into a siding. As he glanced across at it, his heart missed a beat. It was a calamity for the North Eastern Railway. Since he was the Chairman of the Board, he was suddenly thrust into the crisis, forced to make instant decisions, and having to confront a small army of newspaper reporters. York railway station was no longer a busy, noisy, overcrowded place that met the needs of thousands of passengers. Largely deserted, it now had the air of a cemetery.
‘Ah, there you are, Gregory,’ said a man, hurrying up to him. ‘I came as quickly as I could. This is dreadful news.’
‘It’s my worst nightmare, Neville,’ said Maynard, stopping abruptly. ‘The sheer effrontery of it is staggering. The whole place is in chaos.’
‘I know. I’ve seen the queue of trains outside the station.’
‘It’s a terrible shock for the NER.’
‘I sympathise with you,’ said the other, ‘but I see it from a different angle. As lord mayor, I am bound to put the reputation of the city first. What happened here yesterday is a hideous advertisement for York. Think of the repercussions if people start to fear that this is a place of danger.’
Neville Timms was a middle-aged man of medium height whose loud voice, expansive paunch and gesticulations made him seem bigger than he really was. The arrival of the railway some twenty years or more earlier had transformed the city, giving it a greater importance, and increasing its commercial potential. Timms was proud of the way that it had burgeoned.
‘What do the police say?’ he asked.
‘This case is beyond their abilities, Neville. If the railway policemen who work here had been doing their job,’ said Maynard, rancorously, ‘this crime might never have been committed. As for the city police, they’re completely bemused. That’s why I’ve gone above their heads.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I sent a telegraph to Scotland Yard yesterday.’
Timms frowned. ‘Would the Metropolitan Police Force show any interest in a crime committed so far away from London?’
‘Oh, yes. They have a detective who is willing to travel the length and breadth of the whole country, if necessary. His forte is railway crime.’
‘Who is this person?’
‘Inspector Robert Colbeck.’
It was not until they were almost halfway to their destination that their compartment finally shed its other passengers and allowed them the privacy needed to discuss the case. As the train set off north once more, Leeming pressed for detail.
‘What did the telegraph say?’ he asked.
‘It was a study in brevity, Victor. Little detail was given beyond damage to the brake van and the death of the guard. Reading between the lines, however, I sensed a real challenge for us.’
‘How did the superintendent react?’
‘He was reluctant to send us out of London.’
‘For once, I agree with him.’
‘He said we were needed there.’
‘What changed his mind?’
‘I did,’ said Colbeck. ‘York is one of the most beautiful cities in the country. It also has an important connection with the development of our railway system, thanks to a man named George Hudson.’
‘The Railway King,’ said Leeming. ‘Even I have heard of him.’
‘But for an inheritance, he might have remained relatively unknown. Instead, he used his sudden wealth to invest in the railways at a time when a mania developed. Hudson was one of its main beneficiaries. York was duly proud of him. He was its lord mayor at one point. When a railway station finally arrived in the city, they named the street beside it after him.’
‘I thought he was accused of fraud and fled abroad.’
‘That was when the bubble burst and fortunes were no longer so easy to make out of the railways. But he deserves credit for bringing York to life. Thanks to him, it’s grown out of all recognition. The citizens are delighted.’
‘One of them isn’t,’ said Leeming. ‘He struck a blow against railways.’
‘Let’s get the full details before we form a judgement.’
‘It’s happened in other places. People who feel that the railways have ruined their lives – those who used to make stagecoaches, for instance – have caused untold damage. That’s what happened in this case, I fancy. Someone took his revenge.’
‘He didn’t have to kill a guard to do that,’ argued Colbeck.
‘What do you mean?’
‘He could have destroyed the brake van without spilling a drop of blood. If it was simply a case of vandalism, we would have stayed in London. What’s taking us to York, I suspect, is a murder victim.’
‘Why, in God’s name, couldn’t the killer wait until my son had had his birthday?’ demanded Leeming.
‘It’s a question you’ll be able to put to him, Victor.’
‘I’ll wring his neck!’
‘Leave that task to the hangman.’
‘If I miss Albert’s birthday, he’ll never forgive me.’
‘You’ll be there somehow.’
‘And why do people always turn to us in an emergency?’
‘It’s because we have a reputation, Victor. You’re only thinking of your younger son, and so you should. But there’s a very different question fluttering about in my brain.’
‘What is it, sir?’
‘Well,’ said Colbeck, ‘in his prime, George Hudson was seen as a hero by the people of York. He was then despised as a villain. His name will have been removed from that street near the station. I wonder what it’s called now.’
CHAPTER THREE
Estelle Leeming was mending the torn sleeve of her husband’s shirt when she heard the cab pulling up outside her front door. The sound brought her to her feet. Hansom cabs rarely came to any of the houses in that part of the city. Looking through the front window, Estelle saw that she had a visitor. Madeleine Colbeck was getting out of the vehicle to pay the driver. Putting the shirt aside, Estelle rushed to open the front door and welcome her friend, throwing her arms around her. After a warm embrace, she ushered Madeleine into the house.
‘What a lovely surprise!’ she said.
‘I’m sorry that I couldn’t come earlier, Estelle, but I was held up.’
‘No excuses are needed. It’s just such a pleasure to see you again.’ She eyed her visitor’s hat. ‘That’s new, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, I wanted to celebrate spring with a new bonnet.’
‘It suits you, Madeleine,’ said the other. ‘Now sit down and make yourself at home while I brew some tea.’
‘Let me tell you my news first. It concerns Victor.’
Estelle’s face clouded. ‘Nothing’s happened to him, has it?’
‘No,’ said Madeleine. ‘He’s not hurt or anything. It’s just that he’s had to go away at short notice. Earlier on, Robert sent me a letter by hand. He and Victor have gone to York to investigate what might well be a murder.’
‘Oh dear!’
‘I don’t have any details to pass on, but I thought you should know that you mustn’t expect to see your husband for a while.’
Estelle was aghast. ‘But it’s Albert’s birthday next week.’
‘Victor knows that.’
‘How long is he likely to be away?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ admitted Madeleine. ‘Listen, why don’t you make that pot of tea, then we can talk properly?’
Estelle nodded and went off into the kitchen. Madeleine sat down and looked around the little room. It was very cosy and quite spotless, reminding her of the home in which she’d been born and brought up. Though she enjoyed living in a large house in a more affluent part of the city, she still felt more at ease in a humbler dwelling. Madeleine was an attractive, intelligent, well-dressed woman in her thirties who had had the good fortune to meet and marry Robert Colbeck. Her friendship with the sergeant’s wife was one of the benefits. A strong bond had been forged between them.
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Estelle, popping into the room. ‘I should have asked about Helena Rose.’
‘She’s a little darling most of the time,’ replied Madeleine, ‘but, every so often, she can be a little devil.’ They shared a laugh. ‘How are the boys?’
‘I’ll tell you when I’ve made the tea.’
Spotting her husband’s shirt, Estelle gathered it up and tucked it away in a drawer. Now in her late thirties, she had kept her youthful prettiness along with her freckles. Her distinctive auburn hair was brushed neatly back into a bun.
‘It never gets any easier, does it?’ she said, pausing at the door.
‘What doesn’t?’
‘Sharing your life with a detective. Once they disappear on a case, you never know when you’re likely to see them again.’
‘It can be vexing,’ conceded Madeleine. ‘Until you get used to it, that is.’
‘I’ve never managed to do that somehow.’
‘There’s one thing to comfort us, Estelle.’
‘What is it?’
‘Well, we may miss our husbands when they go away,’ said Madeleine, ‘but it works both ways. Robert and Victor will certainly be missing us!’
Reaching York had been a relatively straightforward business. Getting to the station, however, was more of a problem. The train bearing the detectives ground to a halt some distance away from it. They soon learnt that they were at the back of a long queue of trains. Leeming fretted but Colbeck was more hopeful, believing that the man who had sent for them would have anticipated the delay and found a means of circumventing it. His instinct was sound. Minutes after their abrupt halt, Colbeck gazed out of the window and saw a man in the uniform of a porter, walking beside the track and holding up a placard.
‘Look,’ said Leeming in delight. ‘It’s got your name on it, sir.’
‘Then it’s time for us to get off the train.’
Colbeck was on his feet at once. The two of them were soon climbing out of the train with their valises and hailing the man with the placard. He welcomed them, then took them to a carriage, parked in the road parallel with the track. Fifteen minutes later, they were being shown into an office at the station. Two men awaited them. As the pair rose to their feet, Gregory Maynard and Neville Timms introduced themselves to the newcomers. In return, Colbeck introduced himself and Leeming.
‘I don’t know who rescued us from that queue,’ he said, ‘but I’m eternally grateful to him.’
‘It was my doing,’ said Maynard.
‘But it was my carriage that brought you here,’ said Timms, pompously.
As the two men took it in turns to explain who they were, Colbeck was able to weigh them up. Maynard seemed the more pleasant of the two, serious, civilised and genuinely grateful that the detectives had come to their rescue. Timms, by contrast, looked like a wily politician who had engineered himself into the position of lord mayor, and who was keen to remind them of his status.
‘What we’d really like to hear,’ said Colbeck, interrupting Timms in full flow, ‘is what happened.’
‘I can tell you that,’ said Maynard.
‘Were you here at the time, sir?’
‘No, Inspector, I was not.’
‘Then I’d prefer to speak to someone who was – like the stationmaster.’
‘Staines has told me everything,’ insisted Maynard.
‘I need to hear it from his own lips, sir.’
‘Besides,’ added Leeming, ‘we would ask the stationmaster questions you would never think of putting to him. Why are you hiding him away?’
‘Staines is busy,’ said Maynard, unimpressed by the sergeant’s appearance and manner. ‘The station is open. He has a job to do.’
‘There must be someone who can act as his deputy,’ said Colbeck, reasonably. ‘We won’t take him away from his duties for long.’
Maynard headed for the door. ‘I’ll see what I can do, Inspector.’
‘Listen,’ said Timms, waiting until Maynard had left the room, ‘you must make allowances for Gregory. This whole business has shaken him to the core. I apologise for his abrupt manner. As a rule, he is quite charming. While we’re waiting,’ he went on, ‘I can give you the salient details.’
‘Only the stationmaster can do that, sir,’ said Leeming. ‘What was the name of the guard, by the way?’
Timms squirmed. ‘To be honest … I don’t know.’
‘Didn’t you ask for it?’ said Colbeck in surprise.
‘Well … I didn’t have the opportunity.’
‘What happened to the body?’
‘It was removed yesterday.’
‘Was the guard married? Does he have a family?’
Timms shrugged. ‘I haven’t a clue.’
‘You have a strange lack of curiosity, Lord Mayor,’ said Colbeck. ‘A railway employee is killed in broad daylight, throwing this station into a state of confusion, yet you have no idea of his identity. Don’t you have any sympathy for the poor man?’
Timms took a deep breath before speaking. ‘Whoever he is,’ he promised, ‘I’ll make sure that the city will provide a plaque to honour him. We have high civic standards here.’ Thumbs inside his lapels, he struck a pose befitting his status. ‘When you think of York,’ he asked, ‘what is the first thing that comes into your mind?’
‘The Minster,’ replied Colbeck.
‘What about you, Sergeant?’
Leeming grinned. ‘Cocoa.’
Word of the explosion had spread throughout York. Ignorant of the facts, people were nevertheless quick to offer their theories as if speaking with authority. Sarah Scawin heard two of her employees doing just that in the reception area.
‘Don’t you have work to do?’ she asked, sharply.
‘Yes, Mrs Scawin,’ said the hall porter, dutifully. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘So am I,’ added the maid to whom he’d been talking. ‘Excuse us.’
Sarah’s eyes never left them until they had vanished. As the owner of the hotel close to the railway station, she always made her presence felt. She was a handsome, full-bodied woman in her late fifties, a watchful widow who had devoted herself to running the hotel that bore her name and reflected her character. It had a clientele that consisted largely of businessmen and commercial travellers, birds of passage who found its efficiency, its facilities, and its proximity to the station ideal for their purposes. Scawin’s Hotel was dwarfed by the Royal Station Hotel not far away, yet it was still able to compete effectively with its rival. The personality of its owner had much to do with its success.
As two people came in through the front door, she spread her arms.
‘Welcome back, Mr and Mrs Warburton!’ she said, smiling broadly.
‘That’s amazing,’ said the man, agog. ‘We’ve only stayed here once – a year or so ago – yet you’ve remembered our names.’
‘Guests deserve to be remembered – especially when they book in here a second time. I hope that you enjoy your stay.’
The Warburtons were an elderly couple with clear evidence of wealth. Sarah remembered something else about them.
‘You live in Holtby, I believe,’ she observed.
‘That’s right,’ said the husband. ‘We were driven here in our landau and intend to catch an early train tomorrow morning.’ He sighed. ‘If, that is, it’s still running.’
‘What’s going on here, Mrs Scawin?’ asked his wife, nervously. ‘The station seems to have come to a standstill with trains queuing up outside it, and policemen on duty everywhere. We found it rather intimidating.’
Sarah took a deep breath before speaking. ‘Why don’t you book in first?’ she suggested. ‘Then I’ll explain what happened at the station yesterday. It’s … rather distressing …’
In the course of their work, the detectives had dealt with many stationmasters and found them, as a rule, efficient and personable. In Frederick Staines, they sensed that they had found someone rather different. Tall and skinny with grey hair poking out from beneath his hat, he had a resentful look in his eye and a defensive posture. When he came into the office with Maynard, he was introduced to the detectives. After giving Timms a nod of recognition, Staines sounded hurt at being dragged away.
‘Should be out there,’ he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. ‘My job to sort this mess out.’
‘We won’t keep you long,’ said Colbeck, ‘but we do need your help.’ He waited until Leeming had taken out his notebook and pencil. ‘To begin with, Mr Staines, please tell us the name of the murder victim.’
‘Jack Follis,’ grunted the stationmaster.
‘Was he good at his job?’
‘Yes, he was.’
‘We’ll need his home address so that we can contact his family.’
‘Jack had no family. Parents died years ago. No brothers or sisters.’
‘Was he married?’
‘Oh no,’ said Staines. ‘Jack was not the marrying kind.’
‘Where did he live?’
‘Here in York.’
He gave an address that Leeming wrote down in his notebook.
‘Now,’ said Colbeck, ‘what exactly happened?’
Staines was terse. ‘Wish I knew.’
‘You were there at the time.’
‘Doing my job.’
‘What about Mr Follis?’
‘Jack wasn’t.’
‘I don’t follow, Mr Staines.’
‘Should have been by the brake van.’
‘Then where was he?’ asked Colbeck.
‘Don’t know. Suddenly appeared and ran down the platform. Jumped into the brake van. It exploded with a loud bang. You can imagine the shock it caused.’
‘Frankly, Mr Staines, we can’t. It would help us if you’d be more specific. You’re in possession of information that will help us to catch the person who was behind this outrage. Don’t you care what happened on your watch?’
‘Yes,’ retorted Staines, clearly offended. ‘Love my station. Always have. Want to get back out there to get it running properly again.’
‘Well, you won’t do that if you obstruct the inspector,’ warned Maynard. ‘He needs all the facts – and he needs them more politely. Inspector Colbeck and Sergeant Leeming have come all the way from London to lead this investigation. If you can’t assist them in every way,’ he warned, ‘we will be looking for a new stationmaster.’
‘Sorry, Mr Maynard,’ said Staines, shaken by the threat. ‘Truth is, I’m very upset. Jack was a friend. Didn’t mean to be rude.’ His gaze shifted to Colbeck. ‘What else do you need to know, Inspector?’
‘Mr Follis should have stayed beside the brake van,’ said Colbeck. ‘Is that correct?’
‘It was his duty.’
‘So where did he go?’
‘Wish I knew.’
‘Has he wandered off before?’
‘No, not Jack.’
‘Are you quite sure?’
‘Yes, I am,’ said Staines, raising his voice. ‘If he had, I’d have reported him.’
Colbeck exchanged a glance with Leeming. They both knew that he was lying.
Sarah Scawin always let the duty manager run the hotel during his shift. It allowed her to float around the public areas, speaking to guests, encouraging her staff, sorting out any problems and – to use her own words – ‘keeping an eye on things’. When she drifted into the lounge, she expected to see four people on duty, but one was missing. At the sight of their employer, the remaining three smiled at her and got on with their work. Sarah, meanwhile, went into the room at the rear of the bar. A shapely young woman was seated in the corner, dabbing at her tears with a handkerchief. When she realised that she was not alone, she leapt apologetically to her feet. Sarah was sympathetic.
‘That’s quite all right, Mary,’ she said.
‘I’ll go back to work straight away, Mrs Scawin.’
‘No, you won’t. Our guests like to be served by a pretty young woman with a pleasant manner, not by someone who’s been crying her eyes out.’
‘I feel much better now,’ said Mary.
‘Well, you don’t look better.’
‘I’m sorry.’
Sarah put a consoling hand on her shoulder. ‘Who told you?’
‘One of the guests,’ replied the other. ‘He was on the station when it happened. Everyone seemed to know the name of the—’
‘Try not to brood on it, Mary.’
‘I can’t help it, Mrs Scawin.’
‘Then you’re no use to me, I’m afraid. Take the rest of the day off.’
Mary was shocked. ‘Are you giving me the sack?’
‘No, I’m simply saving you a lot of embarrassment. Everyone who comes into that lounge is talking about what happened. It will be sheer torture for you.’
‘Yes, Mrs Scawin, it will.’
‘Dry your eyes and slip away quietly. The others will cope.’
‘What about tomorrow?’
‘That depends on how you feel. More to the point,’ said Sarah, ‘it depends on how you choose to look at what happened. I can understand why you’re grieving now but things may look very different tomorrow. You may realise that, in fact, there may be a benefit for you in this tragedy. You’ve been spared any further pain …’
Mary was startled. ‘How can you say that?’
‘Wait and see.’
But the other woman didn’t even hear her. A fresh supply of tears was already coursing down her cheeks. She was inconsolable.
CHAPTER FOUR
They were seated in the office, ignoring the sounds of trains and passengers moving around outside. After the stern reproach from Maynard, the stationmaster was on his best behaviour, answering all the questions put to him by Colbeck and hoping that the interrogation would soon finish. Leeming had filled several pages of his notebook.
‘Let’s come to the important question,’ said Colbeck. ‘Do you have any idea who might have been behind this incident?’
‘Yes, I do,’ replied Staines.
‘Well?’
‘I blame the Irish.’
‘Do you have a large Irish community here?’
‘Yes, we do,’ explained Timms, ‘and they have been troublesome. In the wake of the potato famine twenty years or so ago, they started coming to this country in large numbers.’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘York had more than its fair share of them.’
‘You can’t blame people for trying to better themselves,’ said Leeming. ‘Many who stayed in Ireland died of hunger.’
‘Why should they pick on the railway?’ asked Colbeck.
‘We’re an easy target,’ said Staines. ‘They’ve tried to sneak on to trains without buying a ticket, or been caught trying to steal things, or simply turned up drunk and started a fight here. Some of them know how to behave themselves but there’s a hard core that love to cause mischief.’
‘Is there strong Fenian sentiment among them?’
‘Yes, Inspector,’ moaned Timms. ‘We’ve had clear evidence of it.’
‘Most of them live in the Bedern area,’ added Staines. ‘It’s one of the poorest parts of the city. Large families are crammed into filthy slums. The place stinks.’
‘We’ve tried to improve conditions,’ said the lord mayor, defensively, ‘though I’m not sure that they deserve it.’
‘Everyone deserves basic amenities,’ Colbeck put in.
‘Our resources are limited, Inspector.’
‘I’ve heard that excuse before.’
‘In the last census, over forty-five thousand people were recorded living in York. That number places a huge responsibility on me and my council.’
‘What about you, sir?’ asked Colbeck, turning to Maynard. ‘A serious crime has occurred on your railway. Who would you blame?’
‘I’m wondering if we should point the finger elsewhere, Inspector,’ said the other, thoughtfully. ‘Anarchists have been busy across the north. They cause damage for the sheer pleasure of it.’
‘They tend to exist in small cells, don’t they?’
‘It only takes one of them to fashion a bomb.’
‘And we are a sitting target,’ complained Staines. ‘This is not simply a terminus, it’s a badly designed station. Trains come in one way then back slowly out. There’s also a lot of coupling and uncoupling of engines, and that slows everything down even more.’
‘You’d have been watched,’ said Colbeck. ‘Nobody was acting on the spur of the moment. The bomber – if that’s what he was – knew when and where to strike.’
‘How do we catch the devil?’ asked Maynard.
‘First, we need to gather more information, sir. Masses of people were milling about before the explosion. Some were close enough to the brake van to be injured by burning splinters of wood. One or more of them must have seen something suspicious.’
‘They’ll have to be contacted.’
‘The best way to do that is to offer a reward for information leading to the arrest of the person or persons responsible,’ said Colbeck. ‘How soon could you have posters printed and put up?’
‘It could be done in a matter of hours,’ promised Maynard.
‘And I’ll make sure that a reward notice is in tomorrow’s newspapers,’ said Timms. ‘First of all, however, we must arrange some accommodation for you.’
‘That’s my responsibility, Neville. I was the person who had the sense to summon help from Scotland Yard.’ Maynard turned to the detectives. ‘I’ll book rooms for you at the Royal Station Hotel.’
‘If you don’t mind,’ said Colbeck, ‘we’d prefer to stay at the smaller hotel next door to the station. That will suit us.’
‘May I ask why?’
‘Big hotels tend to be impersonal. We prefer somewhere with character.’
‘As you wish, Inspector.’
‘Before that, however, we’d like to see the exact spot where the brake van was when it exploded. Would you be so good as to conduct us there, Mr Staines?’
‘Yes, of course,’ said the stationmaster, partially mollified.
‘Then let’s go, shall we?’
Staines opened the door and led the detectives out on to the platform. Timms looked at his companion with a quizzical expression.
‘What do you make of them?’ he asked.
‘The inspector is obviously a man of great experience and so is the sergeant.’
‘I was less impressed.’
‘Why?’
‘The one is a dandy and the other looks as if he’s never been taught how to dress properly. Frankly, they don’t inspire confidence. We’re dealing with a very strange couple, Gregory.’
‘They get results,’ said Maynard. ‘that’s all I care about. The local police have been dithering for hours. Colbeck talks as if he knows exactly what to do.’
Madeleine Colbeck had a full life, dividing her time between family and friends while pursuing a career as an artist. Having delivered her latest painting of a railway scene, she was enjoying a break from her studio and finding moments when she could rest. She was relaxing in an armchair when she had an unexpected visitor. Madeleine was thrilled to see Lydia Quayle being shown into the house by the maid. After hugging her friend, she took her into the drawing room.
‘I hope that you don’t mind my dropping in, Madeleine,’ said Lydia.
‘Of course, not – you couldn’t be more welcome.’
‘Thank you.’
‘As it happens, you’ve caught me at the perfect time. I finished my latest commission and am having a rest from cleaning oil paints off my hands.’
‘You deserve a break from time to time. How is Helena Rose?’
‘She’s as lively as ever,’ said Madeleine, smiling fondly. ‘Well, you can see for yourself in a while. She’s in the nursery with my father. Helena will be overjoyed to see Aunt Lydia.’
‘Watching her grow up has been a real joy for me.’
‘Oh, I’ve got some news for you,’ said Madeleine. ‘Robert has gone to York to investigate a murder there. He sent someone here with a message for me.’
Lydia laughed. ‘Am I supposed to guess who the messenger was?’
‘You already know. It was Detective Constable Hinton.’
‘How is Alan?’
‘He looks much better than he did when he came back from that assignment in the Black Country. That beating he took there would have put a lot of men off returning to such a dangerous job, but not Alan Hinton.’
‘Did he … mention me?’
‘As if you need to ask!’ teased Madeleine. ‘He asked how you were and wanted to pass on his love and best wishes.’
Lydia smiled. ‘That was kind of him.’
Tall, poised and beautifully dressed, she had striking good looks. At an early stage of her time in London, she had been troubled by a stalker. Alan Hinton had not only come to her assistance, he’d traced and arrested the man responsible. It had been the start of a friendship that had deepened over time.
‘There’s no need for me to ask what Alan wants, is there?’
‘He wants to be up in York, working with Robert and Victor Leeming. It’s a case that involves someone blown up in a brake van.’
Lydia pulled a face. ‘How dreadful!’
‘Yes,’ said Madeleine. ‘Estelle was horrified when she heard that. It’s a case that could keep them away for a long time – and it’s Albert’s birthday next week.’
‘Oh no!’
‘The thought that Victor might miss the celebrations really upset her.’
‘I don’t blame her.’
‘Albert will be really hurt if his father isn’t there.’
‘Is he the one who wants to be an engine driver?’
‘He’s changed his mind about that, Lydia.’
‘What does he want to be now?’
‘A policeman.’
‘Like father, like son.’
‘Estelle has warned him that it will be a hard life, but it hasn’t put the lad off. Mind you, it didn’t put Estelle herself off. When she fell in love with a policeman, she was happy to marry him.’
‘The same is true of you, Madeleine. You learnt to live with the dangers.’
‘In my position,’ said the other, meaningfully, ‘you would do the same.’
‘Behave yourself,’ warned Lydia, pushing her affectionately. ‘I came here in the hope of a cup of tea, not for advice about my private life, however well intended it might be.’
Frederick Staines was a different man when he was back in the station he loved. His resentment disappeared to be replaced by a readiness to help in any way that he could. After showing the detectives where the brake van had been standing, he pointed to the place where he had been at the time of the explosion. Colbeck noted that he was some distance away from the guard. Leeming, meanwhile, made a rough sketch of the train’s position. He was careful to include the fire buckets that the guard had failed to reach.
‘What a terrible way to die!’ he said.
‘We’ll miss him,’ said Staines, sadly. ‘Jack was a real character. I hope you catch the man who killed him, Inspector.’
‘Oh, we’ll catch him,’ promised Colbeck, ‘but I’m not entirely sure that the guard was meant to die. Simply blowing up the brake van would be enough to spread panic. Now that you’ve explained the sequence of events to us, you see, I’m having doubts.’
‘I was there,’ Staines reminded him. ‘I saw the brake van explode.’
‘But how would the man who placed that bomb in there know that it would go off at the precise time when the guard returned? He couldn’t have had any control of the device, could he? It was bad luck on his part that Mr Follis stepped into the van shortly before it was due to explode.’
‘What are you saying, sir?’ asked Leeming.
‘I’m not convinced that he was the target.’
‘He must have been,’ argued Staines.
‘The person who placed that bomb aboard,’ said Colbeck, ‘knew exactly how big the blast would have been. He’d have stayed well out of reach of it. All he wanted was to cause trouble. It might even be that killing someone was a bonus to him.’
‘He deserves to be blown to pieces himself!’ said Staines with feeling.
‘Don’t worry. He’ll get his just desserts.’
‘I’d light the bleeding fuse myself.’
‘Calm down, Mr Staines,’ advised Leeming. ‘I’m very sorry that your friend was killed but there’s no point in making threats when your anger is raging. We must be as cold and brutal as the man who caused all this mayhem.’
‘The sergeant is correct,’ said Colbeck. ‘You are an important figure in this investigation. When you described the explosion earlier, we could see the pain that it was causing you. Learn to cope with it, please,’ he counselled. ‘And when you’re alone, try to remember if there’s any detail that you missed – however minor it may seem – then pass it on to us.’
The stationmaster nodded. ‘Have you finished with me now?’
‘Yes, Mr Staines. You’re back in charge now. The station is all yours.’
Giving them each a nod of farewell, Staines went off quickly.
‘He lives for his job, doesn’t he?’ said Leeming.
‘So do we,’ Colbeck reminded him. ‘Let’s get on with it.’
The duty manager at Scawin’s Hotel that day was Henry Kemp, a short, slim man in his thirties with a neat moustache decorating a pleasant face. Impeccably dressed, he was strolling towards the lounge when he met his employer.
‘Ah, good,’ said Sarah. ‘I need to have a word with you, Henry.’
‘As many as you wish, Mrs Scawin,’ replied the other with a smile.
‘I sent Mary Dowling home earlier on.’
‘That was very wise of you. She was in no state to discharge her duties.’
‘I sympathise with her, but we are here to serve the public. The last thing that guests want is to be served by someone on the verge of tears.’
‘Mary’s a conscientious girl. She’ll be better by tomorrow, I guarantee. She’ll have learnt to cope with the situation by then.’
‘That’s what I hope.’ Sarah lowered her voice. ‘Is there anyone else among the female staff that we need to keep an eye on?’
‘I don’t think so, Mrs Scawin. We did have worries about Annie Regan, but she’s no longer employed here. Annie had the sense to get well away from him.’
‘Jack Follis really was a menace.’
‘That’s all in the past now.’
‘You’re right, Henry. Never speak ill of the dead – especially if they come to such a dreadful end. Now then,’ she went on, ‘you always have a keen ear for gossip. Do you know what the police are saying?’
‘From what I hear, they’re hopping mad.’
‘Why?’
‘Someone has been brought in over their heads,’ said Kemp. ‘He’s a famous detective from London, I’m told, and the police are angry that he’s taken over a case they believe belongs to them.’
‘They can work together, surely?’
‘Our police aren’t like that. They want all the glory for themselves.’
‘That doesn’t bode well for the investigation, does it?’
‘No, Mrs Scawin,’ he said with a sigh. ‘It doesn’t. This man from London will get little help from the York constabulary. I feel sorry for the man. He doesn’t know it yet, but he’ll have to solve the murder on his own.’
CHAPTER FIVE
Superintendent Horace Nash had not even bothered to visit the station, preferring to send his officers there to make an initial report. It was only when he heard that Scotland Yard detectives had arrived to take control of a case on his patch that he was roused out of his chair. Nash was a big, solid, bull-necked man in his fifties with a natural authority. Before he left the police station, he stood in front of a full-length mirror and adjusted his clothing. After putting on his hat, he felt ready to do battle.
Driven to the station, he got out of the carriage and collected dutiful nods from the policemen he’d already despatched there. The first person he saw when he reached a platform was the lord mayor. Having braced himself for a confrontation with detectives he regarded as interlopers, he had to temper his mood and summon up a submissive smile.
‘Good day to you, Lord Mayor,’ he said.
‘It’s a very bad day, Superintendent,’ replied the other. ‘The NER has been attacked in the most frightening way. A guard was killed, and several people close to the brake van were injured when it exploded.’
‘Yes, yes, I’ve seen the reports.’
‘I’m surprised that they didn’t make you come here at once.’
‘I was … otherwise engaged,’ said Nash, dismissively. ‘But I’m here now to make a personal assessment. What’s this about outside help being sought?’
‘That was Mr Maynard’s idea.’
‘We should have been consulted beforehand.’
‘He believes he acted correctly,’ said Timms. ‘According to him, there is nobody more experienced in dealing with crimes relating to the railway than Inspector Robert Colbeck. His reputation goes before him.’
‘I’ve never heard of the man.’
‘You will, Superintendent, you will.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘He’s doing something that your officers should have done,’ Timms told him with an edge in his voice. ‘He and Sergeant Leeming are inspecting the remains of the brake van.’ He pointed to the siding. ‘There they are.’
When he spotted the two men, Nash’s eyes widened in astonishment. While a tall, elegant figure was circling the wreckage, a sturdy, almost scruffy individual was writing in his notebook.
‘What the devil are they doing?’ asked Nash.
‘They’re searching for evidence, Superintendent. Inspector Colbeck wishes to see if there’s any trace of the bomb that caused all the damage. He’s also making an inventory – as far as is possible – of the items that were stowed in the brake van. The damage was extensive. Passengers who put luggage in there will be demanding compensation from the NER.’
‘That’s Mr Maynard’s problem.’
‘Ours is to catch the villain who caused this damage.’
‘We’ll do that, sir,’ said Nash, jutting out his chin.
‘You’ll be working in a supporting role.’
‘Oh, no, I won’t. I intend to direct the operation.’
‘Scotland Yard has the authority to take over the investigation.’
‘They are not going to steal it from us, Lord Mayor,’ said Nash. ‘Speak up for us. Do you really want complete strangers pushing us roughly aside? Assert your authority as lord mayor. Insist that the York Constabulary handles this serious crime committed here.’
‘Mr Maynard has a perfect right to send for outside help,’ said Timms.
‘And you have a perfect right to raise an objection,’ urged Nash. ‘Look at the pair of them,’ he continued, pointing towards the brake van. ‘Do they look like men who really know what they are doing?’
‘Well … let’s just say that I have reservations about them.’
‘Left to me, they’d be on the next train back to London.’
‘Come now, Superintendent. We must treat them with civility.’
‘Oh, I’ll do that, I promise you,’ said Nash, darkly. ‘When I wave that pair of intruders off, I’ll have a smile on my face as big as the Minster.’
‘The NER?’ said Caleb Andrews in disgust. ‘Robert has rushed off all the way to York to do the bidding of the North Eastern Railway?’
‘He was summoned by name, Father.’
‘That doesn’t mean he has to dance to their tune, Maddy. If they’re in another mess – and they’ve been in plenty – they should sort it out themselves. Robert’s place is here with his family.’
‘He has to obey orders, Mr Andrews,’ ventured Lydia.
‘In his position, he should be able to pick and choose.’
‘I knew it was a mistake to tell you,’ said Madeleine, clicking her tongue. ‘Just because you worked all those years for the LNWR, you think that every other railway company is inferior.’
‘Well, they are,’ said Andrews. ‘We’re streets ahead of the others – especially the NER. Robert has my sympathy.’
The three of them were in the drawing room. When Madeleine and Lydia were alone, they could drink their tea and have a pleasant discussion. Now that Andrews had joined them, the mood had changed. He had reacted badly to the news of his son-in-law’s latest assignment. When he launched himself on one of his combative rants, normal conversation was impossible.
‘That’s enough,’ said Madeleine, sharply. ‘Now that you’ve expressed your opinion, Father, we’ll move on to a different subject. Did I tell you that I called on Estelle Leeming this morning?’
‘No,’ he replied. ‘You didn’t. How is she?’
‘Very upset that Victor has gone away. It’s Albert’s birthday next week.’
‘He’d love his father to be there,’ said Lydia.
‘It’s his bounden duty,’ insisted Andrews. ‘These things matter to children. Look how upset Helena was when she thought her father wouldn’t be back home before Christmas.’
‘Victor’s sons were in the same position,’ Madeleine reminded him. ‘They thought he’d be trapped in the Malverns. Luckily, he and Robert got back with days to spare.’
‘I remember Albert well,’ said Andrews. ‘I once took him and David around the engine sheds to show them what life on the railway was like. Albert was a chirpy lad, full of questions. Both brothers wanted to be an engine driver like me.’
‘That was then. Estelle says that Albert wants to be a policeman now.’
‘That means she’ll have a husband and a son away a lot of the time,’ said Lydia. ‘I don’t envy her.’
‘I think she’ll be very proud of them.’
Andrews grinned. ‘She’d be even prouder if Albert became an engine driver like me – as long as he didn’t work for the NER, that is.’
‘Father!’ scolded Madeleine.
‘I’m entitled to my opinion,’ he said.
‘You don’t deserve that cup of tea.’
‘I was just going to ask you for another one.’
‘Only if you promise to behave yourself in front of Lydia.’
‘Oh, don’t mind me,’ said Lydia with a laugh. ‘I love to watch the way that your family works. Despite occasional disagreements, there’s an underlying love and togetherness. My family wasn’t like that,’ she confessed. ‘I hated my childhood. I always felt excluded. That’s why I drifted away from my home.’
‘Well, don’t you dare to drift away from this one,’ said Madeleine, wagging a finger at her. ‘Helena Rose would be devastated, and so would Robert and me. You’re one of us now, Lydia.’
‘Yes,’ affirmed Andrews, ‘you certainly are. So don’t you dare desert us. If you do, Maddy will set me on to you.’
They laughed happily.
It was ironic. Colbeck had examined the brake van with great care while Leeming stood yards away and took notes. Yet when the pair of them climbed back on to the platform, it was the sergeant who was covered in debris and the inspector who was spotless. Leeming caught sight of himself in the window of the restaurant.
‘Look at the state of me,’ he said, vainly trying to brush the dirt off.
‘It was all in a good cause, Victor.’
‘I hope so.’
Before the conversation could continue, they saw the lord mayor swooping towards them with a man in the uniform of a senior police officer.
‘Allow me to introduce Superintendent Nash,’ said Timms, indicating his companion.
‘We’re pleased to meet you, Superintendent,’ said Colbeck. ‘I’m sure that the lord mayor has told you who we are. Sergeant Leeming and I value this opportunity to lend York our expertise.’
‘It’s not expertise we need,’ said Nash, gruffly. ‘It’s local knowledge. We know this city inside out, so it’s vital that you act under our direction.’
‘Mr Maynard has put us in charge of the investigation.’
‘He’s not empowered to do so.’
‘We haven’t come all this way just to be dogsbodies,’ said Leeming.
‘You’ll do as you’re told, Sergeant,’ snapped Nash.
‘I take my orders from Scotland Yard.’
‘Not while you’re in my city.’
‘With respect, Superintendent,’ said Timms, drawing himself to his full height, ‘I am the lord mayor here. That means any major decisions affecting this city must be taken by me.’
‘You promised to give me a free hand,’ recalled Nash. ‘Where law and order were concerned, you said, I was allowed to act as I wished. And my wish at this moment is that these … unwanted visitors from Scotland Yard need to be confined to a minor position in this investigation.’
‘Why don’t we move this discussion to a more private place?’ said Colbeck, politely. ‘If we stay out here, haggling like fishwives, we’ll soon draw a crowd.’
‘An admirable idea,’ agreed Timms.
He led them to the office they had used earlier and, once they were all inside it, closed the door behind him. Colbeck, Leeming and Timms each took a seat, but Nash remained on his feet in the belief that it gave him an advantage. He tapped his chest.
