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- Herausgeber: Allison & Busby
- Kategorie: Krimi
- Serie: Railway Detective
- Sprache: Englisch
1861, East Anglia. Alone in a first-class carriage, the Swarbricks are robbed at gunpoint, but when the universally-admired Swarbrick fights back, the train robber takes more than money and jewellery, killing the man working to unify East Anglia's tangle of railway networks. Inspector Colbeck is brought in from London, as the only detective in Britain with enough expertise for the job. But as Swarbrick's glowing reputation begins to crumble, the line of investigation isn't clear: Is this the act of a bungling burglar, a business rival, a disgruntled son, or a jealous lover? Whoever it is, they are determined to involve Colbeck in their fight. Is the Railway Detective following the right track or will he need to switch points to bring the murderer to justice?
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Seitenzahl: 438
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018
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POINTS OF DANGER
EDWARD MARSTON
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
1861
Seated opposite each other, they were alone in a first class compartment. As the train slowed right down, the man took the gold watch from his waistcoat pocket, looked at it then heaved a sigh of frustration.
‘Late again,’ he said.
His wife made no reply. She was always slightly queasy when travelling by rail and had to sit facing the engine. Going backwards for any length of time made her want to vomit. She was a still handsome woman in her forties, short, slight, impeccably dressed and with almost elfin features. Both she and her husband exuded a sense of wealth and importance. He was a big man in his fifties with an air of distinction that offset his unprepossessing features. He looked as if he might have been born to wear his glistening top hat.
Irritable by nature, he soon had more cause for complaint. The train juddered unexpectedly and squealed as the brakes were applied. After a glance through the window, he struggled to his feet.
‘What the devil is happening?’ he demanded. ‘Instead of going into the station, we’ve been diverted onto the branch line.’
‘Sit down again, Jarvis,’ she suggested.
‘Somebody will suffer for this,’ he warned. ‘We’re already late enough, as it is. And now, we’re going in the wrong direction.’ He flopped back down on his seat. ‘This is unforgivable.’
He continued to fulminate but his protests were abruptly cut short. The train came to a sudden, jolting halt. Above the furious hissing of the locomotive, they heard the sound of hooves approaching. A rider with a hat pulled down over his face then appeared outside their window, extending a hand to fling open the door. He pointed a pistol at the man and yelled his command.
‘Hand over your wallet and watch.’
The man was outraged. ‘Do you know who I am and what I am?’
They were the last words he ever spoke. The robber knocked off the man’s hat before shooting him between the eyes from close range. Blood spurted everywhere. The woman screamed in horror and drew back, her reticule falling from her lap. Steadying his mount, the robber reached in to divest the man of his wallet and watch before scooping up the reticule. He then galloped off with his booty.
In less than a minute, he had rewritten railway history.
CHAPTER TWO
‘He’s changed,’ said Leeming. ‘He’s changed for the better.’
Colbeck was unconvinced. ‘I hadn’t noticed.’
‘You must’ve done, sir. The superintendent is a different man. Ever since the abduction, he’s been much kinder to us.’
‘That’s hardly surprising, Victor. We did, after all, help to save his life. Anyone would be grateful to people who did that.’
‘It’s almost as if he’s learnt to respect us – and not before time, if you ask me. I’m almost glad he went through that ordeal. It taught him a lot and turned him into a normal human being.’
‘I’d never describe Superintendent Tallis as in any way normal,’ said Colbeck with a wry smile, ‘and I’d certainly never take pleasure from the fact that he came so close to being murdered in the most agonising way. I wouldn’t wish that fate on my worst enemy.’
‘But he is your worst enemy.’
Colbeck laughed. ‘My enemies are on the other side of the law, Victor. With all his faults, the superintendent believes passionately in justice and has dedicated his life to law enforcement.’
The two of them were in his office, Leeming standing and Colbeck adjusting his cravat in the mirror. Though it was months since the event, the crime they were discussing was still at the forefront of their minds. Shortly before Christmas, the superintendent had been kidnapped in Canterbury, held captive and – when he was finally rescued – on the point of being flayed to death by a vengeful soldier from his old regiment. After such torment, most people would have needed a long rest before they returned to work but Tallis’s resilience was legendary. Too proud to show the mental and physical pain he was suffering, he’d been back at his desk almost immediately.
‘He’s more subdued, I grant you,’ conceded Colbeck, ‘but, in essence, he remains the same person he always has been.’
‘How can you say that, sir?’ asked Leeming in surprise. ‘In the old days, we were called to his office with a bellow. You stood up to him, somehow, but I always felt that I was in the dock awaiting sentence. Yet now,’ he went on, ‘he speaks softly to us as if we’re friends as much as fellow detectives.’
‘That may not last, Victor.’
‘Yes, it will – he’s seen the error of his ways.’
‘He’s been through a dreadful experience,’ argued Colbeck, ‘that shook him to the core and left him severely bruised. But those bruises are fading by the day. When they’ve disappeared, the same Edward Tallis will spring back to life.’
‘For once, I disagree, sir.’
‘Does that mean you’d risk a wager?’
Before Leeming could reply, there was a polite knock on the door, then it opened to reveal the very man about whom they’d been talking. Tallis was uncharacteristically subdued, his body sagging and the glint in his eye replaced by a hesitant glance.
‘Can we help you, sir?’ asked Colbeck.
‘I’m not the one in need of help,’ replied Tallis, ‘but you can certainly help the Eastern Counties Railway. Its telegraph summons you by name.’
‘That’s very gratifying.’
‘You and the sergeant must leave for Norwich at once.’
‘But I have to visit someone, sir,’ said Leeming.
‘Cancel the arrangement.’
‘Can’t we go to Norwich tomorrow, instead?’
‘You heard me.’
‘It’s a very special event.’
‘This case takes precedence.’
‘I promised my wife faithfully that …’
The words died on his lips as he saw Tallis undergoing a sudden transformation. It was extraordinary. Gone were the courteous manner and the gentle voice. They were instantly replaced by the old truculence and the familiar growl. In the space of a few seconds, the superintendent was bigger, louder and infinitely more hostile.
‘You know my motto, Leeming. Work comes first.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said the other, cowering.
‘Some paltry arrangement of yours shrinks to insignificance beside a gruesome murder on a train.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Then why do you dare to question my order?’
‘It was a mistake, Superintendent.’
‘That, alas, is not a novelty. Your whole career at Scotland Yard has been a compendium of mistakes.’
‘That’s unfair, sir,’ said Colbeck, coming to the aid of his friend. ‘Sergeant Leeming has been an exemplary detective. There’s nobody in this building as reliable as him.’
‘In one sense,’ said Tallis, ‘you are quite right. The sergeant can always be relied on to put family before duty and to ask inane questions at the most inappropriate time. In short, he is reliably unreliable.’
‘That’s a bit harsh, sir,’ bleated Leeming.
‘It’s both harsh and unjust,’ argued Colbeck. ‘But let us turn our attention to the call for help. Who is the murder victim?’
‘Come to my office and we’ll give the matter our full attention.’ Tallis glared at the hapless sergeant. ‘We can discuss the crime more sensibly without the irritating presence of a man obsessed with his social life and poised to make his latest mistake.’
Storming out of the room, he left Leeming dazed as if from a blow. Colbeck raised a teasing eyebrow.
‘Do you still think he’s a new man, Victor?’
Now that she’d passed her first birthday, Helen Rose Colbeck was an even more definite presence in the family. Having taken her first halting footsteps, she’d quickly learnt how to totter boldly around the room and make light of any tumbles. Her personality had blossomed, her laugh was infectious and identifiable words were coming from her mouth. The child’s face glowed with what her parents chose to believe was a blend of happiness and intelligence. Every day seemed to bring some small but exciting development. Whenever Colbeck returned home from work, his wife welcomed him with the latest bulletin.
Though Madeleine enjoyed spending more time with her daughter, it came at a price. She could no longer disappear into her studio for the best part of a day and devote herself to her latest painting. Helen’s needs came first. Having played with her that morning, her mother was relieved when the nanny came to put the child down for her customary nap. It would allow Madeleine precious time in which to work. Before she could go upstairs, however, she was intercepted by the maid who handed her a letter that had just arrived. Since she didn’t recognise the elegant handwriting, Madeleine’s curiosity was aroused. She opened the missive at once and read it.
Her eyes widened with a mixture of surprise and delight.
In his own office, Tallis reverted to his former self, pulling himself up to his full height, glowering at Colbeck and rasping out his question.
‘Well, what do you think?’
‘I think that the Eastern Counties Railway company has done us a favour,’ said Colbeck, handing the telegraph back to him. ‘As a rule, any plea we get is terse to the point of rudeness. This one actually gives us some real information.’
‘The victim is obviously held in high regard.’
‘That’s understandable, sir.’
‘Why – is he a director of the company?’
‘Jarvis Swarbrick is much more than that. He is – or, at least, he was until today – its appointed saviour. Not to put too fine a point on it, the ECR has a perfectly awful reputation. It was the first railway to be constructed in East Anglia and, from the very start, has been dogged by all manner of setbacks. Jarvis Swarbrick has ambitions for the company. The one thing the telegraph omitted to tell you is that he happens to be a Member of Parliament.’
‘How on earth do you know that?’
‘I always like to follow notable developments on the railway system,’ explained Colbeck. ‘That’s how his name came to my attention. East Anglia is bedevilled by its profusion of railway companies and by the chaos they often generate. Mr Swarbrick has been trying to introduce a bill in Parliament to effect an amalgamation that will both simplify the system and make travel in the region more efficient. In my view, that gives us a possible suspect.’
‘Does it?’
‘Someone is set on preventing the merger.’
‘This crime has nothing to do with it,’ said Tallis. ‘The telegraph makes that clear. Mr Swarbrick was shot by the man who robbed him.’
‘There’s a telling detail that you missed, Superintendent.’
Tallis looked at the telegraph again. ‘Is there?’
‘What does it say about the gentleman and his wife?’
‘They were travelling alone in their compartment.’
‘That’s the crucial piece of information, sir. There were, no doubt, several other people in the first-class carriages. Other compartments may well have been filled to capacity.’
‘I don’t follow your argument.’
‘That’s because you don’t think like a criminal, sir.’
Tallis reddened. ‘I should hope not, damn you!’
‘Consider this,’ said Colbeck. ‘If someone intended to rob passengers on a train, he’d surely wish to maximise his profits. Why settle for a compartment containing only two people when he could have found others with far richer pickings?’
‘Ah,’ said Tallis, fingering his moustache, ‘I’m beginning to catch your drift. He deliberately chose Swarbrick’s compartment.’
‘The robber was there to kill as well as to take their valuables. There was no need to shoot Mr Swarbrick. When a pistol is pointed at someone, he or she is usually quick to comply with any demand. I may, of course, be wrong,’ admitted Colbeck, ‘but my first reaction is this. The robber was either stupid enough to ignore compartments that would have yielded a far bigger haul, or he was a hired assassin with only one person in mind. I prefer the second option,’ he went on. ‘The killer knew exactly where to find his victim and went straight for him.’
Tallis blinked. ‘How ever did you deduce all that?’
‘It’s no more than an informed guess, sir.’
‘And it’s a persuasive one, at that.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Well, don’t hang about, man. Get on the next train to Norwich.’
‘I will,’ said Colbeck, moving to the door before turning on his heel to face the superintendent. ‘Oh, by the way …’
‘What is it now?’ snarled Tallis.
‘Welcome back, sir.’
CHAPTER THREE
Madeleine never ceased to count her blessings. Chief among them was her husband. When they’d first met, it never occurred to her that their relationship would ever outlast the solving of the crime that had brought them together in the first place. While Colbeck was an eminent detective with a measure of private wealth, she spent most of her time looking after her father in their humble home. Caleb Andrews, an engine driver, had been shattered by the death of his wife. Without a daughter to offer him practical support, he might never have recovered. It was Colbeck who’d rescued her from that life and introduced her to a world where she lived in a fine house, occasionally took part in his investigations, albeit secretly, and, with his encouragement, developed her skills as an artist to the point where she actually enjoyed commercial success.
The arrival of a beautiful daughter meant that she no longer had the same time to indulge in dreamy reminiscences of her husband but there was one person who always brought him to mind. But for Colbeck, she would never have met the woman who’d now become her best friend. When Lydia Quayle arrived that afternoon, therefore, Madeleine was reminded instantly of the way they’d been drawn together during an investigation into the murder of her estranged father. As a result of meeting her, Lydia had been able to refashion her life completely, visiting the house on a regular basis as a friend of the family and honorary aunt to Helen.
As they sat opposite each other in the drawing room, Madeleine felt an upsurge of affection for the other woman.
‘I’m so glad we met, Lydia,’ she said. ‘You’re one of the best gifts Robert ever gave me.’
Lydia laughed. ‘You make it sound as if he bought me in a shop and handed me over tied up with pink ribbon.’
‘We both know the grim circumstances that brought us together and I suggest we draw a veil over them. The point is that we found each other, and it’s been a constant source of pleasure to me.’
‘The feeling is mutual.’
‘I’ve got something to show you,’ said Madeleine, picking up a letter beside her and passing it to her friend. ‘Read that.’
‘Who sent it?’
‘It’s from a gentleman who adores my paintings.’
‘And so he should, Madeleine – they’re wonderful.’
‘He wants to offer me a commission.’
‘So I see,’ said Lydia, reading the letter.
‘Isn’t it exciting?’
‘Yes, it is …’
But it was only a token agreement. It was clear that Lydia didn’t share the thrill that Madeleine had felt when the letter first arrived. Instead of beaming at the flattering words, Lydia was more circumspect. When she gave the letter back to her friend, her tone was serious.
‘Have you shown it to Robert?’
‘I haven’t had the chance,’ said Madeleine. ‘He’s had to go off to Norwich to begin another investigation. A message came by hand from Scotland Yard earlier today. I’ve no idea when he’ll be back.’
‘That’s a pity.’
‘Why?’
‘I think that he ought to be made aware of this putative admirer.’
Madeleine was disappointed. ‘I thought you’d be pleased for me.’
‘If this offer is genuine, I’m very pleased. On the other hand …’
‘Why are you so sceptical?’
‘I’m always wary of anonymous strangers.’
‘But he’s not anonymous. His name is Mr Fairbank and he lives in Windsor. He’s listed the prints of mine that he’s bought in the past and now wants an original painting.’
‘How did he know your address?’
‘He didn’t, Lydia. He wrote to the art dealer who handles my work and the letter was forwarded here. I simply can’t see why you should accuse him of sinister motives.’
‘I’m not accusing him of anything,’ said Lydia. ‘I just think you should exercise great care. Hopefully, Mr Fairbank is exactly who and what he claims to be. If that’s the case, I congratulate you. It’s a real feather in your cap.’
‘But you still have doubts.’
‘It’s very easy to invent a false identity, Madeleine.’
‘Lionel Fairbank is his real name.’
‘I thought that about Daniel Vance.’
The reminder silenced Madeleine. She’d forgotten that her friend, an attractive young woman, had been stalked by someone who called himself Daniel Vance. It had been a nerve-racking period in Lydia’s life and had only been ended by police intervention. Her tormentor had concealed his own name behind that of the first ever headmaster of his public school. Madeleine felt thoroughly chastened.
‘I’m so sorry, Lydia,’ she said. ‘I should have remembered the nightmare you went through. But there are differences in this case.’
‘You can’t be sure of that, Madeleine.’
‘Yes, I can. To begin with, Mr Fairbank is much older than the man who stalked you. He mentions his grandchildren in the letter. They love my paintings as much as he does.’
‘I sincerely hope that it’s true and that my reservations are quite unfounded. Yet I do advise caution. Don’t agree to see him alone.’
‘He admires me as an artist,’ said Madeleine, ‘and he explains why at some length. Stop fretting unnecessarily. He’s not trying to kidnap me.’
‘No, of course not,’ agreed Lydia. ‘Ignore my pessimism. I always tend to fear the worst. That letter is a cause for celebration rather than suspicion. Mr Fairbank is clearly an art collector of taste. You must meet him as soon as possible.’
Victor Leeming was always disgruntled when forced to travel on a train, but he was even more annoyed this time. In a typical year, there were few days he held sacred. One of them had just been ruined by Edward Tallis.
‘It was cruel of him,’ he moaned.
‘The superintendent didn’t realise what was at stake.’
‘Yes, he did. He enjoyed ruining our plans.’
‘Wedding anniversaries are meaningless to a confirmed old bachelor like him.’
‘It wasn’t the wedding we wanted to celebrate, sir, it was …’ He became almost sheepish and needed a few moments before he blurted out the truth. ‘It was the day when I proposed to Estelle.’
‘Then it was very worthy of celebration.’
‘I hate having to let my wife down.’
‘It wasn’t you who did that,’ Colbeck pointed out. ‘It was the Eastern Counties Railway. Besides, you can simply postpone the event. A murder investigation, by contrast, can’t be put off so easily.’
Leeming lapsed into a brooding silence. The train that was taking them to Norwich had favoured them with an empty carriage, enabling them to have the sort of conversation about their case impossible in the presence of other passengers. Colbeck had shown his companion the telegraph from the ECR and voiced his first thoughts about the crime, but the sergeant had shown scant interest. All he could think about was the deep disappointment his wife would have suffered when she read the letter he’d dashed off before they’d left Scotland Yard.
‘Have you ever been to Norwich?’ asked Colbeck.
‘No,’ said Leeming, sourly, ‘and I wish I wasn’t going there now.’
‘It’s a beautiful cathedral city. Hundreds of years ago, it was second only to London in size and importance. Unfortunately, our work will prevent us from seeing the sights.’
‘The only sight I want to see is the train that takes us back home.’
‘What did you think about my theory?’
Leeming was bewildered. ‘Theory?’
‘Yes – the one regarding the murder.’
‘To be honest,’ said the other, guiltily, ‘I was only half-listening.’
‘I said that the robber was there specifically to kill his target.’
‘You’re probably right, Inspector. You usually are.’
‘Do you have no opinion at all to offer?’
Leeming made a visible effort to concentrate. He tried to remember the information he had actually heard.
‘It sounds to me as if the man was a very good horseman. He struck like lightning and got away before most passengers realised what was happening.’
‘What else do you have to offer?’
‘I believe he was acting alone and nursed a grievance against the man he shot. They must have had a feud of some kind.’
‘That’s not impossible but I have to correct you on one point. This was no solo venture. He had an accomplice, possibly more than one.’
‘Why do you think that?’
‘Someone switched the points so that the train went off on the branch line. The rider didn’t do that. He was hiding somewhere, ready to spur his horse into action. Now we come to the key question,’ said Colbeck. ‘How do we catch him?’
‘I wish I knew, sir.’
‘The answer is that we don’t even try – not in the first instance, anyway. The man we search for is the accomplice. It has to be someone who works for the ECR and knows how to switch points. Railwaymen are not well paid, as my father-in-law never ceases to complain. All that was needed was a hefty bribe.’
‘Then he might even be a railway policeman. Some of them are not as honest as they ought to be.’
‘That, I’m afraid, is an all too accurate observation.’
‘Villains sometimes use a uniform as a hiding place.’
‘Quite so,’ said Colbeck. ‘But, in speculating too much, we’re getting ahead of ourselves. We need more facts. At least we know where to start, however. We search for the person who sent that train to the exact place stipulated by the rider. Take heart, Victor. You may be home with Estelle sooner than you imagine,’ promised Colbeck. ‘All we have to do is to catch the accomplice and he’ll lead us to his paymaster.’
Cecil Freed was a tall, thin, angular man in his sixties with gaunt features perpetually distorted by anxiety. Unable to keep still, he paced up and down a platform at Norwich Thorpe Station as he waited for a train to arrive from London. As chairman of the ECR, he was accustomed to coping with the many disasters that could befall a railway company, but he’d never had to deal with a murder before, especially one that robbed him of a dear friend and trusted advisor. The crisis had thrown him into a deep panic. It made his eyes dart wildly and raised his voice to a much higher pitch.
‘Ah, there you are!’ he said with relief as he spotted a uniformed figure coming towards him. ‘Is there any news?’
‘If you’re asking if we’ve made an arrest,’ replied the other, ‘then the answer is we haven’t. We’re still gathering information.’
‘Hand it over to Inspector Colbeck.’
‘I will, Mr Freed.’
Sergeant Bartram Duff managed to disguise his resentment. He was a middle-aged man of medium height with broad shoulders and a craggy face. In charge of the railway police, he relished his power and was loath to relinquish any part of it. He was particularly annoyed at having to work on the murder investigation in the shadow of Colbeck.
‘Did you ever come across him?’ asked Freed.
‘No, sir, our paths never crossed.’
‘But you must have been aware of his presence.’
‘I left the Metropolitan Police Force over ten years ago, Mr Freed. Inspector Colbeck wasn’t quite so famous then.’
What he didn’t say was that he’d been dismissed from his post and forced to return to the county of his birth. The uniform he now wore carried nothing like the status of the one he’d had in the nation’s capital. Relegated to the railway police, he felt that he’d been unfairly treated. The arrival of two detectives from Scotland Yard would only intensify his bitterness because their presence would revive memories he’d been trying to forget.
‘Inspector Jellings is not going to be happy about this, sir,’ warned Duff. ‘He thinks that the Norwich City Police should handle the case.’
‘I did exactly what Mr Swarbrick would have advised – get the best possible man. That’s why I sent a telegraph to Scotland Yard.’
‘Well, don’t expect Inspector Jellings to be pleased.’
‘He can obviously take part in the investigation – as will you, of course – but there’s only one person capable of leading it and that’s Colbeck.’ He glanced down the line. ‘I just wish he’d actually turn up.’
‘What’s the latest news about Mrs Swarbrick?’
‘I daresay she’s still in a state of shock. My wife is with her now, offering what comfort she can. Mrs Swarbrick worshipped her husband. Seeing the man she loved shot dead in front of her must have been a hideous experience.’
‘Mrs Swarbrick is not the strongest of women.’
‘No, she’s been a martyr to ill health these last few years.’
‘She has my sympathy.’ Duff took a step closer to him. ‘I’m assuming that there’ll be a reward on offer?’
‘Yes, of course, and it will reflect the respect the ECR had for Mr Swarbrick. We’ll pay almost anything to catch his killer.’
‘Supposing that somebody other than Inspector Colbeck solves the crime?’
‘Then he will be entitled to collect the money. All we need is evidence of individual initiative. From what I’ve heard about him, Colbeck has that in abundance.’
‘But he lacks any knowledge of the ECR or, indeed, of East Anglia itself. There are several of us with far more understanding of the way that things are done in this part of the country.’
‘That’s undeniable, Duff. I’m sure the inspector will draw on your expertise and that of Jellings, of course. This crime took place in broad daylight. I’m sure that you found lots of witnesses who saw that horse galloping beside the train.’
‘I did, sir,’ said Duff. ‘I’ve taken dozens of statements, though nobody told me anything about what actually happened in Mr Swarbrick’s compartment. There’s only one person who can do that.’
‘Yes – it’s his poor wife.’
‘Inspector Jellings has gone to the house to speak to her.’
‘He may have a long wait before he can get anything coherent out of her. I saw her when she was led from the train. She was in a state of abject terror. It was a heartbreaking sight. That’s why I asked my own wife to go to her side,’ said Freed. ‘What she needs most in a calamity like this is the soothing presence of another woman.’
Anthea Freed was a bosomy woman of middle years with a face that radiated a sort of aggressive kindness. She stood in the hall of the Swarbrick residence and looked hopefully up the stairs. Inspector Mark Jellings had been irritated to find her there, fearing that she’d be an obstacle between him and the person he needed to interview. Though she looked benign, Anthea had a reputation for good works, which had been achieved by her tenacity at bullying money out of friends for the various charities in which she played an active part. Jellings could handle the most unruly criminals with ease. Gaining the upper hand over someone as potent as Anthea Freed was another matter. Since she was married to one of the richest and most influential men in the county, he had to tread carefully. The inspector was a well-built man in his forties with cheeks burnished by his fondness for alcohol and watery eyes that made him look like a woeful bloodhound.
‘If it’s at all possible,’ he said, respectfully, ‘I’d like a word alone with Mrs Swarbrick first.’
‘That’s out of the question, Inspector. I’m Grace’s dearest friend. She’d want me beside her.’
‘You might be a distraction, Mrs Freed.’
‘Arrant nonsense!’ she exclaimed. ‘I’m as anxious as you are to catch the monster who killed her husband. Unless I hold Grace’s hand, you’ll hardly get a word out of her. You need me, Inspector.’
He stifled a sigh. ‘Perhaps you’re right.’
‘While we have a moment,’ she said, facing him for the first time, ‘I’d like to take this opportunity to ask you to address us at one of our meetings. As you well know, I play a leading role in the Temperance Association here in Norwich.’
‘Much as I’d like to accept the invitation,’ he said, quickly, ‘I’m afraid that I’m far too busy even to consider it.’
‘But you’d be an ideal choice of speaker for us. Nobody has more experience of dealing with drunkenness than you. Most of the crimes that besmirch this city are committed by men – and women, alas – who are under the influence of drink.’ She jabbed a finger at him. ‘Your voice would carry weight.’
He squirmed at the prospect. ‘I’m sorry but I’m not—’
‘Don’t you want to join in the fight against the evils of drink?’
‘You have my tacit support, Mrs Freed.’
‘I was expecting more than that.’
He quailed slightly. Far from condemning alcohol, he felt at that moment desperately in need of some to bolster his spirits.
She was about to press him on the subject when they heard a door open and shut upstairs. The pair of them moved at once to the bottom of the stairs. Moments later, the doctor appeared and looked down at them.
‘You’re waiting in vain, I fear,’ he said. ‘Mrs Swarbrick is in no condition to speak to either of you. I’ve had to give her a sedative.’
CHAPTER FOUR
Knowing the reaction she’d get from her father, Madeleine didn’t tell him what had happened until he’d played with his granddaughter. It was only when he came into the drawing room afterwards that she explained where her husband was. Caleb Andrews exploded.
‘The Eastern Counties Railway!’ he yelled, spitting the words out as if they were poisonous. ‘It’s the worst company in the entire country.’
‘They sent for Robert because one of their senior directors was shot dead on a train.’
‘The whole board deserves to be shot, Maddy. The ECR is a disgrace to the name of railways.’
‘You say that about any company except the LNWR.’
‘That’s far and away the best,’ he asserted, ‘and not only because I happened to work for it for so long. It overshadows all the others and puts the ECR to shame.’
‘Is it really that bad?’
‘It’s a laughing stock.’
‘I hadn’t realised that.’
‘In your position, I’d be scared stiff. If Robert has gone to sort out their problems, it will take him weeks – even months. You may not see him again until next Christmas.’
‘Don’t exaggerate.’
‘Ask any railwayman. They all know about the ECR.’
Though Madeleine was always pleased to see her father, she was upset by his warning that Colbeck might be away for a long time. To cheer herself up, she changed the subject and reached for the letter that had arrived that morning.
‘Someone has written to me about my prints,’ she said. ‘He’s very complimentary.’
‘And so he should be. You have a gift, Maddy.’
‘He wants to commission a painting from me.’
‘Really?’ Andrews was delighted. ‘How much is he offering?’
‘Mr Fairbank doesn’t give an exact figure. He’s leaving that to me. It’s obvious that he’s a wealthy man.’
‘Then ask him for a thousand pounds.’
‘Father!’
‘All right, make it two thousand.’
‘Don’t be silly. That’s a ridiculous amount.’
‘Some paintings sell for much more than that.’
‘Yes, but they’re masterpieces by famous artists and they’re hundreds of years old. I can’t compete with people like that. My work sells for much lower prices because – let’s be honest – that’s what I’m worth.’
‘You’re as good as any of them,’ he said, loyally.
‘That’s not true, Father, and we both know it. One of the reasons I’ve had some success is that I only paint locomotives or railway scenes. Very few artists do that. I may well be the only woman who does it.’
‘You do have the assistance of a man. Be fair, Maddy, you never take anything to that art dealer of yours unless I’ve seen it first. I’ve had to correct you about details more than once.’
‘I rely heavily on you, Father. All that I can do is to look at railways from the outside. You were part of the industry for your whole working life.’
He smiled nostalgically. ‘I miss it every single day.’
‘Do you miss the filth and the noise and physical strain?’
‘You get used to that.’
‘Then why did you never stop complaining about it?’
‘I didn’t complain,’ he said, indignantly.
But his daughter knew the truth. She’d lost count of the number of times when he’d come home exhausted, bedraggled and covered in coal dust. Andrews was a wiry, spirited man in his sixties with a fringe beard. His short temper was about to be ignited once again.
‘Let me see that letter,’ he said.
‘There’s no need. I’ve told you what Mr Fairbank says.’
‘I’d like to read it myself. When a strange man writes to you out of the blue, you can never be too careful. As your father, I’ve got your best interests at heart.’ He extended a scrawny hand. ‘Give it to me, Maddy.’
She was hesitant. ‘Well … if you insist …’
Handing it over, she braced herself for his reaction. There was something she hadn’t mentioned about the commission. When his eye fell on the missing detail, he roared with anger.
‘Tell him you refuse,’ he demanded.
‘A moment ago, you were very pleased for me.’
‘That was before I realised what he wished you to do. I’m not having a daughter of mine painting a locomotive from the Great Western Railway. That would be a betrayal.’
‘I have to give a client what he pays for, Father.’
‘Don’t touch his money. It’s tainted.’
‘I can’t pick and choose people who wish to commission my work. Since he lives in Windsor, Mr Fairbank probably travels on the GWR regularly. It’s only natural that he’d choose one of its locomotives.’
‘Refuse to have anything to do with him, Maddy.’
‘I can’t just turn him away. He’s an admirer.’
‘Yes,’ said Andrews, scornfully, ‘he’s an admirer of Brunel and that godforsaken railway of his. You know how I feel about the GWR with its broad gauge and its dreadful trains. Refuse to have anything to do with this Mr Lionel Fairbank.’ He passed the letter back to her. ‘I feel as if I have to wash my hands after touching that.’
Madeleine was hurt. For the second time that day her hopes had been dashed. In showing the letter to Lydia Quayle, she’d expected to get warm congratulations but her friend had instead warned her to be circumspect. Knowing her father’s hatred of the GWR, she’d expected some criticism but was relying on his pride in her achievement to override it. Friend and father had both let her down. She began to wish she’d never even heard of Lionel Fairbank.
‘Well,’ asked Andrews, ‘what are you going to do, Maddy?’
As soon as they reached Norwich, Colbeck realised that he’d have to review some of his earlier assumptions. Being able to view the scene of the crime gave him a much clearer idea of what had actually happened. Cecil Freed had been waiting for the detectives on the platform, welcoming them as if they were members of a relief army that had just reached a stricken outpost. Duff was at Freed’s elbow. Once introductions had been made, the newcomers were taken to the exact spot where the murder had occurred. Between them, Freed and Duff supplied a rough commentary. When he’d heard all the facts, Colbeck took over.
‘What happened to the body?’
‘It was removed to the police morgue,’ said Freed. ‘Mrs Swarbrick was distraught and had to be given medical assistance before she was taken home. We couldn’t leave the train itself here because this track is in continuous use. It was moved back to the main line so that people could get off at the station. You can imagine the effect the murder had on the other passengers.’
‘The effect on Mr Swarbrick was far worse,’ observed Leeming.
‘I’d like to see the compartment in which he was killed,’ said Colbeck. ‘I’m assuming you took the whole carriage out of service.’
Freed nodded. ‘Where is it now?’
‘It’s in a siding beyond the station,’ said Duff, pointing. ‘I’ve put one of my men there to guard it and keep people away.’
‘Were you on duty at the time of the incident?’
‘Yes, I was, Inspector. I was waiting on the platform with the stationmaster. We couldn’t believe it when the train veered off on the branch line.’ He tapped his chest. ‘I saw everything.’
‘It’s a pity you didn’t see the points being switched,’ said Leeming, drily, ‘or you might have prevented the crime.’
‘You can’t blame this on me,’ said Duff, defensively. ‘Constable Pryor is in charge of those points and is supposed to make sure that nobody interfered with them. He may lose his job over this.’
‘Let him keep it until we’ve had a chance to question him,’ suggested Colbeck. He looked back at the station. ‘If you were on that platform, you’d have had a good view of what went on here.’
‘Yes, I did, Inspector.’
‘You and Mr Freed have already given us the outline details. I’d like you to give a fuller account to Sergeant Leeming so that he can record it in his notebook. Since I’m sure you’ll have taken statements from other witnesses, please pass those on to the sergeant as well.’
‘I will, sir,’ grunted the other.
‘Lead the way,’ said Leeming. ‘I’ll be right behind you.’
Duff set off towards the station with the sergeant at his heels. Once the two men were out of earshot, Colbeck turned to Freed.
‘How efficient is Sergeant Duff?’ he asked.
‘I’ve heard no complaints about him,’ replied the other.
‘Is his manner always so surly?’
‘He speaks to everyone like that. He means no disrespect.’
‘I sensed bitterness. He objects to our presence.’
‘Duff’s opinion is immaterial, Inspector. I sent for you because I’ve followed your career with interest. Railway policemen are ill-equipped to do anything more than their allotted duties and the local constabulary has never handled a murder case before.’
‘Who has been assigned to the investigation?’
‘Inspector Jellings – a good man but parochial by your standards.’
‘What’s his view of the crime?’
‘He believes that it was a robbery that went wrong.’
‘Then I’ll have to correct him. Having heard more detail, I’m even more convinced that the robbery was just a cloak for the real purpose of shooting Mr Swarbrick dead.’
Freed was alarmed. ‘You think that it was deliberate?’
‘I’m certain of it, sir. That raises the question of suspects. Can you think of anyone – anyone at all – who might have had cause to hate Mr Swarbrick enough to want him killed?’
‘No, I can’t. Jarvis was universally liked.’
‘He was a politician. They always have enemies.’
‘That’s true, I suppose. It’s unavoidable.’
‘How many MPs does Norwich have?’
‘Two – they represent a city of well over seventy thousand.’
‘Mr Swarbrick was a Conservative, I believe. What about the other Member of Parliament?’
‘David Repton is a Liberal.’ He saw Colbeck’s eyes light up with interest. ‘You can eliminate him at once. I abhor almost everything that Repton stands for but he’d never hatch a murder plot. Strangely enough, he and Jarvis Swarbrick got on very well.’
‘Give me some other names then, if you will.’
‘Well,’ said Freed, brow corrugated in thought, ‘I suppose that I ought to mention Oliver Trant – though I do so reluctantly.’
‘Who is he?’
‘Oliver is an over-ambitious man who had to be edged off the board. It’s rankled with him ever since. He blames Jarvis.’
‘Is he a vindictive person by nature?’
‘I suppose that he could be.’
‘You don’t sound very sure.’
‘Where Oliver is concerned, it’s difficult to be sure about anything. He’s such an odd character. One can never fathom the man. I may be maligning him unfairly, but I fancy that there’s a mean streak lurking somewhere inside him.’
‘Let’s move on from Mr Trant. Who else should we look at?’
‘I wish I knew.’ Freed twitched as if startled by a sudden thought. ‘No,’ he told himself, ‘no, that’s out of the question. He couldn’t possibly be involved. It’s cruel of me even to think it.’
‘Whom did you have in mind, sir?’
‘Andrew Swarbrick – he’s Jarvis’s son.’
‘Go on,’ urged Colbeck.
‘It’s a sad business, Inspector. Father and son were estranged because Andrew strongly disapproved of Jarvis’s second marriage. Heaven knows why! Grace Swarbrick is a delightful woman, but her charm was lost on Andrew. He was antagonistic towards her from the very start. It was a cross that Jarvis had to bear,’ said Freed. ‘Andrew swore that he’d never set foot in the house again until his stepmother had left it.’
‘Does Andrew Swarbrick live in Norwich?’
‘No, he left in disgust when his father remarried.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘Somewhere in London – he works in a bank there.’
‘How do you think he’ll react to news of his father’s murder?’
Freed sucked his teeth. ‘I really don’t know …’
Andrew Swarbrick was a tall, lean, striking man in his thirties who prided himself on his physical fitness. Since he had a sedentary occupation, he always found time after luncheon for a brisk walk. It had become his trademark. Other employees at the bank were amazed that he was undeterred by inclement weather and would happily stride out without an umbrella in heavy rain. Only a foot or more of snow would have stopped him from keeping to his daily routine. As a deputy manager of a major bank, he had a large and well-appointed office. When he returned there that afternoon, he found a telegraph awaiting him. He read its contents and gave a cold smile.
Victor Leeming did not enjoy being in a confined space with the railway policeman. In addition to a churlish manner, Duff had bad breath and smelt as if in desperate need of a bath. His defects were magnified in the pokey, airless room the two men shared. On the credit side, Duff had clearly been working hard to gather information from other witnesses. Leeming studied the man’s notebook with interest and, after weeding out the inevitable repetition, copied a lot of useful information into his own notebook.
‘Who was supposed to operate those points?’ he asked.
‘Constable Pryor.’
‘I’d like to speak to him.’
‘I’ve already done that,’ said Duff.
‘Nevertheless, I want to have a word with him myself.’
‘Horace Pryor will be disciplined, I can promise you.’
‘If you don’t cooperate with us,’ warned Leeming, ‘you’ll be disciplined alongside him. The last thing we need is someone who doesn’t understand an order. The inspector and I belong to a real police force. Remember that.’
‘I’m sorry,’ muttered the other.
‘Is he still here at the station?’
‘Yes, he is.’
‘Then I want you to fetch him.’ As Duff rose to leave, Leeming put a hand on his shoulder to ease him back into his seat. ‘Before you do that, I’d like to ask your opinion.’
‘About what?’
‘How long have you worked here?’
‘Ten years or more – I was born and bred in Norwich.’
‘So you know everything there is to know about this place.’
‘I wouldn’t say that.’
‘What sort of man is Mr Freed?’
Duff was non-committal. ‘He’s doing his best for the ECR.’
‘What about the murder victim?’
‘Oh, he was the power behind the company. He never stopped fighting for it. Mr Swarbrick had big ambitions for us.’
‘Do you think that someone wanted to thwart those ambitions?’
‘Not really,’ said Duff with a shrug. ‘Mr Swarbrick was unlucky, that’s all. Someone tried to rob him. Knowing Mr Swarbrick like I do, I’d say that he’d refuse to hand over anything and it cost him his life.’
‘Why did the killer single him out in the first place?’ asked Leeming. ‘More to the point, how did he know which compartment Mr Swarbrick and his wife were in?’
‘I never thought about that,’ admitted Duff.
‘Then it’s time you did. There must have been lots of other passengers travelling in first class, yet he was picked out. That means the man knew exactly where to find him.’
‘That’s impossible.’
‘Then how did he come to choose Mr Swarbrick?’
‘It could just have been a coincidence.’
‘How can you say that?’ asked Leeming in disbelief. ‘This murder is the result of careful planning. Did Mr Swarbrick just happen to be alone with his wife in that compartment? Did the points get switched entirely of their own accord? Did that man on the horse ride past completely by chance and seize his opportunity? Of course not,’ he added, derisively. ‘Of one thing you can be sure, Sergeant Duff. Coincidence had nothing to do with it.’
‘I can see that now,’ said Duff, uncomfortably.
‘Do you get much crime here?’
‘We would do if I didn’t keep the place well protected. Thanks to the way I’ve drilled my men, we’ve caught thieves, pickpockets and those who simply want to cause damage to property.’
‘What do you do with them?’
‘We haul them up before a magistrate,’ replied Duff. ‘It’s usually children who are responsible for vandalism or trespass. If it’s a first offence, I give them the fright of their lives then let them go.’
‘What if they repeat the offence?’
Duff gave a dark chuckle. ‘I make them regret it.’
‘So there have been no major crimes at this station?’
‘Not since I was put in charge.’
‘Nothing more serious than irate passengers complaining about the price of tickets – is that what you’re telling me?’
‘My men know how to do their jobs.’
‘Constable Pryor doesn’t.’
‘That was a rare slip on his behalf.’
Troubled by the stink, Leeming turned away and coughed.
‘I want you to put your thinking cap on,’ he resumed. ‘Is there anyone you know – or might have heard about – who is capable of committing the daring crime that took place here earlier today?’
‘No,’ said Duff with categorical certainty.
‘You answered that question far too quickly for my liking,’ said Leeming, ‘so I’d like you to take a little time to think carefully before you speak. In your position, you must have come across all the local villains from time to time. Correct?’ Duff nodded. ‘Could you pick one of them out as a possible suspect?’
There was a long pause this time. The railway policeman did actually seem to be giving the question due consideration. When it came, however, the answer was the same.
‘No,’ said Duff.
Leeming suspected that he was lying.
CHAPTER FIVE
Colbeck couldn’t help feeling sorry for Cecil Freed. Since he held such a crucial position in the ECR, the man was already under heavy pressure because of its poor performance as a railway company. At a time when he most needed the help of a strong, guiding hand, Freed had lost the one man who could have provided it. Swarbrick’s death had cut him adrift and he was floundering. Freed was pathetically grateful that the Railway Detective had come to his aid so swiftly, allowing him to feel that the murder of his dear friend would soon be solved. It was the one thing that would bring him a degree of solace.
Having examined the murder scene, Colbeck was taken to the siding where the carriage in which the victim had been travelling had now been left. A railway policeman stood nearby, nodding deferentially when Freed appeared. Colbeck’s gaze ran the length of the carriage.
‘Which was their compartment?’ he asked.
‘It was the one at the far end.’
‘In which direction was the train travelling?’
Freed raised a hand to indicate. ‘It was coming this way,’ he said. ‘Whenever he travelled with his wife, Jarvis insisted on taking the first-class compartment furthest away from the engine.’
‘Why was that, sir?’
‘Grace – Mrs Swarbrick, that is – always felt a trifle unsettled in a train and liked to be as far away from the engine as possible.’ He laughed nervously. ‘It’s a paradox, isn’t it? A man whose whole life is bound up with a railway company was married to a woman who hated travelling by train.’
‘That may turn out to be a vital piece of information.’
‘I don’t see why, Inspector.’
‘Did many people know about Mrs Swarbrick’s aversion?’
‘Oh, yes, it was common knowledge. When they were together, they always had what amounted to a private compartment in the last of the first-class carriages.’
‘You may just have explained how the killer knew where to strike.’
Freed gaped. ‘Good Lord!’
‘It could be a breakthrough of sorts.’
‘Why is that?’
‘We’re dealing with a local man, sir. That narrows the field.’
Freed was shocked. ‘Are you telling me that … it was one of us?’
‘It was someone who was aware of Mr and Mrs Swarbrick’s habitual arrangements when travelling by train. That’s my feeling, anyway.’
‘I trust it implicitly.’
‘Then I must ask you a special favour, sir.’
‘It’s granted before you even put it into words.’
‘Because of his position as a Member of Parliament,’ said Colbeck, ‘Mr Swarbrick’s death is going to attract a lot of attention. Reporters from national newspapers will descend on Norwich in a swarm and try to hassle us for information. It’s a point of principle with me that I never disclose details of my investigation or discuss any clues I may find.’
‘In other words,’ said Freed, ‘I’m to keep my mouth shut.’
‘Thank you, sir. In some ways, the gentlemen of the press perform a valuable service. In other ways,’ he added, lowering his voice, ‘they can be a confounded nuisance.’
‘You don’t need to tell me that, Inspector. The ECR has been the whipping boy for many a newspaper editor. Rely on my discretion.’
‘Right,’ said Colbeck, grateful for his help, ‘let’s take a closer look at that compartment, shall we?’
Horace Pryor, the railway policeman, was a moon-faced individual in his late twenties with stooping shoulders and an apologetic grin. When he caught sight of Leeming, he immediately began to plead his innocence. Duff gave him a firm nudge.
‘Shut up, Horry,’ he ordered.
‘I’m entitled to say my piece.’
‘The sergeant will hear it when he’s good and ready.’
‘That’s right,’ said Leeming. ‘Before I do that, I must ask you to leave. There’s hardly enough room for two of us in here. Three of us will just keeping bumping into each other.’
‘But I ought to stay,’ insisted Duff.
‘Why?’
‘I want to hear what Horry tells you to make sure it’s the same excuse he told me.’
Pryor bristled. ‘It’s not an excuse, Bart. It was the truth.’
‘I’ll listen to it in private,’ said Leeming, meaningfully.
Duff glowered at him for a second, then left the room reluctantly. After sizing up the newcomer, Leeming motioned for him to sit down, then he started to probe.
‘How long have you worked here?’
‘It must be nearly five years now,’ said Pryor.
‘So you should be able to discharge your duties blindfold.’
‘I like the job and I always do it proper.’
‘That’s not what Sergeant Duff claims. He blames you for allowing the points to be switched.’
‘That’s unfair!’ insisted Pryor.
‘Explain.’
