‘You can save your money with this chap, sir,’ said Leeming as he saw the first address on the list. ‘He lives in Pimlico. That’s well within walking distance of here.’
‘It is indeed. What’s the man’s name?’
‘Hetherington – Sir Marcus Hetherington.’
The publicity in the newspapers had given him a real fright. Before his landlady or his neighbours could report his whereabouts to the police, Luke Rogan gathered up everything of value and stuffed it into a bag. Then he changed out of the slightly garish attire he usually wore and put on a pair of dungarees, a moth-eaten old coat and a floppy hat. It was a disguise he often used in the course of his work as a private detective and it was so nondescript as to render him almost invisible. After checking his appearance in the mirror, he fled from his house in Bayswater without leaving behind the unpaid rent.
He left his belongings at the house in Paddington of a woman he had befriended during his days as a policeman. He gave her a plausible explanation about why he was dressed as a workman but she needed no convincing. She was a lonely widow who was so pleased to see him that she offered him accommodation for as long as he wished. As she never read a newspaper, there was no possibility that she would link her former lover with a series of horrific crimes. In the short term at least, Rogan had somewhere to hide.
Sir Marcus Hetherington had ordered him to kill Colbeck in order that the murder investigation would lose the man who directed it and make it founder. In view of what the inspector had done, Rogan was now fired by revenge as well. He was anxious to strike back at the person who had exposed him in the newspapers as a wanted felon and spread his name across the whole of London. He knew that he could never return to his old life again. Colbeck had robbed him of his occupation. In recompense, he would deprive the detective of his life.
Rogan had been patient. He knew what his intended victim looked like and where to find him. Lurking outside Scotland Yard until the inspector had emerged, he waited until Colbeck had summoned a cab then flagged down one of his own and ordered it to follow the first vehicle. What he learned was that Colbeck lived in John Islip Street and that, very soon after his arrival, he had a visitor. While the two men were inside the house, Rogan loitered in a doorway on the other side of the street and bided his time. He felt under his coat for the knife that was thrust into his belt. Having already killed Gaston Chabal, it could now be used to dispatch another man.
Inside the house, the detectives came to the end of their conversation.
‘I’ll be on my way, Inspector,’ said Victor Leeming, rising slowly to his feet. ‘Thank you for the tea and cake.’
‘When this is all over, we’ll celebrate with something a little stronger,’ promised Colbeck. ‘Before that, I’ll want to know how you fared this afternoon.’
‘Where will I meet you?’
‘At the Lamb and Flag.’
‘What time?’
‘Shall we say six o’clock?’
‘I’ll be there, sir.’
‘Good.’ Colbeck got to his feet and led the way into the hall. ‘I’ll go back to Scotland Yard to see if anyone has come forward as a result of that notice in the newspapers.’
‘And I’ll ring some more doorbells.’
‘Are you glad to be back in harness again, Victor?’
‘Yes, sir – even if I can only manage a trot.’ They put on their respective hats and left the house together. Leeming looked up and down the street. ‘Not long to go now.’
‘I hope not.’
‘We’ll soon catch Luke Rogan.’
‘Yes,’ said Colbeck. ‘We’re getting close. I can feel it.’
They exchanged farewells then parted company. Leeming walked at a gentle pace towards Vauxhall Bridge Road while Colbeck went off in the opposite direction, intending to stop the first empty hansom cab. As none was in view, he continued to stroll briskly along the pavement. He reviewed all the evidence they had so far gathered and it left him with a feeling of guarded optimism. His only worry was that Rogan might leave London to avoid arrest and, possibly, flee the country altogether. If necessary, Colbeck was more than ready to pursue him abroad.
It was minutes before he realised that he was being followed. He did not remember seeing anyone when they came out of the house but he sensed a distinct presence now. When an empty cab came towards him, therefore, he let it pass. Colbeck wanted to know who was on his tail. Moving to the kerb, he glanced back down the street then crossed diagonally to the other side. Out of the corner of his eye, he had seen him. The man had pretended to tie up his bootlace so that he could keep his head down but Colbeck knew at once that it was a ruse. He was being shadowed.
As he walked on, he maintained the same pace, giving no indication that he was aware of someone behind him. They were now on the same side of the street. The gap between them slowly closed until Colbeck could hear the tramp of hobnail boots behind him. That was the danger signal. If he was simply being followed, he knew that the man would stay well back to avoid being seen. The fact that he was moving steadily closer meant that he was going to attack.
Colbeck did not know if the man was a thief or someone with a personal grudge against him. Police work had made him many enemies and he had often received threats from convicted criminals as they were hauled out of the dock to begin a prison sentence. It did not matter who the stalker was. The way to deal with him, he believed, was to invite the attack. When he reached a corner, he turned sharply and went down a narrow lane. He heard footsteps quicken behind him. After a few more yards, Colbeck swung round to confront the man. The sun forewarned him. It glinted on the knife that had suddenly appeared in the stalker’s hand. The man lunged forward and thrust hard with his weapon but he could not sink it into the back of an unsuspecting victim this time. Colbeck was ready for him.
Jumping quickly back out of the way, he whisked off his top hat and flung it hard into the man’s face to confuse him for an split-second. He grabbed the hand that was holding the knife and turned the point away. They grappled fiercely and it was clear that the man was used to a brawl. Strong and wily, he did everything he could to overpower Colbeck, punching, gouging, spitting into his face, biting his hand and trying to stamp on his toes with his boot. Colbeck responded by tightening his grip. When he managed to manoeuvre the man off balance, he swung him hard against the brick wall. Shaken by the impact, his attacker dropped the knife. Colbeck used a foot to kick it away.
As they grappled once more, Colbeck realised that he was not ideally dressed for a fight. His tight-fitting frock coat did not allow him much flexibility. His adversary, by contrast, had much more freedom of movement. He used it to push Colbeck against the wall then hit him with a relay of punches. Before the detective could fight back, he was kicked in the shin then tripped up. As he fell to the ground, Colbeck heard the ominous sound of torn cloth but he had no time to worry about his coat. The man dived on him and went for his throat, getting both thumbs on his windpipe and pressing hard.
It was the first moment when Colbeck had a proper look at his face. Breathing heavily, the man bared his teeth in a grin of triumph and applied more pressure. Colbeck knew that it must be Luke Rogan. The man was intent on murder. Desperation gave him an extra surge of strength and he rolled suddenly to the left, toppling Rogan and weakening his grip. Colbeck punched him hard in the face until he put up both hands to defend himself. The searing pain in Colbeck’s throat had gone but he still had to contend with a powerful adversary. What brought the fight to an end was the arrival of several onlookers. Hearing the commotion, a small crowd began to gather around them. They were witnesses. Rogan had to get away.
Smashing a fist into Colbeck’s face, he struggled to his feet and pushed his way past the spectators before running off down the lane. Colbeck was still dazed. By the time he was helped to his feet by two men, he saw that Luke Rogan had vanished. One of the bystanders looked at his torn coat and blood-covered face.
‘You all right, guv’nor?�
�� he asked.
‘Yes, thank you,’ said Colbeck, dusting off his coat.
‘Like me to call a policeman, sir?’
Colbeck gave a hollow laugh.
The superintendent had never seen him looking dishevelled before. In all the years they had known each other, Robert Colbeck had striven for a stylishness that Edward Tallis felt was out of place in the Detective Department. Smartness was always encouraged but not to the point of ostentation. Colbeck did not look quite so elegant now. His frock coat was torn, his trousers were scuffed and his face was cut and bruised. Looking into the mirror, he was using a handkerchief to wipe away the blood from his cheek when Tallis burst into his office.
‘They told me you were back,’ he said, staring in amazement at the unkempt figure before him. ‘Whatever happened to you, man?’
‘I tried to arrest Luke Rogan, sir.’
‘You found him?’
‘No, sir,’ replied Colbeck. ‘He found me.’
‘How do you know that it was him?’
‘Because he attempted to kill me.’ He pointed to the knife that lay on his desk. ‘In the same way that he murdered Gaston Chabal.’
Colbeck told him what had happened and how he had been face to face with the wanted man described that morning in the newspapers. When he heard that Rogan had escaped, Tallis wanted him apprehended immediately.
‘I’ll send out men to scour the area,’ he said.
‘Too late, Superintendent. I’ve already done that.’
‘I’ll not have anyone assaulting my men.’
‘He’ll be long gone by now,’ said Colbeck. ‘He ran off as if the hounds of hell were on his tail.’
‘And so they will be,’ vowed Tallis. ‘Dear God! What is the world coming to when a detective inspector can be the victim of a murderous attack only a few blocks from his own doorstep?’
‘It’s not exactly a daily event, sir.’
‘Once is enough.’
‘I agree.’
‘We knew that Rogan was a villain but it never crossed my mind that he’d be capable of this audacity. Why did he strike at you?’
‘Because he identifies me as his nemesis,’ said Colbeck. ‘Rogan thought he’d committed the perfect murder until we began to breathe down his neck. If he read a newspaper this morning, he’d have seen my appeal for information that would lead to his capture. That could make a man feel vengeful.’
‘He’s not the only one, Inspector. When I look at you in that state, I feel vengeful as well. Rogan will pay for this.’
‘It’s a pity I can’t send him a bill from my tailor.’ Colbeck examined the long tear under his arm. ‘This will need to be repaired and the coat will have to be cleaned. I can’t wear it like this.’
‘This must not be allowed to happen again.’
‘It won’t, sir.’
‘From now on, you’ll have a bodyguard.’
‘But it’s not necessary.’
‘Someone is determined to kill you.’
‘Luckily, he failed.’
‘He’s sure to try again.’
‘I think that’s the last thing he’ll do.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he knows that I’ll be on my guard now,’ said Colbeck. ‘He’d never have a chance to get that close again.’
‘We’ll look under every stone in London for him.’
‘That could be a wasted exercise, Inspector.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I don’t think he’ll stay in the city.’
‘He must, if he wants to ambush you again,’ said Tallis.
‘No, sir. It’s too dangerous. Luke Rogan won’t show his face here again. He’s probably on his way out of London right now.’
‘Where do you think he will go?’
‘There’s one obvious place.’
‘Is there?’
‘Yes, Superintendent,’ said Colbeck. ‘He’ll want a refuge. He’ll scurry back to the man who dragged him into this in the first place. They have a common bond, after all. When we catch them, both will face the prospect of a death sentence.’
Sir Marcus Hetherington was livid when he was told that he had a visitor by the name of Luke Rogan. Storming out of the library, he went to the front door of his mansion and saw the sorry figure waiting in the porch. Rogan was still wearing the old coat and dungarees. Since he was holding his cap in his hands, the bruises on his forehead and the black eye were clearly visible. Sir Marcus spluttered.
‘Whatever brought you here?’ he asked.
‘We need to settle our account, Sir Marcus.’
‘This house is sacrosanct. You’re not allowed anywhere near it.’
‘I think I am,’ said Rogan, pugnaciously.
‘And how did you get those bruises?’
‘Invite me in and I’ll tell you.’
‘You’re not coming in here.’
Fearing that his wife might see the man, Sir Marcus took him past the stable block at the rear of the house. They went into an outbuilding some distance away so that they could talk without being seen. Rogan told him about the failed attempt on Colbeck’s life. The old man was incensed.
‘Can’t you do anything you’re told?’ he yelled.
‘I got rid of that Frenchman for you,’ retorted the other.
‘Yes, but you didn’t bring that railway to a halt, did you? Nor did you stop the police from finding out your identity, thus putting both our lives in danger. And now – this!’
‘Colbeck saw me coming.’
‘You swore to me that you’d kill him.’
‘I tried, Sir Marcus. How do you think I got these bruises?’
‘The worst thing of all is that you come running here, like a snivelling child who’s been beaten at school.’
Rogan became truculent. ‘I didn’t come for sympathy,’ he said. ‘I came for what’s owed to me. Now that I have to get out of London, I need every penny.’
‘I’m not paying you for something you didn’t do.’
‘You have to, Sir Marcus. You gave me your word.’
‘I’ve paid you enough already,’ said the old man, ‘and the money was not well spent. You blundered. And to cap it all, you have the temerity to disturb me in my own home. That’s unpardonable.’
‘We’re in this together.’
‘Our association is ended forthwith.’
‘You don’t get off the hook that easily, Sir Marcus,’ said Rogan, squaring up to him. ‘If you don’t pay me what’s due, I’ll write a note to Inspector Colbeck and tell him whose idea it was to kill Gaston Chabal and toss him off that viaduct.’
‘You wouldn’t dare!’ howled Sir Marcus.
‘What do I have to lose?’
‘You’re the man they’re after, not me. There’s a description of you in the newspapers this morning. If you were so careful, how did the police track you down to your office?’
‘Give me the money!’
‘No!’
‘If I go down, Sir Marcus, you’ll come with me.’
There was a silent battle of wills. Sir Marcus glowered at him but Rogan met his gaze with unflinching steadiness. The old man was enraged by the lack of respect he was being shown. Hitherto, Rogan had always been deferential. He was now scornful of their social differences. He would not be cowed. Sir Marcus reached a decision. When he had first employed him, Rogan had been an asset to him. He had now become a liability.
‘Who knows that you came here?’ he asked.
‘Nobody.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Quite sure, Sir Marcus.’
‘Someone must have brought you from the railway station.’
‘I walked.’
Sir Marcus was duly impressed. It was almost two miles to the house. If Rogan had walked all the way, it showed how eager he was to get there. Since the house was in an isolated position, the chances that anyone had seen him coming there were very slim. The only other person who had set eyes on the visitor was one of the servants. Fe
igning repentance, Sir Marcus nodded his head.
‘I am indebted to you,’ he conceded. ‘There’s no denying that.’
‘I need my money,’ said Rogan.
‘You’ll get it – on the understanding that you’ll go far away from here and never return. Is that agreed?’
‘You’ll never see me again, Sir Marcus.’
‘Do I have your word on that?’
‘I won’t even stay in the country.’
‘In that case,’ said the old man, ‘I’ll get what I owe you and I’ll add something more. Wait here until I get back.’
Victor Leeming arrived at the Lamb and Flag to find a tankard of beer waiting for him. Colbeck was sitting at a table. When he saw the inspector’s face, Leeming was shocked.
‘You look worse than me, sir!’ he said.
‘I feel it, Victor.’
‘What on earth happened?’
‘I had a chance meeting with Luke Rogan.’
Leeming sat down in the other chair and listened to the story. He was annoyed that he had left Colbeck alone after their meeting in John Islip Street. He felt guilty.
‘I should have made sure you caught a cab,’ he said.
‘I can look after myself.’
‘But you might have been killed, sir.’
‘A little shaken up, that’s all,’ said Colbeck. ‘What really upset me was that I tore my coat and muddied my trousers. Luckily, I keep a change of clothing in my office. I’d never have ventured in here otherwise.’ He drank some whisky. ‘What did you learn?’
‘You can cross three of the names off that list, sir.’
‘Excellent – that takes us down to single figures. Some of the other men working on the case have been busy as well. They managed to eliminate another eight suspects between them.’
‘You may be able to get rid of even more.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I think I struck gold at the first address.’
‘The one in Pimlico?’
‘Yes, Inspector,’ said Leeming before taking a long drink of beer. ‘It’s a town house owned by Sir Marcus Hetherington. He’s gone back to his estates in Essex so I wasn’t able to speak to the gentleman himself, but I talked to a servant.’
The Railway Viaduct Page 25
