The Iron Horse irc-4

by Edward Marston

‘Forget about Inspector Colbeck,’ he said expansively. ‘He’s no threat to you. As it happens, I met the fellow myself only yesterday when I was chatting to Hamilton at the racecourse. He didn’t impress me, Kitty. He’s like all policeman – plodding and slow-witted. If neither Hamilton nor Lord Hendry surrenders your name, Colbeck would never be able to identify you.’

  ‘Yet he knows I befriended both of them.’

  ‘That’s all he knows and all he will know. What purpose can be served by questioning you?’ he asked with a grin. ‘Unless he wants you to discuss their respective merits in the boudoir, that is.’

  ‘Don’t be unseemly, Marcus.’

  ‘I’m only trying to look at the situation through your eyes. If you were able to help the police solve this horrendous murder, then I’d take you to Scotland Yard myself. But that’s not the position you’re in. As far as I know, you can’t shed any light on the crime.’

  ‘None at all,’ she said plaintively. ‘What I want to avoid at all costs is facing Inspector Colbeck and enduring his disapproval at the way I choose to live.’

  Johnson guffawed. ‘If he disapproved of you,’ he said, ‘then he’d hold up his hands in horror at the kind of existence I lead. It may be sinful to say this on the Sabbath but I believe moral standards are nothing but silly impediments to happiness.’

  ‘There’s nothing useful I can tell the police.’

  ‘Then steer clear of them.’

  ‘What about Hamilton?’ she said, still worrying. ‘Unless I go to Scotland Yard, they may harass him again.’

  ‘He can run rings around a man like Inspector Colbeck.’

  ‘What if the inspector sees the two of us together at the Derby?’

  ‘Make sure that he doesn’t, Kitty. Exercise discretion – you’re an expert at that. My feeling is this,’ he went on, rising to his feet. ‘The only time we should get involved with the police is when we are in danger. Otherwise, the less the Inspector Colbecks of this world know about us, the better.’ He flashed her a smile. ‘Have I answered your question, Kitty?’

  ‘Yes, Marcus,’ she said. ‘You’ve put my mind at rest.’

  ‘Then I’d like you to do the same for me.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I want you to tell me why you behaved so oddly when I arrived,’ he said. ‘Why you only offered one cheek for me to kiss and why you sat just as far away from me as you could. I’d also like to know why you’re wearing so much powder on your face today. What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing – nothing at all.’

  ‘I don’t believe you, Kitty.’

  ‘I’m fine, I tell you.’

  ‘That’s not the feeling I get,’ he said, crossing over to her and pushing back the hair from one temple to reveal a bruise that was only half-hidden by cosmetics. He was shocked. ‘Who did this to you?’

  ‘Nobody – I slipped and fell.’

  ‘You’re far too sure-footed for that.’

  ‘It was a stupid accident,’ she said with a shrill laugh.

  ‘You’re lying to me, Kitty. I think somebody hit you.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Was it Hamilton?’ he asked, letting the hair fall back over the bruise. ‘If he’s been knocking you about, he’ll suffer for it. Tell me the truth – was it him?’

  ‘No, Marcus.’

  ‘Do you swear that?’

  ‘Yes – Hamilton is considerate. He’d never lay a finger on me.’

  ‘Then who was responsible?’

  ‘It was my own fault, I tell you.’

  ‘But I don’t believe you,’ he said, trying to contain his anger. ‘Somebody else gave you that bruise or you wouldn’t be so eager to disguise it from me. Who was it, Kitty? I insist on being told.’

  There was no chance of deceiving him. Marcus Johnson was too sharp-eyed and too familiar with his half-sister’s manner to be fooled. All his protective instincts had been aroused. Kitty was touched but she was still reluctant to tell him the truth. When she remembered what had happened, she was filled with shame and discomfort. She could feel the stinging blow from the cane all over again.

  ‘Tell me his name, Kitty,’ he demanded. ‘This is one time when I might actually be able to be useful to you. Who is he?’

  She swallowed hard. ‘Lord Hendry,’ she said.

  Sunday was no day of rest for Edward Tallis. A deeply religious man, he first attended a service of Holy Communion at his parish church. It left him both spiritually replenished and reinvigorated to continue the unending fight against crime. He adjourned to Scotland Yard. Most of the day was spent reviewing the security arrangements for Derby Week. In the evening, by prior arrangement, he had a meeting in his office with Robert Colbeck and Victor Leeming. The superintendent was used to seeing Colbeck look immaculate but the sight of Leeming in his best suit was something of a novelty. For once in his life, the sergeant had achieved a miraculous smartness.

  Predictably, the meeting began with a rebuke for Colbeck.

  ‘You made a bad mistake, Inspector,’ he said, using a paper knife to wag at Colbeck. ‘You should have arrested Hamilton Fido.’

  ‘On what charge, sir?’

  ‘Keeping a paid informer in the Detective Department.’

  ‘I explained that,’ Colbeck reminded him. ‘I lacked sufficient evidence to convict him. He argues that Cheggin provided information voluntarily as a means of settling his gambling debts.’

  ‘Gambling is a disease,’ said Tallis, gaze shifting to Leeming, ‘and we see what havoc it can wreak in the life of a man like Constable Cheggin. Next time you have the urge to bet on the Derby, Sergeant, call that to mind or you’ll end up in the same cell as him.’

  ‘Hardly, sir,’ said Leeming, aggrieved. ‘I only have a bet once in a blue moon and always with small amounts of money. There’s no danger of me going the same way as Peter.’

  ‘Once the disease gets hold of you, there’s no cure.’

  ‘Victor knows that full well,’ said Colbeck, heading off another homily from Tallis, ‘and is too aware of his family responsibilities to get infected. His study of the Derby field has not only been for the purposes of selecting a winner, sir. At my suggestion, he’s been doing something else as well.’

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Tallis.

  ‘Trying to sift out possible suspects. Consider the situation that we have before us. Three horses stand out from the rest. Each of their owners has – to put it mildly – experienced difficulties of late. Each one has accused his two rivals of the various crimes committed.’

  ‘What we have to ask,’ Leeming interjected, ‘is cui bono.’

  Tallis’s mouth dropped open in wonderment. The sergeant had many sterling virtues but knowledge of Latin was not one of them. His strengths lay in his tenacity and courage.

  ‘Who stands to gain?’ Leeming continued. ‘That’s what it means – or so the inspector tells me, anyway. If all three fancied horses were put out of the race, who would be the likely winner?’

  ‘Don’t ask me, man!’ scolded Tallis.

  ‘According to the odds, sir, Aleppo, Gladiator and Royal Realm would come to the fore. Someone connected with one of those horses could be behind all the upset.’

  ‘A vicious murder is rather more than an upset, Leeming, but I take your point. The owners of those three horses must be kept under suspicion. Indeed,’ said Tallis, ‘it seems to me that anyone involved in the Derby must be watched carefully. I did a little research into the event and it confirmed my long-held belief that horseracing is a sordid business.’

  ‘It has its darker side, sir,’ conceded Colbeck.

  ‘Ten years ago, in 1844, the winner of the Derby was a four-year-old called Maccabeus, masquerading under the name of Running Rein. It was a year older than any other animal in the race.’

  ‘The fraud was eventually exposed, Superintendent, and it left a stain on the event that will be difficult to eradicate. I think we face an even more blatant example of villainy and intrigue this year.
For the sake of the Derby, we must catch the people behind these crimes.’

  ‘For the sake of our reputation, you mean,’ corrected Tallis.

  ‘That goes without saying, sir.’

  ‘So what have you learnt since we last met?’

  ‘I made some more enquiries about John Feeny,’ said Colbeck, ‘and discovered new facts that altered my view of him slightly.’

  Without mentioning that he had been there with Madeleine Andrews, he talked about his visit to church that morning and related what Bonny Rimmer had disclosed. Feeny was no longer the hapless victim they had assumed him to be. The person who got closest to him described an ambitious, dedicated, brave young man given to fits of temper and unwilling to take criticism.

  ‘Brian Dowd told me that he and Feeny were on good terms when the lad left his stables,’ said Colbeck, ‘but that’s not true. They had a violent row, it seems, and Feeny stormed out. He stowed away on a boat sailing for Anglesey.’

  ‘As if we didn’t have enough Irish over here!’ sighed Tallis.

  ‘I think the man we’re looking for is the one who claimed to be seeking information about Limerick Lad. Once he’d lured Feeny away from the stables, he killed and beheaded him. The same man probably tried to cripple Odysseus and he may even have sent that anonymous letter to Tim Maguire. One way and another,’ said Colbeck, ‘he’s determined to stop the fancied horses from winning.’

  ‘Who’s paying him, Inspector?’ asked Leeming.

  Tallis had the answer. ‘I’m certain it was Hamilton Fido,’ he said, slapping the paper knife down on the desk. ‘You should have arrested him when you had the chance, Inspector, instead of letting him stay free to cause more trouble.’

  ‘We could never prove that he instructed Peter Cheggin to act as his spy,’ said Colbeck. ‘Our case would be laughed out of court.’

  ‘Then arrest him for refusing to name the young lady with whom he spent the night at the Wyvern Hotel. In remaining silent,’ said the superintendent, ‘Fido is denying us the opportunity to collect evidence that might be of critical importance in a murder investigation.’

  ‘You wish me to arrest him now, sir?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘Then I’ll also have to take Lord Hendry into custody on the identical charge,’ said Colbeck, ‘for he has also declined to cooperate with the police. What good that will do, I fail to see, but it would have one immediate effect.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘To frighten away the young lady we’re anxious to speak to, sir. She’ll disappear completely and we’ll be left to fight a ferocious battle against the respective lawyers of Lord Hendry and Hamilton Fido.’

  ‘I agree with the inspector,’ said Leeming.

  ‘Was your opinion sought?’ asked Tallis nastily.

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Then keep it to yourself.’

  ‘We could be sued for wrongful arrest,’ warned Colbeck. ‘Lord Hendry is a man of considerable influence and Fido exerts power of another kind. Both are staking an enormous amount on this year’s Derby. If they’re languishing in a police cell while the race is being run, there’ll be serious repercussions.’

  Before he could signal his agreement, Leeming was quelled with a glance from the superintendent. Tallis was forced to rethink his tactics. He was under severe pressure from the commissioner and from the press to solve the murder of John Feeny and he wanted to be seen to be taking positive steps. At the same time, he did not wish to end up in a legal wrangle that would simply hamper the inquiry. With reluctance, he accepted what Colbeck had just told him.

  ‘What would you advise, Inspector?’ he said.

  ‘Let them stay free,’ urged Colbeck. ‘We’ll find out the young lady’s name without their help. What we need to do is to keep an eye on all three owners, Lord Hendry, Fido and Brian Dowd. It’s only a matter of time before one of their horses is in danger again.’

  Sidney had worked at the stables for years. The little terrier acted as a guard dog, kept the place free of vermin and made a nuisance of himself whenever the yard was full of horses. The rest of the time, he liked to curl up in the straw in one of the stalls and sleep. That was exactly where the groom found the dog when he brought Merry Legs back from her morning gallop. As he led the animal into the stall, he gave Sidney a friendly kick to get rid of him but there was no response. A harder kick made the dog roll over limply.

  The groom was alarmed. Sidney was clearly dead. In the corner of the stall was a pail of water from which the dog might well have drunk. Realising that, the groom flew into a panic. He led the filly quickly back into the yard and called to the trainer.

  ‘Mr Stenton!’ he yelled at the top of his voice. ‘Come quickly, sir. I think someone tried to poison Merry Legs.’

  CHAPTER TEN

  When the detectives eventually reached the stables, Alfred Stenton was still shuttling between blind rage and deep sadness. Robert Colbeck introduced his sergeant but the trainer was too preoccupied even to shake hands with Victor Leeming. The death of his dog had shaken him badly and left him lusting for vengeance.

  ‘They poisoned Sidney,’ said Stenton, grief-stricken. ‘I’ve had him for years. He’s been our mascot here at the stables.’

  ‘What exactly happened?’ asked Colbeck. ‘All that the message told us was that an attempt had been made to kill Merry Legs.’

  ‘A failed attempt,’ added Leeming.

  ‘We’d appreciate more details, Mr Stenton.’

  The trainer nodded. It was Hamilton Fido who had reported the crime and the detectives had set out immediately for the stables. Only two days after he had tried to arrest the bookmaker, Colbeck had now been summoned to help him. Breaking the law when it suited him, Fido was obviously not slow to call in those who enforced it when he felt the need to do so. Stenton escorted his visitors to the stall where his dog had perished and indicated the pail of water.

  ‘Sidney must have drunk from that,’ he said. ‘He shouldn’t even have been in here but somebody left the door open and in he came. One of the grooms found him dead in the straw.’

  Colbeck bent beside the pail. ‘I take it that this stall was occupied by Merry Legs?’

  ‘Until this morning – I’ve had her moved.’

  ‘I’m glad you didn’t throw the water away, Mr Stenton. We’ll take a sample with us so that it can be analysed.’ He stood up. ‘I’ll leave that to you, Victor.’

  ‘Yes, Inspector,’ said Leeming, producing a small bottle from his pocket and dipping it in the water. ‘I’m sorry about your dog, sir, but at least it wasn’t Merry Legs.’

  ‘I’ll kill the man who did this!’ vowed Stenton.

  ‘He’ll have to face proper judicial process,’ said Colbeck. ‘First of all, of course, we have to catch him. He’s clearly someone familiar with your stables or he wouldn’t have known in which stall to poison the water. And he’s obviously aware of your daily routine. He struck when the yard was virtually deserted.’

  ‘There were a couple of lads about.’

  ‘Did they see anything unusual?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Stenton. ‘My first thought was that one of them had been responsible and I put the fear of death into them. I’m sure they were both innocent. They were as upset about Sidney as me.’

  ‘What did you do next, sir?’

  ‘I sent word to Mr Fido then I spoke to every single person here, one by one. We’ve already had one spy at the stables and I wanted to make certain that we didn’t have another. I really interrogated them, Inspector.’

  ‘I can well imagine.’

  ‘So I know that none of them was involved.’

  ‘What about John Feeny?’ asked Leeming, slipping the bottle and its contents into his pocket. ‘Perhaps he was linked to this in some way. We know that a man arranged a secret meeting with him. He could have got details about the running of the stables out of the lad before he killed him.’

  Stenton frowned. ‘What’s this about a secret
meeting?’

  ‘It’s something I discovered from the barmaid at the Shepherd and Shepherdess,’ explained Colbeck. ‘She and Feeny were close friends, it seems. He told her about a man who demanded information about Limerick Lad. Feeny had to comply. The man threatened to reveal that he had once worked for Brian Dowd and get him sacked.’

  ‘Sacked!’ exclaimed the trainer. ‘Torn limb from limb, you mean!’

  ‘Don’t speak ill of the dead, sir.’

  ‘Feeny got what he deserved.’

  ‘I’m sorry that you can mourn a dog and find no sympathy for a human being who was brutally murdered,’ said Colbeck, shooting him an admonitory look. ‘The sergeant makes a valid point, however. Before he was killed, John Feeny might well have had everything he knew about your stables wrung out of him. Though, from what I’ve heard about Feeny, he would never have given that information freely.’

  ‘All I’m worried about now is Merry Legs,’ said Stenton.

  ‘Understandably.’

  ‘I’m having her watched night and day and I’m supervising her food and water myself.’

  ‘A sensible precaution,’ said Colbeck. ‘What troubles me are the lengths to which someone is prepared to go. Why use poison when something less lethal could have been put in that water? Why try to kill Merry Legs when you could keep her out of the race simply by giving her some kind of abdominal disorder?’

  ‘That’s what I was thinking, Inspector,’ said Leeming. ‘Whoever he is, this man does not believe in half-measures.’

  ‘Arrest the person who set him on to do this,’ urged Stenton.

  ‘We would if we knew who he was, sir.’

  ‘Brian Dowd is behind this. Find him before I do.’

  ‘Do you have any proof that Mr Dowd is implicated?’ said Colbeck calmly. ‘If so, we’d be very glad to see it.’

  ‘It has to be him, Inspector.’

  ‘I’d doubt that, sir. Victor and I have both met the gentleman and one thing was clear to both of us. Mr Dowd loves racehorses. I can’t believe that he would deliberately harm one of them, whatever his feelings about its owner.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Leeming. ‘I saw Mr Dowd at his stables. He lives and breathes racehorses. Why should he pay someone to attack Merry Legs when he’s so convinced that Limerick Lad can beat her easily in the Derby?’