The excursion train irc-2

by Edward Marston

  'I'll come to the station with you,' he promised, 'and I insist that you take the rest of those cakes. You've earned them, Madeleine.'

  'I might have one more,' she said, eyeing the selection, 'but that's all. What a day! I attend a funeral, go back to Hoxton with the widow, talk to an Irishwoman, catch a train to Ashford and have tea with you at the Saracen's Head. I think that I could enjoy being a detective.'

  'It's not all as simple as this, I'm afraid. You only have to ask Sergeant Leeming. When he went to the Seven Stars in Bethnal Green, he was beaten senseless because he was asking too many questions.'

  'Gracious! Is he all right?'

  'Victor has great powers of recovery,' Colbeck told her. 'And he's very tenacious. That's imperative in our line of work.'

  'Is he here with you in Ashford?'

  'Of course. At the moment, he's questioning one of the local constables and he'll stick at it until he's found out everything that he needs to know.'

  'Let's start with the names at the top of the list,' said Victor Leeming, showing him the petition. 'Do you know who these people are?'

  'Yes, Sergeant.'

  'Begin with Timothy Lodge.' He wrote the name in his notebook. 'Does he live in Ashford?'

  'He's the town barber. His shop is in Bank Street.'

  'What manner of man is he?'

  'Very knowledgeable,' said George Butterkiss. 'He can talk to you on any subject under the sun while he's cutting your hair or trimming your beard. What you must never do is to get him on to religion.'

  'Why not?'

  'Timothy is the organist at the Baptist church in St John's Lane. He's always trying to convert people to his faith.'

  'We can forget him, I think,' said Leeming, crossing the name off in his notebook. 'Who's the next person on the list?'

  'Horace Fillimore. A butcher.'

  'That sounds more promising.'

  'Not really, Sergeant,' contradicted Butterkiss. 'Horace must be nearly eighty now. Nathan Hawkshaw used to work for him. He took the shop over when Horace retired.'

  Another name was eliminated from the notebook as soon as Leeming had finished writing it. The two men were in an upstairs room above the tailor's shop where Butterkiss had once toiled. Having sold the shop, he had kept the living accommodation. Even in his own home, the constable wore his uniform as if to distance himself from his former existence. Pleased to be involved in the murder investigation again, he described each of the people on the list whose signatures he could decipher. One name jumped up out him.

  'Amos Lockyer!' he exclaimed.

  'Who?'

  'Right here, do you see?'

  'All I can see is a squiggle,' said Leeming, glancing at the petition. 'How on earth can you tell who wrote that?'

  'Because I used to work alongside Amos. I'd know that scrawl of his anywhere. He taught me all I know about policing. He left under a cloud but I still say that this town owed a lot to Amos Lockyer.'

  'Why was that?'

  'He was like a bloodhound. He knew how to sniff out villains.'

  'Yet he's no longer a policeman?'

  'No,' said Butterkiss with patent regret. 'It's a great shame. Amos was dismissed for being drunk on duty and being in possession of a loaded pistol. There were also rumours that he took bribes but I don't believe that for a second.'

  'Why were you surprised to see his name on the list?'

  'Because he doesn't live here any more. Amos moved away a couple of years ago. The last I heard of him, he was working on a farm the other side of Charing. But the main reason that I didn't expect to see his name here,' said Butterkiss in bewilderment, 'is that I'd expect him to side with the law. how could he call for Nathan Hawkshaw's release when the man's guilt was so obvious?'

  'Obvious to you, Constable,' said Leeming, 'but not to this friend of yours, evidently. Or to everyone else on that list.'

  'How many more names do you want to hear about?'

  'I think I have enough for the time being. You've been very helpful, especially as you've been able to give me so many addresses as well.' he closed his notebook. 'Inspector Colbeck wanted to know if you'd ever heard of a man called Angel.'

  'Angel?' Butterkiss gave a hollow laugh. 'everyone in Kent has heard of that rogue.'

  'There is such a person then?'

  'Oh, yes. As arrant a villain as ever walked. Nothing was safe when Angel was around. He'd steal for the sake of it. He made Joe Dykes look like a plaster saint.'

  'We were told that he may have been at the Lenham fair.'

  'I'm sure that he was because that's where the richest pickings are. Angel loved crowds. He was a cunning pickpocket. At a fair in Headcorn, he once stole a pair of shire horses.'

  'Someone had those in their pocket?'

  'No, no,' said Butterkiss, unaware that he was being teased. 'They were between the shafts of a wagon. When the farmer got back to the wagon, the horses had vanished. Angel had gypsy blood and gypsies always have a way with animals.'

  'Did you ever meet him?'

  'I tried to arrest him once for spending the night in the Saracen's Head without paying. The nerve of the man!'

  'What happened?'

  'It was raining hard and he needed shelter. So he climbed in, as bold as brass, found an empty room and made himself at home. Before he left, he stole some food from the kitchen for breakfast.'

  'The fellow needs locking up for good.'

  'You have to catch him first and that was more than I managed to do. Angel is as slippery as an eel. The person who can really tell you about him is Amos Lockyer.'

  'Why?'

  'Because he had a lot of tussles with him,' said Butterkiss. 'Amos managed to find him once and put him behind bars. Next morning, when he went to the cell, the door was wide open and Angel had fled. The next we heard of him, he was running riot in the Sevenoaks area.'

  'How would he have got on with Joseph Dykes?'

  'Not very well. Joe was just a good-for-nothing, who stole to get money for his beer. Angel was a real criminal, a man who turned thieving into an art. He boasted about it.'

  'Was he violent?'

  'Not as a rule.'

  'What if someone was to upset Angel?'

  'Nobody would be stupid enough to do that or they'd regret it. He was a strong man – wiry and quick on his feet.'

  'Capable of killing someone?' said Leeming.

  'Angel is capable of anything, Sergeant.'

  Winifred Hawkshaw was so concerned about her daughter that she went to call the doctor. Occupied with other patients, he promised to call later on to see the girl. The anxious mother went straight back to Middle Row and up to Emily's bedroom. To her dismay, it was empty. After searching the other rooms, she rushed downstairs where Adam Hawkshaw was starting to close up the shop for the day.

  'Where's Emily?' she asked.

  'I've no idea.'

  'She's not in her room – or anywhere else.'

  'I didn't see her go out.'

  'Have you been here all the time?'

  'Yes,' he said. 'Except when I went to buy some tobacco.'

  'Emily's run away,' decided her mother.

  'That's silly – where could she go?'

  'I don't know, Adam, but she's not here, is she? Emily hasn't been out of the house for weeks but, as soon as my back is turned, she's off. Lock up quickly,' she ordered. 'We've got to go after her.'

  'She'll come back in her own good time,' he argued.

  'Not when she's in that state. I've never known her have a fit like that. There's something very wrong with Emily. Now, hurry up,' she urged. 'We must find her!'

  Surrounded by a graveyard in which leafy trees threw long shadows across the headstones, St Mary's Church had stood for four centuries. It was at once imposing and accessible, a fine piece of architecture that never forgot its main function of serving the parish. Emily Hawkshaw attended the church every Sunday with her family and they had always sat in the same pew halfway down the nave. This time, she ignored
her usual seat and walked down the aisle to the altar rail before kneeling in front of it. Hands clasped together, she closed her eyes tight and prayed for forgiveness, her mind in turmoil, her body shaking and perspiration breaking out on her brow. She was in a positive fever of contrition.

  Madeleine Andrews had travelled from London to Ashford in a second-class compartment but Colbeck was so happy to see her, and so grateful for the information she brought, that he insisted on buying her a first-class ticket for the return journey. He removed his hat to give her a kiss on the hand then waved her off, standing wistfully on the platform until the train had rounded a bend and disappeared from sight. Deeply moved by her visit, Colbeck felt that it had been more than a pleasant interlude. What she had learnt in hoxton might well serve to confirm his theory about how a man who courted anonymity had been traced to his home. Madeleine's attendance at a funeral had been opportune.

  Deciding to call on Emily Hawkshaw again, Colbeck left the station and made for Church Street. He had already resolved to say nothing to his Sergeant about the unheralded visitor. Victor Leeming was too old-fashioned and conventional to believe that a woman could be directly involved in the investigative process. It was better to keep him – and, more importantly, Superintendent Tallis – ignorant of Madeleine's part in the case. The Metropolitan Police was an exclusively male preserve. Robert Colbeck was one of the very few men who even dallied with the notion of employing female assistants.

  As he approached St Mary's Church, his mind was still playing with fond memories of taking tea with Madeleine at the Saracen's Head. A loud scream jerked him out of his reverie. Ahead of him, pointing upwards with horror, was a middle-aged woman. The handful of people walking past the church immediately stopped and followed the direction of her finger. Colbeck saw the slim figure at once. Holding one of the pinnacles on top of the tower was a young woman in a black dress, trying to haul herself on to the parapet. It was Emily Hawkshaw.

  Recognising her at once, Colbeck broke into a run and dashed into the church, shedding his hat and frock coat as he did so and diving through the door to the tower. He went up the steps as fast as he could, going up past the huge iron bells and feeling a first rush of air as he neared the open door at the top. When he emerged into daylight, he saw that Emily was poised between life and death, clinging to the pinnacle while standing precariously on the parapet. Intent on flinging herself off, the girl seemed to be having second thoughts.

  Colbeck inched slowly towards her so that he would be in her field of vision. In order not to alarm her, he kept his voice calm and low.

  'Stay there, Emily,' he said, 'I'll help you down.'

  'No!' she cried. 'Stay back.'

  'I know that you must hate yourself even to think of doing this but you must remember those who love you. Do you really want to hurt your family and your friends?'

  'I don't deserve to be loved.'

  'Come down from there and tell me why,' he suggested, moving closer. 'Killing yourself will solve nothing.'

  'Keep away from me – or I'll jump.'

  'No, Emily. If you really meant to do it, you'd have gone by now. But you knew that there would be consequences, didn't you? Others would suffer terribly, especially your mother. Don't you think she's been through enough already?'

  'I've been through it as well,' sobbed the girl.

  'Then share your suffering with her. Help each other, Emily.'

  'I can't.'

  'You must,' he said, gently. 'It's the only way.'

  'God will never forgive me.'

  'You won't find forgiveness by jumping off here. To take your own life is anathema. To do it on consecrated ground makes it even worse. This is a church, Emily. You understand what that means, don't you?'

  She began to tremble. 'I just can't go on.'

  'Yes, you can. It won't always be like this. Time heals even the deepest wounds. You have a long life ahead of you. Why destroy it in a moment of despair? You're loved, Emily,' he said, taking a small step towards her. 'You're loved and needed.'

  The girl fell silent as she considered what he had said and Colbeck took it as a good sign. But she was still balanced perilously on the edge of the parapet. One false move on his part and she might jump. From down below, he could hear sounds of a crowd gathering to watch. Emily Hawkshaw had an audience.

  'You know that this is wrong,' he told her, moving slightly closer. 'You were christened in this church and brought up in a God-fearing household. You know that it mustn't end this way. It will leave a stain on the whole family.'

  'I don't care about that.'

  'What do you care about? Tell me. I'm here to listen.'

  'You wouldn't understand,' she said, trembling even more.

  'Then come down and talk to someone who would understand.' He ventured another step. 'Please, Emily. For everyone's sake – come down.'

  The girl began to weep and cling more desperately to the pinnacle. It was as if she finally realised the implications of what she had intended to do. Suddenly, she lost her nerve and began to panic. Emily tried to turn back but her foot slipped and she lost her hold on the pinnacle. There was a gasp of horror from below as she teetered on the very brink of the parapet, then Colbeck darted forward to grab her and snatched her back to safety.

  Emily Hawkshaw fainted in his arms.

  After another tiring day in the boiler shop, Gregory Newman was eager to get home to Turton Street. As he came out of the railway works, however, he found Adam Hawkshaw waiting to speak to him.

  'Good evening, Adam,' he said, cheerily.

  'Can you come to the shop?' asked the other. 'Mother wants to talk to you as soon as possible.'

  'Why – what's happened?'

  'Emily tried to commit suicide.'

  'Dear God!'

  'She was going to throw herself off the church tower.'

  'What on earth made her do that?'

  'We don't know, Gregory.'

  'Where is Emily now?'

  'She's in bed. The doctor gave her something to make her sleep.'

  'Did she change her mind at the last moment?'

  'No,' said Hawkshaw with a tinge of resentment. 'That Inspector Colbeck went up the tower and brought her down again. We saw him catch her as she was about to fall. It's a miracle she's alive.'

  'This is terrible news!' exclaimed Newman.

  'Then you'll come?'

  'Of course. Let me go home first to take care of my wife then I'll come straight away. How has Win taken it?'

  'She's very upset.'

  'Emily – of all people! You'd never have thought she'd do anything as desperate as this. Whatever could have provoked her?'

  'She took fright when Inspector Colbeck wanted to question her.'

  'And did he?'

  'No, Emily ran away before he came back. She sneaked out when we weren't looking. We were searching for her when we heard this noise from the churchyard. We got there in time to see it all.'

  Newman started walking. 'Tell Win I'll be there directly.'

  'Thanks,' said Hawkshaw, falling in beside him.

  'Did Emily really mean to go through with it?'

  'She didn't say. When she was brought down from the tower, she was in a dead faint. She came out of it later but she refused to tell us anything. Emily just lay on the bed and cried.'

  'The doctor was right to give her a sedative.'

  'I'm worried, Gregory,' said Hawkshaw, showing a rare touch of sympathy for his stepsister.

  'So am I.'

  'What if Emily tries to do that again?'

  The suicide attempt was also being discussed over a drink at the Saracen's Head. Victor Leeming was astonished by what he heard.

  'Why did she do it, Inspector?' he asked.

  'I'm hoping that that will emerge in time.'

  'A young girl, throwing her life away like that – it's unthinkable.'

  'Emily had come to the end of her tether.'

  'She must have been in despair even to consider suicide
. I mean, it's the last resort. You're only driven to that when there seems to be absolutely no future for you.' He gave a shrug. 'Was she so attached to her stepfather that she couldn't live without him?'

  'I don't know,' said Colbeck. 'What is clear, however, is that Emily Hawkshaw is consumed with guilt over something. She's nursing a secret that she's not even able to divulge to her mother.'

  'Is there any chance she'll confide in you, sir?'

  'I doubt it.'

  'But you saved her life.'

  'She may resent me for that. I brought her back to the very things she was running away from. We'll have to wait and see, Victor. However,' he went on, as Leeming drank some beer, 'tell me what you discovered. Did you find Constable Butterkiss at all helpful?'

  'Very helpful.'

  Putting his glass aside and referring to his notebook, Leeming described the people on the petition whom he considered to be potential suspects. Of the ten names that he had written down, six had acquired a tick from the Sergeant. All of the men lived in or near Ashford and had a close connection with Nathan Hawkshaw.

  'Did you ask him about Angel?' said Colbeck.

  'I did, Inspector, and there certainly is such a man.'

  'Would he have been at that fair in Lenham?'

  'Definitely.'

  Leeming passed on the details given to him by George Butterkiss and argued that Angel had to be looked at as a potential suspect for the murder of Joseph Dykes. The man whose name had first been voiced by Gregory Newman had a long record of criminality. He had been in the right place at the right time to attack Dykes.

  'But we come back to the old problem,' said Leeming. 'How could Angel have persuaded Dykes to go to such a quiet part of the wood?'

  'He couldn't, Victor – and neither could Nathan Hawkshaw.'

  'So how did the victim get there?'

  'I can think of only one possible way.'

  'What's that, Inspector?'

  'Dykes had been drinking heavily,' said Colbeck, 'and probably looked to spend most of the day at the Red Lion. What was the one thing that could get him out of that pub?'