The railway viaduct irc-3

by Edward Marston

  Superintendent Edward Tallis did not give him a warm welcome.

  'Is that you, Leeming?' he said with blunt disapproval.

  'Yes, sir.'

  'You should be in bed, man.'

  'I feel much better now,' insisted Leeming.

  'Well, you don't look it. Appearance is everything in our profession,' said Tallis, adjusting his frock coat. 'It conveys a sense of confidence and is a mark of self-respect. It's one of the first things that one learns in the army.'

  'But we're not in the army, Superintendent.'

  'Of course, we are. We're part of an elite battalion that is fighting a war against crime. Uniforms must be kept spotless at all times. Hair must not be unkempt. Slovenliness is a deadly sin.'

  'I don't believe that I am slovenly, sir.'

  'No, you're far worse than that. Look at you, man – you're patently disabled. The public should be impressed and reassured by the sight of a policeman. If they see you in that state, they are more likely to take pity.'

  They had met in the corridor outside the superintendent's office. Leeming had long ago discovered the futility of reminding his superior that his men were no longer in police uniform. In the considered judgement of Edward Tallis, members of the Detective Department wore a form of uniform and those who departed from it – Colbeck was the most notable offender – had to be cowed back into line. Tallis himself looked particularly spruce. It was almost as if he were on parade. In one hand, he carried his top hat. In the other, was a large, shiny, leather bag that was packed to capacity. He ran his eye over the wounded man and spoke without a trace of sympathy.

  'Are you still in pain?' he said.

  'Now and again, sir.'

  'Then why did you drag your aching body here?'

  'I wanted to know what was going on.'

  'The same thing that goes on every day, Leeming. We are doing our best to police the capital and apprehend any malefactors.'

  'I was thinking about Inspector Colbeck,' said Leeming.

  'That makes two of us.'

  'Have you heard from him, Superintendent?'

  'No,' replied Tallis. 'There's a popular misconception that silence is golden. When it comes to police work, more often than not, it betokens inactivity.'

  Leeming was roused. 'That's something you could never accuse the inspector of, sir,' he said, defensively. 'Nobody in this department is more active than him.'

  'I agree. My complaint is that his activity is not always fruitful.'

  'That's unfair.'

  'I need evidence. I require signs of life. I want progress.'

  'Inspector Colbeck will solve this crime in the end, sir,' said Leeming, putting a hand to his ribs as he felt a twinge of agony. 'He's very thorough. Nothing escapes him.'

  'Something did,' observed Tallis. 'He obviously didn't notice that trying to pass you off as a navvy was the same as opening the door of a lion cage and inviting you to go in.'

  'It was not like that at all, Superintendent.'

  'Then why are you hobbling around like that with a face that would frighten the horses and give small children bad dreams?'

  'What happened to me was all my own fault,' asserted Leeming.

  'The duty of a senior officer is to safeguard his men.'

  'I was given the chance to refuse to do what I did, sir, but I knew how important the task was. That's why I undertook it. I was warned of the dangers beforehand. I accepted the risk.'

  'That's in your favour,' conceded Tallis, magnanimously, 'and so is the fact that you have not voiced any grievances since you returned from France.'

  'My only grievance is that I'm not able to return to work.'

  'That, too, is creditable.'

  'I feel that I should be at Inspector Colbeck's side. We work so well together even if I do have to go everywhere by train. Railways upset me. Though, if you want to know the honest truth, sir,' he went on, lugubriously, 'the boat was far worse. I never want to cross the Channel again.'

  'It's an experience that I am about to undergo.'

  'You, sir?' Leeming was astonished.

  'Yes,' said Tallis, clapping his hat on. 'I'm tired of sitting behind my desk and waiting for something to happen. And I'm fed up with being hounded from all sides by people demanding arrests. As I've had no word from Inspector Colbeck since he left, I've decided to go to France to see for myself what – if anything – he is actually doing there.' He marched past Leeming and tossed a tart remark over his shoulder. 'It had better be something worthwhile, that's all I can say!'

  'Why did you give up being a barrister?' asked Aubrey Filton.

  'I discovered that it was not what I wanted to do.'

  'But you seem to have all the attributes, Inspector. You've a quick brain, a fine voice and a commanding presence. I could imagine that you would excel in court.'

  'To some degree, I did,' said Colbeck, modestly, 'but there was an artificiality about the whole process that worried me. I felt that I were acting in a play at times and I was not always happy with the lines that were assigned to me.'

  'All the same, joining the police was a huge step to take. You were giving up what must have been a very comfortable life for a profession that, by its very nature, is full of danger.'

  'Comforts of the body do not bring comforts of the mind.'

  'I do not follow,' said Filton.

  'Something happened that showed me the limitations of working in a court,' explained Colbeck, calling up a painful memory. 'It involved a young lady who was very close to me and who, alas, died a violent death. I was unable to save her. What that misfortune taught me was that prevention is always better than the cure. Stopping a crime from being committed is infinitely preferable to convicting the culprit once the damage is done. A barrister can win plaudits by sending a killer to the gallows but he's not able to raise a murder victim from the dead.'

  'That's true.'

  'As a detective,' said Colbeck, 'I've been fortunate enough to prevent murders from taking place. It's given me far more satisfaction than I ever had in court. It's also given me a peace of mind that I never enjoyed before.'

  Filton was perplexed. 'Peace of mind from a job that pits you against murderous thugs?' he said. 'That's a paradox, surely.'

  'You may well be right, Mr Filton.'

  It was the first time that Colbeck had spent any length of time alone with the engineer and he was learning a great deal about the man. Away from the site, Filton managed to lose the harassed look in his eyes and the faint note of hysteria in his voice. He emerged as a polite, well-educated, assiduous man with an unshakable belief in the potential of railways to change the world for the better. The two men had taken a trap and driven to a tavern in the nearest village. Over a meal, they were able to talk at leisure.

  'This place is quiet in the middle of the day,' said Filton. 'I'd hate to be here at night when the navvies come pouring in. It must be like Bedlam.'

  'They don't seem to have done too much damage,' noted Colbeck, glancing around. 'And I daresay the landlord's profits have shot up since the railway came. He'll be sorry to see you all go when you move on further down the line.'

  'If and when that ever happens.'

  'It will, Mr Filton. I give you my word.'

  'I'd prefer a little of that peace of mind you were talking about.'

  'Mr Brassey seems to have his share of that.'

  'Yes,' said Filton. 'I admire him for it. Whatever the problems, he never gets unduly alarmed. He's so phlegmatic. I wish that I could be like that. My wife says that I used to be until I started working in France.'

  'I didn't know that you were married.'

  'I've a wife and three children back in Southampton.'

  'That might explain why you lack Mr Brassey's sang-froid,' said Colbeck. 'You miss your family. Mr Brassey brings his with him but yours is still in England.'

  'I write to my wife as often as I can.'

  'It's not the same, Mr Filton.'

  'Are you married, Inspector?' />
  'Not yet, sir.'

  'I can recommend the institution.'

  'I'll bear that in mind.'

  Colbeck drank some more of his wine. For a fleeting moment, he thought about Madeleine Andrews and recalled that it was she who had obtained crucial information from the woman who had called herself Hannah Critchlow. He was delighted that she had been able to help him in that way. As an engineer, Aubrey Filton could expect no assistance at all from his wife. His work separated them. Colbeck's profession actually brought him closer to Madeleine. It was something he considered to be a blessing.

  'This is good food,' said Colbeck, 'and the wine is more than passable. Working in France obviously has its compensations.'

  'In my opinion,' said Filton, 'they are outweighed by the many disadvantages. Whenever I'm in this country, I'm always afraid that the ground will suddenly shift from beneath our feet.'

  'You only had to survive one revolution.'

  'It was followed by a coup d' etat last year, Inspector. After the revolution, Louis Napoleon came to power by democratic means. It was not enough for him. He wanted to be Master of France. So he dissolved the Chamber and seized complete control.'

  'I remember it well, Mr Filton. The wonder is not that he did it but that he achieved it with so little resistance.'

  'The name of Napoleon has immense resonance here,' said Filton, wryly. 'It stands for discipline, power and international renown. That speaks to every Frenchman.'

  'One can see why.'

  'Yes, but it has not made our work here any easier. When there are upheavals in Paris, the effects spill over on to us.'

  'Your immediate problems are not French in origin,' Colbeck reminded him. 'They are essentially British. Or, if I may be pedantic, they are Anglo-Irish.'

  'And how long do you think they will continue?'

  'Not very long, Mr Filton. We are nearing the end.'

  'How do you know?'

  'Because I planted Brendan Mulryne in their midst.'

  'You did the same with Sergeant Leeming.'

  'That was different,' argued Colbeck. 'Victor was only there to watch and listen. He would never be taken fully into anyone's confidence. Also, he's far too law-abiding at heart.'

  'Law-abiding?'

  'He would never commit a crime, Mr Filton.'

  'What relevance does that have?'

  'Every relevance,' explained Colbeck. 'Brendan is not held back by the same scruples. To become one of them, he'll do what they do without batting an eyelid. We've already seen evidence of that.'

  'Have we?'

  'Think of those wagons that were overturned. Unless I'm mistaken, Brendan was involved there.'

  Filton was outraged. 'Do you mean that he helped the villains?'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'That's disgraceful, Inspector. Policemen are supposed to uphold the law not flout it like that.'

  'Brendan is a rather unusual policeman,' said Colbeck with an appeasing smile, 'as you'll soon see. Before they would trust him, they put him to the test. Judging from the way that those wagons were toppled, I think that he passed that test.'

  'So he'll be in a position to destroy even more of our property,' protested Filton. 'I thought he was supposed to be on our side. All that you've done is to import another troublemaker. How many more delays is he going to inflict on us?'

  'None, I suspect. Brendan is one of them now.'

  'Bracing himself for another attack, I daresay.'

  'No, Mr Filton,' said Colbeck, nonchalantly. 'Waiting for the moment when he can hand the villains over to us on a plate.'

  Luke Rogan festered with impatience. Having reached Mantes and spent the night there, he had to wait a whole day before he could speak to the man he had come to see. Until the navvies came off work that evening, Rogan had to cool his heels in a country he despised. Back in England, he could be earning money by working for other clients. Instead, he was compelled to waste valuable time abroad. Sir Marcus Hetherington, however, could not be disobeyed.

  Sending a message had been his first priority. After riding to the site on a hired horse, he tethered the animal to a tree and used a telescope to scan the scene. Hundreds of navvies were at work in the blistering sun and it took him a long time to locate the man he was after. Pierce Shannon was part of the team that was raising a high embankment. A boy was taking a bucket of water from man to man so that they could slake their thirst. Rogan kept a close eye on the boy. When he saw the lad run off to draw more water, he realised that there had to be a spring nearby. It did not take him long to skirt the railway and find the spring.

  When the boy came back once more, Rogan was waiting for him to make an offer. In return for the promise of money, the boy was very willing to deliver the message. After filling his bucket, he scampered off. Rogan had no worries that his note would be read by anyone else because most of the navvies were illiterate. In any case, the terse message would have been incomprehensible to anyone but its intended recipient. He lurked near the spring until the boy eventually came for some more water.

  'I gave it to him, sir,' he said.

  'What was his reply?'

  'He'll be there.'

  'Good lad.'

  After handing over the money, Rogan made his way back to his horse and rode away. When evening came, he was punctual. It seemed an age before Shannon actually turned up at the appointed place. Rogan had been waiting near the derelict farmhouse for an hour.

  'Sorry to keep you, sir,' said Shannon, tipping his hat.

  'Where've you been?'

  'I needed a drink or two first.'

  'I told you to come just as soon as you could,' said the other, reproachfully. 'Have you forgotten who's paying you?'

  'No, sir.'

  'Do you want to stay working in this hell-hole forever?'

  'That I don't,' said Shannon. 'When you give us the rest of the money, I'll be able to turn my back on this kind of work for good. I'm minded to have a little farm back home in Ireland, you see.' He looked around at the crumbling walls. 'A house about this size would suit me down to the ground.'

  'You won't get another penny until the job is done.'

  'Oh, it will be, sir. I swear it.'

  'Then why has there been no news of any disruption?'

  'News?'

  'It should have reached the English newspapers by now,' said Rogan, tetchily. 'Yet there hasn't been a single word about it.'

  'You can't blame us for that, sir.'

  'I can if you're trying to pull the wool over my eyes. Be warned, Shannon. Cross me and you'll be in deep trouble.'

  The Irishman stiffened. 'Don't threaten me, sir.'

  'Then do as you were told.'

  'We have done,' said Shannon with wild-eyed indignation.

  'We've done every fucking thing you suggested and much more. Just because it wasn't in your bleeding newspapers, it doesn't mean that it never happened. The person to blame is Tom Brassey.'

  'Why?'

  'Because he won't report anything to the French police.'

  'Maybe that's because there's nothing to report.'

  'Are you calling me a liar?' demanded Shannon, raising a fist.

  'Give me a reason not to,' said Rogan, pulling out his gun and pointing it at him. 'Otherwise, the only farmhouse you'll ever spend time in is this one and you'll be doing it on your back.'

  'Hey, now wait a minute,' said the other, backing away and holding up both hands in a gesture of conciliation. 'Be careful with that thing, sir. You've no call to point it at me. Pierce Shannon is an honourable man. I've not let you down.'

  'Then tell me what you've done.'

  'I will.'

  Shannon used his fingers to count off the series of incidents that he had contrived, giving sufficient detail of each one to convince Rogan that he was telling the truth. When he heard about the explosion, he lowered his weapon. Shannon and his accomplices had not been idle. There was a whole catalogue of destruction to report back to Sir Marcus Hetherington.

>   'Now will you believe me?' said the Irishman.

  'Yes,' replied Rogan, putting the gun away. 'I was wrong to accuse you. And I can see now why Mr Brassey wants to hide his problems from the French police and newspapers. He'd rather try to sort out the trouble for himself.'

  'He even put a spy in the camp. We beat him to a pulp.'

  'But you still haven't brought the railway to a standstill.'

  'We will, sir. I know exactly how to do it.'

  'How?'

  'That would be telling,' said Shannon with a grin. 'Stay in France for a day or two and you'll find out what we did. They won't be able to keep our next fucking crime out of the newspapers. It's one thing that even Mr Brassey won't be able to hide.'

  'I'll need certain proof of what you've done.'

  'Then use your own eyes.'

  'I'll not stay in this accursed country a moment longer,' said Rogan. 'I've got what I came for and there's too much work awaiting me in England for me to linger here. When it's all over, you know how to get in touch with me.'

  'I do at that, sir – though I still don't know your name.'

  'You don't need to know it.'

  'Why not? You can trust Pierce Shannon.'

  'Finish the task and earn your money,' said Rogan, firmly. 'Once I pay you, I never want to set eyes on you again. Go back to Ireland and take up farming. It's a far healthier life than building a railway in France.'

  'I'll have no choice,' said Shannon with a laugh. 'Very soon, there'll be no bleeding railway here to build.'

  Robert Colbeck had fulfilled a dream that he had harboured for many years. Dressed as an engine driver, he was standing on the footplate of the locomotive that had recently arrived with twenty wagons filled with ballast from the quarry. His only disappointment was that he was not able to drive the engine. He had only donned the clothing so that he would attract no undue attention. The footplate was the venue for a meeting that he had arranged with Brendan Mulryne. Making sure that he was not seen, the Irishman climbed up beside him.