The Stationmaster's farewell irc-9

by Edward Marston

  ‘Where on earth are they?’ demanded the bishop, pacing the room. ‘I sent for them ages ago. They should have been here by now.’

  ‘I thought I heard the doorbell being rung only a moment ago,’ said Barnes.

  ‘Well, it’s not before time. Go and meet them, Ralph. Acquaint them with my displeasure and bring them here.’

  ‘Would you like me to remain?’

  ‘Yes, I’d like your assessment of this detective from London. We’ve already taken Superintendent Steel’s measure and found him wanting. Let’s see if the Metropolitan Police employ worthier individuals.’

  Barnes left the room and intercepted the visitors in the hall. He told them that the bishop was fretting over the delay then conducted them to the library. When they entered, the bishop had his back to them. He swung on his heel to confront them and struck a pose. After he’d been introduced to Colbeck, he offered the two men a seat then settled into the high-backed leather chair behind the ornate desk. Barnes was left to hover in the background.

  ‘What time is the next train to London?’ rasped Phillpotts, fixing Colbeck with a stare. ‘Whenever it is, I suggest that you catch it.’

  ‘That won’t be possible, Bishop,’ said Colbeck, smoothly. ‘Sergeant Leeming and I will remain in Exeter until our work is done.’

  ‘We don’t need you, man.’

  ‘That decision does not lie in your hands. We are here as a result of a direct appeal from the chairman of the South Devon Railway.’

  Phillpotts snorted. ‘Quinnell is an idiot.’

  ‘That’s something on which we can agree,’ said Steel under his breath.

  ‘Unfortunately, he’s an idiot who has substantial power and that makes him dangerous. I am responsible for the spiritual life of the diocese and it must take precedence over everything else.’

  ‘I beg leave to doubt that,’ said Colbeck.

  ‘Damn your impertinence!’

  ‘This crime is related to the railway and I will treat it as such.’

  ‘When it has such religious significance? Open your eyes, Inspector. The murder was carried out in the cathedral close. There’s an interpenetration of the sacred and the profane here.’

  ‘That may be a coincidence, Bishop. There’s a possibility that the victim was killed elsewhere and concealed beneath the bonfire because it was a convenient way of disposing of the body.’

  ‘That’s nonsense!’

  ‘It’s something we have to consider,’ argued Steel.

  ‘This outrage is far more to do with the Church than the railway. That’s why we don’t need anyone from Scotland Yard to poke his nose into our affairs. I suggest that you pack up and leave, Inspector.’

  ‘I’m not answerable to you, Bishop,’ said Colbeck, stoutly.

  ‘The superintendent will agree with me. This is a local matter.’

  ‘But it will test us to the limit,’ conceded Steel. ‘I’ve never handled a case of this complexity before, whereas the inspector is a renowned expert. It would be folly to scorn his assistance.’

  Phillpotts recoiled as if from a blow. ‘You dare to accuse me of folly?’

  ‘I was thinking of myself, Bishop.’

  Colbeck was grateful for the superintendent’s support but he was not sure if it was genuine or simply a means of annoying the bishop. Having been in charge of the police force for a decade, he reasoned, Steel would have had many battles with Henry Phillpotts and did not take kindly to being hauled before him like an errant schoolboy summoned to the headmaster’s study for punishment.

  ‘The superintendent has done exactly what I would have done,’ said Colbeck, ‘and deserves praise. He’s removed the body, set up an inquest and — I see from the handbills on display — had “wanted” posters printed. The railway company is offering a handsome reward for information leading to the arrest of the person or persons who perpetrated this crime. In addition to that,’ he went on, ‘he’s already identified a prime suspect.’

  ‘Is this true?’ asked the bishop, shifting his gaze to the superintendent.

  ‘My men have been searching for the fellow all day,’ replied Steel, ‘and I’ve alerted other police stations in the county.’

  ‘Who is this villain?’

  ‘He’s a rogue who goes by the name of Bagsy Browne.’

  Phillpotts started. ‘Isn’t that the man caught urinating on my lawn?’

  ‘He did rather more than urinate, Bishop,’ recalled Barnes, uncomfortably.

  ‘There — that proves my point. This murder was intended to ridicule me. Browne is an irredeemable rascal who spurns the very existence of God. What better way to taunt me than by slaughtering someone in the shadow of the cathedral?’

  ‘You’re forgetting who the victim is,’ said Colbeck, pointedly. ‘You are still alive, Bishop, but the stationmaster is not. He was the one who aroused the ire of this suspect — and we must bear in mind that he is only a suspect at this stage — so our concern should be for him. I discern nothing in this crime that relates directly to you or indeed to the Almighty.’

  ‘I endorse that,’ said Steel. ‘If Bagsy Browne was the killer, it was a simple act of revenge. All that Guy Fawkes Night means to a man like that is an excuse to get horribly drunk and attack my officers. He’s almost illiterate, Bishop. He’s never heard of the Gunpowder Plot or the part it plays in our history.’

  Phillpotts was adamant. ‘The man was trying to get back at me.’

  Rising to his feet and using the voice he’d trained to reach every corner of the cathedral, he treated them to a long diatribe against the evils of atheism as embodied in the suspect. Pretending to listen politely, Colbeck soon came to the view that Steel’s verdict on the bishop had been correct. He posed a problem. Quinnell might be disagreeable but at least he was supporting the investigation. Henry Phillpotts not only wanted to control it himself, he was trying to send it off in the wrong direction altogether. The sermon only served to make Colbeck more determined to stay and solve the crime. As the booming voice kept assaulting his ear, he was simmering with quiet anger. The bishop was undoubtedly sincere and, as his extensive library showed, he was a cultured man. But he was also sanctimonious and supercilious, treating them like commoners dragged into the palace to be chastised by royalty. Retribution was needed. Colbeck felt that it would be a pleasure to prove to Phillpotts that he was wrong, misguided and absurdly self-absorbed. It gave the investigation a new edge.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Old habits died hard. Though he’d finally retired from the London amp; North Western Railway after a lifetime’s service to it, Caleb Andrews was unable to enjoy a more leisurely existence. He still woke early every morning and he still ended the day by drinking at the pub near Euston station that he’d frequented with other railwaymen for decades. Over foaming pints of beer, he loved to hear where his friends had been and what incidents had occurred in the course of their work. Known for his irascibility and forthrightness, Andrews had mellowed. He no longer argued for the sake of argument. Nor did he remind those who’d been on the footplate beside him of dire mistakes they’d made in their early days. He was a short, sinewy man with a fringe beard and a wealth of experience behind him. Among other railwaymen, he felt appreciated.

  When he got home that night, there was a distinct lack of appreciation.

  ‘What time do you call this, Father?’ challenged Madeleine.

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ he said, swaying slightly.

  ‘You said that you’d be home early.’

  ‘I got talking to Dirk Sowerby and the time flew past.’

  ‘You promised that you’d be home by nine o’clock,’ she said.

  ‘I’m sorry I’m late, Maddy. Why didn’t you go to bed?’

  ‘You forgot to take your key with you — that’s why.’

  ‘Oh,’ he said, chortling. ‘That was stupid of me.’

  ‘It’s no laughing matter. I should have left you out in the cold all night, sleeping on the doorstep. That would have t
aught you.’

  He took off his hat and scarf. ‘You’d never do that to me, Maddy,’ he said, jocularly. ‘You’re my daughter. You’d never let your dear old father down.’

  ‘Then don’t tempt me.’

  Her tone was stern but they both knew that her threat would never be put into action. Madeleine loved him too much. She was an attractive woman in her twenties with a vitality and sense of independence that had caught Colbeck’s attention when they first met. Now that she was on the verge of marriage to him, she could not have been happier. After looking after her widowed father for so long, it would be a wrench to leave him but she felt that it was time to go. Her life would be transformed. Madeleine would be exchanging a small house in Camden for a large one in Westminster. Instead of having to make all the major decisions relating to the household economy, she’d have servants to whom she could delegate a range of tasks.

  When she helped her father off with his coat, she could smell the beer on his breath. Madeleine didn’t begrudge him his pleasures. He’d earned them.

  ‘Have you had any word from the inspector?’ he asked.

  She clicked her tongue. ‘Don’t you think it’s high time you started calling him Robert? In less than a month he’s going to be your son-in-law.’

  ‘I don’t like to be too familiar.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous, Father,’ she said. ‘And the answer to your question is that I’ve had nothing beyond the letter he sent this morning. He must be in Exeter now.’

  ‘Well, I hope he doesn’t stay there too long, Maddy. I’ll be leading you down the aisle at the end of the month. I don’t want to reach the altar to be told that the bridegroom is still hunting a killer in Devon.’

  ‘Robert will solve the crime in plenty of time — I hope so, anyway.’

  He put a consoling arm around her and led her across to a chair. Lowering her into it, he sat opposite and loosened his collar. Andrews was almost bashful.

  ‘There’s something I must tell you, Maddy.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘There’s a reason that I was later than usual.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘you got drunk and lost track of the time.’

  He stiffened. ‘I’m never drunk,’ he insisted. ‘I simply get merry. That’s very different.’ He ran his tongue over dry lips. ‘What I need to tell you is this. Before too long, I may have a new friend — a lady friend.’

  She was surprised. ‘Is it someone I know?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Binnie is Dirk Sowerby’s aunt, you see. That’s why I fell into conversation with him this evening. It turns out that she’s admired me for years. Her husband was a guard on my train in the old days but he died of smallpox. Mrs Langton — Binnie, that is — has been alone ever since.’

  ‘Have you seen much of her?’

  ‘That’s the odd thing, Maddy — I haven’t. We barely know each other. But I’ve bumped into her a few times at Euston and we’ve exchanged a word or two. She’s a handsome woman and you’d never guess she was almost my age.’

  Madeleine was cautious. She had no objection in principle to her father having a female friend or, indeed, to his marrying again. But she had a protective instinct and reserved the right to approve of the woman in question. The fact that Mrs Langton was Sowerby’s aunt was reassuring. She knew and liked Dirk Sowerby, her father’s most recent fireman. What troubled her was the fact that there’d been apparently accidental meetings near Euston. If she spoke to her nephew, Binnie Langton could easily find out when Andrews was likely to be near the station. Had the meetings been contrived? Could it be that she was setting her cap at him? The thought was worrying.

  ‘You’ve done this before, you know,’ she said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, you’ve claimed that this woman or that has a soft spot for you but nothing ever came of it.’

  ‘This time it’s different.’

  ‘But you hardly know the lady.’

  ‘I hardly knew your mother when I fell in love with her, Maddy, but I was determined to marry her one day and I did. I’m a lot older and wiser now. It’s not something I’ve rushed into,’ he went on. ‘I just feel that I’m ready now.’

  ‘Ready?’

  ‘Yes — ready to take things a stage further. Dirk has invited me to tea on his day off and Binnie will be there as well. It’ll be a chance to get to know her.’

  ‘Then I’m all in favour of it,’ said Madeleine, getting up to kiss him on the forehead. ‘You must make new friends now that you’re retired. I hope that Mrs Langton turns out to be one of them.’

  Though she smiled lovingly at him, her doubts remained.

  After an early breakfast at the Acland Tavern, they repaired to the morgue. The coroner admitted them and took them into the room where the corpse lay on a table under a shroud. The icily cold weather had delayed decomposition but the stench was in any case offset by the herbs that had been scattered to sweeten the atmosphere. When Colbeck gave a nod, the coroner drew back the shroud so that the whole cadaver was displayed. Leeming gulped in disgust. What remained of the body was hideously blackened, the face mutilated and the skull cracked wide open. It reminded him of a roast pig he’d once seen turning on a spit. Colbeck examined the body in more detail before turning to the coroner, a lugubrious man in his seventies with wispy white hair and a goatee beard.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Colbeck, indicating that the shroud could be drawn back into position. ‘Were there any effects found?’

  ‘Every stitch of clothing was consumed by the fire, Inspector.’

  ‘I was thinking about a watch, a ring or some other item that might have helped to identify him. I know that a lot of heat would have been generated but they might have survived the blaze.’

  ‘There was nothing at all on or beside him,’ said the coroner. ‘Mr Michael Heygate commented on it. He said that his brother would never have removed his wedding ring and that he’d possessed a large silver pocket watch.’

  ‘The killer was also a thief, then,’ suggested Leeming. ‘He took anything of value before he hid the body under the bonfire.’

  ‘That was a mistake,’ said Colbeck. ‘If we catch him with stolen goods, they’ll give him away.’ He looked at the coroner. ‘Did you know Mr Heygate?’

  ‘Everyone knew him,’ replied the other. ‘As it happened, I attended the inquest for his wife and daughter. They were killed on the railway line in Plymouth. It was a terrible ordeal for him but he bore up well. Mr Heygate had such dignity.’

  ‘Tell us about his brother — assuming that this is the stationmaster’s body.’

  The coroner frowned. ‘The less said about the brother, the better.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘They were not close, Inspector, even though Michael lives not far away in Dawlish. They were like chalk and cheese. Joel Heygate was a delightful man and his brother, I fear, is not.’

  ‘What’s wrong with him?’ asked Leeming.

  ‘That’s all I’m prepared to say, Sergeant.’

  ‘Were there any other close relatives?’

  ‘None at all, as far as I know.’

  ‘So who would stand to inherit his worldly goods?’

  ‘That would have to be his brother — undeservedly, in my opinion.’

  ‘It was kind of you to let us in so early,’ said Colbeck, ‘and we’re grateful that you did so. In a profession like yours, you must have become acquainted with a large number of families in the city.’

  ‘Everyone who dies an unexplained death needs a coroner.’

  ‘That’s a cheerful thought!’ murmured Leeming.

  ‘We cater for rich and poor alike. Men, women and children of all ages and all faiths have lain on that slab. We’ve had two Negroes, an Arab and a Chinaman. One gets to see a complete cross section of humanity as a coroner. What we haven’t had,’ he continued, glancing down at the body, ‘are murder victims. To my knowledge, this is the second this century.’

  ‘I
hope it’s the last.’

  ‘Does the name Bagsy Browne mean anything to you?’ asked Colbeck.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said the coroner with a flash of vehemence. ‘He’s well known in these parts. From time to time, his name is in the newspapers with details of his latest crime. He’s a menace, Inspector. There are a lot of people in Exeter who’d prefer it if it was Bagsy Browne’s body under this shroud.’

  He was fast asleep when she came bursting into the room. Adeline shook him by the shoulder but she failed to rouse him. She resorted to more drastic methods. Lifting his head up with one hand, she used the other to slap his cheeks hard. When he still refused to wake up, she reached for a jug of water and poured it over his face. Bagsy Browne let out a yell and sat bolt upright in bed.

  ‘Damnation!’ he exclaimed. ‘I dreamt that I was drowning.’

  ‘You’ve got to wake up.’

  He opened a bleary eye. ‘Is that you, Ad? Come back to bed.’

  ‘You must read this first,’ she said, brandishing a newspaper. ‘The police are looking for you. There’s even a reward being offered.’

  Coming fully awake in an instant, he snatched the newspaper from her.

  ‘Where’s the bit about me?’

  ‘It’s at the bottom of the page.’

  Unable to read properly, he needed her help to decipher all the words. While the report terrified Adeline, it caused him no unease. Instead, he guffawed.

  ‘It’s not funny, Bagsy. What if they come here?’

  ‘Nobody would dare to give me away.’

  ‘The police might search the premises.’

  ‘I thought you all paid them to look the other way.’

  ‘Only the ones who’ll take money,’ she said, ‘and there aren’t many of those. The others even turn down the offer of free entertainment.’

  He was appalled. ‘You’d never give your body to a peeler, surely?’

  ‘I wouldn’t but there are those who would — and who do. Anyway, forget about them, Bagsy. We have to get you out of here somehow.’

  ‘But I’m enjoying it here. Did you get that pork pie for my breakfast?’

  She was amazed at his calm. ‘Aren’t you afraid that they’ll find you?’