Swift stood up. ‘You’re bound to be interested in her case,’ he said. ‘After all, she’s a hapless victim of the crime you’re here to investigate. Her derangement was caused by the ghastly murder of Mr Heygate. May I ask,’ he went on as he led Colbeck to the door, ‘if you’ve made any progress so far?’
‘We believe so, Dr Swift. We have a prime suspect and every hope of snaring him very soon. It may even be that he’s committed a second murder in the city.’
‘Dear God!’
‘It’s very unfortunate,’ said Colbeck, sighing, ‘because it will give further ammunition to the bishop.’
‘Oh – what has Bishop Phillpotts been up to now?’
‘He’s insisting that we bring in troops from Topsham to assist the search for our main suspect. This latest development will only intensify that urge. I’ve asked my superior, Superintendent Tallis, to do all he can to dissuade him but my fear is that the bishop is far too inflexible.’
‘Have you met the bishop?’
‘I’ve had two encounters with him.’
‘Go on.’
‘They were less than enjoyable.’
‘Yes,’ admitted Swift, ‘he can be spiky at times but he’s unfairly maligned, in my view. I know what a philanthropic gentleman he can be.’
‘Oh?’
‘This may look like a house of detention, Inspector, but we try to make it as pleasant as possible. You’ll have noticed all the paintings in the corridors. They bring colour and a note of domesticity into the asylum. There are several others in public rooms and all of them were donated by Bishop Phillpotts.’
‘That’s uncommonly generous of him.’
‘His interest in the asylum did not end there. When it was opened in 1845, the first thing he did was to appoint a chaplain from his own staff. Canon Smalley is still here and does splendid work. He has a gift for calming unruly patients. He just sits there holding their hands and listens. That’s all that some of them need,’ he said. ‘They want someone to listen to them.’
‘I clearly need to revise my opinion of the bishop,’ said Colbeck.
‘He’s a good man at heart.’
‘I never doubted his sincerity.’
‘Next time you meet him, try to be more tolerant of his idiosyncrasies.’
‘Thank you for your advice. I can see that I misjudged him.’
‘He’s been a friend to this asylum from the start.’
‘Then I can see why you feel so grateful.’
‘It’s more than simple gratitude, Inspector. It’s closer to veneration. The bishop was instrumental in furthering my own career.’
Colbeck was curious. ‘In what way did he do that?’
‘Out of his own pocket, he gave me a bursary that allowed me to take time off in order to do some vital research. The fruit of that research,’ he said, crossing to the desk to pick up the copy of his book, ‘is contained in here. That’s why it’s dedicated to Henry Phillpotts, Bishop of Exeter.’ He opened the book and showed the dedication to Colbeck. ‘Be sure to look at the paintings in the corridor as you leave. They’re an important visual stimulus for our inmates. In his own way,’ concluded Swift, ‘Bishop Phillpotts is a holy psychiatrist.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
After the warning he’d given her, Madeleine Andrews had expected that her father might not return home until well into the evening. She was therefore amazed when he came back in little over an hour from the time when he’d left the house. There was a secondary surprise for her. The first time he’d taken tea with Binnie Langton, he’d come back in a state of euphoria. Andrews was more guarded this time. There was no smile hovering and no nostalgic glint. Madeleine was intrigued.
‘Did you have a nice time?’ she asked, helping him off with his coat.
‘Yes.’
‘And did Mrs Langton make you a cake?’
‘She made all manner of things.’
‘Why are you back here so early?’
Handing her his cap, he slumped into a chair. ‘I’d had enough, Maddy.’
‘I thought you’d spend hours with Mrs Langton.’
‘So did I,’ he said, wistfully, ‘and I would have done so if Binnie and I had been alone. But her sister was there – Mrs Young – and that changed everything.’
She hung coat and cap on a peg. ‘I don’t understand, Father.’
‘Ivy Young came to look me over and to see if I was sound in mind and limb. I tell you, Maddy, I felt as if I was an old bull in a market, being poked and prodded by a farmer who wasn’t sure if I was worth spending money on. It was dreadful. Mrs Young did everything but ask me my weight.’
‘Why didn’t Mrs Langton stop her?’
‘You can’t stop a woman like Ivy Young. When she gets up a head of steam, she has as much traction power as one of the locomotives I used to drive. I wasn’t questioned – I was interrogated.’
‘Oh dear!’ said Madeleine, sitting down opposite him. ‘That must have been very unpleasant for you.’
‘The really unpleasant thing is that she was obviously there because Binnie had invited her. She wanted her sister to check me over. I suppose it’s a good sign in some ways,’ he went on. ‘It shows that her interest in me is serious. But it was really uncomfortable at the time.’
‘Was Mrs Young anything like her sister?’
‘No, she was much slimmer and – if I’m honest – a bit more intelligent than Binnie. She lost her own husband years ago and was very supportive to Binnie when she was in the same position. Ivy Young is an attractive woman,’ he said, ‘and she dresses very well. I’m surprised that she hasn’t married again. She must have many admirers. On the other hand, they would have been frightened away if she’d treated them the way that she treated me this afternoon.’
Madeleine was at once sympathetic and relieved. Though she was sorry that her father had not enjoyed the event as much as he’d hoped, she was secretly glad that his whirlwind romance had slowed to a more reasonable speed. It would give him time to appraise the situation in a more objective frame of mind. While he might still have strong feelings about Binnie Langton, they might be tempered by the fact that marriage to her would encumber him with an over-inquisitive sister-in-law.
‘How do things stand with you and Mrs Langton?’ she asked, tentatively.
‘That’s the trouble, Maddy – I don’t really know.’
‘But you still like her, I assume.’
‘Yes, I like her very much but I just had to get out of there.’
‘What do you think her sister will say about you?’
‘I’ve no idea. I hope that she doesn’t advise Binnie to have nothing more to do with me. She could see how fond we were of each other – and still are. I’d love to see Binnie again but I’m not sure that I could sit through another ordeal like that.’
‘Why not invite her here, Father?’
He was doubtful. ‘I’ll think about it.’
‘It would give me the chance to meet Mrs Langton.’
‘What if she turns up with her sister?’
‘You make it clear that the invitation is only for her,’ said Madeleine. ‘Does she know where you live?’
‘She knows every single thing about me,’ he protested. ‘Her sister made sure of that. Where did I live? What church did I attend? Who were my friends? How would I manage now that I was retired? Did I have anything put by?’
‘She sounds as if she was terribly nosy.’
‘That’s how it felt at the time, Maddy. On the walk back home, however, I tried to see it from her point of view. She only wants to protect Binnie. After all, there are some men who might try to take advantage of a handsome widow.’
She was outraged on his behalf. ‘Nobody could suspect you of ever doing that, Father,’ she said. ‘Mrs Langton must realise that. In any case, Dirk Sowerby would have spoken up for you. She couldn’t possibly have any qualms about you.’
‘And I have no qualms about Binnie – only about her sister.’
<
br /> After some thought, she offered her counsel. ‘Take plenty of time to mull it over. If you want to see Mrs Langton again, invite her here for tea.’
‘I will, Maddy.’ He gave a self-deprecating laugh. ‘This is ridiculous. I owe you an apology. A man of my age shouldn’t be in a situation like this, boring his daughter with silly nonsense about his private life. You’re the one who needs the attention. You have a wedding at the end of the month, yet you don’t even know if there’ll be a bridegroom able to get there in time. Have you had any word from him?’
‘Not since his last letter.’
‘Then it’s high time he wrote another one. If he doesn’t do so very soon, I’ll send Binnie’s sister down to Exeter to interrogate him. That will shake up the famous Inspector Colbeck.’
Sunday morning found all three of them attending a service at the cathedral. The bishop was there, seated in state, but it was one of the canons who officiated. Tallis found it inspiring to take communion in such a beautiful and imposing place. It added resonance to the whole exercise. Closing his eyes, Colbeck kept imagining Madeleine and himself standing before the altar on their wedding day. Leeming was grateful that he’d taken the precaution of sitting on the other side of the inspector so that there was a buffer between the superintendent and him. Even so, proximity to Tallis was still unnerving. Since he wasn’t at all engaged by the long, abstruse and high-minded sermon, Leeming let his mind drift to his family and thought of them settling into their pew in the more modest setting of the parish church. They – like him – would be praying earnestly for his early return to London.
When the three of them left the cathedral, Tallis excused himself and went off in the hope of having a brief word with Henry Phillpotts. Colbeck had told him about the bishop’s philanthropy with regard to the Devon County Asylum and Tallis had been duly impressed. It helped to adjust his opinion of the man quite radically. Colbeck and Leeming were left standing near the spot where the charred body of Joel Heygate had been found. As the rest of the congregation strolled past them on their way home, the detectives reviewed the state of the investigation.
‘Something is missing,’ said Colbeck.
‘Yes,’ agreed Leeming, mournfully, ‘it’s Estelle and the children.’
‘I’m talking about this case, Victor.’
‘I know, sir, and what’s really missing is an arrest.’
‘We’ve had one arrest,’ Colbeck reminded him, ‘and the woman is still languishing in a cell. But I was referring to something else.’
‘There’s no need to do that. We know who the killer was. We know that he has a link to Michael Heygate. And – most certainly of all – we know that Bagsy Browne committed a second murder.’
‘That’s not a proven fact.’
‘Who else would want to have killed that Irishman?’
‘Quite a few people if the fellow was working for the police,’ said Colbeck. ‘The post-mortem might give us some clues but I still think it’s far too early to condemn Browne. And just because he and Michael Heygate once met, it doesn’t mean that they were in league with each other.’
‘What are you saying, Inspector?’ asked Leeming. ‘That neither of them is guilty and that Lawrence Woodford is responsible for one or both murders?’
‘Woodford remains a suspect in only the first case, Victor. No, what is missing is the chain on which we can hang all the disparate elements of this investigation. We have plenty of bits and pieces but no connecting link. I believe that our most reliable witnesses are the owl and the canary. Unfortunately,’ said Colbeck, ‘neither is able to offer his evidence in a court of law.’
‘What must we do next?’
‘First of all, we should call on the superintendent and see if he has any news for us. After that, a visit to Miss Dorcas Hope will be in order.’
‘Why is that, Inspector?’
‘She’s minding the canary. Miss Hope is also a sensitive young lady with, I suspect, a caring nature. If I confide details of Mrs Rossiter’s plight, I’m sure that she’ll wish to offer the sister some support. Miss Impey will have been poleaxed by what happened.’
‘At least the manageress didn’t save her performance for the funeral,’ said Leeming, jocularly. ‘It could have been very embarrassing if she’d turned up there and tried to stop them lowering the coffin into the grave.’
‘She’ll be in the asylum for some time. I’m hoping that Dr Swift and his staff will be able to bring about some sort of recovery but I very much doubt if she’ll ever be able to work at the railway station again. Mrs Rossiter will for ever associate it with Joel Heygate.’
‘Can she ever be completely cured?’
‘We must pray for that outcome, Victor,’ said Colbeck. ‘To be candid, I found the place faintly disturbing. Being surrounded by so many other people with mental disorders is hardly the ideal environment. She’s only one patient out of hundreds, of course, so can hardly expect much individual attention.’
‘Asylums are awful places,’ said Leeming. ‘You only have to look at them. If she wasn’t mad when she went in there, she soon will be.’
‘That’s too harsh a judgement. I have more faith in Dr Swift.’
Breaking into a walk, they went out of the cathedral precinct, discussing the case and its profound consequences on the city. On their journey, they saw only one policeman on duty, an indication of the lack of resources available to Steel.
‘How are they going to catch Browne with so few men?’ asked Leeming.
‘The idea is that he’ll be coaxed out of hiding.’
‘That’s absurd, sir.’
‘Why?’
‘What sort of man would risk his life to rescue a woman like that?’
‘Strange as it may seem,’ said Colbeck, ‘the age of chivalry is not dead. Bagsy Browne may well feel that he has an obligation to his friend. Most people in his predicament would have fled some time ago. My guess is that Browne hasn’t done that. I’ve never met the fellow but I’ll wager that he’s still somewhere in the area.’
Since it was too dangerous to stay in Rockfield Place, he had to find another refuge. It was not a problem for Bagsy Browne. He found a boat that was under repair and moored in the estuary near Topsham. It was cold, cramped and shorn of any comforts but it was a safe hiding place. As he sat in the tiny cabin, he smoked his pipe and studied the rough diagram he’d sketched on a piece of paper. Based on memories of his time spent in custody there, it was a floor plan of the police station and showed him how many locked doors there would be between Adeline’s cell and the main exit. Getting inside the place was relatively easy. Escaping with someone else in tow was more of a challenge. But it was one he was prepared to accept.
The element of surprise was critical. On a Sunday, he knew, there were fewer policemen on duty in the streets and at the police station. If he could time his attack, he might be able to achieve what at first looked impossible. Adeline would know that he was coming for her. The coin he’d tossed into her cell had been a promise that had to be honoured. She’d be ready. There was no doubting that. After poring over the diagram, he worked out his plan in detail. He would wait until the city was shrouded in evening shadows before he made his move. Darkness would aid their flight. They would spend her first night of freedom in the boat. It would soon be time for Bagsy to quit Exeter altogether, but not until he’d been able to watch the funeral of Joel Heygate and gloat with satisfaction. Where he would go, he was not entirely sure, but one detail had already been decided upon. He would leave alone.
Having rescued Adeline, he’d have discharged his duty to her. From then on, she could fend for herself. That was the way it was. Bagsy Browne had an inflexible rule. He always travelled alone.
When they entered the superintendent’s office, Steel was studying a report with a frown of disappointment. Putting it aside, he gave them a welcome and there was an exchange of pleasantries. Each of the visitors gave his impression of the service at the cathedral. Colbeck was comp
limentary, while Leeming admitted that the experience had been overwhelming. Steel gave a sardonic smile.
‘At least you were spared a sermon by Bishop Phillpotts,’ he said. ‘He’s been known to go on for an hour.’
‘Is that all?’ asked Colbeck.
‘The first time I saw him in full flow, he was not so much justifying the word of God as impersonating him.’
‘Superintendent Tallis does that at times,’ moaned Leeming. ‘It’s as if he’s handing down the Ten Commandments to us. But while we’re here, sir, perhaps you can settle an argument.’
‘What sort of argument?’ said Steel.
‘Well, it’s more of a professional disagreement than anything else. I think that Bagsy Browne committed two murders, with the possible assistance of Michael Heygate in the case of the first. Inspector Colbeck is unconvinced. Which one of us would you support?’
‘I’d have to say that – at first – I agreed with you, Sergeant.’
‘There you are,’ said Leeming, savouring his victory. ‘For once, I’m right.’
‘We’re still in the realms of hypothesis,’ cautioned Colbeck.
‘No,’ said Steel, ‘we are not.’
‘There’s been a development?’
‘Yes – and it’s a very significant one, Inspector.’ He held up the report he’d been reading. ‘This is from the post-mortem on Finbar Mulleady.’
‘He’s that Irishman killed by Browne,’ noted Leeming.
‘I’m afraid that you’re wrong, Sergeant. He may not have been killed by anyone. The wound which stained his trousers with blood was caused by a broken flagon of beer in his pocket. There was no sign of violence upon him. According to this,’ he went on, passing the report to Colbeck, ‘the most likely cause of death was drowning after he’d fallen into the canal. He went lurching along the towpath while blind drunk, tripped and hit the ground hard. The flagon in his pocket was smashed to pieces and he rolled into the freezing water.’
‘Browne could have pushed him into the canal,’ maintained Leeming.
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