Murder on the Brighton Express irc-5

by Edward Marston

  ‘I agree, sir, but take the idea a stage further.’

  ‘I’d rather disregard it entirely.’

  ‘It’s really an extension of my original belief that the LB&SCR was the designated target,’ reasoned Colbeck. ‘Supposing that the villain wished to kill two birds with one stone, so to speak?’

  ‘You’ve lost me, Inspector,’ complained Tallis.

  ‘The man wanted both to damage the railway company and cause the death of someone on that train, someone who was closely associated with the LB&SCR. Do you see what I mean, sir? What if, for the sake of argument, an individual embodied the railway company in some way? To murder him in a dark alley would have been far easier but it would have lacked any resonance. A public assassination was needed, involving widespread destruction in a train crash.’

  ‘Stop!’ ordered Tallis, slapping his desk with an angry palm. ‘I’ll hear no more of this fanciful nonsense. Such a person as you portray does not even exist.’

  ‘Then perhaps you will peruse this, sir,’ said Colbeck, extracting some sheets of paper from an inside pocket and placing them on the desk. ‘It’s a list of the passengers who were injured on that express.’ Tallis snatched it up. ‘It’s rather a long one, unfortunately. May I direct your attention to the names at the top of the first page? Among them you will find a gentleman called Horace Bardwell. Can you pick him out, Superintendent?’

  ‘Of course,’ growled Tallis, ‘but so what?’

  ‘Mr Bardwell is a former managing director of the LB&SCR. He still retains a seat on the board and acts as its spokesman. Kill him,’ said Colbeck meaningfully, ‘and you deprive the railway company of a man who personifies all that it stands for.’ Tallis began to grind his teeth. ‘Do you still think that it’s fanciful nonsense, sir?’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Victor Leeming was nothing if not tenacious. Given a task, he stuck at it with unwavering commitment until it was completed. Since he had been told to find the names of anyone dismissed by the LB&SCR in recent months, he badgered the staff in the railway company’s London office until he had all the details available. On the cab ride to Scotland Yard, he reflected on how much his job had changed since he had joined the Detective Department. As a uniformed sergeant, he had seen and enjoyed a great deal of action on the dangerous streets of the capital. Catching thieves, arresting drunks, organising night patrols and keeping the peace had taken up most of his time.

  Detective work tended to be slower and more painstaking. What it lacked in vigorous action, however, it atoned for in other ways, chief among them being the privilege of working beside Robert Colbeck. Every day spent with the Railway Detective was an education for Leeming and he relished it. He might have to travel on the trains he detested but he had the consolation of investigating crimes of a far more complex and heinous nature than hitherto. Breaking up a fight in a rowdy tavern could not offer him anything like the satisfaction he got from helping to solve cases that dealt with murder, arson, kidnap and other serious crimes. The present investigation promised to be the most challenging yet and he was not certain that the culprit would be found in due course.

  Leeming arrived at Scotland Yard to find Colbeck in his office, poring over the list of casualties from the train crash. Pleased to see him, the inspector got to his feet at once.

  ‘Come on in, Victor. Did you discover anything of interest?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Leeming, taking a notepad from his pocket, ‘I discovered that I could never work for the LB&SCR – not that I’d even think of being employed by a railway company, mind you.’

  ‘What’s the problem? asked Colbeck.

  ‘There are too many ways to get sacked. Men have been booted out for being drunk, violent, lazy, slow, sleeping on duty, being late for work, not wearing the correct uniform, disobeying an instruction, telling lies, using bad language, playing cards, pretending to be ill, stealing company property and for dozens of other offences.’ Opening his notebook at the appropriate page, he handed it over. ‘As you’ll see, a porter at Burgess Hill was dismissed when ash from his pipe fell accidentally on to the stationmaster’s newspaper and set it alight.’

  ‘I think we can eliminate him from our enquiries,’ said Colbeck, scanning the list, ‘and most of these other names can be ruled out as well. The majority seem to have been with the company a very short time so they did not put down any roots in it.’

  ‘I wonder how some of them were taken on in the first place. I mean, there’s a fireman on that list who used to toss handfuls of coal off his engine at a place along the line then collect it later and take it home. That was criminal, Inspector.’

  ‘Caleb Andrews would never have allowed that. If any fireman of his tried to break the law, he’d have lashed the man to the buffers.’ Colbeck looked up. ‘Talking of Mr Andrews, you’ll recall that I asked him and his daughter to break the news of Frank Pike’s death to his wife.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Leeming. ‘It was very considerate of you.’

  ‘You need good friends beside you at such a time.’

  ‘The widow must have been distraught.’

  ‘She was grief-stricken,’ said Colbeck, ‘but she did volunteer one useful piece of information.’ He indicated a letter on his desk. ‘Miss Andrews was kind enough to pass it on to me. Mrs Pike remembers her husband telling her that he saw a man using a telescope to watch the trains go past. The sun glinted off it, apparently.’

  ‘Where did this happen, sir?’

  ‘It was between Balcombe and Haywards Heath.’

  ‘That’s exactly where the accident happened.’

  ‘Frank Pike spotted the man on two separate occasions as he drove past,’ Colbeck went on, ‘and in two slightly different locations. He could well have been looking for the ideal point at which to bring the Brighton Express off the line.’ His eyes flicked back to the notepad. ‘You’ve done well, Victor. This list is very comprehensive.’

  ‘The trouble is,’ said Leeming, ‘it gives us too many suspects.’

  ‘I’m not so sure about that. Only three names look really promising to me. Their respective owners all left fairly recently and, according to your notes, may have cause to resent their dismissal.’

  ‘Who are they, Inspector?’

  Colbeck picked them out with an index finger. ‘I’d plump for Jack Rye, Dick Chiffney and Matthew Shanklin.’

  ‘The one that I’d put first is Shanklin. Before he lost his job, he had a senior position in the company and had held it for a number of years. It must have been galling to be fired from such a well-paid post. Shanklin’s mistake was to fall out with one of the directors.’

  Colbeck’s ears pricked up immediately. ‘Do you happen to know which director it was?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ replied Leeming. ‘It was Horace Bardwell.’

  Horace Bardwell still had no idea where he was and what had actually happened to him. Having suffered compound fractures, he lay in the county hospital with an arm and a leg in splints. Because of a severe head wound, his whole skull was covered in a turban of bandaging and his podgy face was largely invisible. Bardwell was a corpulent man whose massive bulk made the bed look far too small for him. Most of the day had been passed in a drowsy half-sleep. Whenever he surfaced, he was given a dose of morphine to deaden the pain. He began to believe that he had died and gone to Hell.

  Someone sat beside his bed and leant in to speak to him.

  ‘Good evening,’ said Ezra Follis. ‘How are you feeling now?’

  ‘Are you a doctor?’ murmured Bardwell.

  ‘I cure men’s souls rather than their bodies so I can lay claim to being a medical man of sorts. We’ve travelled on the Brighton Express a number of times, Mr Bardwell, and exchanged a nod of greeting. I am Ezra Follis, by the way, Rector of St Dunstan’s. I’m trying to speak to everyone with whom I shared a carriage yesterday.’

  Bardwell was bewildered. ‘Yesterday?’

  ‘Our train collided with another one.’
/>   ‘I remember nothing of that.’

  ‘Then a hideous memory has been kindly wiped from your mind by a benign Almighty. I wish that I, too, could forget it.’

  ‘I’m hurting all over,’ bleated Bardwell.

  ‘The doctor will give you something to soothe the pain.’

  ‘But how did I get it in the first place and why can’t I see?’

  Follis knew the answers to both questions. Before talking to the patient, he had checked on his condition with a member of the medical staff. Bardwell had been unfortunate. Apart from taking punishment to his head and body, he had been blinded. Though a doctor had tried to explain to him the full extent of his injuries, Bardwell had been hopelessly unable to understand. Touched by the man’s plight, Follis sought only to offer solace and companionship. He talked softly until Bardwell drifted off to sleep again then offered up a prayer for the man’s recovery.

  As he left the ward, he saw an imposing figure striding towards him. Colbeck recognised the wounded clergyman and introduced himself, explaining his reason for being there. Follis was surprised and deeply upset to hear that someone might have deliberately caused the accident.

  ‘That’s unforgivable!’ he exclaimed.

  ‘I agree, sir.’

  ‘It’s utterly sinful! Look at the devastation that was caused. I cannot believe that any human being could be capable of such wanton cruelty. So many lives were lost or wrecked.’

  ‘What you did yesterday was truly impressive,’ said Colbeck, recalling his visit to the site. ‘Though you had injuries of your own, you still found the strength and willpower to help others.’

  Follis smiled. ‘I found nothing, Inspector,’ he argued, hand on heart. ‘In my hour of need, God came to my aid and enabled me to do what I did. As for my own scratches, they are very minor compared to the injuries of other passengers. Being so short and slight has its advantage. When the crash occurred, I presented a very small target.’

  ‘That should have made no difference.’

  ‘It’s an incontrovertible fact. Look at Mr Bardwell, for instance.’

  ‘Would that be Horace Bardwell?’

  ‘The very same,’ confirmed Follis, nodding. ‘He must be a foot taller and almost three times my size. In other words, there was more of him to hit. That’s why he suffered so badly.’ He sucked in air through his teeth. ‘In addition to his many other injuries, alas, the poor fellow has lost his sight.’

  ‘That must be very distressing for him.’

  ‘It will be when he finally comprehends it.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Mr Bardwell doesn’t know what day it is, Inspector. I’ve just spent time at his bedside, trying to talk to him. His mind is so befuddled that it’s impossible to establish any real contact. When the truth does eventually dawn on him,’ he added with a sigh, ‘it will come as a thunderbolt.’

  ‘I was hoping to speak to Mr Bardwell myself,’ said Colbeck.

  ‘He’ll hear precious little of what you say.’

  ‘The doctor seemed to think he was slightly better today.’

  ‘Only in the sense that he is much more alive,’ said Follis. ‘Had you seen him immediately after the crash, you’d have thought he was at death’s door. Happily, he survived and his body will heal in time. Whether or not his mind will also heal is another matter.’

  Follis stood aside so that the detective could see into the ward. The clergyman pointed Bardwell out. Since the patient’s eyes were covered by a bandage, it was difficult to determine if he was asleep but his body was motionless. Colbeck glanced around the ward and saw that everyone else there had serious injuries.

  ‘How many of them will make a complete recovery?’ he asked.

  ‘None of them, Inspector,’ said Follis. ‘The memory of the crash will be like a red-hot brand burnt into their brain. It will torture them for the rest of their lives.’

  ‘Have there been any more fatalities?’

  ‘Two people have died here in hospital.’

  ‘That will bring the total number to eight.’

  ‘I fear that it will climb higher than that.’ He noticed movement in Bardwell’s bed. ‘I fancy that he may be stirring again, Inspector. This may be your only chance to speak to him but be prepared for a disappointment.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He’s in a world of his own.’

  Colbeck thanked him for his advice and went into the ward. A nurse was bending over one patient, trying to coax him to drink. In another bed, a man was coughing uncontrollably. A third patient was groaning aloud. Attended by a nurse, a doctor was examining someone in the far corner. When he eventually stood up, the doctor shook his head sadly and the nurse pulled the bed sheet over the patient’s face. Another victim of the crash had passed away.

  Sitting beside Bardwell, Colbeck touched his shoulder.

  ‘Are you awake, Mr Bardwell?’ he enquired.

  ‘Who are you?’ muttered the other.

  ‘My name is Detective Inspector Colbeck and I’m investigating the crash that took place on the Brighton line yesterday.’

  ‘Give me something to take this pain away.’

  ‘I’m not a doctor, sir.’

  ‘What’s this crash you mentioned?’

  ‘You were on the train at the time, Mr Bardwell.’

  ‘Was I?’

  ‘That’s how you received your injuries.’

  ‘My mind is a blank,’ said Bardwell, piteously.

  ‘You must remember something.’

  ‘It’s all a blur. I feel as if I’ve broken every bone in my body. My head is on fire and I’ve got something tied over my eyes.’

  ‘You need rest, sir.’

  ‘I want a doctor.’

  ‘I’ll call one in a moment,’ Colbeck promised. ‘I just want to ask you one thing.’ Raising his voice, he spoke with deliberate slowness. ‘Do you recall a Matthew Shanklin?’

  The question produced an instant reply. Bardwell let out a gasp of horror and his body started to twitch violently. Colbeck held him down with gentle hands until the convulsions had ceased. Then he summoned a doctor. His conversation with Bardwell had been brief but, as he left the hospital, Colbeck felt that his journey to Brighton had not been in vain.

  Matthew Shanklin had been out of work for a couple of months before finding another post. Discharged by one railway company, he was now employed by another and it was in the main office of the London and North West Railway that Leeming tracked him down that evening. Shanklin gave him a guarded welcome. He was a bald-headed man in his forties, short, thin and stooping. On the desk in front of him were piles of documents.

  ‘You’re working late this evening, sir,’ observed Leeming.

  ‘I have no control over my hours, Sergeant,’ said Shanklin, coldly. ‘In my previous situation, I had a more senior position and a degree of autonomy. That, I regret to say, is no longer the case.’

  ‘It’s your previous job that brought me here, Mr Shanklin.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Leeming told him about the investigation and Shanklin’s back arched defensively. He peered at his visitor through a pair of wire-framed spectacles. Careful not to interrupt the narrative, he paused for a full minute when it was finally concluded.

  ‘In what possible way can I help you, Sergeant?’

  ‘I’d like to hear why you left the LB&SCR,’ said Leeming.

  ‘I didn’t leave of my own volition,’ admitted Shanklin. ‘I was summarily dismissed, as I’m sure you know. Is that what brought you here?’ he went on angrily. ‘You believe that I had something to do with that terrible accident?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Then why bother me?’

  ‘Inspector Colbeck thought you might be able to assist us, Mr Shanklin. Having worked for the company, you must have been very familiar with the rest of the management and with the directors.’

  ‘I was there a long time, Sergeant.’

  ‘Would you describe it as a happy company?�
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  ‘As happy as most, I daresay,’ replied Shanklin. ‘Every company has its inner tensions and petty rivalries – I’m sure that you have some of those at Scotland Yard.’

  ‘We certainly have plenty of tension,’ conceded Leeming as an image of Superintendent Tallis popped into his mind. ‘I think it’s a means of keeping us on our toes. And, of course, there’s always rivalry between the uniformed branch and the plain clothes division. But,’ he continued, one eye on Shanklin, ‘at least we don’t have a board of directors breathing down our necks.’

  ‘Then you are supremely fortunate.’

  ‘You say that with some bitterness, sir.’

  ‘I’ve good cause to do so.’

  Leeming waited for him to explain what he meant but Shanklin remained silent. Sitting back in his chair, he folded his arms in what looked like a mild show of defiance. He was clearly unwilling to talk about his past. Leeming had to chisel the facts out of him.

  ‘You were well-regarded at the LB&SCR, I hear,’ said Leeming.

  ‘I earned that regard.’

  ‘Six months ago, you had another promotion.’

  ‘Deservedly,’ said Shanklin.

  ‘Then it’s odd that the company should let you go.’

  ‘It was odd and unjust.’

  ‘Why was that, sir?’

  Shanklin flicked a hand. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘It does to me,’ insisted Leeming.

  ‘I’d rather forget the whole thing, Sergeant. It was painful at the time, especially as I was given no chance to defend myself. I have a new job in another company now and that’s where my loyalties lie.’

  ‘What did you think when you heard the news of the crash?’

  ‘I was profoundly shocked,’ said Shanklin, ‘as anyone would be at such horrific news. Deaths and injuries on the railway always disturb me.’

  ‘The very thought of them terrifies me,’ said Leeming.

  ‘When I worked for the LB&SCR, my job entailed responsibility for safety on the line. If there was even the slightest mishap, I felt it as a personal failure.’ He bit his lip. ‘I’m just relieved that I was not still with the company when this disaster occurred.’