The Railway Detective Collection: The Railway Detective, the Excursion Train, the Railway Viaduct (The Railway Detective Series)

by Edward Marston

She looked him in the eyes. ‘Because I feel too ashamed.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  After a hearty breakfast and a discussion as to how the investigation would proceed, Superintendent Edward Tallis was driven in a trap to Ashford Station to catch a train back to London. Both detectives were pleased to see him go but it was Victor Leeming who really savoured his departure. Slapping his thigh, he let out a controlled whoop of delight.

  ‘He’s gone at last!’ he cried.

  ‘He was only here for about twelve hours,’ Colbeck pointed out.

  ‘It seemed much longer somehow. If I have to spend a night away from my wife, I’d rather not do it under the same roof as Mr Tallis. It unsettled me, knowing that His Lordship was only a few doors away. I took ages to get off and I expect that you did as well.’

  ‘No, I slept extremely well.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t. It’s not the same without Estelle,’ said Leeming. ‘I missed her, Inspector.’

  ‘And I’m sure that she missed you just as much, Victor. The sooner we solve these crimes, the sooner you can get back to her.’

  Having bidden farewell to their superior, they were still under the portico outside the Saracen’s Head. It was relatively early but the town was already busy. People were bustling around the streets, shops were getting ready to open and the pandemonium from the railway works showed that the first shift of the day had begun. Across the road from them, an ironmonger was going slowly through his morning routine of displaying his wares outside his shop. He heaved out a long tin bath.

  ‘That’s what I could do with,’ said Leeming, covetously. ‘A bath.’

  ‘Take one back to your wife as a present.’

  ‘I meant that I’d like to soak in warm water for half an hour.’

  ‘I was only teasing you,’ said Colbeck, smiling. ‘There’s no time for either of us to relax, I fear. You need to be on your way to Canterbury.’

  ‘How will I find this Mr Perivale?’

  ‘His chambers are in Watling Street. Get his address from there.’

  ‘What if he doesn’t live in the city?’

  ‘Then go out to where he does live,’ instructed Colbeck. ‘The man could be unaware of the danger that he’s in. But that’s not the only reason you must speak to him, Victor. He was a key figure in the trial of Nathan Hawkshaw. I’ve several questions I’d like you to put to him,’ he said, extracting a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and handing it over. ‘I’ve written them down for you. Peruse them carefully.’

  ‘Wouldn’t it be better if you put them to him in person?’

  ‘Ideally, yes.’

  ‘You were a barrister. You talk the same language as this man.’

  ‘Unfortunately, I can’t be in two places at once.’

  ‘Where will you be, sir?’

  ‘Here in Ashford, for the most part,’ replied Colbeck. ‘I want to make some inquiries at the station, then I need to have a longer talk with Winifred Hawkshaw and with Gregory Newman. To mount the sort of campaign that they did was a formidable challenge to anyone yet they brought if off somehow.’

  ‘It failed all the same.’

  ‘That’s irrelevant. When I paid my first visit to Maidstone, I saw some of the leaflets calling for Hawkshaw’s release, and Sergeant Lugg showed me the advertisements placed in the local newspapers. They were all well written and must have cost money to produce. Who penned that literature and how could they afford to have it printed?’

  ‘Are they likely to tell you?’

  ‘It depends how I ask.’

  ‘I’d better go and find Constable Butterkiss,’ said Leeming. ‘He’s promised to drive me to Canterbury in a trap. If he keeps on at me about the Metropolitan Police, it’s going to be a very long journey. Oh, I do hope that I can get back home soon!’ he went on, earnestly. ‘I miss everything about London. And so do you, I daresay, sir.’

  ‘My place is here in Kent at the moment.’

  ‘Even you must have regrets.’

  ‘Regrets?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Leeming, broaching a topic he had never touched on before. ‘You must be sorry to be apart from Miss Andrews. I know that you like to spend time with her occasionally.’

  ‘I’ll certainly look forward to seeing her again,’ admitted Colbeck, smiling to himself at the unexpected mention of her name, ‘but Madeleine understands that my work always takes precedence.’

  ‘That won’t stop the lady missing you, sir.’

  Madeleine Andrews scanned the newspaper report with a combination of interest and horror. Her father was eating his breakfast before going off to work. She indicated the paper.

  ‘Have you seen this?’ she asked.

  ‘I read it on the way back from the shop, Maddy. When I saw that Inspector Colbeck was on the front page again, I knew you’d want to see it for yourself.’

  ‘A prison chaplain has been murdered.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What kind of monster could want to kill a priest?’

  ‘Oh, I can think of one or two priests I’d like to have met in a dark alley,’ said Andrews with a grim chuckle.

  ‘Father!’ she said, reproachfully.

  ‘I’m only being honest, Maddy. When I was a boy, there was a Canon Howells at St Saviour’s who could make a sermon last a whole afternoon, and he’d give you such a clout if you dozed off in the middle. I should know. I had a clip around my ear from him more than once.’

  ‘This is not something to joke about.’

  ‘It’s no joke. I’m serious. Canon Howells was a holy terror and his deacon, Father Morris, was even worse.’ He swallowed the last of his porridge. ‘But I don’t think you have to look very far to find the man who killed that Reverend Jones.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It was obviously someone who’d been in Maidstone prison.’

  ‘That’s not what Robert thinks,’ said Madeleine, pointing to the article on the front page. ‘He’s certain that the murderer was the same man who killed the public hangman in that excursion train.’

  ‘Yes, a former prisoner with a grudge.’

  ‘Robert is the detective. You keep to driving trains.’

  ‘I’m entitled to my opinion, aren’t I?’ he asked, combatively.

  ‘You’d give it in any case,’ she said, fondly, ‘whether you’re entitled to or not. You’ve got an opinion on everything, Father. Nobody can silence Caleb Andrews – even when he’s wrong.’

  ‘I’m not wrong, Maddy.’

  ‘You don’t know all the facts of the case.’

  ‘I know enough to make a comment.’

  ‘I’d sooner trust Robert’s judgement.’

  ‘Well, he does have an eye for picking things out,’ he said, wryly, ‘I have to admit that. After all, he picked you out, didn’t he?’

  ‘Please don’t start all that again,’ she warned. ‘You should be off.’

  ‘Let me finish this cup of tea first.’

  ‘Which train are you driving today?’

  ‘London to Birmingham.’

  ‘You must know that route by heart.’

  ‘I could drive it with my eyes closed,’ he boasted, draining his cup and getting up from the table. ‘Thanks for the breakfast, Maddy.’

  ‘You need a good meal inside you at the start of the day.’

  ‘You sound like your mother.’

  ‘What time will I expect you?’

  ‘Not too late.’

  ‘Will you be going for a drink first?’

  ‘Probably,’ he replied, taking his hat from the peg behind the front door. ‘I’ll call in for a beer or two and tell them all what I think about this latest murder. They listen to me.’

  ‘Do you give them any choice?’

  ‘I’ve got this instinct, Maddy. Whenever there’s a serious crime, I always have this strange feeling about who committed it. Look at this case of the dead chaplain.’

  ‘It’s shocking.’

  ‘The person who done him in jus
t has to be someone who was locked up in that prison and took against the Reverend Jones. It was the same with that hangman,’ he went on, putting on his hat and opening the front door. ‘All prisoners hate Jack Ketch because he could be coming for them with his noose one day.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, immersed in the paper again.

  ‘That’s enough to make anyone want revenge.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘I know that I would if I was put behind bars.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Goodbye, Maddy. I’m off.’

  ‘Goodbye.’

  ‘Don’t I get my kiss?’ he whined.

  But she did not even hear his complaint. Madeleine had just noticed a small item at the bottom of the page. Linked to the main story, it reminded her poignantly of the last time that she had seen Robert Colbeck. An idea suddenly flashed into her mind. Caleb Andrews had to manage without his farewell kiss for once.

  As soon as the shop opened, Adam Hawkshaw brought some meat out and started to hack it expertly into pieces before setting them out on the table. Other butchers were also getting ready for customers in Middle Row but all they had in response to their greeting was a curt nod of acknowledgement. The first person to appear in the passage was Inspector Colbeck. He strolled up to Adam Hawkshaw.

  ‘Good morning,’ he said, politely.

  ‘I’ve nothing to say to you.’

  ‘Are you always so rude to your customers?’

  ‘Customers?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Colbeck. ‘I didn’t come to buy meat but I am shopping for information and I’m not leaving until I get it. If you insist on refusing to speak to me, of course, I may have to arrest you.’

  ‘Why?’ rejoined the other, testily. ‘I done nothing wrong.’

  ‘Obstructing a police officer in the exercise of his duties is a crime, Mr Hawkshaw. In other words, a decision confronts you.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘We can either have this conversation here and now or we’ll have it when you’re in custody. It’s your choice.’

  ‘I got to work in this shop.’

  ‘Then we’ll sort this out right away, shall we?’ said Colbeck, briskly. ‘Where were you the night before last?’

  ‘That’s my business,’ retorted Hawkshaw.

  ‘It also happens to be my business.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I need to establish your whereabouts during that evening.’

  ‘I was in my room,’ said the other, evasively. ‘Satisfied now?’

  ‘Only if we have a witness who can verify that. Do we?’ Hawkshaw shook his head. ‘I thought not.’

  ‘I was on my own.’

  ‘Gregory Newman told me that you rented a room near the Corn Exchange. There must have been someone else in the house at the time. Your landlord, for instance?’

  ‘I can’t remember.’

  ‘I’ll ask him if he remembers.’

  ‘He wouldn’t know,’ said Hawkshaw. ‘I come and go as I please.’

  ‘I’ve just been talking to the stationmaster at Ashford station. He recalls a young man of your build and colouring, who took a train to Paddock Wood on the evening in question.’

  ‘It must have been someone else, Inspector.’

  ‘Are you quite certain of that?’

  Hawkshaw met his gaze. ‘I was alone in my room all evening.’

  ‘Studying the Bible, I daresay.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘No,’ said Colbeck on reflection, glancing at the board beside him. ‘I don’t think you have much time for reading – or for writing either. That’s evident. I doubt if you’d even know where to find St Paul’s Epistle to the Romans, would you?’ Hawkshaw looked mystified. ‘There you are,’ Colbeck went on, ‘that wasn’t too difficult was it? I’ll have some more questions for you in time but I’ll not hold you up any longer. I need to speak to your stepmother now.’

  ‘She’s not in,’ claimed the butcher.

  ‘Then I wonder whose face I saw in the bedroom window when I crossed the high street just now. Is it possible that Mrs Hawkshaw has a twin sister living over the shop?’ Hawkshaw glowered at him. ‘Excuse me while I speak to someone who’s a little more forthcoming.’

  Meat cleaver in his hand, Hawkshaw moved across to block his way but the determination in Colbeck’s eye made him change his mind. He stood aside and the detective went into the shop before tapping on the door at the rear. It was not long before he and Winifred Hawkshaw were sitting down together in the parlour. He held his top hat in his lap. She was watchful.

  ‘I finally had a conversation with your stepson,’ he said.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘He seems to be having a problem with his memory.’

  ‘Does he, Inspector?’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Hawkshaw. He tells me that he spent the night before last alone in his room yet a witness places him – or someone very much like him – at the railway station that evening. Have you any idea where he might have been going?’

  ‘Adam was where he said he was.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  ‘Because we brought him up to be honest,’ said Winifred, stoutly. ‘I know you think he might have had something to do with the murder of the prison chaplain but you’re wrong. Adam is like his father – he’s been falsely accused.’

  ‘I haven’t accused him of anything, Mrs Hawkshaw.’

  ‘You suspect him. Why else are you here?’

  ‘I wanted to eliminate him from my inquiries,’ said Colbeck, levelly, ‘and I did so by discovering if he had any acquaintance with the New Testament. Patently, he does not. The reason I wanted to see you is to ask a favour.’

  She was suspicious. ‘What sort of favour?’

  ‘When your husband was arrested, several people rallied around you and supported your campaign.’

  ‘Nathan had lots of friends.’

  ‘Did you keep a record of their names?’

  ‘Why should I do that?’

  ‘Because you knew how to organise things properly.’

  ‘That was Gregory’s doing, Inspector.’

  ‘I fancy that you were intimately involved in every aspect of the campaign, Mrs Hawkshaw. You had the biggest stake in it, after all. He was your husband. That’s why you fought tooth and nail to save him.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, proudly, ‘and I’d do the same again.’

  ‘I respect that.’

  ‘Yet you still think Nathan was guilty.’

  ‘Oddly enough, I don’t,’ he told her. ‘In fact, having learnt more details of the case, I’d question the safety of the conviction.’

  ‘Do you?’ Winifred Hawkshaw regarded him frank distrust. ‘Or are you just saying that to trick me?’

  ‘Trick you into what?’

  ‘I’m not sure yet.’

  ‘All I want to know is who helped you in your campaign and how you funded the whole thing? There’s no trickery in that, is there?’

  ‘I can’t remember all the names,’ she said. ‘There were far too many of them. Most people paid a little towards our expenses.’

  ‘And what about the rescue attempt at Maidstone prison?’

  ‘I told you before – I know nothing of that.’

  ‘But you must have approved of it.’

  ‘If I thought I could have got my husband out,’ she said, ‘I’d have climbed over the wall of the prison myself.’ She looked at him quizzically. ‘Are you married, Inspector?’

  ‘No, I’m not.’

  ‘Then you’ll never understand how I felt. Nathan was everything to me. He came along at a very bad time in my life when I had to fend alone for Emily and myself. Nathan saved us.’

  ‘But he wasn’t your first husband, was he?’

  ‘No, he wasn’t. Martin was killed in an accident years ago.’

  ‘In a fire, I believe. What were the circumstances exactly?’

  ‘Please!’ she protested. ‘It’s painful enough to talk about one husband who was taken away from
me before his time. Don’t ask me about Martin as well. I’ve tried to bury those memories.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Hawkshaw. It was wrong of me to bring it up.’

  ‘Have you finished with me now?’

  ‘One last question,’ he said, choosing his words with care. ‘Your second husband had good reason to loathe Joseph Dykes. What impelled him to go after the man was the assault on your daughter, Emily. Can you recall what she told you about that incident?’

  ‘Why you should want to know that?’

  ‘It could be important. What precisely did she say to you?’

  ‘Nothing at all at the time,’ answered Winifred, ‘because I wasn’t here. I was visiting my mother. It was Nathan who had to console her. As soon as he’d done that, he left Adam in charge of the shop and charged off to find Joe Dykes.’

  ‘With a meat cleaver in his hand.’

  ‘You sound just like that barrister at the trial.’

  ‘I don’t mean to, Mrs Hawkshaw,’ he apologised. ‘Your daughter had just been through a frightening experience. She must have told your husband enough about it to make him seek retribution. Though I daresay that she reserved the full details for you.’

  ‘No,’ she confessed. ‘That’s the strange thing. She didn’t.’

  ‘But you’re her mother. Surely, she confided in you?’

  ‘If only she had, Inspector. I tried to get the story out of her but Emily refused to talk about it. She said that she wanted to forget it but there’s no way that she could do that. In fact,’ she went on as if realising something for the first time, ‘that’s when it really started.’

  ‘What did?’

  ‘This odd behaviour of hers. Emily pulled away from me. We just couldn’t talk to each other properly again. I don’t know what Joe Dykes did to her in that lane but I was his victim as well. He took my daughter away from me.’

  Victor Leeming was in luck. When he got to the venerable city of Canterbury, he discovered that Patrick Perivale was at his chambers, interviewing a client. The detective did not mind waiting in the gracious Georgian house that served as a base for the barrister. After a ride through the countryside with Constable George Butterkiss at his most aggravating, Leeming felt that he was due some good fortune. Taking out the piece of paper that Colbeck had given him, he memorised the questions by repeating them over and over again in his head. Eventually, he was shown into a large, well-proportioned, high-ceilinged room with serried ranks of legal tomes along one wall.