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

by Edward Marston

  ‘We all were,’ said Winifred Hawkshaw. ‘It was terrifying to see her up on that church tower. Thank heaven she was saved! The doctor gave her some pills to make her sleep. Emily won’t wake up until the morning.’

  ‘Make sure that she doesn’t slip out again.’

  ‘I’ll lock the door of her room. It’s dreadful to treat my own daughter like a prisoner but it may be the only way to keep her alive.’

  They were sitting in the room at the rear of the butcher’s shop. Though he had been home to see to his wife, Newman had not bothered to change out of his work clothes or to have a meal. The crisis required a swift response and he had run all the way to Middle Row. Winifred Hawkshaw was deeply grateful.

  ‘Thank you, Gregory,’ she said, reaching out to touch him. ‘I knew that I could count on you.’ She gave a pained smile. ‘You must be so sick of this family.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘We’ve brought you nothing but trouble.’

  ‘Nonsense!’

  ‘Think of all those arguments we had with Adam when he was younger. You were the one who stepped in and found him somewhere else to live. Then came Nathan’s arrest and all the horror that followed it. And now we have Emily trying to kill herself.’

  ‘Is that what she really did, Win?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’m wondering if she was just trying to frighten you.’

  ‘Well, she certainly did that,’ admitted Winifred. ‘I was scared stiff when I saw her up there. And I do believe she meant to jump. Why else would she have climbed up on that ledge? It was so dangerous.’

  ‘Do you have any idea what made her do it?’

  ‘Only that she’s been very unhappy for weeks – but, then, so have we all. Emily is no different to the rest of us.’

  ‘Adam said that Inspector Colbeck wanted to question her.’

  ‘That’s right. He called here earlier for the second time today. I sent him away. I pretended that she was asleep so that I could warn her that she’d have to talk to a policeman from London.’

  ‘What did she say to that?’

  ‘Well, she wasn’t very pleased,’ replied Winifred. ‘Emily seemed to be afraid of talking to anyone. Then I mentioned the petition again. When I asked her why she didn’t sign it, she had this sudden fit. It was like the kind of seizure that my mother sometimes has.’

  ‘Emily needs to be looked at properly by the doctor.’

  ‘I know, Gregory. After I’d calmed her down, I told Emily that I couldn’t let her go on like this any longer. But she begged me not to call in the doctor again.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘She wouldn’t say. Emily just cried and cried.’

  ‘It’s been weeks since the execution now,’ said Newman, running a hand through his beard. ‘I’d have expected her to be over the worst. It’s not as if she was actually there, after all.’

  ‘No, I made her stay away.’

  ‘How did she sneak out today?’

  ‘Eventually,’ she said, ‘I went out to call the doctor and Adam was busy elsewhere. Emily must have picked her moment and gone. As soon as I realised she wasn’t here, we went off in search of her. Then we heard all the noise coming from the churchyard.’

  ‘It must have been dreadful for you,’ he said, getting up to put an arm around her. ‘To lose a child is bad enough for any parent, Win, but to lose one in that way would have been unbearable.’

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered, nestling against his body.

  ‘I just can’t believe it. Emily was always so trustworthy.’

  ‘Not any more, Gregory.’ She pulled back to look up at him. ‘I’ll be afraid to take my eyes off her from now on. I dread to think what might have happened if Inspector Colbeck hadn’t gone up that tower after her.’

  ‘What did he do exactly?’ he said, standing away from her.

  ‘He talked to her very quietly and made her change her mind. When she tried to get down again, she slipped and almost fell. Honestly, Gregory, my heart was in my mouth at that moment.’

  ‘But the Inspector grabbed her just in time?’ She nodded. ‘We all owe him thanks for that. I could see that even Adam was upset and he’s never got on well with his stepsister.’ He resumed his seat. ‘You said that Inspector Colbeck called earlier today.’

  ‘Yes, he wanted to question Adam.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘That murder the other night.’

  ‘It had nothing to do with Adam,’ he said, staunchly.

  ‘I know but the stationmaster remembers someone who looked like him, taking a train to Paddock Wood that same night.’

  ‘Lots of people look like Adam. There are two or three young men at the railway works who could be taken for his twin. Did the Inspector have anything else to say?’

  ‘A great deal. He came in here to see me.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It was rather upsetting, Gregory,’ she said, wrapping her arms around her body as if she were cold. ‘Out of the blue, he asked me what happened to my first husband. He wanted to know how Martin died.’

  ‘That was an odd thing to ask.’

  ‘He did apologise when I told him I didn’t want to talk about that. So he turned to Emily instead. The Inspector was interested to know what she said to me after she was attacked by Joe Dykes.’

  ‘But you weren’t here at the time, were you?’

  ‘No, I was over in Willesborough. She spoke to Nathan.’

  ‘And – like any father – he went charging off after Joe. I remember him telling me about it afterwards,’ said Newman. ‘He said that this fierce anger built up inside him and he couldn’t control himself. It was just as well that he didn’t catch up with Joe that day.’

  ‘But it helped to hang him all the same,’ she said, grimly. ‘Going off in a temper like that. There were half a dozen witnesses who couldn’t wait to stand up in court and talk about the way they’d seen him running down the street with a cleaver.’

  ‘I’d have done no different if Emily had been my daughter.’

  ‘I suppose not.’

  ‘Joe Dykes was a menace to any woman.’ He sat back in his chair. ‘So what did you tell Inspector Colbeck?’

  ‘The truth – that Emily wouldn’t talk to me about it.’

  ‘She confided in Nathan.’

  ‘Yes, and he told me what she said but it was not the same. I wanted to hear it from my daughter’s own lips. And there was another thing that worried me at the time, Gregory.’

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘Nathan and I had always been very honest with each other. Yet when I tried to talk to him about Emily, and what she’d said when she came running back here that day, I had the feeling that he was holding something back. I only ever got part of the story.’

  It took Colbeck less than two minutes to establish that Peter Stelling was not the killer. Since he had a business to run, and a wife and four children to look after, the ironmonger would not have had the necessary freedom of movement. In addition, Stelling was such a mild-mannered man that it was difficult to imagine him working himself up into the fury symbolised in the slaughter of Joseph Dykes. The second name on Colbeck’s list did not keep him long either. As soon as he learnt that Moses Haddon, a bricklayer, had been in bed for a week after falling from a ladder, he was able to remove his name from the list. In the case of both men, however, he took the trouble to ask if they could describe Amos Lockyer for him. Each man spoke well of the former policeman and said that he was short, stout and well into his fifties. They confirmed that the wound in his leg had left him with a rather comical waddle.

  He owed a debt of gratitude to Madeleine Andrews for providing a possible link between Lockyer and Jacob Guttridge, and it gave him his first surge of optimism since they had arrived in Ashford. Relishing the memory of Madeleine’s surprise visit to the town, he went on to question the next person, wearing a broad smile on his face.

  She was in the kitchen whe
n she heard the front door open and shut.

  ‘Where have you been?’ she asked, chastising her father with her tone of voice. ‘Your dinner is getting cold.’

  ‘I was held up, Maddy,’ said Caleb Andrews, coming into the kitchen to give her a conciliatory kiss. ‘We got talking about the murder of that prison chaplain and time just flew by.’

  ‘Helped along by a couple of pints of beer no doubt.’

  ‘A man is entitled to a few pleasures in life.’

  Madeleine served the meal on to two plates and set them on the table. She sat opposite her father and passed him the salt. He shook a liberal quantity over his food.

  ‘They all agreed with me, you know,’ he said.

  ‘You mean that they didn’t dare to disagree.’

  ‘The killer was someone who served time in Maidstone prison.’

  ‘I’m not so sure, Father.’

  ‘Well, I am,’ he asserted, stabbing the air with his knife. ‘For two pins, I’d give you the money to take a train to Ashford so that you can tell Inspector Colbeck what I said. He’d know where to look then.’

  ‘Oh, I fancy that he can manage without your help.’

  ‘I have this feeling in my bones, Maddy.’

  ‘Save it for your workmates,’ she advised. ‘Robert is a trained detective. He knows how to lead an investigation and it’s not by relying on suggestions from every Tom, Dick and Harry.’

  ‘I’m not Tom, Dick or Harry,’ he protested. ‘I’m your father and, as such, I’ve got connections with this case. I told them all that Inspector Colbeck had come calling here.’

  ‘Father!’

  ‘Well, it’s true, isn’t it?’

  ‘I don’t want you and your friends gossiping about me.’

  ‘What am I supposed to tell them – that you’ve taken the veil?’

  ‘Don’t be silly.’

  ‘Then stop pretending that you and the Inspector are not close. You’re like a locomotive and tender.’ He swallowed a piece of meat. ‘Well, maybe not that close.’ He winked at her. ‘Yet, anyway.’

  Her gaze was steely. ‘You’re doing it again, aren’t you?’

  ‘It’s only in fun, Maddy.’

  ‘How would you like it if I stopped cooking your meals for you and told you it was only in fun?’

  ‘That would be cruel!’

  ‘At least, you’d know how I feel.’

  ‘Maddy!’ She picked at her own food and he watched her for a moment. ‘Look, I’m sorry. I let my tongue run away with me sometimes. I won’t say another word about him. I promise you.’ He sliced up his beans. ‘What have you been doing with yourself all day?’

  ‘Oh, I had a very quiet time,’ she said, determined to conceal from him where she had been. ‘I cleaned the house then read for a while.’

  ‘Did you work on the painting?’

  ‘A little.’

  ‘When are you going to give it to him?’

  ‘When it’s ready, Father. And,’ she told him, pointedly, ‘when you’re not here to embarrass me.’

  ‘I wouldn’t embarrass you for the world.’

  ‘You’ve done it already since you walked through that door.’

  ‘Have I? What did I say?’

  ‘I’d rather not repeat it. Let’s talk about something else.’

  ‘As you wish.’ He racked his brain for a new subject. ‘Oh, I know what I mean to tell you. When you read the paper this morning, did you see that Jake Guttridge was being buried today?’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I bet he was there as well.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The killer. The man who strangled him on that excursion train. I’d bet anything that he turned up at the funeral just so that he could get in a good kick at the coffin. It’s exactly the sort of thing that he’d do.’

  Madeleine ate her dinner, not daring to say a word.

  Because they had been asked to bring someone back with them, Victor Leeming and George Butterkiss travelled in the cart that had taken them to Lenham on their first journey together. This time it smelt in equal proportions of fish, animal dung and musty hay. The potholes made an even more concerted assault on the Sergeant’s buttocks and he was glad when they finally reached Charing, a charming village on the road to Maidstone. His aches and pains increased in intensity when he learnt that they had gone there in vain. The farmer for whom Amos Lockyer had worked told them that he had sacked the man months earlier for being drunk and unreliable.

  Hearing a rumour that Lockyer had taken a menial job on the staff at Leeds Castle, they rode on there, only to be met with another rebuff. After only a short time in service at the castle, Lockyer had failed to turn up for work and vanished from his lodging. Nobody had any idea where he could be. George Butterkiss drove his unhappy passenger back towards Ashford. The road seemed bumpier than ever.

  ‘Why is the Inspector so keen to speak to Amos?’ asked Butterkiss.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Leeming.

  ‘Does he want him to help in the investigation?’

  ‘Possibly.’

  Butterkiss beamed. ‘It will be wonderful to work alongside him once again,’ he said. ‘Amos Lockyer, me and two detectives from the Metropolitan Police. A quartet like that is a match for any villain.’

  Conscious that he would have to listen to his zealous companion all the way back, Leeming gritted his teeth. When rain began to fall, he swore under his breath. It was the last straw.

  ‘We’ll be soaked to the skin,’ he complained.

  ‘I know what Amos would have done at a time like this,’ said Butterkiss, remaining resolutely cheerful. ‘Never let things get on top of you – that was his motto. If Amos was sitting where you are, Sergeant, do you know what he’d suggest?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That we sing a song to keep up our spirits.’

  ‘Don’t you dare!’ warned Leeming, turning on him. ‘I don’t want my spirits kept up after this wild goose chase. If you sing so much as a single note, Constable Butterkiss, you’ll be walking all the way home.’

  Adam Hawkshaw waited until it was quite dark before he opened the door of his lodging and peeped out. The rain was easing but it was still persistent enough to keep most people off the streets that evening. When he saw that nobody was about, he pulled down his hat, stepped on to the pavement and pulled the door shut behind him. Hands in his pockets, he walked swiftly off into the gloom.

  Robert Colbeck was beginning to get worried. He had expected Leeming and Butterkiss to be back hours earlier with the man they had sought. Charing was no great distance from the town, miles closer than Lenham. Even if they had had to go to an outlying farm, they should have returned by now. The combination of rain and darkness would slow them down but not to that extent. Colbeck wondered if they had encountered trouble of some sort. He sat near the window of his bedroom for what seemed like an age before he finally heard the rattle of a cart below.

  Hoping that they had at last come back, he went downstairs and hurried to the door, ignoring the rain and stepping out from under the portico. By the light of the street lamps, to his relief, he saw a wet and disgruntled Victor Leeming, seated on the cart beside an equally sodden George Butterkiss. There was no third person with them. Before he could even greet them, however, Colbeck was aware of sudden movement in the shadows on the opposite side of the street. A pistol was fired with a loud bang. The noise frightened the horse and it bolted down the high street with the driver trying desperately to control it. Taken by surprise, Leeming was almost flung from the cart.

  Robert Colbeck, meanwhile, had fallen to the ground with a stifled cry and rolled over on to his back. Satisfied with his work, the man who had fired the shot fled the scene.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  It was ironic. Robert Colbeck, the assassin’s intended target, suffered nothing more than a painful flesh wound in his upper arm whereas Victor Leeming, who just happened to be nearby at the time, collected a whole battery of cuts and bruises wh
en he was hurled from the cart as it overturned. The Sergeant was justifiably upset.

  ‘It’s not fair,’ he protested. ‘All that I expected to do was to ride to Charing to pick someone up. Instead of that, I’m drenched by rain, bored stiff by Constable Butterkiss, beaten black and blue by that vicious cart of his, then flung to the ground like a sack of potatoes.’

  ‘You have my sympathy, Victor.’

  ‘And on top of all that, we came back empty-handed.’

  ‘That was unfortunate,’ said Colbeck.

  They were in his room at the Saracen’s Head, free at last from the inquisitive crowd that had rushed out into the street to see what had caused the commotion. Colbeck’s injured arm had now been bandaged and the doctor had then treated Leeming’s wounds. Back in dry clothing again, the Sergeant was puzzled.

  ‘Why are you taking it so calmly, sir?’ he asked.

  ‘How should I be taking it?’

  ‘If someone had fired at me, I’d be livid.’

  ‘Well, I was annoyed at the damage he did to my frock coat,’ said Colbeck, seriously. ‘I doubt if it can be repaired. And the blood will have ruined my shirt beyond reclaim. No,’ he continued, ‘I prefer to look at the consolations involved.’

  ‘I didn’t know that there were any.’

  ‘Three, at least.’

  ‘What are they?’

  ‘First of all, I’m alive with only a scratch on me. Luckily, the shot was off target. The man is clearly not as adept with a pistol as he is with a piece of wire.’

  ‘You think that it was the killer?’

  ‘Who else, Victor? He’s frightened because we are closing in on him. That’s the second consolation. We’ve made more progress than we imagined. The man is right here in Ashford. He’s given himself away.’

  ‘What’s the third consolation, sir?’

  ‘He thinks that he killed me,’ said Colbeck. ‘That’s why I fell to the ground and stayed there. Also, of course, I didn’t want to give him the chance to aim at me again. Believing I was dead, he ran away. There was no point in trying to chase him because I had this searing pain in my arm. I’d never have been able to overpower him. Much better to give him the impression that his attempt on my life had been successful.’