Blood on the Line irc-8

by Edward Marston

  ‘Playing with my grandchildren, of course – where are they?’

  She was startled. ‘Father!’

  ‘You can’t leave these things too late,’ he cautioned.

  Even from her mother, Madeleine would have found such advice intrusive. From her father it was embarrassing. Like many young women on the verge of marriage, she was prepared to leave such decisions to Mother Nature, then react to them accordingly. She certainly did not wish to discuss the prospects of raising a family when she had yet to wear a wedding ring. All that Madeleine longed for was to share her life with Colbeck. To do that, she was willing to be patient and forbearing.

  For his own and for his daughter’s sake, Andrews was keen to see a resolution at the altar. At the same time, however, he did not want to upset Madeleine. He lit his pipe and puffed away at it before taking up the conversation again. His tone was much softer.

  ‘Dirk Sowerby was married only four months after the betrothal,’ he said, meaningfully.

  ‘His wife is welcome to him,’ she replied. ‘I’d have no desire to spend my life with a man like that.’

  ‘What’s wrong with Dirk?’

  ‘I could never love him, Father.’

  He was indignant. ‘Is that because he works on the railway?’

  ‘You know that it isn’t.’

  ‘Are you so high and mighty that you look down on us now?’

  ‘No,’ she said with vehemence, ‘and you must never think that. I’m the daughter of an engine driver and I always will be.’ She pointed to her easel. ‘Do you think I’d spend all my time painting trains if I regarded railwaymen with contempt? It’s unfair even to suggest it. Nobody could ever accuse me of looking down on you.’

  ‘Very well,’ he said, shamefacedly. ‘I take that back.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘But I still worry for you, Maddy.’ He pulled on his pipe. ‘Do you remember what you once said to me?’

  ‘I’ve said lots of things – but you take no notice of them.’

  ‘This was about Inspector Colbeck. I felt that he was dragging his feet and keeping you waiting. You made an odd comment.’

  ‘Did I?’

  ‘Yes, Maddy. You said that there were times when it seemed as if his mind was elsewhere. He was distracted and rather sad. It was almost as if he was mourning someone.’

  ‘You’re right,’ she recalled. ‘I did say that.’

  ‘And do you still believe it?’

  ‘I don’t think so. It was just a feeling I had at the time.’

  ‘Suppose that there was someone in his past?’ said Andrews, tentatively. ‘He’s a handsome man with good prospects. You weren’t the first woman to notice that. I just wonder if he’s been disappointed in love and that that’s made him very cautious.’ He shifted his pipe to the other side of his mouth. ‘Has he said anything to you on the subject?’

  She was firm. ‘No, Father.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, I am.’

  ‘There hasn’t been anyone else, then?’

  The question was like the jab of a needle and it hurt. Madeleine could not muster a reply. She had always felt slight concern about Colbeck’s earlier life, especially as he seldom talked about it. Once they had become formally engaged, her anxiety about his past had vanished. Her father had now awakened it. It was as if an old wound had been reopened and it was smarting. When she tried to dismiss the whole thing from her mind, it remained stubbornly in place like a tiny stain on a carpet that she could always see out of the corner of her eye. It was worrying. Rising abruptly from her chair, she headed for the kitchen.

  ‘I’ll get your supper,’ she said, briskly.

  Edward Tallis was halfway through one of his pungent cigars. It was a signal that he was under stress once more. When he entered the superintendent’s office, Colbeck could barely see him through the fug. He waved a hand to disperse some of the smoke.

  ‘Do you mind if I open a window, sir?’ he asked.

  ‘Please do,’ urged Tallis, stubbing out the cigar in an ashtray. ‘I smoke far too many of these things.’

  ‘That’s your privilege, Superintendent.’

  ‘They help me to relax and that’s something I always need to do after an interview with the press. I’ve had a posse of journalists in here, hounding me for details of the investigation and demanding to know why we’ve made no arrests as yet.’

  Colbeck opened the window and took in a lungful of clean air. A light breeze blew in, making the smoke swirl and eddy. He walked back to the front of the desk. It was evening and, after his visit to Manchester, he had come straight to Scotland Yard this time instead of calling on Madeleine beforehand.

  Tallis glowered at him. ‘I am in need of good news, Inspector.’

  ‘Then you’ll be pleased to know that we have identified Irene Adnam as the woman implicated in the murder of the two policemen.’

  ‘Do you know where she is?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Have you any idea where she might be?’

  ‘Not at the moment,’ confessed Colbeck.

  ‘Then how can this possibly be construed as good news?’

  ‘It will enable us to turn the press from our enemies into our friends.’ Tallis gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Yes, I know that they often take a hostile attitude towards you, sir, but they are our best means of tracking down Miss Adnam. If we issue a description of her, it can be published in every national newspaper and in provincial editions in places like Birmingham, Wolverhampton and Manchester.’

  ‘I want to be persuaded that we have the right person first.’

  ‘I spoke with her father. He lives in Deansgate.’

  ‘That’s a very deprived part of Manchester, as I recall.’

  ‘Mr Adnam has fallen on hard times.’

  Colbeck described his meeting with the man and explained how astounded he’d been to learn that his daughter had been involved in criminal activities for a number of years. He absolved Adnam of any blame. All that he could be accused of was being too naive. Irene had been so plausible that he believed the lies she was telling him. Once he’d been confronted with the truth, he’d condemned his daughter’s crime spree and readily answered all of Colbeck’s questions. As a result, the inspector had a record of all the times she had visited her father and a list of the places at which she claimed to have worked.

  ‘In other words,’ said Colbeck, ‘she still has sufficient care for Mr Adnam to want to relieve his distress.’

  Tallis was harsh. ‘That won’t stop her from being hanged,’ he promised. ‘A few good deeds are heavily outweighed by the bad ones. Irene Adnam is evil. She and Oxley are clearly birds of a feather.’

  ‘They’ll be hiding somewhere until the hue and cry passes. The only way to smoke them out is by using the press.’

  ‘I’ll summon the hungry jackals in the morning.’

  ‘Send word to them now, sir,’ urged Colbeck. ‘The sooner we have the nation looking for this pair, the better. If we hurry, we might catch the later editions.’

  ‘I’d prefer to make a concerted effort tomorrow, Inspector. That way we can ensure that national and provincial newspapers carry the information at the same time. The wider the coverage, the more chance we have of flushing them out of cover.’ Reaching for a pencil, he moved the oil lamp closer so that it shed its glow over the pad in front of him. ‘I’ll need an exact description.’

  ‘I’ve already written it down,’ said Colbeck, taking a sheet of folded paper from his pocket. ‘This combines what I was told by the woman’s father and by her former employer, Mr Holte.’ He handed it over. ‘But it will not be as accurate as I could wish. According to Mr Adnam, she was fond of play-acting as a child and was skilled at changing her appearance.’

  ‘The hangman will change it even more,’ said Tallis, sourly. After glancing at the paper, he looked up at Colbeck. ‘What about Sergeant Leeming and Constable Peebles?’

  ‘They took part in the searc
h and visited two addresses while I was in Deansgate. For obvious reasons, their efforts were in vain.’

  ‘I was really asking how they got along together.’

  ‘There was no friction between them, sir. Why should there be?’

  ‘I sensed that the sergeant was very unhappy to be forced to work with a new recruit. Leeming was less than welcoming to him. Is that a fair assessment?’

  ‘He might have had a few reservations about Constable Peebles, sir, but they disappeared in the line of duty. While they were on their way to a house in Manchester, they were set on by four ruffians.’

  Tallis was alarmed. ‘Was either of them hurt?’

  ‘No,’ replied Colbeck. ‘They turned the tables on their attackers and put them to flight. Victor – Sergeant Leeming – was very complimentary about the way that the constable had fought. Any slight differences that might have existed between them have now been eradicated.’

  ‘That’s good to hear. Mutual respect is vital in this department.’

  ‘In the case of Constable Peebles, it’s rather more than respect.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It transpires that he’s been following the cases that we’ve been handling on the railways. As well as discharging his duties as a policeman in A Division, he somehow found time to compile a scrapbook of our successes. He draws inspiration from them.’

  ‘I find no fault in that.’

  ‘Neither do I, sir,’ said Colbeck. ‘My only worry is that he may let admiration blind him to our shortcomings. None of us is infallible.’

  ‘Quite so – Homer sometimes nods.’

  ‘Quandoque bonus dormitat Homerus.’

  Tallis scowled. ‘What heathen tongue is that?’

  ‘It’s the Latin you just translated. I think it was rather astute of you to pick up on my use of the word “blind” and mention Homer, the famous blind poet.’

  ‘It just came to me,’ said Tallis, relishing praise for something that was entirely coincidental. ‘So we are celebrated in a scrapbook, are we? I find that heartening.’

  ‘I think you should, Superintendent,’ said Colbeck, tongue in cheek. ‘After all, any triumphs we have to our credit have been secured under your aegis. Your control of our efforts has been decisive. I know that you loathe the press,’ he went on, ‘but they have trumpeted our successes from time to time. Your name is probably on every page of the constable’s scrapbook.’

  Tallis’s broad grin was like the beam of a lighthouse.

  It was the tranquillity that she appreciated most. Irene had never had such a peaceful night. Even in a hotel, the hustle and bustle of city life could be heard outside the windows. Then there was the ever-present noise of trains hurtling along. That, too, had gone. In its place were gentler sounds that allowed her to sleep undisturbed. She awoke refreshed and happy. Irene at last felt safe.

  ‘How long are we going to stay here?’ she asked.

  ‘Until they stop searching so hard for us,’ replied Oxley. ‘In the wake of a murder, the police will do all they can to find the suspects. The longer the hunt goes on, however, the fewer resources they can devote to it. Other crimes are being committed and they’ll demand attention. We simply have to wait until we fade into the past.’

  ‘We mustn’t outstay our welcome, Jerry.’

  ‘Don’t you like it here?’

  ‘I love it – but we can’t impose on Gordon and Susanna.’

  ‘They say that we can stay as long as we like.’

  She was worried. ‘Do they know what we did?’

  ‘No, Irene,’ he told her. ‘They don’t know and won’t ask.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we tell them?’

  ‘We’ve told them all they need to know by turning up here. We need a hiding place. They’re intelligent enough to work out why.’

  It was glorious weather. They were seated on a rustic bench in the garden, listening to the insects buzz and watching the birds hop from branch to branch among the trees. It all served to intensify Irene’s ambition to live in such a place and to stop being on the move all the time.

  ‘All we have to do is to copy what they did,’ resumed Oxley. ‘Gordon and Susanna showed us how it was done. When he was in danger of being exposed in Bradford, Gordon fled here to the house he’d bought in readiness. The police searched everywhere for them but to no avail. Mind you,’ he added with a chuckle, ‘they did take the precaution of changing their names.’

  ‘Do you mean that they’re not Dr and Mrs Younger?’

  ‘I mean exactly that, Irene. I’ll let you into a secret.’ He put his lips close to her ear. ‘Gordon and Susanna are false names as well.’

  ‘What are their real names?’

  ‘They don’t exist anymore. They have new identities, a new house and a new life. Gordon is not a retired doctor anymore. Everyone here thinks that he used to be an archaeologist. His hobby is poking around in old ruins, so it’s not a complete lie.’

  ‘I can see why they’ve never been caught,’ said Irene, admiringly. ‘The police are looking for a doctor and his wife, not an archaeologist with a totally different name.’ A question nudged her. ‘But what about birth certificates and such like?’

  ‘You can always get forgeries, if you have enough money.’

  ‘I used to forge my own references.’

  ‘There you are,’ said Oxley, slipping an arm around her. ‘You’re a woman of many talents, Irene.’

  ‘I had to be. I wasn’t going to spend my life in domestic service. One day at the beck and call of someone else taught me that.’

  They heard a rattle of cups and turned to see a servant bringing out a tray. Susanna followed and Gordon shambled after her, his pate gilded by the sun. Seated in a semicircle, the four of them were soon enjoying a cup of tea.

  ‘Do you have any plans for today?’ enquired Younger.

  ‘None at all,’ replied Oxley.

  ‘How well do you know London?’

  ‘I know it extremely well.’

  ‘I don’t,’ said Irene. ‘I’m a Manchester lass. I’ve never really had the chance to take a proper look at London.’

  ‘Then we can remedy that for you,’ said Younger.

  ‘Yes,’ said his wife. ‘The nearest station is about a mile away. We can catch a train to Euston from there and spend the afternoon exploring. What would you like to see, Irene?’

  Her reply was instant. ‘Buckingham Palace,’ she declared. ‘I’ve always wanted to see that. When I was a little girl, my father promised that he’d take me there one day but he never did.’ She looked from Susanna to Gordon. ‘Can we go to Buckingham Palace, please?’

  ‘We can go wherever you like,’ said Younger, indulgently. ‘I’d like to put in a plea for St Paul’s cathedral.’

  ‘Don’t forget Trafalgar Square,’ his wife reminded him. ‘Irene must see Nelson’s statue. What about you, Jerry?’ she continued, turning to him. ‘Where would you like to go?’

  ‘Oh, there’s only one place I’d choose,’ he told her.

  ‘And where’s that?’

  ‘Scotland Yard.’

  Now that he’d got to know Peebles a little better, Victor Leeming no longer felt the same antipathy towards him. His dog-like willingness was still irritating but it was balanced by some excellent qualities. Peebles was brave, determined and inquisitive. Conscious of his deficiencies, he was always trying to repair them by firing an endless series of questions at his senior colleagues. He learnt quickly and was invariably grateful for advice. Leeming slowly warmed to him.

  ‘Is this what being a detective means?’ asked Peebles. ‘Yesterday we charged up to Manchester and pounded the streets in search of the father of a suspect. Today we’re stuck here in Scotland Yard.’

  ‘We have to wait until we have evidence of their whereabouts,’ said Leeming. ‘It’s different from being a policeman on the beat. When you see a crime being committed there, you can wade in at once and arrest the culprit. You respond immediately to a give
n situation.’

  Peebles grinned. ‘Aye, I’ve done that often enough.’

  ‘Things sometimes move more slowly here. We’re involved in a cat-and-mouse game, so we have to be patient. As soon as the villains make a mistake – and they usually do – we spring into action. Have no fears, Constable, there’ll be time to use those fists of yours again. Meanwhile, we have to rely on our brains.’

  Colbeck had given the two men the use of his office and left them all the information pertaining to Jeremy Oxley and Irene Adnam that he could gather. They studied the sheets of paper and put them in chronological order. Most of the records related to Oxley but his accomplice had not been idle. Three different members of polite society in Manchester had been deceived into taking her on as a governess and each time she’d done a moonlight flit with a substantial haul. Ambrose Holte had been her first trusting employer. For each of her subsequent appointments, Irene had used other names. Thanks to Inspector Boone, who had provided the information, they had some indication of the way in which she operated. What was not clear from the collection of papers was when Oxley and Irene had started to work together.

  ‘The problem is that Miss Adnam has never been caught,’ said Leeming, ‘so we have no details of an arrest. Jeremy Oxley, on the other hand, has been arrested twice but never convicted. On both occasions, he managed to escape. I think we both know how.’

  ‘Money changed hands,’ observed Peebles.

  ‘It’s one of the things that really makes me mad. Rich people are the most difficult to convict. No matter how black their crimes, they can buy their way out of trouble. Oxley must have made a small fortune over the years. He’ll always be able to offer a juicy bribe.’

  ‘That’s a crime in itself, Sergeant.’

  ‘Only to those who recognise it as such,’ said Leeming. ‘I’m afraid that a certain constable in Wolverhampton let his greed take precedence over his duty. The five pounds he accepted was the price of a prisoner’s escape. Now that they have him locked up, they’ll make him suffer and he thoroughly deserves it.’

  ‘There is a pattern here,’ noted Peebles, separating out some sheets of paper. ‘These offences here all relate to Oxley. He either inveigles his way into people’s confidence before robbing them, or he uses an accomplice to distract someone so that he can grab what he wants.’ He clicked his tongue. ‘I just wish that we had more detail in these records. We ought to know more about the people we arrest.’