Murder on the Brighton Express

by Edward Marston

  ‘Who is the man?’

  ‘The Rector of St Dunstan’s.’

  Ezra Follis rose at his habitual early hour and shaved with care in order to avoid the scratches on his cheeks. Tiring of the bandaging around his head, he ignored the doctor’s advice and unwound it to reveal some gashes on his forehead. There were wounds in his scalp as well but he could not see them in the mirror and they had ceased to remind him of their presence. Now that he had discarded the bandaging, he felt much better. After dressing in his bedroom, he took a smoking cap from the wardrobe and put it on. Follis did not, in fact, smoke but the cap had been a gift from the female parishioner who had made it for him and he did not have the heart to refuse it.

  When he came down for breakfast, Mrs Ashmore was already busy in the kitchen. They exchanged greetings, commented on the weather then discussed the day’s commitments. It was only when the housekeeper finally turned round that she saw what he had done.

  ‘You’ve taken it off,’ she scolded.

  ‘It was like having my head in a vice.’

  ‘Doctor Lentle will be very cross with you.’

  ‘Only if he finds out what I’ve done,’ said Follis, ‘and I know I can count on you not to tell him. Besides, I’ve finally found a use for this cap that Mrs Gregory made for me. How does it look?’

  ‘Very becoming,’ said the housekeeper.

  ‘Do you think I should take up smoking?’

  She was stern. ‘No, Mr Follis, it will make a stink. My husband used to smoke and the smell was terrible. I think that pipe of his was one of the things that took him away before his time. He had this awful hacking cough.’

  ‘Yet it didn’t stop him smoking.’

  ‘He just wouldn’t listen.’

  ‘A common fault of the male gender, I fear,’ he conceded. ‘We’re always deaf to sound advice about our health.’ He became serious. ‘The truth of it is that I felt something of a fraud with all that bandaging on. Those lying in hospital were the real victims. Some have lost limbs in the crash and Mr Bardwell has been blinded. I’m embarrassed when people offer sympathy to me. I don’t deserve it.’

  ‘You deserved every ounce of it,’ she said, softly. ‘I saw what other people didn’t see. I watched you struggling as you went up those stairs. I heard you groaning in pain during the night. You put on a brave face for your parishioners but I know the truth.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Ashmore,’ he said, touching her gently on the shoulder. ‘I have no secrets from you.’ He adjusted the cap slightly. ‘I wonder if I should wear this when I go to that meeting.’

  ‘I think your own hat would be more suitable.’

  ‘It’s not an ecclesiastical function. I’ll be speaking to the good citizens of Brighton about the future of their fair town. It will be a talk and not a sermon.’

  ‘You can hold an audience wherever you speak.’

  ‘I’m not sure how some of them will cope with the shock. They’re expecting to hear Giles Thornhill and they get the Rector of St Dunstan’s instead. We’re as different as chalk and cheese.’

  ‘I’ve always preferred cheese,’ she said with a half-smile. ‘Now, off you go into the dining room and I’ll serve breakfast.’

  He looked at the clock on the wall. ‘I’ve got the verger coming at eight-thirty and the dean at nine. Then the ladies of the sewing circle will be descending on us. I must remember the smoking cap for that because Mrs Gregory is certain to be among them. No sooner do they go than I have to discuss the implications of holy matrimony with those delightful young people whose banns will be read for the first time next Sunday.’ He smiled apologetically. ‘We’ll needs lots of cups of tea, I’m afraid.’

  ‘That’s what I’m here for, Mr Follis.’

  ‘And how grateful I am to have you!’ he said. Follis breathed in deeply then exhaled with a broad smile. ‘You know, I really do feel so much better. I can even face the dean with equanimity in spite of the criticism I’m certain to incur from him. He always has some rebuke for me. If my recovery continues,’ he went on, chirpily, ‘I might even change my mind about Thursday.’

  ‘You mean that you’ll stay overnight in London?’

  ‘I mean exactly that, Mrs Ashmore.’

  ‘Very good, sir,’ she said, obediently.

  ‘Do you have any objection to that?’

  ‘It’s not my place to object, Mr Follis. You must do whatever you wish. You’ll never hear a word of complaint from me.’

  She turned away so that he could not see her disappointment.

  The day began early at Scotland Yard. Summoned to the superintendent’s office, Colbeck saw the morning newspapers strewn across his desk. Tallis was embittered.

  ‘Is there any profession more abhorrent and untrustworthy than that of journalism?’ he asked, scowling. ‘They pour their poison into the unsuspecting minds of the British public and warp their judgement. Our press is nothing but an instrument of torture.’

  ‘I think that’s a gross exaggeration, sir,’ said Colbeck.

  ‘Then you’ve not read the morning editions.’

  ‘I’ve not had time, superintendent.’

  ‘This one,’ continued Tallis, slapping a newspaper, ‘suggests that we’re causing widespread distress among both survivors of the crash and relatives of the victims by daring to suggest that foul play was an element in the disaster. The author of this vicious article claims that we are the ones guilty of foul play by persisting with an investigation that is wrong-headed and redundant. What do you say to that?’

  ‘We’ll have to make the gentleman eat his words, sir.’

  ‘Gentleman!’ bellowed the other. ‘I see nothing gentlemanly in this brutal prose. We are being soundly cudgelled, Inspector. You are traduced by name and I by implication. In trying to uphold the law, we are mocked unmercifully.’

  ‘I always ignore such censure,’ said Colbeck.

  ‘Well, I don’t, I can tell you. Newspaper editors should have statutory restraints imposed upon them. They should not be allowed to trade freely in sly innuendo and outright abuse. They should be prevented from holding up the Metropolitan Police Force to mockery.’

  ‘With respect, sir, it’s our job to do that.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘By appearing to make mistakes,’ said Colbeck, ‘we lay ourselves open to ridicule. The only way to stop that happening in this case is to solve the crime at the heart of it.’

  ‘According to the newspapers, there is no crime.’

  ‘Then I’ll enjoy reading them when we make an arrest and prove that Captain Ridgeon’s assessment of the crash was both hasty and misguided. Nobody is entitled to unstinting praise,’ he went on, reasonably. ‘We have to earn it. It’s annoying to be pilloried in the press but we can rectify that.’

  ‘I want an abject apology from every editor,’ demanded Tallis.

  ‘That may be too much to ask, Superintendent.’

  ‘Confound it, man – it’s their duty to help us!’

  ‘They’d argue that it’s their duty to report events in as honest and unbiased a way as they can. Sadly, that’s not always the case but it’s no use fulminating against them. Unless they print something defamatory, there’s little we can do.’

  ‘I can write strong letters of denial.’

  ‘That would be pointless at this stage, sir,’ said Colbeck. ‘In a war of words, the press always has more ink. Besides, in order to defend what we’re doing, you’d have to reveal some of the evidence we’ve gathered and that would be imprudent. Those responsible for that train crash have already been warned that we are after them. If they realise how close we are, they may bolt altogether.’

  Tallis stood up. ‘How close are we, Inspector?’

  ‘I anticipate significant progress by the end of the day.’

  ‘You thought we’d achieve that by matching Mr Shanklin’s handwriting with that on a funeral card.’

  ‘I was too optimistic,’ admitted Colbeck.

 
‘And are you being too optimistic today?’

  ‘No, sir – I’m being much more cautious.’

  Tallis opened a box on the desk and took out a cigar, cutting the end off it before thrusting it into his mouth and lighting it. He puffed vigorously until the cigar began to glow and acrid smoke curled up to the ceiling.

  ‘We need that significant progress, Inspector,’ he said. ‘It’s the only way to stop these jackals from snapping at our heels.’

  ‘Never be upset by press criticism,’ advised Colbeck. ‘There’s a very simple way to avoid it.’

  ‘Is there?’

  ‘Yes, Superintendent – cancel the newspapers.’

  Before Tallis could muster a reply, Colbeck bade him farewell and left the office. Victor Leeming was waiting for him in the corridor. Having read one of the morning newspapers, he knew how violently the superintendent would react and was grateful that he had not had to confront him. He was surprised how unruffled Colbeck was.

  ‘What sort of mood was he in?’ asked Leeming.

  Colbeck grinned. ‘Mr Tallis wants us to bring him the head of every journalist who has attacked us,’ he said. ‘I think he’d like to stick them on poles and throw paper darts at them.’

  ‘I’d throw more than paper darts, Inspector.’

  ‘The most effective missile would be an arrest, Victor.’

  Colbeck took the sergeant into his office so that they could talk without interruption. He gave Leeming an abbreviated account of his conversation with Tallis then turned his attention to the day ahead.

  ‘We’ll have to catch the Brighton Express,’ he said.

  ‘I’m not looking forward to that, sir,’ confessed Leeming. ‘I’ll keep thinking about what happened last Friday.’

  ‘The line has been repaired and the debris removed.’

  ‘You can’t remove my memories so easily.’

  ‘No,’ said Colbeck, sadly. ‘The disaster will be printed indelibly on the minds of many people. Those passengers set out on what should have been a routine journey and ended up in a catastrophe.’

  ‘Thanks to Dick Chiffney.’

  ‘We have to prove that. What’s the situation with Josie Murlow?’

  ‘She’s vanished, sir,’ said Leeming. ‘I had a man watching her house but she never returned to it. She and Chiffney have obviously gone into hiding elsewhere.’

  ‘Have you circulated a description of her?’

  ‘Yes, Inspector – every policeman in the area is looking for her. Josie Murlow is a difficult person to mistake, as you saw for yourself. If she does break cover, someone will spot her.’

  ‘Chiffney is the person we really want,’ said Colbeck, ‘and we lack precise details about his appearance. All we know is that he’s very unprepossessing and has a bad squint.’

  ‘I know something else about him, sir,’ recalled Leeming, rubbing the back of his head. ‘Chiffney hits hard.’

  ‘We must strike back even harder.’

  ‘He won’t be able to sneak up on me next time. It’s the thing about this investigation that really fires me up – the chance to meet up again with Dick Chiffney.’

  ‘That chance may come sooner than you expect, Victor.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘Who knows?’ said Colbeck. ‘By the end of the day, you might well have had the satisfaction of snapping the handcuffs on the elusive Mr Chiffney.’

  A night in his arms had reconciled Josie Murlow to the fact that Chiffney had been ordered to kill someone. It was not the first time he had been hired by anonymous gentlemen. She knew that he had been paid to assault people in the past and had accepted that without a qualm. Chiffney liked fighting. He might as well make some money with his fists. Murder, however, was another matter and she had been frightened when she first realised what he had been engaged to do. Now that she had grown used to the idea, however, it did not seem quite so unnerving. Indeed, it gave her a perverse thrill.

  What still troubled her was her own position. Knowing of his intentions without reporting them to the police meant that she was condoning Chiffney’s actions. In law, therefore, she would be seen as an accessory. Josie shuddered to think what would happen if they were ever caught but she consoled herself with the belief that it was almost impossible. Chiffney had convinced her that there was little risk attached to the enterprise. He simply had to strike decisively then withdraw from the scene. Payment would then follow.

  Lying in bed, Josie wallowed in the comfortable certainty that they would not be caught. All that she had to do was to trust her man. He had, after all, bought her the necklace out of his first earnings and other gifts would soon come. Abandoning her house did not worry her. She had long ago grown weary of its lack of space and its endless deficiencies. Everything she valued had been taken from the place in a series of midnight visits. As well as bringing all of her clothing and her trinkets, Chiffney had even collected her favourite sticks of furniture. Henceforth, they would share a far better lodging.

  As she gazed up at him, Chiffney was reaching for his jacket before slipping it on. On impulse, Josie heaved herself out of bed.

  ‘Let me come with you, Dick,’ she said.

  ‘You stay here, my darling.’

  ‘But I’m your woman. I want to be at your side.’

  ‘The police could be out looking for you.’

  ‘They won’t be looking for me in Brighton,’ she argued. ‘If you hail a cab outside the house, nobody will see me going to the station. Now we’ve got money,’ she went on, getting carried away, ‘we can travel first class. I’ve never done that before.’

  ‘This is something I have to do on my own, Josie,’ he said.

  ‘I know that, Dick, and I won’t get in your way. When the time comes, you simply leave me and go about your business. Afterwards, I could be a help to you.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘I’m like a disguise,’ she explained, grinning away. ‘A man and a woman together look respectable. Nobody would give us a second glance. When you’re on your own – even in that new suit you bought – people will notice that face of yours and those big, rough hands. You don’t look quite so respectable then, Dick.’

  He was tempted. ‘That’s a good point, Josie.’

  ‘Can I come with you, then?’

  ‘He won’t like it. He told me to come on my own. If he realises you know more than you ought to, the gentleman might call the whole thing off. No,’ he concluded, ‘it’s too risky.’

  ‘There’s no need for him to see me.’

  ‘I’m sorry, my love. You’ll have to stay here.’

  ‘I won’t be cooped up again,’ she said, gazing around with a flash of anger. ‘Look at the place – there’s hardly room to move since you brought all my things here.’

  ‘You can go downstairs and sit in the kitchen.’

  ‘I want to be with you, Dick.’

  He sniffed. ‘I can’t take that chance.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because you’d be a distraction,’ he said. ‘Instead of keeping my mind on what I had to do, I’d be worrying about you. It’s no good, Josie. I have to go alone.’

  ‘All right,’ she suggested, bargaining with him, ‘why don’t we both travel to Brighton separately and only meet up afterwards?’ he shook his head. ‘What’s wrong with that?’

  Chiffney was blunt. ‘It’s not going to happen.’

  ‘But I want it to happen, Dick,’ she said, stamping a foot. ‘We’re in this together. I won’t be left out all the time.’

  ‘Stop it!’ he shouted, temper fraying.

  ‘Don’t you yell at me, you noisy bugger!’

  ‘Shut your gob and listen. There’s one very good reason why I don’t want you anywhere near Brighton today. I have to be alone. I’ve got a job to do, Josie. I failed yesterday and the gentleman was very annoyed with me. If I let him down again, he may find someone else and I could end up without a single penny. Is that what you want?’

  ‘No,’
she said.

  ‘Then that’s the end of it.’

  Josie sulked in silence. She watched him as he reached under the bed for the rifle then wrapped it in a piece of sacking. He also stuck the pistol in his belt and stuffed ammunition for both weapons in his pockets. Getting back down on his knees, he groped under the bed once more. This time, he brought out a large telescope and hid that in the sacking with the rifle. In spite of the bubbling anger she felt towards him, Josie was curious.

  ‘Who gave you that?’

  ‘He did,’ said Chiffney. ‘I need to spy out the lie of the land.’

  As the train set off from London Bridge station, Victor Leeming braced himself for an uncomfortable journey. Its only virtue was that it would be a relatively short one. The previous investigation had entailed a long train journey to Crewe and back. An even earlier one had forced him to travel to France, undergoing the sustained terror of crossing the Channel by boat before committing himself to the rattling uncertainty of the French railways. All things considered, the Brighton Express was the lesser of many evils. At least he was in the hands of his fellow-countrymen.

  ‘Don’t look so anxious,’ said Colbeck, seated opposite him in an otherwise empty carriage. ‘There’s no danger. Lightning doesn’t strike twice in one place.’

  ‘Then the accident could happen at another spot on the line.’

  ‘There’ll be no accident, Victor.’

  ‘Then why do I feel so unsafe?’

  ‘You simply haven’t adjusted to rail travel as yet.’

  ‘I never will, Inspector,’ said Leeming, watching the fields scud past. ‘I can never understand why you like trains so much.’

  ‘They’re passports to the future. Railways are redefining the way that we live and I find that very exciting. The concept of steam power is so wonderfully simple yet so incredibly effective.’

  ‘You should have been an engine driver, sir.’

  ‘No,’ said Colbeck, wistfully. ‘I know my limitations. I’d love to work on the footplate but I lack the skill needed. I make my own small contribution to the smooth running of the railway system by trying to keep it free of criminals. However, let’s not harp on about a subject that tends to unsettle you,’ he went on. ‘How are preparations for your wife’s birthday?’