Points of Danger

by Edward Marston

  ‘I’m so sorry, Lydia,’ she said. ‘I should have remembered the nightmare you went through. But there are differences in this case.’

  ‘You can’t be sure of that, Madeleine.’

  ‘Yes, I can. To begin with, Mr Fairbank is much older than the man who stalked you. He mentions his grandchildren in the letter. They love my paintings as much as he does.’

  ‘I sincerely hope that it’s true and that my reservations are quite unfounded. Yet I do advise caution. Don’t agree to see him alone.’

  ‘He admires me as an artist,’ said Madeleine, ‘and he explains why at some length. Stop fretting unnecessarily. He’s not trying to kidnap me.’

  ‘No, of course not,’ agreed Lydia. ‘Ignore my pessimism. I always tend to fear the worst. That letter is a cause for celebration rather than suspicion. Mr Fairbank is clearly an art collector of taste. You must meet him as soon as possible.’

  Victor Leeming was always disgruntled when forced to travel on a train, but he was even more annoyed this time. In a typical year, there were few days he held sacred. One of them had just been ruined by Edward Tallis.

  ‘It was cruel of him,’ he moaned.

  ‘The superintendent didn’t realise what was at stake.’

  ‘Yes, he did. He enjoyed ruining our plans.’

  ‘Wedding anniversaries are meaningless to a confirmed old bachelor like him.’

  ‘It wasn’t the wedding we wanted to celebrate, sir, it was …’ He became almost sheepish and needed a few moments before he blurted out the truth. ‘It was the day when I proposed to Estelle.’

  ‘Then it was very worthy of celebration.’

  ‘I hate having to let my wife down.’

  ‘It wasn’t you who did that,’ Colbeck pointed out. ‘It was the Eastern Counties Railway. Besides, you can simply postpone the event. A murder investigation, by contrast, can’t be put off so easily.’

  Leeming lapsed into a brooding silence. The train that was taking them to Norwich had favoured them with an empty carriage, enabling them to have the sort of conversation about their case impossible in the presence of other passengers. Colbeck had shown his companion the telegraph from the ECR and voiced his first thoughts about the crime, but the sergeant had shown scant interest. All he could think about was the deep disappointment his wife would have suffered when she read the letter he’d dashed off before they’d left Scotland Yard.

  ‘Have you ever been to Norwich?’ asked Colbeck.

  ‘No,’ said Leeming, sourly, ‘and I wish I wasn’t going there now.’

  ‘It’s a beautiful cathedral city. Hundreds of years ago, it was second only to London in size and importance. Unfortunately, our work will prevent us from seeing the sights.’

  ‘The only sight I want to see is the train that takes us back home.’

  ‘What did you think about my theory?’

  Leeming was bewildered. ‘Theory?’

  ‘Yes – the one regarding the murder.’

  ‘To be honest,’ said the other, guiltily, ‘I was only half-listening.’

  ‘I said that the robber was there specifically to kill his target.’

  ‘You’re probably right, inspector. You usually are.’

  ‘Do you have no opinion at all to offer?’

  Leeming made a visible effort to concentrate. He tried to remember the information he had actually heard.

  ‘It sounds to me as if the man was a very good horseman. He struck like lightning and got away before most passengers realised what was happening.’

  ‘What else do you have to offer?’

  ‘I believe he was acting alone and nursed a grievance against the man he shot. They must have had a feud of some kind.’

  ‘That’s not impossible but I have to correct you on one point. This was no solo venture. He had an accomplice, possibly more than one.’

  ‘Why do you think that?’

  ‘Someone switched the points so that the train went off on the branch line. The rider didn’t do that. He was hiding somewhere, ready to spur his horse into action. Now we come to the key question,’ said Colbeck. ‘How do we catch him?’

  ‘I wish I knew, sir.’

  ‘The answer is that we don’t even try – not in the first instance, anyway. The man we search for is the accomplice. It has to be someone who works for the ECR and knows how to switch points. Railwaymen are not well paid, as my father-in-law never ceases to complain. All that was needed was a hefty bribe.’

  ‘Then he might even be a railway policeman. Some of them are not as honest as they ought to be.’

  ‘That, I’m afraid, is an all too accurate observation.’

  ‘Villains sometimes use a uniform as a hiding place.’

  ‘Quite so,’ said Colbeck. ‘But, in speculating too much, we’re getting ahead of ourselves. We need more facts. At least we know where to start, however. We search for the person who sent that train to the exact place stipulated by the rider. Take heart, Victor. You may be home with Estelle sooner than you imagine,’ promised Colbeck. ‘All we have to do is to catch the accomplice and he’ll lead us to his paymaster.’

  Cecil Freed was a tall, thin, angular man in his sixties with gaunt features perpetually distorted by anxiety. Unable to keep still, he paced up and down a platform at Norwich Thorpe Station as he waited for a train to arrive from London. As chairman of the ECR, he was accustomed to coping with the many disasters that could befall a railway company, but he’d never had to deal with a murder before, especially one that robbed him of a dear friend and trusted advisor. The crisis had thrown him into a deep panic. It made his eyes dart wildly and raised his voice to a much higher pitch.

  ‘Ah, there you are!’ he said with relief as he spotted a uniformed figure coming towards him. ‘Is there any news?’

  ‘If you’re asking if we’ve made an arrest,’ replied the other, ‘then the answer is we haven’t. We’re still gathering information.’

  ‘Hand it over to inspector Colbeck.’

  ‘I will, Mr Freed.’

  Sergeant Bartram Duff managed to disguise his resentment. He was a middle-aged man of medium height with broad shoulders and a craggy face. In charge of the railway police, he relished his power and was loath to relinquish any part of it. He was particularly annoyed at having to work on the murder investigation in the shadow of Colbeck.

  ‘Did you ever come across him?’ asked Freed.

  ‘No, sir, our paths never crossed.’

  ‘But you must have been aware of his presence.’

  ‘I left the Metropolitan Police Force over ten years ago, Mr Freed. inspector Colbeck wasn’t quite so famous then.’

  What he didn’t say was that he’d been dismissed from his post and forced to return to the county of his birth. The uniform he now wore carried nothing like the status of the one he’d had in the nation’s capital. Relegated to the railway police, he felt that he’d been unfairly treated. The arrival of two detectives from Scotland Yard would only intensify his bitterness because their presence would revive memories he’d been trying to forget.

  ‘Inspector Jellings is not going to be happy about this, sir,’ warned Duff. ‘He thinks that the Norwich City Police should handle the case.’

  ‘I did exactly what Mr Swarbrick would have advised – get the best possible man. That’s why I sent a telegraph to Scotland Yard.’

  ‘Well, don’t expect inspector Jellings to be pleased.’

  ‘He can obviously take part in the investigation – as will you, of course – but there’s only one person capable of leading it and that’s Colbeck.’ He glanced down the line. ‘I just wish he’d actually turn up.’

  ‘What’s the latest news about Mrs Swarbrick?’

  ‘I daresay she’s still in a state of shock. My wife is with her now, offering what comfort she can. Mrs Swarbrick worshipped her husband. Seeing the man she loved shot dead in front of her must have been a hideous experience.’

  ‘Mrs Swarbrick is not the strongest of women.’<
br />
  ‘No, she’s been a martyr to ill health these last few years.’

  ‘She has my sympathy.’ Duff took a step closer to him. ‘I’m assuming that there’ll be a reward on offer?’

  ‘Yes, of course, and it will reflect the respect the ECR had for Mr Swarbrick. We’ll pay almost anything to catch his killer.’

  ‘Supposing that somebody other than inspector Colbeck solves the crime?’

  ‘Then he will be entitled to collect the money. All we need is evidence of individual initiative. From what I’ve heard about him, Colbeck has that in abundance.’

  ‘But he lacks any knowledge of the ECR or, indeed, of East Anglia itself. There are several of us with far more understanding of the way that things are done in this part of the country.’

  ‘That’s undeniable, Duff. I’m sure the inspector will draw on your expertise and that of Jellings, of course. This crime took place in broad daylight. I’m sure that you found lots of witnesses who saw that horse galloping beside the train.’

  ‘I did, sir,’ said Duff. ‘I’ve taken dozens of statements, though nobody told me anything about what actually happened in Mr Swarbrick’s compartment. There’s only one person who can do that.’

  ‘Yes – it’s his poor wife.’

  ‘Inspector Jellings has gone to the house to speak to her.’

  ‘He may have a long wait before he can get anything coherent out of her. I saw her when she was led from the train. She was in a state of abject terror. It was a heartbreaking sight. That’s why I asked my own wife to go to her side,’ said Freed. ‘What she needs most in a calamity like this is the soothing presence of another woman.’

  Anthea Freed was a bosomy woman of middle years with a face that radiated a sort of aggressive kindness. She stood in the hall of the Swarbrick residence and looked hopefully up the stairs. inspector Mark Jellings had been irritated to find her there, fearing that she’d be an obstacle between him and the person he needed to interview. Though she looked benign, Anthea had a reputation for good works, which had been achieved by her tenacity at bullying money out of friends for the various charities in which she played an active part. Jellings could handle the most unruly criminals with ease. Gaining the upper hand over someone as potent as Anthea Freed was another matter. Since she was married to one of the richest and most influential men in the county, he had to tread carefully. The inspector was a well-built man in his forties with cheeks burnished by his fondness for alcohol and watery eyes that made him look like a woeful bloodhound.

  ‘If it’s at all possible,’ he said, respectfully, ‘I’d like a word alone with Mrs Swarbrick first.’

  ‘That’s out of the question, inspector. I’m Grace’s dearest friend. She’d want me beside her.’

  ‘You might be a distraction, Mrs Freed.’

  ‘Arrant nonsense!’ she exclaimed. ‘I’m as anxious as you are to catch the monster who killed her husband. Unless I hold Grace’s hand, you’ll hardly get a word out of her. You need me, inspector.’

  He stifled a sigh. ‘Perhaps you’re right.’

  ‘While we have a moment,’ she said, facing him for the first time, ‘I’d like to take this opportunity to ask you to address us at one of our meetings. As you well know, I play a leading role in the Temperance Association here in Norwich.’

  ‘Much as I’d like to accept the invitation,’ he said, quickly, ‘I’m afraid that I’m far too busy even to consider it.’

  ‘But you’d be an ideal choice of speaker for us. Nobody has more experience of dealing with drunkenness than you. Most of the crimes that besmirch this city are committed by men – and women, alas – who are under the influence of drink.’ She jabbed a finger at him. ‘Your voice would carry weight.’

  He squirmed at the prospect. ‘I’m sorry but I’m not—’

  ‘Don’t you want to join in the fight against the evils of drink?’

  ‘You have my tacit support, Mrs Freed.’

  ‘I was expecting more than that.’

  He quailed slightly. Far from condemning alcohol, he felt at that moment desperately in need of some to bolster his spirits.

  She was about to press him on the subject when they heard a door open and shut upstairs. The pair of them moved at once to the bottom of the stairs. Moments later, the doctor appeared and looked down at them.

  ‘You’re waiting in vain, I fear,’ he said. ‘Mrs Swarbrick is in no condition to speak to either of you. I’ve had to give her a sedative.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Knowing the reaction she’d get from her father, Madeleine didn’t tell him what had happened until he’d played with his granddaughter. It was only when he came into the drawing room afterwards that she explained where her husband was. Caleb Andrews exploded.

  ‘The Eastern Counties Railway!’ he yelled, spitting the words out as if they were poisonous. ‘It’s the worst company in the entire country.’

  ‘They sent for Robert because one of their senior directors was shot dead on a train.’

  ‘The whole board deserves to be shot, Maddy. The ECR is a disgrace to the name of railways.’

  ‘You say that about any company except the LNWR.’

  ‘That’s far and away the best,’ he asserted, ‘and not only because I happened to work for it for so long. It overshadows all the others and puts the ECR to shame.’

  ‘Is it really that bad?’

  ‘It’s a laughing stock.’

  ‘I hadn’t realised that.’

  ‘In your position, I’d be scared stiff. If Robert has gone to sort out their problems, it will take him weeks – even months. You may not see him again until next Christmas.’

  ‘Don’t exaggerate.’

  ‘Ask any railwayman. They all know about the ECR.’

  Though Madeleine was always pleased to see her father, she was upset by his warning that Colbeck might be away for a long time. To cheer herself up, she changed the subject and reached for the letter that had arrived that morning.

  ‘Someone has written to me about my prints,’ she said. ‘He’s very complimentary.’

  ‘And so he should be. You have a gift, Maddy.’

  ‘He wants to commission a painting from me.’

  ‘Really?’ Andrews was delighted. ‘How much is he offering?’

  ‘Mr Fairbank doesn’t give an exact figure. He’s leaving that to me. It’s obvious that he’s a wealthy man.’

  ‘Then ask him for a thousand pounds.’

  ‘Father!’

  ‘All right, make it two thousand.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. That’s a ridiculous amount.’

  ‘Some paintings sell for much more than that.’

  ‘Yes, but they’re masterpieces by famous artists and they’re hundreds of years old. I can’t compete with people like that. My work sells for much lower prices because – let’s be honest – that’s what I’m worth.’

  ‘You’re as good as any of them,’ he said, loyally.

  ‘That’s not true, Father, and we both know it. One of the reasons I’ve had some success is that I only paint locomotives or railway scenes. Very few artists do that. I may well be the only woman who does it.’

  ‘You do have the assistance of a man. Be fair, Maddy, you never take anything to that art dealer of yours unless I’ve seen it first. I’ve had to correct you about details more than once.’

  ‘I rely heavily on you, Father. All that I can do is to look at railways from the outside. You were part of the industry for your whole working life.’

  He smiled nostalgically. ‘I miss it every single day.’

  ‘Do you miss the filth and the noise and physical strain?’

  ‘You get used to that.’

  ‘Then why did you never stop complaining about it?’

  ‘I didn’t complain,’ he said, indignantly.

  But his daughter knew the truth. She’d lost count of the number of times when he’d come home exhausted, bedraggled and covered in coal dust. Andrews was a wiry, spirite
d man in his sixties with a fringe beard. His short temper was about to be ignited once again.

  ‘Let me see that letter,’ he said.

  ‘There’s no need. I’ve told you what Mr Fairbank says.’

  ‘I’d like to read it myself. When a strange man writes to you out of the blue, you can never be too careful. As your father, I’ve got your best interests at heart.’ He extended a scrawny hand. ‘Give it to me, Maddy.’

  She was hesitant. ‘Well … if you insist …’

  Handing it over, she braced herself for his reaction. There was something she hadn’t mentioned about the commission. When his eye fell on the missing detail, he roared with anger.

  ‘Tell him you refuse,’ he demanded.

  ‘A moment ago, you were very pleased for me.’

  ‘That was before I realised what he wished you to do. I’m not having a daughter of mine painting a locomotive from the Great Western Railway. That would be a betrayal.’

  ‘I have to give a client what he pays for, Father.’

  ‘Don’t touch his money. It’s tainted.’

  ‘I can’t pick and choose people who wish to commission my work. Since he lives in Windsor, Mr Fairbank probably travels on the GWR regularly. It’s only natural that he’d choose one of its locomotives.’

  ‘Refuse to have anything to do with him, Maddy.’

  ‘I can’t just turn him away. He’s an admirer.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Andrews, scornfully, ‘he’s an admirer of Brunel and that godforsaken railway of his. You know how I feel about the GWR with its broad gauge and its dreadful trains. Refuse to have anything to do with this Mr Lionel Fairbank.’ He passed the letter back to her. ‘I feel as if I have to wash my hands after touching that.’

  Madeleine was hurt. For the second time that day her hopes had been dashed. In showing the letter to Lydia Quayle, she’d expected to get warm congratulations but her friend had instead warned her to be circumspect. Knowing her father’s hatred of the GWR, she’d expected some criticism but was relying on his pride in her achievement to override it. Friend and father had both let her down. She began to wish she’d never even heard of Lionel Fairbank.