A Christmas Railway Mystery

by Edward Marston

  ‘Precisely,’ said Colbeck, ‘and the most likely person is …’

  Leeming’s face fell. ‘Mouldy Grosvenor!’

  ‘You’ve been saved from that grisly fate, so there’s no need to generate any righteous indignation on my behalf. It’s all for the best, Victor. We carry on together. I know full well that the inspector is a nasty, egotistic, ambitious, small-minded man who bears grudges, but his elevation in rank will only last for three days at most.’ He removed his top hat and set it down beside him. ‘I think we’re clever enough to keep out of his way for that long, don’t you?’

  CHAPTER THREE

  When she first heard the news, Betty Rodman felt as if she’d just been hit by a locomotive travelling at speed. She was in a complete daze. It was only when the shock slowly began to wear off that painful questions began to form in her mind. Who had murdered her husband? Why had they done it? What would happen to her children? How could she shield them from the ugly truth? When would she be turned out of the house? Where could they all go?

  Fortunately, she was not left alone. The neighbours quickly rallied around her. Women who’d been afraid of Frank Rodman and kept their distance from his family now took pity on her. They fed the children then took them off Betty’s hands, leaving her alone with her one true female friend in the village. Liza Alford was the wife of Frederick Alford, the only man who enjoyed spending time with Rodman and who’d saved him over the years from many situations when the latter’s temper was roused. On the previous night, he’d left his friend alone at the pub so that he could get home early to his wife.

  ‘Fred blames himself,’ said Liza. ‘He should have stayed with Frank.’

  ‘It’s not his fault. Nobody could have been kinder to us. When I needed help, Fred was the only person I could turn to. He’s been a rock. Who else would have got out of bed like that and helped me to search?’

  ‘He loves you, Betty – both you and Frank.’

  ‘I can’t thank him enough,’ said the other, dabbing at her tears with an already moist handkerchief. ‘What’s going to become of us? We have no future here. They’ll want this place for another family.’ She shuddered. ‘It’s frightening. We could end up in a workhouse.’

  ‘Don’t keep fearing the worst. If they force you out, you and the children can move in with us for a while.’

  ‘But there’s already six of you in that house.’

  ‘We’ll squeeze you in somehow.’

  Liza Alford was a motherly woman in her early thirties with plain features and a spreading girth. Betty, by contrast, had kept her youthful shapeliness. Distorted by misery now, her face still retained much of the beauty that had made her so popular with the other sex. In marrying Rodman, she’d frightened other suitors away. They had to be content with watching her wistfully from a distance.

  ‘Who can it be, Liza?’ she asked.

  ‘Don’t keep asking that.’

  ‘Who could have hated my husband so much that he did that?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘What does Fred think? Did he suggest any names?’

  ‘There’s no point in making wild guesses.’

  ‘I have to know,’ said Betty, grimly. ‘I won’t rest until then.’

  ‘You just think about yourself and the children.’

  ‘That monster killed my husband.’

  She burst into tears again. All that Liza could do was to enfold her in her arms and rock her to and fro. It was minutes before the sobbing ceased. Pulling away from her friend, Betty began to dry her eyes once more.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

  ‘There’s no need.’

  ‘I have to be strong for the children. They mustn’t see me like this.’

  ‘You have to grieve, Betty. It’s human nature.’

  ‘They’ll grow up without a father.’

  ‘But they have a wonderful mother. One day, they’ll appreciate that.’

  ‘I don’t feel very wonderful at the moment. I feel so … hopeless.’

  ‘You’ll pull through somehow and we’ll be there to help.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Lean on us, Betty.’

  ‘He might still be here,’ said Betty, sitting upright. ‘The murderer might still be among us with a smile on his face. Who is he, Liza? Will they ever catch him?’

  ‘Oh, he’ll be caught. There’s a rumour that someone famous is coming from London to solve the crime. I don’t know anything about him except that he always finds the killer, however long it takes.’

  Oswald Stinson was the general manager of the Works, a stout, pale-faced man of middle years with a bushy moustache diverting attention from his bulbous nose and watery eyes. While introductions were made, Colbeck admired the cut of the man’s frock coat and the way that his tailor had designed the waistcoat to diminish the size of the paunch. They were standing beside the spot where the lifeless body had been found. Close by was a patch of vomit. Edgar Fellowes stepped forward.

  ‘I can explain that,’ he said, importantly. ‘Zeb Reynolds, the man who actually discovered the corpse, emptied his stomach there and then.’

  ‘How soon were you called?’ asked Colbeck.

  ‘I was here within minutes.’

  ‘Then you’ll have valuable information to give us. Please go with Sergeant Leeming and he’ll take a full statement from you.’

  Fellowes was disappointed. ‘Don’t you need me here?’

  ‘Not at the moment.’

  Colbeck nodded to Leeming who led the railway policeman away.

  ‘It was good of you to come so quickly,’ said Stinson.

  ‘An emergency like this deserves an immediate response, sir. I know how anxious you’ll be to get this place operative again.’

  ‘We work to a tight schedule, Inspector. This locomotive, for instance, is due to be finished and dispatched by tomorrow morning. The sooner we let the men back in here, the better.’

  ‘When I’ve familiarised myself with the layout of this Shop, you’ll be able to recall your staff. Where is the body now?’

  ‘I had it removed,’ said Piercey. ‘When you’re ready, I’ll take you to see it.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Needless to say, you’ll get full support from us.’

  ‘That’s heartening. We’re not always made welcome by local constabularies.’

  ‘You’ll have no complaints against us, Inspector.’

  Though he was writhing with envy, Piercey maintained an expression of polite subservience because he was keen to remain an active part of the investigation.

  ‘I’ve already established most of the relevant details,’ he said, airily. ‘That should save you some valuable time, Inspector.’

  ‘I look forward to hearing what you found out.’

  ‘What puzzles us is how the killer managed to get the dead body in here.’

  ‘Aren’t you making a dangerous assumption?’ asked Colbeck. ‘How do you know that the victim wasn’t alive when he came here?’

  ‘Is that likely?’

  ‘It’s a possibility you mustn’t discount. Put yourself in the position of the killer. Would you prefer to carry a heavy body into the Works or would you take the more sensible option of making him walk in here with you?’

  Piercey gaped. ‘Are you saying that the murder took place here?’

  ‘That would be my guess.’

  ‘The victim would never come of his own accord, surely?’

  ‘Granted, but if a man has a gun pressed against his head, he’ll have a tendency to cooperate with the person holding it.’

  ‘That sounds a persuasive theory to me,’ said Stinson.

  ‘But it is only a theory, sir,’ Colbeck reminded him. ‘Instead of worrying about how they got in here, I’d prefer to find out how the killer got out. When he hacked off the victim’s head, he left this pool of blood. How did he carry off his trophy? He’d hardly tuck it under his arm like a football. The likelihood is that he had some kind of ca
nvas bag or sack. Blood would still be dripping from the neck and, in all probability, it would soon seep through.’ He fixed Piercey with a steely gaze. ‘Have you searched in here for a trail of blood?’

  ‘No, I … haven’t had the time to do so.’

  ‘Then I’ll be grateful if you’ll both leave me alone to conduct my own search. When it’s completed,’ said Colbeck, turning to Stinson, ‘I suggest that you get someone to throw sawdust over this mess then sweep it up and remove it. Once that’s done, you can get this place back into production.’

  ‘Thank goodness for that,’ said the manager with a sigh of relief.

  ‘What about me?’ asked Piercey. ‘Shall I help in the search?’

  ‘I’d rather do that by myself,’ replied Colbeck. ‘Please wait right here until I’ve finished. You can then take me to view the body.’ He glanced from one to the other. ‘Are there any more questions?’

  The two men were too bemused to speak.

  Though he was quickly aware of the man’s shortcomings, Leeming grew to like Edgar Fellowes. He might be pompous, assertive and have an irritating habit of gesticulating frantically while he spoke but the older man was also intelligent, perceptive and conscientious. Called to the scene, he’d quickly taken charge, cleared everyone out of the Erecting Shop and set about taking statements. His pocketbook was a mine of useful information. Of particular use to Leeming was the list of names garnered. He singled one out immediately.

  ‘Tell me about Fred Alford,’ he said.

  ‘Insofar as Rodman actually had a friend, Alford was him.’

  ‘What sort of a person, is he?’

  ‘He’s a good, honest, hard-working foundryman.’

  ‘I’d like to meet him.’

  ‘Then I can give you his address.’

  Fellowes did so without having to refer to his pocketbook. Leeming jotted it down then looked up at the railway policeman with interest.

  ‘Is he a neighbour of yours?’

  ‘No, Sergeant, I live a hundred yards away but I have a knack of remembering details about people.’ He tapped his skull. ‘I’ve got dozens and dozens of addresses locked away in here. In Alford’s case, I once saw him leave the Glue Pot – that’s the pub on the corner of Emlyn Square – and walk to his house. I made a mental note.’

  ‘What’s the beer like in the Glue Pot?’

  ‘It’s very good.’

  ‘That’s the most useful thing you’ve told me so far.’

  Exposing a row of yellowing teeth, Fellowes cackled. They were in the hut that the railway policemen used. It was makeshift but snug, a refuge where they could rest, exchange gossip and have basic refreshments. Leeming warmed to the man.

  ‘Let’s go back to Alford,’ he said. ‘According to you, he was drinking in the pub with Rodman last night.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘So it must have been the Glue Pot.’

  ‘No, it was the Queen’s Tap. Frank Rodman was barred from the Glue Pot months ago. He shifted to the Queen’s Tap.’

  ‘Alford left him there arguing with someone.’

  ‘That’s what he told me.’

  ‘Did he give you a name of the other person?’

  ‘No, but I’ve a good idea who it might have been.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘It was somebody by the name of Jones, Evans, Thomas or Williams.’

  Leeming laughed derisively. ‘That’s a great help, I must say!’

  ‘Listen to what I’m telling you. It was one of those Welshman. They’ve been a damned nuisance ever since they came.’

  ‘I don’t follow.’

  ‘Earlier this year, the new rolling mills were opened and Mr Stinson needed people to work in them. He imported steelworkers from over the border – about twenty in number. They brought their children with them.’

  ‘That sounds reasonable. You’d expect whole families to come.’

  ‘There was no proper accommodation for them, Sergeant, so they were dumped in the barracks.’

  ‘I didn’t know you had an army stationed here.’

  ‘We don’t,’ said Fellowes. ‘There’s a building that used to be occupied by single men and we called it the barracks. It was half-empty so bits of it were converted into units big enough for a family. Then the invasion began.’

  ‘I wouldn’t call twenty families an invasion.’

  ‘You don’t have to live beside them.’

  ‘Has there been friction?’

  ‘There’s been nothing else,’ said Fellowes, bitterly. ‘They share the communal facilities of washing, cooking, the bakehouse and so on with families already here. Rows break out every day. Those Welsh women are nothing but screeching harpies. They terrify their neighbours.’

  ‘I’m not sure that I believe that,’ said Leeming, tolerantly. ‘I’ve met lots of Welsh people and worked alongside some of them. They get a bit morose at times but they’re usually friendly and they’re not afraid of hard work.’

  ‘Go to the barracks and you’ll soon change your mind.’

  ‘Supposing you’re right …’

  Fellowes was categorical. ‘I am right, Sergeant.’

  ‘Then Rodman got into an argument with someone from the rolling mills.’

  ‘I’m certain of it.’

  ‘Alford will be able to confirm that.’

  ‘He may have left before before the trouble started.’

  ‘Are you saying that the murder was revenge for something?’

  ‘That would be my guess.’

  ‘You’re making a very serious accusation.’

  ‘I’ve been brooding on it,’ said Fellowes. ‘When I was asked by Inspector Piercey for any likely names, I couldn’t give him any. But the more I think about it, the more certain I am that one of those leek-eating bastards was involved. Frank Rodman was a tough man. It would’ve needed someone big and powerful to kill him. Some of those Welshman are as strong as an ox. Wait till you see them. That’s where you and Inspector Colbeck should start looking,’ he insisted. ‘The villain is living somewhere in the barracks.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Edward Tallis was solid man of sixty with a backbone so straight and vertical that it seemed to have been welded into position. Robust for his age, he had short, grey hair and a neat moustache thrown into relief by his ruddy complexion. He exuded authority. As he sat in his office and thought fondly about the weekend ahead among old army friends, he allowed himself the luxury of a cigar. Smoke was still curling around him when there was a tap on the door and it opened to reveal Inspector Martin Grosvenor.

  ‘Is this a convenient moment?’ asked the visitor.

  ‘It’s as good as any other.’

  ‘Then I’m at your command, sir.’

  Closing the door behind him, Grosvenor gave the sly smile for which he was well known among his colleagues. Dark-haired, stooping and of medium height, he had an apologetic air about him in the presence of a superior.

  ‘Have you told Inspector Colbeck?’ he asked.

  ‘He and Sergeant Leeming have both been informed.’

  ‘How did they react?’

  ‘That’s neither here nor there, Inspector. It was my decision and they have to accept it. I’ve sent them off to Swindon to investigate a gruesome murder.’

  ‘Oh … I’m sorry to hear that.’

  Hoping to crow over his rival, Grosvenor was piqued that Colbeck was no longer at Scotland Yard and might be away for some time. One of the main attractions of being promoted above him – albeit for a weekend – was that it gave him a chance to bark orders at the man who’d become so prominent in the Detective Department.

  ‘I was hoping to have a word with him about his appearance.’

  ‘Colbeck has always been a dandy. It’s in his nature.’

  ‘He dresses in a way that’s wholly inappropriate.’

  ‘I used to feel that but I’ve learnt to live with his idiosyncrasies. If he continues to solve heinous crimes the way that he does, I don’
t care if he wears a loincloth and has a bone through his nose.’

  Grosvenor gave a tinny laugh but he was squirming inside. He made a virtue of being nondescript. His apparel was smart yet intentionally dull, a shell into which he could withdraw from time to time like an apprehensive tortoise. Colbeck’s poise and brimming confidence had always exasperated him. There was a long history of tussles between them and Grosvenor had always come off worst from the encounters. He’d been looking forward to getting his own back on Colbeck.

  ‘Right,’ said Tallis, indicating the sheaf of paper in front of him, ‘everything you need to know is here. All the cases are listed with the names of the detectives deployed to handle them. In the short time before I leave, I can guarantee that a number of other crimes will come to our attention. Even as we speak, some sort of nefarious activity is taking place. I’ll assign the new cases but, when I leave on Friday morning, you’ll have to deal with all reported crimes that flood in.’

  ‘I’m fully prepared for that, Superintendent.’

  ‘That’s why I selected you. I wanted a safe pair of hands.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘Also, if truth be told, I’ve always thought that you’d be more productive behind a desk than working out in the field. Your record of arrests hasn’t exactly been impressive.’

  Grosvenor winced. ‘Nobody has been more industrious than me.’

  ‘I agree but you’ve yet to convert industry into consistent success. Try to follow Colbeck’s example. He has an uncanny knack of catching villains.’

  ‘Fortune has always favoured the inspector, I agree.’

  ‘There’s more to it than that. His methods are highly questionable and do infuriate me at times but they do yield results.’

  ‘I’m not sure that the end always justifies the means, sir.’

  ‘That’s a judgement you’ll have to make over the weekend. Meanwhile,’ said Tallis, handing him the sheaf of papers, ‘I advise you to study everything that I’ve set down. When you sit in this chair, you must be fully prepared.’

  ‘I will be, Superintendent.’ The sly smile returned. ‘Where did you say that Colbeck was at the moment?’