‘Is there going to be a reward this time?’
‘I’m sure that the GWR will advertise one. The false claims will really start to pour in then. By the way,’ said Leeming, ‘I want to thank you for keeping everyone at bay for us. Since I’ve been here, nobody has come up and asked how we’re getting on even though they’re dying to know.’
‘That goes for one man in particular.’
‘Who’s that?’
‘The killer – while you’re looking for him, he’ll be sure to watch out for you and the inspector. The chances are that he’ll have drunk in this pub at some point.’
‘That’s a good reminder,’ said Leeming. ‘If he’s bold enough to commit murder in the way that he did, he won’t hold back from coming in here to weigh us up.’ He held up the letters. ‘He may even have written one of these. There’s no better way to throw suspicion off yourself than by shifting it to someone else. That’s why we have to tread carefully.’
‘I don’t envy you your job, Sergeant.’
‘Well, I envy you. I’d love to work in a place where I had the smell of beer in my nostrils all day long.’
‘There’s more to it than that,’ warned the other.
‘I daresay there is, Mr Wells.’
Leeming glanced around. There were only a few customers in the bar and they were taking no notice of him. The landlord’s wife was polishing glasses behind the counter and their son was bringing in a crate of beer. There was a friendly atmosphere to the Queen’s Tap. It was difficult to imagine a murder being hatched there on the previous night.
‘How many Welshmen come in here?’
‘Very few, as a rule,’ said the landlord. ‘They seem to prefer the Glue Pot for some reason. That doesn’t worry me. We’ve got more than enough regulars.’
‘What about Mr Llewellyn – was he one of them?’
‘No, he only popped in now and again. They earn a decent wage in the rolling mill but they all have families to support, Llewellyn included. If they manage two nights a week in a pub, that’s their limit.’
‘What about single men?’
‘We see more of them. They only have themselves to think about.’
‘Have you seen more of Llewellyn in recent weeks?’
‘We have, as a matter of fact.’
‘Why come here when most of his friends are in the Glue Pot?’
‘You’ll have to ask him, Sergeant.’
‘I’m asking myself at the moment,’ said Leeming, ‘and the answer is obvious. The Welshman came here because Rodman was barred from the other pub so was forced to drink here. Before that, I’ll wager, you hardly saw Llewellyn.’
‘That’s true,’ admitted Wells, realisation dawning. ‘It’s almost as if … as if he was stalking a victim.’
In the event, Howard Law didn’t have to go in search of Colbeck because the inspector came to him. He arrived at the parsonage to be given a cordial welcome by the vicar and his wife. He was then shown into the study, a large room that was exceptionally tidy and which still had a strange newness about it.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ said Law. ‘It feels as if we just moved in.’
‘When was the church consecrated?’
‘Just over fifteen years ago. I could have wished for something less decorative and not quite so redolent of medieval tradition but, then, I’m not the architect. It’s a fine church that makes a clear statement about its position in the village.’
‘I was very taken with the park opposite, Mr Law. It gives you a lovely aspect and is an ideal place for families to walk and play games.’
‘In summer months, it’s largely the preserve of cricket teams. However,’ he went on, ‘you didn’t come to discuss our leisure activities. A darker incident brought you.’ He indicated a chair and they sat opposite each other. ‘First, let me say how grateful I am that you took the trouble to call on Mrs Rodman. When I was there, she said how kind and considerate you’d been.’
‘I did what I could, Vicar. It’s very important for the victim’s family to believe that someone is working hard to bring a killer to justice. While it may not alter the misery of her situation, an arrest will bring her a measure of relief. What I’d really like to ask you about,’ said Colbeck, ‘is Frank Rodman. Until I spoke to his wife, I had no idea that he was a member of your choir.’
‘He was the lynchpin of it, Inspector.’
‘I also hear that he used to sing at occasional concerts.’
‘The programme was never complete without a solo from Frank. He was a good man at heart. Yes, he had a temper but he was learning how to curb it. People misunderstood him. In defiance of his bellicose manner, he was a very devout man.’
‘That surprises me.’
‘I’ve seen him kneel in prayer for an hour or more.’
‘Was that out of piety or in expiation of a sin? The reason I ask that,’ he went on quickly, ‘is that it might explain something. When the body was found – and these details will not be released to the press – it was completely naked and the head had been cut off. The ankles were bound together and the hands tied as if in prayer.’
‘Good Lord!’
‘You said that your church makes a statement. Was the killer doing the same?’
‘I really don’t know, Inspector.’
‘You must have an opinion.’
‘If you pressed me,’ said Law, slowly, ‘I’d have to say that he was mocking Frank’s devotion to the church. I’m trying to picture it in my mind and I find it a revolting image.’
‘I saw it in reality.’
‘And what was your judgement?’
‘I didn’t have one at first,’ confessed Colbeck, ‘because I couldn’t understand it. On reflection, however, I’ve come to see that it was a deliberate act of ridicule. It’s as if the killer is treating Christianity with contempt. “Prayer is useless,” he seems to be saying. “It can’t stop me killing you.” It’s a derisive message and it tells us something very significant about the man who sent it.’
‘And what’s that, Inspector?’
‘He’s an atheist.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
Caleb Andrews called at the house while the baby was being fed so he had to wait some time before his daughter came down from the nursery. He passed the time by picking up a newspaper and reading an article that was unduly critical of Scotland Yard, questioning its effectiveness in fighting crime. Thrown on the defensive, he tossed the newspaper on the table and simmered. Madeleine entered to see him pacing up and down.
‘Hello, Father,’ she said, kissing him on the cheek. ‘How nice it is to see you again.’
‘I wish I hadn’t come now.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I wouldn’t have seen that article about Scotland Yard if I’d stayed at home. Someone has the gall to claim that the Detective Department is a failure. They even wrote some nasty things about Robert.’
‘Oh, take no notice of that,’ she told him, blithely. ‘They always expect too much of the police. Robert ignores articles like that.’
‘Well, I don’t, Maddy.’
‘You mustn’t take it so personally.’
‘It’s unfair,’ said Andrews. ‘I know how hard he works. When is he coming home, by the way?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘But Swindon isn’t all that far away. He managed to slip home when he was working in Dorset and that was four hours on the train. I know that because I made the journey there to warn him that you’d gone into hospital.’
‘Please don’t remind me of that, Father. It was … very frightening at the time. However, all’s well that ends well,’ she said, brightening. ‘Think of Helen. You’ve got the most delightful granddaughter.’
‘And I’ve got a son-in-law who’s laughed at in a newspaper.’
‘Robert will vindicate himself, have no fear.’
‘Do you think that—?’
‘No,’ she said, cutting him off. ‘You are not to write
to the newspaper on his behalf. Robert would never allow that. Forget the article and come over here. I have something good to tell you.’ They moved to the sofa and sat down. ‘It’s about Lydia.’
‘Has she been here?’
‘Yes, she was bemoaning the fact that she’s desperately lonely at Christmas.’
‘It’s her fault, Maddy. She walked out on her family.’
‘Lydia was driven out by her father,’ corrected Madeleine, ‘and her elder brother didn’t want her in the house again. That’s all history now, anyway. The fact is that I’ve invited her to come to us.’
‘Won’t she be in the way?’
‘No, of course she won’t. She’s wonderful at fitting in.’
‘Your aunts will call in on Christmas Day and so will your cousins.’
‘Lydia will be very pleased to meet them. I’m certainly not going to hide her away. She’s on her own, Father,’ said Madeleine, ‘and she’s been such a staunch friend to me. I didn’t hesitate to invite her here. Ideally,’ she continued, smiling, ‘I’d like someone else to put in an appearance at some point.’
‘Who are you talking about?’
‘Detective Constable Hilton.’
‘Ah, yes, she owes a lot to that young man.’
‘Lydia appreciates that. She’d hoped to see more of him.’
Andrews grinned. ‘Did she really like him that much?’
‘Oh, yes, and he was certainly drawn to her but … nothing happened.’
‘Are you surprised?’
‘Frankly, I am,’ she admitted. ‘A romance seemed to be on the horizon. I think Lydia believed that as well, but her hopes were dashed.’
‘You can’t blame him for that.’
‘Why not?’
‘Look at the situation. Lydia is a very pretty young woman. Any man would be attracted to her and I’m sure that Constable Hinton was. But there’s a yawning gap between them,’ he pointed out. ‘He’s just a humble detective while she’s a wealthy woman in her own right.’
‘So?’
‘They’re worlds apart, Maddy.’
‘Robert and I were worlds apart once,’ she said, smiling, ‘but not any more.’
Howard Law had never met anyone quite like Colbeck before. In his meticulous attire and with his educated vowels, he seemed an unlikely policeman. When he heard that Colbeck had once abandoned a promising career as a barrister in order to join the Metropolitan Police Force, the vicar was amazed. His only dealings with the police had been with Inspector Piercey, an industrious but limited man with no experience of a murder inquiry. Unlike Colbeck, he didn’t inspire confidence and he certainly didn’t have the former’s knowledge of the Gospels.
‘Matthew, Mark and Luke all record the way that Jesus was mocked on the cross,’ said Colbeck. ‘He was ridiculed by the soldiers, the chief priests and the elders alike. They taunted him, saying that he could save others but not himself. If he was the Messiah, why didn’t God come to his aid? John makes no mention of the derision but the other Gospels are of one voice. Is that what we have here?’ he asked. ‘Was the killer sneering at him for his beliefs?’
‘Frank Rodman was no Christ-like figure, Inspector.’
‘Yet you told me he was devout.’
‘That was only when he was sober,’ said Law. ‘I know that some of his workmates thought him a nuisance because he used to sing hymns at them, but that would hardly constitute a motive for murder.’
‘It could in some circumstances.’ Colbeck’s thoughts drifted to Llewellyn. ‘I suppose that none of the Welsh families worship here?’
‘No, Inspector. This is an Anglican church and they’re Nonconformist by nature. We have a Baptist church here and a Primitive Methodist church was built halfway between Old and New Swindon to draw in people from both. I assume that the Welsh can be found at one of those on a Sunday, though I daresay they’ll want to build a chapel of their own one day.’
‘Is it true that they’ve stirred up trouble since they came?’
‘I’m afraid so, though there are faults on both sides. The newcomers were not welcomed, especially when they were heard speaking in their own language. For their part, the Welsh were very envious.’
‘Why was that?’
‘Most of the workers here have proper houses, built especially for them by the GWR. The Welsh have been crammed into the barracks.’
‘Yes, Sergeant Leeming mentioned those.’
‘They must have fifty or sixty children in there. It’s not ideal accommodation.’
‘Have you ever come across a man named Gareth Llewellyn?’
The vicar pulled a face. ‘Oh, yes, we’ve all met him.’
‘I hear a note of censure.’
‘When they first arrived here, Llewellyn attended a service at St Mark’s with his family. He accosted me afterwards and told me that there was no fire in my sermon and that the choir couldn’t sing in tune.’
‘I don’t think Mr Rodman would have liked that.’
‘If we hadn’t been in a church,’ recalled Law, ‘Frank would have hit him. To avoid any trouble, I hustled Llewellyn and his family outside.’
Colbeck was interested to hear of another clash between Rodman and the Welshman. It made him wonder how many more there’d been. Most newcomers to an area tried to blend in. Llewellyn, it seemed, enjoyed sticking out.
‘I’ve just been thinking about your comment that the man you’re after may be an atheist,’ said the vicar. ‘Over the past year or so, we’ve had some vandalism here. Thankfully, it’s only been small-scale so far but it could be the work of someone who doesn’t believe in God and who’s therefore offended by those of us who do.’
‘What sort of damage?’
‘Some of the headstones in the churchyard were defaced, causing great upset to the relatives of the deceased. White paint was splattered over a statue of an angel and there were more minor incidents.’
‘Did you contact the police?’
‘Inspector Piercey had one of his men on guard here at night for over a week in the summer. Nobody turned up but the message is clear. Someone doesn’t like us.’
‘I’ll bear that in mind.’
Since the vicar knew the village inside out, Colbeck took the time to find out as much about its people and their way of life as possible. For his part, Law was glad to have a serious conversation with a man of such manifest intelligence. Inevitably, they came back to the tragedy confronting Betty Rodman.
‘Her situation is hopeless,’ said Law. ‘Just imagine what it will be like for the children to spend Christmas without their father.’
Colbeck was hoping that his daughter wouldn’t be in the same situation. He got up and thanked the vicar for his help. About to leave, he was struck by a thought.
‘It may be that atheism is nothing to do with the murder,’ he said. ‘There’s another explanation why the victim was beheaded.’
‘Is there?’
‘Think of John the Baptist. Against his will, Herod ordered his decapitation at the request of Salome.’
‘There’s an account of it in Mark, chapter six. “I want you to give me at once the head of John the Baptist on a platter.” What a terrible demand that was!’
‘Have we stumbled on the answer?’ asked Colbeck.
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Is a woman responsible?’
The passage of time had not soothed Betty Rodman. She was more disturbed than ever. While she’d managed to control her weeping, she could do nothing to ease the pain of a broken heart. As soon as he was able, Fred Alford had come straight to the house, allowing his wife to go home to feed their children. Mabel Hankin, the neighbour who’d looked after Betty’s sons and daughter, brought the baby back to her mother, hoping Betty would draw succour from the feel of the child in her arms. At the same time, she feared for the future, wondering how she’d be able to house, feed and clothe Martha and the two boys. Her prospects were bleak.
‘Everything will work o
ut,’ he said, putting an arm around her shoulders. ‘I don’t quite know how but it will.’
‘I’ve been left almost destitute, Fred.’
‘Didn’t Frank have any savings?’
‘They went on drink. He was always sorry afterwards but that was no use. I begged and begged him to stay at home but he wouldn’t. When he’d come back late, it was either because he’d drunk too much or because he’d been to church.’
‘It would have been closed at that time of night, Betty.’
‘He’d kneel in the porch and pray for forgiveness.’
‘I kept telling him that he had to put you and the family first. It’s what I would have done. I like a pint of beer as much as the next man but I’m always home early and I put savings aside every week.’
‘Yours is one life, Fred, ours was another.’
‘Yet he always seemed happy.’ He became tentative. ‘Were you?’
‘I loved Frank but … oh, he could be so difficult at times.’
‘We realised that.’
‘Now I’ll have to learn how to live without him.’
There was a long, brooding silence. He was savouring their closeness but all she was thinking about was the hardship that lay ahead. The baby started to cry. Betty rocked her slowly asleep, forcing Alford to remove his arm.
‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ he asked.
‘No, thank you. Liza made one for me earlier on.’
He peered at the baby. ‘How is Martha?’
‘She’s lucky. She doesn’t know what’s happened to us.’
Pretending to look at the baby, Alford was really studying her. He’d always admired Betty and was bound to compare her with his own wife. Liza had become rather flabby and the attractive figure that had first caught his eye had now more or less disappeared. Betty, however, was still essentially the same shape she’d been when she was eighteen. Her body was hunched now and the colour had drained out of her face but he was still looking at a beautiful woman.
‘Did the vicar call?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I had two visitors,’ she replied. ‘The first one was Inspector Colbeck. He was kindness himself. He’ll do everything in his power to catch the man who …’ The words trailed off. ‘Then the vicar turned up. I know it’s a silly thing to say but I felt honoured that he took the trouble.’
A Christmas Railway Mystery Page 7
