A Christmas Railway Mystery

by Edward Marston

  ‘How long have you lived here, Mr Cudlip?’

  ‘It must be eight years now.’

  ‘Do you like it here?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘The wonder is that you’ve never married.’

  Cudlip blenched. ‘That’s my business, Sergeant.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you like to have a family? It means that you always have someone to go home to.’

  ‘I’ve seen too many unhappy marriages.’

  ‘What about Frank Rodman? Was he unhappily married?’

  ‘It’s not for me to say,’ muttered the other.

  ‘But you knew him, didn’t you?’

  ‘I knew of him but I wasn’t a friend of his. In fact, it must be years since I even spoke to him. I’m not a drinking man, Sergeant. He was. That’s never a good thing for a man with responsibilities.’

  ‘I believe that you know Mrs Rodman.’

  ‘That was a very long time ago.’

  ‘When did you last speak to her?’

  ‘I’ve no reason to do so.’ His eyelids narrowed. ‘Someone’s being talking to you, haven’t they? I’m a suspect.’

  ‘You obviously object to that.’

  ‘I object very strongly.’

  ‘Tell me why, Mr Cudlip.’

  ‘I lead a quiet, law-abiding life, Sergeant, and I happen to prefer my own company when I’m off duty. When I’m here,’ he stressed, ‘I’m in the same office as five other clerks so I’m not starved of company. I hear them complaining about their wives and moaning about their children and I’m thankful that I never made the mistake of getting married. They’ve all put a ball and chain around their ankle. I’m free to do exactly what I want.’

  There was an almost exultant note in his voice. Leeming wondered how he could sound so happy when he boasted that he had no social life. If his time was divided between work as a clerk and sitting at home alone, there was no cause for celebration. What it did mean, Leeming realised, was that he would have been able to move freely about the village – and the Works – on the night of the murder. With nobody else to answer to, he would be invisible.

  ‘Are you a churchgoer, sir?’ asked Leeming, remembering what Colbeck had surmised with regard to the killer. ‘I’m told you have a lovely church here.’

  ‘Churches are never lovely to me.’

  ‘But St Mark’s was built especially for this village.’

  ‘I never go near the place.’

  ‘Is there a reason for that?’

  ‘It’s because I don’t believe in God.’

  ‘So that’s why you never got married.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, if you take a wife, you have to make promises in church. You and your beloved are joined in the sight of God. If you don’t believe that He exists, of course, you could never even think of taking part in a wedding.’ He saw Cudlip wince slightly. ‘Was there ever a time when you were a Christian?’

  ‘I was brought up to believe certain things as a boy. When I was older, I felt that I’d been cheated. It was all nonsense.’

  ‘Did you think it was nonsense when you met Betty Marklew?’

  The fact that Leeming asked the question so casually gave it added impact. It silenced Cudlip completely. Painful memories had clearly been reignited. When he eventually spoke, his voice was deliberately slow and emphatic.

  ‘I did not kill Frank Rodman,’ he said. ‘I did not help anyone who did kill him. I had no connection whatsoever with the murder.’

  ‘What did you do when you heard the news?’

  ‘I felt sorry for Betty … for Mrs Rodman, that is. This will destroy her.’

  ‘Do you intend to get in touch with her?’

  ‘It’s not my place to do that, Sergeant.’

  ‘What about the funeral?’

  ‘It’s in a church. I won’t be there.’

  ‘Do you ever go to concerts at the Mechanics’ Institution?’

  Cudlip nodded. ‘Now and then …’

  ‘So you’ll have heard Mr Rodman singing.’

  ‘That’s not why I went.’

  ‘Then why did you go? Was it to see Mrs Rodman?’

  ‘I don’t know who’s been telling you tales,’ said Cudlip, hotly, ‘but you’ve been given the wrong information. There was a time when I … was fond of Betty Marklew but I lost interest when she chose someone else. I wasn’t the only one who liked her, Sergeant. Why don’t you talk to some of them instead? When she got married, Betty disappointed quite a few of us.’

  ‘Would you care to name them, sir?’

  ‘I’ll name the man who was far more upset than me.’

  ‘Who was it?’

  ‘Fred Alford.’

  During his morning break, Alford left the Foundry and walked quickly across to the Erecting Shop, acknowledging greetings as he went in. He stopped near the spot where the murder victim had been found. The blood had been washed away now but the area had some chairs around it to keep people at bay. It exerted a macabre fascination on some men as they passed it. Alford’s interest was more intense. He stared fixedly at the spot until it was time to return to the Foundry.

  Colbeck didn’t mince his words. Calling at the police station, he spoke to Jared Piercey in the privacy of the inspector’s office and berated him for telling the editor of the Swindon Advertiser that the dead man had been naked. Though Piercey had been warned to be discreet, he’d given away a crucial piece of information.

  ‘Fortunately,’ said Colbeck, ‘Mr Morris has not printed that detail in the latest edition of his newspaper but that’s no thanks to you.’

  Piercey was abashed. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘It was a slip of the tongue.’

  ‘It was a stupid mistake, Inspector, and I ought by rights to report you to your chief constable. Full details will obviously come out at the inquest but that will not be for a while so they won’t have the same searing impact. Just imagine how Mrs Rodman, the widow, would feel if she knew everything at this stage. She’s already struggling to cope with the enormity of the shock. Your indiscretion would only increase her anguish.’

  ‘It won’t happen again,’ said Piercey.

  ‘It should never have happened at all.’

  The stinging rebuke left the inspector thoroughly chastened. Hoping to play a telling part in the investigation, Piercey would now be confined to the outer perimeter. In talking to William Morris, he’d engineered his own fate. It left him feeling bitter and rueful. Colbeck, meanwhile, strode out of the building and walked along Wood Street. When he’d arrived in the Old Town, he’d noticed the butcher’s shop on the corner. He was in luck. As he looked through the window, he saw that there were no customers there. The only person in the shop was a tall, wiry man in his early forties wearing a blood-spattered apron. Colbeck went in.

  ‘I’m looking for Daniel Gill,’ he said.

  ‘That’s me.’

  ‘Then I’d like a word with you, if I may, sir. I’m Inspector Colbeck from Scotland Yard and I’m in charge of the investigation into the recent murder at the Locomotive Works.’

  Gill went pale. ‘It was nothing to do with me.’

  ‘That may well be the case, sir, but I’d still value a word with you.’

  ‘Wait here,’ said the other, thinking quickly. ‘I’ll need to speak to the boss. He’s out the back, getting another carcass. I don’t suppose …’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Colbeck, understanding his predicament ‘I’ll wait outside. I don’t want to embarrass you in front of your employer.’

  ‘He’s my uncle.’

  ‘I won’t take much of your time.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Colbeck left the shop and walked a dozen yards or so along the street. He didn’t have long to wait. Gill came out to join him. He seemed to have recovered from the initial jolt and was more composed. The butcher’s nephew had small, dark, mobile eyes either side of a beaky nose. He had a local accent with a pronounced burr.

  ‘I can�
��t see why you’re bothering with me, Inspector,’ he said.

  ‘Your name came to our attention, Mr Gill.’

  ‘Who gave it to you?’

  ‘We don’t know,’ replied Colbeck. ‘In the wake of the murder, we received a number of anonymous suggestions as to who the killer might be. Two people gave us your name.’

  Gill was furious. ‘Then they had no right to do so.’

  ‘They both said you loathed Frank Rodman.’

  ‘That bit is true.’

  ‘And that you think that you lost your job unfairly.’

  ‘I did. The foreman was too scared of Rodman to sack him so he got rid of me instead. When he saw me leaving, Rodman laughed. I’ll never forget that sneer on his ugly face.’

  ‘What did you do about it?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Gill. ‘What could I do?’

  ‘You might have tried to get your own back,’ suggested Colbeck. ‘According to the people who gave us your name, you vowed that you’d do just that.’

  ‘Oh, I was just blowing off steam, Inspector.’

  ‘How often do you go to the New Town?’

  ‘Never – this is my home now.’

  ‘You must have earned more at the Works than you could ever get from being a butcher’s assistant.’

  ‘I’m more than that,’ insisted Gill, thrusting out his chin. ‘Uncle Eric is getting on. He’s got no sons, only daughters. I’ll take over the business one day.’

  ‘In that sense, then, you’ve fallen on your feet.’

  ‘Yes, I had a good job to go to.’

  ‘So why did you feel so vengeful towards Mr Rodman?’

  ‘We never liked each other. He’d been looking for a chance to get rid of me and leant on the foreman. Being sacked is upsetting. It hurts your pride.’

  ‘Would you describe yourself as a proud man, Mr Gill?’

  ‘Yes, I would,’ said the other, eyes glistening.

  Colbeck stepped back to allow two people to walk past on the pavement. A few flakes of snow began to fall. He looked up at the sky.

  ‘It could be a white Christmas,’ said Gill.

  ‘I daren’t look that far ahead, sir. I have to keep my mind on the present.’ He raised his hat as an elderly lady went past. ‘Have you read today’s Advertiser?’

  ‘The only time I read newspapers is when I’m using them to wrap up a shoulder of lamb or some pork sausages.’

  ‘You might find the latest edition rather interesting.’

  ‘Why’s that, sir?’

  ‘It contains a reward notice for information leading to the arrest of the man who killed Frank Rodman. The GWR is offering a substantial amount.’

  ‘That’s their business. If I had that kind of money,’ said Gill, vehemently, ‘I’d rather give it to the man who actually did the deed. When he killed Rodman, he did us all a big favour.’

  ‘You’re being very unkind, Mr Gill.’

  ‘I’m being honest.’

  ‘Where were you on the night of the murder?’

  ‘I was in bed with my wife – ask her.’

  ‘I’m prepared to take your word for it – for the moment, that is.’

  Gill glanced towards the shop. ‘Can I go now?’

  ‘Now that you’ve been warned, you can.’

  ‘I didn’t hear any warning.’

  ‘It was in the mention of the reward,’ explained Colbeck. ‘We always get a good response, you see. Names of possible suspects are sure to roll in. If yours is among them again, Mr Gill, we may have to speak to you again.’

  Madeleine Colbeck tried an experiment. Wanting to work in her studio, she took the crib in with her so that she could have the child beside her and enjoy the sound of her burbling quietly away. It worked well at first. Helen seemed quite content and her mother was able to address herself to her easel. The baby then began to cry, forcing Madeleine to put down her brush, wipe her hands clean then move to the crib. She was still trying to calm the child down when there was a knock on the door and Lydia Quayle was shown in by the maid. Almost immediately, Helen stopped crying.

  ‘There you are,’ said Madeleine. ‘The moment you arrive, she’s happy.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think I can take the credit for that.’ The women embraced and exchanged a kiss. ‘But it’s nice to pretend that I can’ She looked into the crib. ‘Good morning. How are you today?’

  There was a long, satisfied burble by way of reply. The friends laughed.

  ‘I’ve got some good news for you, Madeleine,’ said Lydia.

  ‘Oh, wonderful – does it concern Constable Hinton?’

  ‘I’m afraid not. If you’ve been engrossed in a painting, I know you wouldn’t have glanced out of the window. It’s trying to snow.’

  ‘Is it?’ Madeleine peered out at the garden. ‘I can’t see anything.’

  ‘It’s very faint at the moment. Look at those clouds. There’s snow up there.’

  ‘I believe you’re right, Lydia.’

  ‘Just think – Helen’s first Christmas will be a white one. She’ll love that.’

  ‘I’m not sure she’ll appreciate it. She’s too young. And I can’t say that I’ll appreciate it either.’

  ‘Why ever do you say that?’

  ‘I’m thinking of Robert. Snow is wonderful to look at but, if there’s too much of it, there’ll be a lot of disruption. The last time we had a heavy snowfall, trains were cancelled and roads in some parts of the country were impassable. I don’t want my husband marooned in Swindon by four feet of snow.’

  ‘Have you heard from Robert?’

  ‘Yes, I had a letter earlier this morning.’

  ‘What did he have to say?’

  ‘Well, it’s an intriguing case, it seems, but it won’t be easy to solve. That’s his way of saying that he can’t make any promises.’

  ‘They’ll let him home for Christmas, surely?’

  ‘Not unless he’s arrested the culprit,’ said Madeleine. ‘Superintendent Tallis was very clear on that point. Robert must stay there over the new year, if need be.’

  ‘What a dreadful thought!’

  ‘He did promise to come home before then, if only for an hour or so.’

  ‘Didn’t you tell me that the superintendent was going to be away this weekend at a regimental reunion?’ Madeleine nodded. ‘That’s the ideal time to slip back here, isn’t it? When the cat’s away, the mice will play. He and Sergeant Leeming will have a lot more freedom when Superintendent Tallis is not on duty.’

  Colbeck got back to their temporary office to find a telegraph waiting for him on the desk. It had been sent by Acting Superintendent Grosvenor. The message was curt and faintly threatening.

  YOU ANSWER TO ME NOW

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Jennifer Law was not merely the vicar’s wife, she played an important part in his ministry. Apart from running the parsonage, acting as hostess to an unending stream of parishioners and helping her husband with secretarial duties, she had a regular round of visits to make to those who were sick, bereaved or too old to get to church any more. A new name had been added to her list. It was that of Betty Rodman. The door of the Rodman house was opened by Liza Alford who invited her in at once. There was an exchange of greetings then Jennifer looked down at the crib.

  ‘What a beautiful baby!’ she said. ‘And Martha is such a lovely name.’

  ‘But what kind of a life can I offer her?’ asked Betty, hopelessly.

  ‘It will be much better than you fear. Always remember that the Lord will provide. That promise may sound rather hollow at the moment but you have to keep faith in it. As for the immediate future, you can move into the parsonage with Martha, Davy and Leonard.’

  ‘That’s so generous of you, Mrs Law.’

  Liza marvelled at the way that their visitor had remembered the names of the children. The vicar’s wife had made it her business to know all of the families in the congregation even though it meant committing hundreds of names to memory. It was one way of s
howing that she cared about people. Liza had been willing to take the Rodman family into her own little house but she accepted that the parsonage would offer greater space and more comfort.

  ‘I know that my husband has asked you this,’ said Jennifer, ‘but I’ll repeat the question nevertheless. Is there anything practical we can do for you now?’

  ‘No, Mrs Law,’ replied Betty. ‘I’ve got Liza. She’s been a godsend.’

  ‘You can call on us night and day,’ said Liza.

  ‘She and her husband are wonderful friends.’

  ‘That’s what you need in a crisis like this,’ said Jennifer. ‘The unconditional love of friends will help you through these dark days.’ She noticed a number of books on a shelf in the corner. ‘What have you been reading?’

  ‘Oh, they’re not mine, Mrs Law,’ said Betty. ‘The only book I ever read is the Bible.’

  ‘Do they belong to your husband?’

  ‘No, he borrowed them from the library in the Mechanics’ Institution. Frank was always trying to better himself. He didn’t want to do the same job for the rest of his life so he studied a lot.’

  ‘For a person in his circumstances, that was admirable.’

  ‘My husband is the same,’ said Liza. ‘Fred is always borrowing books.’

  ‘That library is a great asset to the community,’ remarked Jennifer. ‘People who’ve had limited schooling in their youth can educate themselves. And it’s all because of the enterprise of those who run the Institution. Then there are the concerts they offer, of course. I’m told that they are excellent.’

  ‘Frank used to sing a solo in them,’ recalled Betty, her face almost managing a smile. ‘Though he loved being in the choir, he always enjoyed singing at a concert. He said that he felt more at home at the Institution.’

  ‘He never looked out of place in church.’

  ‘That’s because it meant so much to him, Mrs Law.’

  ‘When are we going to know the truth?’ asked Liza.

  ‘I don’t understand what you mean, Mrs Alford.’

  ‘Well, we’ve listened to Inspector Colbeck – and to the vicar, of course – but there are things we still don’t know. Betty is entitled to hear everything. She doesn’t like the feeling that … things are being kept from her.’