A Christmas Railway Mystery

by Edward Marston

  ‘I don’t,’ said Betty. ‘Why are they holding things back?’

  ‘I’m not sure that that’s what anybody is doing,’ said Jennifer. ‘You were rightly informed of what had happened almost at once, then the inspector called on you to pass on certain details. This is a new situation for the village. None of us has been through it before. There’s bound to be confusion.’

  ‘The vicar said that there’d be an inquest.’

  ‘There’ll be a post-mortem before that, Mrs Rodman. That’s an examination of the body to ascertain exactly how your husband died.’

  Betty gasped. ‘Are they going to cut him open?’

  ‘They’re looking for clues that will help them to catch the man who killed him. It’s quite normal in cases of unnatural death. Once that’s done, they can move on to the inquest.’

  ‘I’d like to be there.’

  ‘Do you think that’s wise? It could be rather harrowing.’

  Betty was defiant. ‘I’m going,’ she asserted. ‘If Liza is with me, I can face anything. I want to know the full truth.’

  The train rolled into Canterbury Station and came to an abrupt halt. Having just risen from his seat, Edward Tallis had to put a hand against the wall to steady himself. He gathered up his bag, put on his top hat then ducked low as he followed the other passengers out of the compartment. The platform was awash with people waiting to get on to the train or meeting those who alighted. Drawing himself to his full height, Tallis waited for a few seconds before someone emerged from the crowd to hobble towards him. It was a tall, angular man in his sixties with luxuriant side whiskers acting as bookends to a face with more than a hint of nobility about it. Tallis was sad to see that his old friend now needed a walking stick.

  The former Captain Terence Wardlow shook his hand warmly.

  ‘You’re looking well, Edward,’ he said.

  ‘I survive.’

  ‘I may hang on for a few years myself but then I had the sense to retire. You still help to rid London of its vile criminals. How will they manage without you?’

  ‘They won’t,’ said Tallis with disdain. ‘I’m sure I’ll find a mess on my return. But let’s forget about the future, Terence. We meet to talk about the past and to share precious memories. I can’t tell you how delighted I am to see you again.’

  After exchanging pleasantries, they made their way toward the exit. Before they reached it, however, they heard the cathedral bells ringing. Wardlow laughed and patted his companion in the back.

  ‘Did you hear that welcome? It’s a perfect tribute to the gallant Major Tallis.’

  After a long day of moving around the area and questioning various people, the detectives finally met up at their office. While Colbeck felt that their hard work would eventually yield dividends, Leeming was less positive.

  ‘We have too many suspects,’ he moaned, ‘and that worries me.’

  ‘All we have to do is to eliminate them one by one. Before we take a closer look at each of them, let me tell you about William Morris.’

  Leeming’s face puckered. ‘Not another suspect, surely?’

  ‘No, Victor, he’s the editor of the Swindon Advertiser and he could be very useful to us.’

  ‘I don’t trust anyone who works for a newspaper. They twist your words.’

  ‘Mr Morris is not like that.’

  ‘Then what is he like?’

  Colbeck told him about his meeting with Morris and how, when he discovered that a murder had occurred at the Works, the latter had worked all night to reprint his newspaper so that it was up to date. Leeming was befuddled by mention of a poem.

  ‘He writes poetry as well, sir?’

  ‘No, Victor, that’s the other William Morris.’

  ‘Which other one are you talking about? There are lots to choose from. I grew up with a Willie Morris and there’s a Bill Morris who sells vegetables in our market.’

  ‘I’m referring to the author of “The Haystack in the Floods”.’

  ‘Oh, he’s a farmer, is he?’

  ‘It’s a poem about thwarted love set in the Hundred Years’ War. The young woman is desperate to be reunited with the soldier she adores but, before he can even give her a kiss, he has his head lopped off by an enemy. She ends up standing beside the wet haystack.’

  ‘Are you making this up, Inspector?’

  Colbeck smiled. ‘No, it’s all true. It’s just a weird coincidence that we’re involved in a crime featuring decapitation when that also happens in Morris’s poem.’

  ‘Does the killer get arrested?’

  ‘There was a war going on, Victor – our country against France. The soldier is simply one more victim of it.’

  ‘I think you’ve confused me enough, sir.’

  ‘All that I’m telling you is that William Morris – the one in the Old Town – is trustworthy. That doesn’t mean we have to confide everything in him but we mustn’t shut him out of the investigation.’

  ‘I’ll remember that.’

  ‘Right – tell me about Hector Samway.’

  Referring to his notebook, Leeming reeled off details of his meeting with the coppersmith. He described him as aggressive and overbearing but regretted the fact that he’d asked Samway if Rodman had taunted him about his dead wife. When the man threw a punch at him, Leeming came to understand why and spared him arrest on a charge of assault. Colbeck was interested to hear what had caused the tussle between the two men.

  ‘So it wasn’t about Samway’s wife – it was about Rodman’s.’

  ‘That’s what he told me.’

  ‘He must have made an insulting reference to her.’

  ‘That’s not the impression I got, sir,’ said Leeming. ‘He was hinting that he knew Mrs Rodman better than he should have done. He gave one of those sly smiles you always see on Mouldy Grosvenor’s face.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Colbeck, ‘I meant to warn you about that. You’re likely to see that smile sooner than you’d like to. Acting Superintendent Grosvenor sent a telegraph to tell us that we now are under his undeserving thumb.’

  ‘But Superintendent Tallis is not leaving until tomorrow.’

  ‘He’s already gone, by the look of it. Beware, Victor.’

  Leeming rolled his eyes. ‘And there was me, thinking that things couldn’t possibly get any worse …’

  ‘Go back to Hector Samway. His remark about Mrs Rodman is revealing.’

  ‘Something went on between them, I’m sure.’

  ‘Then we need to discover what it was.’

  ‘Samway has to remain a suspect in my view,’ said Leeming.

  ‘The same goes for Daniel Gill,’ said Colbeck. ‘I questioned him earlier.’

  ‘How would you describe him?’

  ‘He was slippery.’

  Colbeck gave him a brief account of the meeting with the butcher’s assistant and said that they’d need to contact his wife in order to verify Gill’s claim that he was at home all night at the time the murder took place. He also recalled that he’d strolled around the Old Town to get a feel of it. There’d been snow in the air at the start but it had slowly petered out.

  ‘I was glad to see it go,’ said Leeming. ‘I hate snow.’

  ‘Don’t be such a spoilsport, Victor. Your sons would love it – so will Helen when she’s old enough to play in it. I’ll wager that you revelled in snow as a boy.’

  ‘I did, sir, but I know how badly it can hamper travel. If we get a blizzard, we could be stuck here for ages.’

  ‘There are worse places to be marooned in than the Queen’s Tap.’

  ‘What about Christmas?’

  ‘We’ll be home by then,’ promised Colbeck. ‘So far, we have only two confirmed suspects yet you said we had too many. Are you going to increase the number?’

  ‘Yes, I’m going to add three more names.’

  ‘Three? Where did they all come from?’

  ‘You know one of them already. It’s that Welshman, Llewellyn. Something about him troubles me. I kno
w you think he’s innocent but I keep remembering what Edgar Fellowes said about him. Llewellyn. He’s a law unto himself.’

  ‘Have you actually spoken to him?’

  ‘No, but I have this nagging suspicion.’

  ‘Then I’ll respect your instincts. Samway, Gill and Llewellyn need more investigation. How did you get on with Simeon Cudlip?’

  ‘I disliked him, sir.’

  ‘Why was that?’

  Leeming told him that Cudlip was an irritating man with a belief that he could outwit anyone who tried to question him too closely. The clerk had been proud of his atheism and scornful of those – like Rodman – who were regular churchgoers. While he admitted his hatred of the man, he denied any involvement in the murder. Of all the things that came out in their conversation, the most significant was the name of another suspect.

  Colbeck was astonished. ‘Fred Alford?’

  ‘That’s him, sir.’

  ‘But he’s Rodman’s closest friend.’

  ‘Cain was Abel’s brother yet he still killed him.’

  ‘Let’s not get carried away by biblical allusions, Victor. They can be very misleading. Rely on what we know for a fact. Mrs Rodman was so disturbed by her husband’s absence on the night in question that she went out and called on Fred Alford. He joined in the search at once.’

  ‘He could have been only pretending to search.’

  ‘What possible motive could he have for murdering his friend?’

  ‘I don’t know, sir. Killers choose their victims for a lot of different reasons. We’ve known some that didn’t need any motive at all. They just do it.’

  ‘When you met Alford, did you get any sense that he was guileful?’

  ‘No, I didn’t. He seemed honest and open. When I took him to identify the body, he was really upset by the horrible state his friend was in.’

  ‘Then why should we be taking this allegation against him seriously?’

  ‘We have to, sir. Cudlip has known Alford for years. He also knew and was fond of Mrs Rodman. In fact, I think that she’s the reason he never married. Cudlip is still carrying a torch for her. Could that be what Alford was doing as well? He might be another one of her rejected suitors.’

  ‘I’m not happy about this,’ said Colbeck, pursing his lips. ‘Something doesn’t ring true.’

  ‘Alford is an unlikely suspect, I agree, but we can’t overlook him.’

  ‘When is he supposed to have committed the murder?’

  ‘It was some time in the night.’

  ‘But we know that he left the pub early and went back home.’

  ‘That’s what he told us.’

  ‘I’ve met his wife, Victor. She’s a very strong and capable woman. If her husband didn’t come back until the early hours, she’d want to know why. And there’s another factor,’ said Colbeck. ‘It was Fred Alford who first raised the possibility that the killer was one of Betty Rodman’s disappointed admirers. Why should he draw attention to them if he was attracted to her as well?’

  ‘I think he needs looking at more closely.’

  ‘Is there any point? From what you tell me, Cudlip sounds like a highly unreliable source. There’s clearly a streak of arrogance in him as well. He’s probably just trying to get his own back on Alford for some imagined slight.’

  ‘On the other hand,’ said Leeming, seriously, ‘he may actually have been giving us a valuable piece of information. I believe that Alford must join the other four suspects.’ He rapped the desk with his knuckles. ‘I say that we should talk to Fred Alford as a matter of urgency.’

  Struck by the sergeant’s determination, Colbeck got to his feet.

  ‘He may be home by now. I’ll call on him at once.’

  Fred Alford was part of the human torrent that poured out of the Works then went off in different directions. Heading for the Rodman house, he suddenly felt a powerful hand on his shoulder. He turned to confront a grinning Gareth Llewellyn.

  ‘Your friend has done me a favour,’ said the Welshman.

  Alford tensed. ‘Don’t you sneer at Frank Rodman.’

  ‘I’m not sneering. I’m grateful to him. You’ll find out why on Saturday night.’

  ‘I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.’

  ‘It’s the concert. They’ve lost one soloist so they need someone in his place. I persuaded them to use me. I’ll show this village what a real singing voice sounds like. Make sure that you and your wife are there.’

  ‘I’m not interested in listening to you.’

  ‘You’d better get used to the idea, Fred.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’ll be the regular soloist at the Mechanics’ Institution from now on. Once they hear me, they’ll beg me to sing at every concert. I’m sorry to see Frank die that way – a pity, really.’

  ‘Don’t pretend you actually care about him. You hated Frank.’

  ‘I love him like a brother now,’ said Llewellyn, grinning broadly, ‘because his death has been a bonus for me. The Welsh are a musical nation, you see. We were born to sing. I’ve been given the chance to prove myself in front of an audience and it’s all because of your old friend.’ Looking up, he blew a kiss up to heaven. ‘Thank you, Frank. I appreciate your kindness in stepping aside for me.’

  He laughed harshly and lumbered off down the road.

  Colbeck got to the house to find that Liza Alford had just been reunited with her family. Since she’d spent most of the day with Betty Rodman, she’d had to ask her neighbours to look after the children for her. They were now demanding to know where she’d been. When her visitor arrived, she’d sent them upstairs so that she could talk in private with Colbeck. He was interested to hear that she’d spent the night with Betty Rodman and that her husband would call there before coming home. Colbeck was glad of the opportunity to question her alone.

  ‘How is Mrs Rodman?’ he asked.

  ‘She’s still dazed by what’s happened but, then, any woman would be.’

  ‘You’ve been a tower of strength to her.’

  ‘We’ve always been friends, Inspector. I can’t let her down. Mrs Law called on her this morning and the vicar was there again this afternoon. Other people have offered their help as well.’

  ‘But you’re her mainstay, Mrs Alford. Tell me,’ he went on, ‘do you remember a man named Simeon Cudlip?’

  ‘Yes, he’s a clerk at the Works.’

  ‘What do you know about him?’

  ‘I know that he was a terrible nuisance to Betty before she was married. She had lots of admirers but Mr Cudlip was the one who bothered her most.’

  ‘Did he continue to bother her after she was married?’

  ‘I don’t think he’d dare. Frank was very protective.’

  ‘But he wasn’t always there, was he? It seems to be common knowledge that he spent a lot of time in the pub, then there’d be choir rehearsals and other reasons to keep him out of the house. Didn’t that make his wife feel lonely?’

  ‘You’re never lonely if you have children, Inspector.’

  ‘The vicar told me that Mr Rodman was a troubled soul,’ said Colbeck. ‘It sounds as if he was guilt-stricken. Why do you think that was?’

  Liza became guarded. ‘I really don’t know.’

  ‘Was he worried about something – or about someone?’

  ‘You’d have to ask my husband.’

  ‘I’d have thought that Mrs Rodman would have confided in you.’

  ‘Betty did say that … he spent too much money on drink,’ said the other, carefully, ‘but a lot of men do that. Luckily, Fred is not one of them. He knows that we have mouths to feed. He can’t afford to drink his pay away.’

  ‘Is that what Mr Rodman did?’

  There was a lengthy pause. ‘You’ll have to ask Betty.’

  ‘I think that you know the answer, Mrs Alford,’ he said, ‘but I won’t press you on the subject.’ He saw her stifle a yawn. ‘Ever since you heard the grim news about Mr Rodman, you’ve been on duty w
ith his wife. You must be exhausted.’

  ‘I do feel weary. My back hurts from sleeping in a chair.’

  ‘That’s understandable,’ said Colbeck. ‘You’d have been much better off on the floor.’

  ‘I tried that but there was a terrible draught coming in.’

  ‘So you spent the entire night perched on a chair?’

  ‘I can sleep anywhere, Inspector,’ she boasted. ‘If my husband didn’t wake me up when it was time for him to go to work, I’d sleep throughout the whole day. When Fred, or one of the children, gets up in the night, I never hear a thing. Once I nod off, I could sleep through a thunderstorm.’

  After his encounter with the Welshman, Alford went straight to the Rodman house. Betty was alone. When she let him in, she was so pleased to see him that she flung herself impulsively into his arms.

  ‘Hold me, Fred,’ she told him. ‘Hold me tight.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Those who worked under him at Scotland Yard joked that Edward Tallis was never off duty and routinely arrested criminals in his sleep. Had they seen him that evening, however, they might have revised their judgement. Relaxed, contented and actually smiling for once, he was enjoying the hospitality of his friend, Terence Wardlow. The two men were ensconced in leather armchairs in the study of a rambling country house just outside Canterbury, trading memoirs of their army careers and sampling an aperitif before dinner. A fire crackled in the grate of the book-lined room. Above the mantelpiece was a portrait of Wardlow in uniform, staring at the horizon with the defiant gaze of a British soldier confronting the enemy on the battlefield. Tallis had been impressed by the glass-topped cabinet in one corner of the room with its display of medals and its memorabilia from the various campaigns in which they’d both fought. He, too, had a similar collection.

  There was no thought of the Detective Department now. The superintendent was comprehensively off duty, luxuriating in the company of a close friend with shared memories that had bonded them for life. When they’d left the army, however, their paths had diverged. Wardlow had returned to his wife and family and was now revelling in his retirement. Tallis, on the other hand, had accepted a new challenge.