The other suspects would have killed Rodman out of hatred, revenge or a mixture of both. Alford’s motive was that he cared deeply for the man’s wife. Was he acting out of pity for her? Had he persuaded himself that the only way to make her life more bearable was to rid her of Rodman? If so, why had he found it necessary to behead the man and leave a mutilated corpse? It was easy to see why the other four suspects might have been driven to commit murder. There was a cold simplicity about their motives. Alford’s case was far more problematical. He was, ironically, the most pleasant of the five men. Four had lied to the detectives while he had appeared to be telling the truth. Was his apparent desire to help the investigation really a clever smokescreen? Neither of the detectives knew the answer.
Members of the band had slipped off for a reviving glass of beer in the interval and were now drifting back to the stage and picking up their instruments.
‘What comes next, sir?’ asked Leeming.
Colbeck looked at his programme. ‘It’s an overture by Rossini.’
‘I’ve never heard of him.’
‘It’s from his opera, The Italian Girl in Algiers.’
‘That’s a funny title.’
‘It will be instructive to find out how the band copes with the piece. None of them will ever have been to Italy and I doubt if they even know where Algiers is.’
‘What sort of place is it?’
‘Rossini is about to tell you, Victor.’
Leeming looked around. ‘Is the composer here?’
‘No, but his music is. When the band plays, you’ll hear Algiers being conjured up in front of you. All you have to do is to sit back and listen.’
There were four of them in the room at Canterbury police station. Wardlow, Hinton and Legge sat at the table while Grosvenor remained on his feet so that he could strut about and gesticulate. While he was still in charge, Grosvenor was keen to demonstrate his ability as a leader.
‘The moment I heard about the abduction,’ he said, ‘I began to wonder how we could identify the person or persons responsible. On the train journey from Swindon to London, I thought of nothing else.’
‘So I should hope,’ said Wardlow.
‘The answer lies in the superintendent’s past.’
‘That seems obvious.’
‘Let me finish, Captain. It’s a strange thing to say of a grown man like Edward Tallis but, when he stayed at your home, you were in loco parentis, so to speak. The responsibility for his safety therefore lay with you.’
Wardlow scowled. ‘Balderdash!’
‘You should have kept an eye on him at all times.’
‘It was Major Tallis who was looking after me, I’m the weak link here. I simply had to sit down to rest in the cathedral and had no qualms about doing so. Who would expect someone as big, powerful and experienced as the major to be at risk when alone?’
‘Nobody,’ said Hinton. ‘You’re not to blame, Captain Wardlow.’
‘I wish that I could feel that.’
‘The pair of you were being followed by someone who was waiting for the moment when you were split up.’
‘That’s enough from you, Constable,’ said Grosvenor. ‘You’ve been here in Kent and achieved nothing. I, on the other hand, do have an achievement to report. Sitting in my office, I’m fairly certain that I may have found out the name of the man behind the kidnap.’
Wardlow sat up. ‘Who is it? Tell us, man.’
‘Let me first explain how I came by it. Before I replaced the superintendent, he talked in fulsome terms about the demands of the position and how he’d occupied it with such distinction. He talked about various cases in which he played an active role. The one that stood out was a robbery on a train. He was directly involved in the arrest.’
‘When was this?’
‘Oh, it was several years ago.’
‘Who was the villain?’
‘His name was Sam Byard.’
‘I’ve heard of him,’ said Hinton, quickly. ‘It was one of Inspector Colbeck’s first cases.’
‘Colbeck was promoted to that rank far too early, in my opinion. As it happened, he did solve the crime but needed the help of the superintendent to make the arrest. I looked at the transcript of the trial. Byard was vociferous in the dock. Some of the expletives were omitted, according to the superintendent. He’d never heard such a volley of abuse as that directed at him and Colbeck.’
‘Was there a specific threat of revenge?’ asked Wardlow.
‘It was aimed at the superintendent.’
‘Then Byard might well be our man.’
‘There’s a clinching detail,’ said Grosvenor.
‘What is it?’
‘Sam Byard was released from prison earlier this year. As a local man, he’ll certainly be living somewhere in Kent.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The second half of the concert got off to a disappointing start. Having excelled himself with Mozart, the conductor – emboldened by a pint of beer during the interval – started Rossini off at too fast a tempo, losing all the finer nuances of the music and making his band struggle to maintain the pace. Those unfamiliar with the overture thought it was played superbly but Colbeck was among a minority of listeners who knew the truth. After a solo, a duet and a choral piece, the band redeemed themselves with the overture to The Thieving Magpie, sticking to the tempo prescribed by Rossini and rousing the audience to cheers. Nobody clapped as loud as Leeming.
When they reached the penultimate item in the programme, the conductor turned and waved the audience into silence. He explained that Gareth Llewellyn would be taking the place of Frank Rodman but felt that they should all spare a thought beforehand for the murder victim who’d entertained them so well over the years. Howard Law was invited up onstage to say a short prayer in memory of the dead man. While the majority of people lowered their heads and closed their eyes, Colbeck and Leeming were curious to see how the five suspects reacted to the situation. They noticed that Simeon Cudlip didn’t even bother to listen to the words. Sitting up with his arms folded, he affected disdain. Daniel Gill was also less than committed to the prayer, looking up and smirking. Samway had lowered his head respectfully but it was Alford who responded most eagerly. Hands together and head on his chest, he knelt on the bare boards in an attitude of exaggerated grief. When the prayer was over, he was the last to get to his feet.
Colbeck had taken particular note of Llewellyn, pretending to join in with everyone else but really bursting with eagerness to get onstage. When he was finally introduced, he bounded out of his seat to a fusillade of clapping from the Welsh contingent there. It was countered by sounds of discontent and a couple of people walked out in protest but the majority stayed to hear him. It was Llewellyn’s own decision to sing unaccompanied. After taking a deep breath, he threw himself wholeheartedly into a rendition of ‘Clychau Aberdyfi’, a famous Welsh folk song. When he counted the bells of Aberdovey one by one, his friends in the audience joined in. Though the singer was unpopular with most people, they were ready to acknowledge that he had a wonderful voice, deeper and richer than Frank Rodman’s. His performance was supremely confident and his breath control astonishing. When he’d counted the bells for the last time, there was a concerted shout of joy from his compatriots supported by polite applause from everyone else.
Llewellyn was not finished yet. Once the band had played the national anthem, he jumped back up onstage and led his makeshift choir in what he believed was the Welsh equivalent, introducing a contentious note to what had hitherto been a very harmonious evening. Colbeck had watched with fascination and listened with awe to an extraordinary voice. Early in the investigation, he and Leeming had wondered if any human being could commit murder for the sole purpose of securing a chance to sing in public. In the Mechanics’ Institution that evening, they had their answer.
Daniel Gill and his wife were among the first to leave. Most of those in the audience lived in the New Town and could walk back to their houses. The G
ills were almost a mile away and were keen to ride home in the cart. As they came out of the exit, however, they found Victor Leeming waiting for them.
‘Did you enjoy the concert?’ he asked.
‘Most of it,’ replied Gill. ‘We could have done without that Welshman.’
‘That was the best part of the evening for me.’ Leeming turned to the wife. ‘What about you, Mrs Gill? Didn’t you think he sang well?’
Too embarrassed to answer, she nodded earnestly in agreement.
‘It’s late,’ said Gill, pointedly. ‘You’ll have to excuse us.’
‘I’m afraid I can’t do that, sir. I need to speak to you again.’
‘Can’t it wait until the morning?’
‘No, it can’t,’ replied Leeming.
Gill asked if he could first conduct his wife to their cart. Leeming was happy to agree though was appalled at the uncaring way he lifted her up on to the vehicle as if loading a side of beef on to it. Gill took him several yards away so that they were out of earshot of his wife.
‘What is it this time, Sergeant?’ he asked, warily.
‘You still haven’t told us where you were on the night of the murder.’
‘Yes, I did. I got drunk and fell asleep.’
‘But there are no witnesses to support that story.’
‘It’s not a story, it’s the truth.’
‘It’s also the excuse we hear time and time again in investigations like this. People who are stone-cold sober every other day of the year claim to have been in a drunken stupor on the night a crime was committed.’
‘That’s exactly what happened.’
‘Were you celebrating something, Mr Gill?’
‘I enjoy a tankard of beer now and again, that’s all.’
‘But you’re claiming that you had several tankards. A confirmed drinker like you would know exactly what his limit was and take care not to go beyond it. Also, there’s the problem of cost. You’re only a butcher’s assistant,’ Leeming reminded him. ‘That can’t bring you the same wage you earned at the Works. Put simply, you can’t afford to spend too much money in a pub, can you?’
‘I have to be careful,’ mumbled Gill.
‘So why did you scatter your money so recklessly that night.’
‘I was upset about something. I drowned my anger in beer.’
‘I have a strong feeling that you were upset about somebody and his name was Rodman. When everybody was showing respect to him by joining in that prayer, you were smirking to yourself. I watched you.’
Gill was jolted. ‘I’ve never been much of a one for prayers.’
‘You haven’t been much of a one for truth either,’ said Leeming. ‘You’re so used to telling lies that you can’t do anything else.’ He saw Gill run a tongue over dry lips. ‘I’m told that you were once apprenticed to a locksmith.’
‘So?’
‘Why did you give it up?’
‘I was offered more money at the Works.’
‘But you still possess your old skills, I expect. Could you pick a lock?’
‘Why should I need to do that?’
‘Could you?’
‘That depends on the lock. I have helped friends in the past when they’ve locked themselves out of their houses and left the key inside.’
‘What about a large lock like the one they have on church doors?’ Gill made no answer. ‘You must have seen the one at St Mark’s many times. Could you get inside that church when it was locked?’
‘I’d have no reason to do so, Sergeant.’
‘You might have wanted to get in there during the night.’
‘For what purpose?’
‘It’s because you wanted to leave something there.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sergeant.’
‘It’s the murder of Rodman,’ said Leeming, ‘and I’ll keep on talking about it until we catch the man responsible.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Where were you on the night of the murder?’ Gill glanced towards the cart. ‘And it’s no use claiming that you were home in bed. Unlike you, Mrs Gill is an honest person. She told me how late you were that night.’
‘I was drunk.’ Leeming grabbed him by the throat. ‘Hey! You’re hurting me!’
‘One last chance – where were you?’
When the sergeant released him, Gill rubbed his throat. He took a moment to recover and to assemble his thoughts. Until he was completely honest, he realised, he’d never shake off the detectives.
‘I was … with a couple of friends,’ he admitted.
‘They were both women, weren’t they?’ said Leeming, thinking of Claire Knight and her daughter. ‘Is that how you treat your marriage vows?’
‘They were both men. You can have their names, if you insist.’
‘Why haven’t you told me about them before?’
‘It’s not something I care to remember because it was a terrible night for me. We were playing cards into the small hours. I usually do well when I gamble but not this time. I lost more money than I earn in a month and I drank far too much while I was doing it. When I staggered home,’ said Gill, ‘I felt ashamed at being so stupid. Why should I play cards and get drunk when I had a lovely wife waiting for me at home? I let her down, Sergeant, and I let myself down.’
Leeming took out his notebook. ‘I’d like those two names, sir.’
Gareth Llewellyn had stayed to enjoy the congratulations of his friends. As they drifted away, Colbeck stepped in to speak to the Welshman. Llewellyn immediately sent his wife off with the others so that he was alone with the inspector.
‘You sang superbly,’ said Colbeck.
‘I always do.’
‘You won many new friends with “The Bells of Aberdovey” then promptly lost them with the Welsh national anthem.’
‘I’m proud of my country, Inspector.’
‘And so you should be but you misjudged the feelings of the audience. It was a time when patriotism was out of place. However,’ he went on, ‘that isn’t what I wanted to talk about.’
‘Are we back to Frank Rodman again?’ asked the other, feigning a yawn.
‘It’s a subject that may bore you, Mr Llewellyn, but it excites me because it gives me the chance to send a killer to the gallows.’
‘Then you’ll have to look elsewhere for him, Inspector.’
‘I thought I caught a glimpse of him tonight.’
Llewellyn’s eyebrows shot up. ‘He was here?’
‘We knew that he would be. That’s why we came.’
‘So why didn’t you arrest him?’
‘We want to be absolutely sure that we have the right man.’
‘Well, you’re wasting your time if you’re looking at me.’
‘On the contrary,’ said Colbeck, ‘you’re a rewarding subject of study. I watched you during the prayer for the murder victim. You not only spurned it, you sat there with an expression of joy on your face.’
‘I was eager to sing my solo.’
‘It wouldn’t have hurt you to spare a thought for Mr Rodman.’
‘Why should I want to remember him?’ asked Llewellyn, tapping his chest. ‘I came here to prove how much better I was at singing than him. He’s dead and gone. They’ve got me now.’
‘That’s only if you happen to be available.’
‘Why shouldn’t I be?’
Colbeck met his stare. Their silent conversation went on for minutes. Behind the defiance, the inspector saw something else. It was the quiet conviction that the Welshman was innocent but that he wanted to be arrested in order to embarrass the detectives. For his part, Llewellyn saw something in Colbeck’s eyes that explained why he’d cornered him. It surprised him at first but he adjusted to the shock and gave a slow grin.
‘So that’s it,’ he said. ‘Someone has been talking about me.’
‘A lot of people have been doing that, sir.’
‘Only one person could have told you that I got back late to the barracks that night. She’d also
have told you that I had blood on my hands. What a certain woman didn’t know – because she ran away before I could tell her – was that the blood wasn’t mine. Most of it came from the big nose of a man called Samway who tried to ambush me that night. He got in some good punches,’ said Llewellyn, ‘but he was no match for me. I left him with bruises all over his body and a bloody nose.’
‘We’ve spoken to Hector Samway. Why has he never mentioned a fight?’
‘Nobody wants to talk about losing a brawl, Inspector.’
‘I’ll need to confirm your alibi with him.’
‘Please do so. Would you like me to come with you?’
Llewellyn’s grin broadened and Colbeck knew he was telling the truth. At a stroke, the Welshman had removed two names from their list of suspects. Neither Llewellyn nor Samway had killed Rodman. It had to be one of the others.
Grosvenor was so convinced that he’d identified the man behind the kidnap that he stood over the inspector at the Canterbury police station until he’d opened the ledger used for recording criminal convictions. Byard’s name was there beside that of his accomplice. Both of them hailed from Rochester but there was only an address for Byard. The accomplice was listed as being of no fixed abode. Armed with the address, Grosvenor and the two constables went straight to the station to catch a train to Rochester. They were going from one beautiful cathedral city to another but darkness prevented them seeing the glories of either place. On the train journey, Grosvenor couldn’t resist praising himself and denigrating his companions. Hinton and Legge, he told them, should have adopted his approach and looked for enemies in Edward Tallis’s past.
A Christmas Railway Mystery Page 24
