‘We couldn’t do that, sir,’ Hinton pointed out. ‘You packed us straight off to Canterbury. All the records of cases in which he was directly involved were kept at Scotland Yard.’
‘You should have used your initiative and returned to London.’
‘Captain Wardlow was putting too much pressure on us, sir. He wouldn’t let us leave Canterbury until we found Major Tallis.’
‘Luckily, I did that job for you.’
‘We’re very grateful. Do you think … he’s still alive?’
Grosvenor was impassive. ‘We can but pray that he is.’
When they got to Rochester, they asked for the stationmaster’s help to locate the address they’d been given. They were warned that the house was in one of the rougher areas of the city and that they needed to keep their wits about them. The three detectives set off through a maze of streets. Though they passed a number of men loitering on corners, they felt in no danger of attack. Even in silhouette, their brisk movement and sense of urgency marked them out as policemen. When they finally reached the house in a street that corkscrewed its way along, they saw that it was little more than a hovel. Candlelight showed that there was someone at home. Anxious to make the arrest himself, Grosvenor made sure that he was at the front. He banged on the door with his fist, setting off an outburst of curses from within the house.
After a few moments, the door was opened by a stooping old man.
‘Who are you?’ he demanded, peering from one to the other.
‘We’re detectives from Scotland Yard,’ said Grosvenor, grandly, ‘and we’ve come in search of Sam Byard.’
‘Well, you won’t find him ’ere.’
‘Why not?’
‘I won’t ’ave ’im inside this ’ouse ever again,’ said the old man, savagely. ‘Sam brought shame on me and my wife. She died cos of it. I’ve ’ad to live with it. Our son ruined our lives.’
‘So where is he now?’
‘Who cares?’
‘This is important, Mr Byard. It could be a matter of life and death.’
‘Then I ’ope the little bastard dies.’
‘Please listen to me,’ said Grosvenor. ‘I won’t waste time going into details. Let me just say that we are very anxious indeed to find your son before he does something terrible. If you have any idea where he might be, please tell us.’
The old man shrugged. ‘I don’t know where ’e is.’
‘Didn’t he come back here when he came out of prison?’
‘No, ’e wouldn’t dare.’
‘You’re his father. You must know something.’
‘All I can tell you is the rumour I ’eard.’
‘Go on?’
‘Someone said ’e was living with a woman in Faversham.’
‘Did they say where?’
‘I didn’t ask cos I didn’t want to know.’
Stepping back into the house, he closed the door firmly behind him.
On their walk back to the Queen’s Tap, all that Leeming wanted to talk about was the concert. He’d been struck by the quality of the band and thought the facilities in the Institution were exceptional. Colbeck had to guide him back to the investigation.
‘We’re working as usual by a process of elimination,’ he said.
‘I’ve certainly eliminated Gill. That will upset Mouldy,’ he added with a chuckle. ‘He insisted that the killer was Daniel Gill.’
‘I ruled out Llewellyn and Samway in one fell swoop,’ said Colbeck. ‘I wish that that sort of thing happened in every case. Anyway, we’re left with Cudlip and Alford.’
‘Cudlip would be my choice because he lives alone.’
‘So did Hector Samway but he wasn’t the killer.’
‘Alford seems unlikely. He’s such a kind man.’
‘Murder has been committed out of kindness before now, Victor. Think of the many people we’ve known who killed family members to end their suffering from intolerable pain or incurable diseases.’
‘Rodman wasn’t in pain.’
‘His wife was,’ said Colbeck, ‘and Fred Alford knew it. Did you notice what happened during the prayer?’
‘Yes, Gill was smirking.’
‘I was referring to Alford. He got down on his knees and prayed fervently as if he was making a confession. When he got up again, he had a hunted look. He left the concert before we heard “The Bells of Aberdovey”.’
‘That wouldn’t go down well with Llewellyn.’
‘What’s the evidence against Cudlip?’ asked Colbeck. ‘It’s hardly damning. All we know is that he didn’t like Rodman and that he was in a violent mood when he went to the brothel.’
‘He frightened Mrs Knight and her daughter. It would take a lot for anyone to do that, sir. I just don’t trust Cudlip.’
‘Then answer an awkward question. How did he persuade Rodman to go into the Works with him at night?’
‘He could have had a gun,’ replied Leeming.
‘Yes, it’s the only way he would have got him there.’
‘The same thing goes for Alford, sir.’
‘No, it doesn’t,’ said Colbeck. ‘I’ve been thinking about that. Alford wouldn’t need a gun. Rodman was a friend. He would have gone there with Alford of his own volition. He was then caught unawares.’
‘But they’d have no reason to go into the Works at night.’
‘I can think of one, Victor.’
‘What is it?’
‘They were going there to steal something. Didn’t that railway policeman tell you that there was pilfering on the site? Perhaps Alford is not as honest as he looks. Both of them could do with extra money,’ reasoned Colbeck. ‘Alford used that fact as a ruse to get his friend to the place where he’d determined to kill him.’
‘So what are we going to do, sir – challenge Alford?’
‘No, I’ll take your advice first. Let’s call on Simeon Cudlip.’
Grosvenor was livid. When they’d left Canterbury, the train had stopped at Faversham before taking them on to Rochester. They now had to retrace their steps to Faversham and that involved a long wait on a windswept railway platform. Sensing his irritation, the two constables remained silent and kept out of his way. The train finally arrived, then set off again in a cloud of steam.
‘I’ve been wondering,’ said Hinton.
Grosvenor turned on him. ‘Speak when you’re spoken to.’
‘It’s just a thought, sir. If they kidnapped the superintendent in Canterbury, how did they get him to Faversham? They’d hardly risk going on a train.’
‘They had transport of their own. That’s obvious.’
‘How could Byard afford it?’ asked Hinton. ‘We’ve seen where he used to live. He’d have no money when he came out of prison and his father doesn’t have two pennies to rub together.’
‘Stop asking inane questions,’ said Grosvenor, angrily. ‘Byard would do what any criminal does when he wants something he doesn’t have. He’d steal it. All those years behind bars makes a man desperate. He’ll stop at nothing.’
Wishing that he hadn’t spoken, Hinton kept his head down and his mouth shut for the rest of the journey. Faversham was as cold and blustery as the other places they’d visited. Since they had no address for Byard, they couldn’t rely on a friendly stationmaster for directions this time. They simply asked his Faversham counterpart the way to the police station. When they got there, they were in luck. The duty sergeant, a stout man with a walrus moustache, had a sharp ear and a good memory. He’d overheard someone in a pub saying that Byard had served his sentence and was living with a woman named Alice Fry. After his exploits as a robber, Sam Byard had acquired notoriety in the county. His release from prison had fuelled local gossip.
‘Who is this woman?’ asked Grosvenor.
‘She’s an old friend of his,’ said the duty sergeant.
‘Is she a prostitute?’
‘No, she runs a stall in the market.’
‘Have you any idea where she lives?’
‘She and her husband used to have a smallholding just outside the town. When he died, Alice started to run it on her own.’
‘How can we get there?’
‘You need a cab, Superintendent.’
It took them a matter of minutes to find one. They passed on the instructions they’d been given and the vehicle set off. Like the two other places they had been in that evening, Faversham was a pretty, medieval community with narrow, twisting streets, quaint cottages and impressive public buildings, all of which were now shrouded in darkness. Hinton raised a possibility.
‘Byard may be armed, sir.’
‘His gun was confiscated at the time of arrest.’
‘He couldn’t have abducted the superintendent on his own. He must have had a confederate.’
‘Then there’ll be three of us against two of them,’ said Grosvenor. ‘Just follow my example and all will be well.’
When the cab left the cobblestones of Faversham, it followed a road to the east then branched off on a dirt track. Already uncomfortable, the three passengers were jiggled up and down and side to side. They were relieved when the cab came to a halt. Obeying orders, the driver had stopped fifty yards or so from the smallholding. It comprised a straggle of old buildings.
The three men approached cautiously. When they got close to the house, the superintendent signalled that Hinton should go around the back of the property to prevent an escape that way. He and Legge gave him time to take up his position before they moved in. The first knock on the door was ignored. When Grosvenor knocked harder, a window opened above them and a woman’s head poked out.
‘We’re trying to sleep,’ she said, peevishly.
‘Mrs Fry?’
‘Who’s asking?’
‘Superintendent Grosvenor. We believe that Sam Byard is living here.’
‘No, he isn’t,’ she replied, withdrawing her head to speak to someone in the room. When she reappeared, her manner was more respectful. ‘I’m sorry, sir. Sam left here days ago, sir.’
‘We’d like to come into the house to verify that fact, Mrs Fry.’
‘Don’t you believe me?’
‘Frankly, we don’t. We’ve come all the way from London to find him and we’re not going until we do.’
‘He’s not here, I tell you.’
‘If you can prove that, Mrs Fry, we’ll be on our way.’
She went back into the bedroom and closed the window behind her. A couple of minutes later, they looked through the downstairs window and saw her carrying a lantern. When she opened the door, she was revealed as a woman of middle years with an old dressing gown wrapped around her body and a nightcap on her head. Moth-eaten slippers were on her feet. She stood back to let them enter the house.
‘Can you confirm that Byard has been here?’ asked Grosvenor.
‘Yes, sir. He didn’t stay long.’
‘Why was that?’
‘Sam was going off to stay with friends somewhere. He didn’t say who they were or where they lived. He’s always been peculiar like that.’
‘You do realise that sheltering a criminal is an indictable offence.’
‘He’s not a criminal now. He served his sentence.’
‘Could you put your hand on his heart and say he’s not here?’
‘Yes,’ she asserted.
The next moment there was a loud yell from the rear of the house and they heard sounds of a scuffle. Legge immediately ran to see what was happening. In due course, he and Hinton dragged in a skinny, pale-faced man in his thirties with gaunt cheeks and close-cropped hair.
‘This is Byard, sir,’ said Hinton. ‘He was trying to escape.’
‘Done nothin’!’ howled Byard.
‘Then why didn’t you stay to speak to us?’ asked Grosvenor.
‘Don’t trust the p’lice.’
‘We can see that.’
‘What’s he supposed to have done?’ asked Alice.
‘He knows only too well. At his arrest,’ said Grosvenor, ‘he issued threats against my predecessor, Superintendent Tallis of Scotland Yard. On a visit to Canterbury, he was kidnapped. We’ve come to arrest Byard for orchestrating that kidnap.’
Byard was bewildered. ‘Did nothin’ of the kind.’
‘What have you done with him?’
‘Who?’
‘Superintendent Tallis.’
‘Know that name from somewhere,’ said Byard, frowning. ‘Can’t remember where.’ He tapped his head. ‘Bein’ locked away does terrible things to your mind.’
His confusion was genuine. Hinton was the first to realise it.
‘It’s not him, sir,’ he said, letting go of the man.
‘It must be,’ insisted Grosvenor.
‘Sam hasn’t got the strength to kidnap nobody,’ argued Alice, going to put an arm around him. ‘He’s as weak as a kitten. It’s why I took him in.’
‘But he swore to get even with the superintendent.’
‘That was years ago.’
‘Done nothin’ wrong,’ bleated Byard.
‘I believe him, sir,’ said Hinton. ‘He tried to escape because he’s afraid of the police. When I grabbed him, he didn’t put up a real fight. I’m sorry, sir, but you picked the wrong man.’
‘Can’t you see?’ asked Alice, holding the lantern up to her friend’s face. ‘He’s a sick man. All he wants is for the police to leave him alone.’
‘That’s all,’ said Byard.
There was an awkward pause as the truth slowly began to sink in.
Somewhere in the gloom, Grosvenor was grinding his teeth in frustration.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
When the detectives turned up to question him, they noticed Cudlip’s lack of surprise. He seemed rather pleased to see them as if anticipating with relish another war of words with the pair. Offering them seats, he took care to stay on his feet so that they were not talking down at him. Since the man was Leeming’s choice as the killer, Colbeck let the sergeant begin the interview.
‘What were you doing at the concert tonight?’ asked Leeming.
‘Unlike you, I went there to enjoy it.’
‘That’s why we went.’
‘No,’ said Cudlip, ‘you spent more time looking around the room than watching what was happening onstage. You believed that Rodman’s killer would be in the audience and might somehow give himself away.’
‘We also wanted to see what sort of musical entertainment people get here in the New Town. It helped us to understand what kind of community this is.’
‘We get by.’
‘Everyone else does but you’re an outsider, aren’t you?’
‘That’s my choice.’
‘Why do you look down on these people?’
‘Is that what you think I do?’
‘Yes, sir, it is. Everybody in that audience tonight looked as if they were at home there. You didn’t. You stuck out, as if you were only enduring the concert and couldn’t wait to get out. Apart from anything else, you hardly spoke to the people beside you.’
‘How can you claim to enjoy the entertainment if you were watching me all the time?’ asked Cudlip with a knowing smile.
‘Let me ask the questions, sir.’
‘It’s a fair point, Sergeant.’
‘It is,’ conceded Colbeck, stepping in, ‘and it’s typical of you to raise it. The answer is that it’s perfectly possible to enjoy a Mozart overture without gazing at the band. To be honest, the music was just as enjoyable when I wasn’t looking at them, leaving me free to keep one eye on the audience. Listening to music and watching people like you are not mutually exclusive activities. We did both simultaneously.’
‘And we saw that you didn’t fit in,’ added Leeming.
‘I don’t make friends easily,’ said Cudlip.
‘Doesn’t that worry you, sir?’
‘It’s a source of great pleasure. Why should I let people with whom I have nothing in common come into my life?’
‘That takes us back to wher
e we started,’ said Colbeck. ‘Your principal reason for attending the concert was to sneer at what you perceive as the vulgar tastes of the inhabitants of this village.’
‘You’re probably right,’ said the other, airily. ‘It’s a trait in me that I share with you.’
‘Really?’
‘Let’s be candid, Inspector. You’re far more educated than the average policeman. That must be an embarrassment to you at times. You must look with horror at some of the untutored oafs you have to acknowledge as colleagues.’
Leeming was indignant. ‘Are you talking about me?’
‘If the cap fits …’
‘I had to work hard to achieve the rank of sergeant.’
‘Don’t let him rile you,’ advised Colbeck. ‘It’s one of the conversational tricks that Mr Cudlip uses to put people on the defensive. Also, importantly, it deflects attention from him and we’re not going to allow that.’
‘You see?’ asked Cudlip, waspishly. ‘That’s a perfect example of your superior intelligence. While the sergeant took my bait, you saw it for what it was and refused to touch it.’
‘Let’s concentrate on the matter in hand, sir. You are a suspect in a murder enquiry. The next time you try to play games with us by demonstrating the misplaced arrogance of a railway clerk, we’ll arrange for you to spend the night in a police cell so that you can meditate on your stupidity.’
‘There was no need for you to bother me again.’
‘Yes, there was.’
‘I did not kill Rodman, Inspector. How many times must I say it?’
‘You must carry on until you make us believe it.’
‘The burden of proof is with you, surely?’
‘Be warned,’ said Leeming. ‘The inspector used to be a barrister. If you want a legal argument, he’ll tie you in knots.’
Cudlip tried to sound reasonable. ‘I don’t see why you keep harassing me,’ he said. ‘It’s not as if you have a scintilla of evidence to arrest me.’
‘There’s your behaviour on the night of the murder.’
‘That was unforgivable,’ confessed Cudlip.
‘You assaulted a prostitute that night. If she wished to press charges against you, it could lead to a conviction.’
A Christmas Railway Mystery Page 25
