Points of Danger Read online

  ‘She’s always been an exceptionally generous person, Victor. The Jenny Lind Children’s Hospital only exists because of her. But the real advantage of dinner with our hosts,’ Colbeck pointed out, ‘was that it saved us so much time. We learnt an enormous amount from Mr Freed about the rivals of the ECR. In essence, not one of the four companies looks set to gain anything from the murder, though Mr Freed did mention that the chairman of the Norfolk Railway Company had crossed swords with Jarvis Swarbrick.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ recalled Leeming after swallowing a mouthful of food. ‘He also told us that the ECR had leased the Norfolk Railway some years ago. How could that be? I thought they were enemies.’

  ‘It might well have been a case of financial necessity. Leasing arrangements like that happen all the time. What Mr Freed didn’t mention was that there was no Parliamentary sanction for this particular one.’

  ‘Do you mean that it was illegal?’

  ‘Technically, it was, and it’s not the only example of malpractice on the railway system. You just need someone who knows how to bend the rules and George Hudson – chairman of the ECR at the time – was a master at doing that.’

  Colbeck addressed himself to his cup of coffee and they sat there in companionable silence for a couple of minutes. Sitting back contentedly, Leeming eventually spoke.

  ‘That was a breakfast for a king,’ he said, rubbing his stomach, ‘but I’d still prefer to stay at the Ribs of Beef.’

  ‘Mrs Freed called that pub a den of iniquity.’

  ‘That’s why I felt at home there.’

  Colbeck laughed. ‘It certainly had its attractions,’ he said. ‘Going back to last night, what do you think was the most valuable thing we learnt?’

  ‘Don’t invest your money in railways. They all struggle.’

  ‘Yet back in the 1840s, they seemed like the ideal way to make a fortune. Money came pouring in during the Railway Mania, especially in East Anglia. Then the bubble finally burst.’

  ‘It serves them right.’

  ‘That might be what you remember best but I feel we heard something far more important from Mr Freed.’

  ‘What was it, sir?’

  ‘Andrew Swarbrick is hoping to replace his father in Parliament.’

  ‘Is that reason enough to have him killed?’

  ‘In this case, I doubt it.’

  ‘Mr Freed wasn’t certain that the son would be selected.’

  ‘That’s because Oliver Trant may also seek the nomination. Trant has the advantage of living here and having built up a lot of support while doing so. Swarbrick’s son has been unable to do that because he’s been in London for years now. It will be a bitter contest between them.’

  ‘They’re both still on our list of suspects.’

  ‘And they’ll stay there.’

  ‘Do you think that Mr Trant has blood on his hands?’

  ‘If we watch him close enough,’ said Colbeck, ‘we’ll find out. The first thing I noticed about Oliver Trant was that he’s very ambitious. He’s the kind of man who’d go to any lengths to get what he wants.’

  ‘Any lengths?’ echoed Leeming.

  ‘That was my impression,’ said Colbeck.

  He looked up as he heard someone unlocking the door of the cottage. When the maid appeared, Leeming sat bolt upright as if on his best behaviour. She handed a letter to Colbeck.

  ‘This has just been delivered, sir,’ she said.

  ‘Thank you,’ he replied. ‘If you’ve come to clear the table, the sergeant and I will get out of your way. Come on, Victor.’

  He led the way into the adjoining room and immediately opened the letter to read it. Leeming watched him smile with pleasure before furrowing his brow.

  ‘Is it bad news, sir?’

  ‘It’s good and bad,’ said Colbeck. ‘The good news is very good. My dear wife has been offered a commission from a private buyer for a painting of a locomotive.’

  ‘That’s wonderful, sir – what’s the bad news?’

  ‘It’s a cry for help from Constable Hinton. He asked Madeleine to pass it on to me and I find it very distressing.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘It concerns the superintendent. Apparently, his behaviour has become even more bizarre. To his dismay, Hinton can’t get anyone else to believe that there’s anything seriously wrong with Tallis.’

  ‘Alan Hinton is an intelligent young man, sir. He wouldn’t raise the alarm unless there was a good reason to do so.’

  ‘That’s my feeling,’ said Colbeck.

  ‘What are you going to do about it?’

  ‘First of all, I’ll sit down and reply to my wife’s letter. Then I’ll write a full report for the superintendent. You can then take the next train to London. I want you to hand over the report so that you can make your own assessment of Tallis. When you’ve done that …’

  ‘I’m to deliver the letter to Mrs Colbeck.’

  ‘That can wait its turn, Victor. While you’re at Scotland Yard, try to make contact with Hinton to get the full story. Only when you’ve done that can you hand my letter over.’

  ‘Do I wait for a reply?’

  ‘No,’ said Colbeck, ‘you give my wife time to write it first. That means you’ll be able to slip home to surprise Estelle and the boys. When you’ve done that, call at my house to pick up Madeleine’s letter then get to Bishopsgate to catch a train back here. Can you remember all that?’

  ‘Every word,’ said Leeming, delighted with his orders.

  ‘When I’ve consulted my copy of Bradshaw, I can tell you which trains to catch.’

  ‘Where will we meet up, sir?’ He looked around with dread. ‘We’re not dining here again, are we?’

  ‘No, Victor, you’ll find me at the Ribs of Beef with a glass of whisky in my hand. Now, get yourself ready,’ urged Colbeck, ‘and don’t forget to track down Constable Hinton. The superintendent is essential to the operation of the Metropolitan Police. I want to know exactly what’s happening to him.’

  Alan Hinton was on his way to Scotland Yard that morning when he glanced down a side road and saw something that brought him to a halt. A man was walking uncertainly along the pavement, placing his hand on a wall from time to time to steady himself. It was moments before he recognised Edward Tallis. The superintendent looked old, tired and hesitant. All of his colleagues knew that he habitually walked to work but it was with a confident step and a straight back. Those telltale features were notably absent now. This time he was patently struggling. Hinton went straight to his aid.

  ‘Good morning, sir,’ he said.

  ‘I wonder if you could help me, young man?’

  ‘Yes, of course, I can.’

  ‘Tell me how to get to Scotland Yard.’

  ‘It’s only three blocks away, sir.’

  ‘I knew it was close. This road seems familiar.’

  ‘As it happens,’ said Hinton, ‘I’m going there myself, so I can lead the way. Do you need a hand, sir?’

  ‘No, no, I can manage quite well.’

  But it was quite clear that Tallis could not. He lurched along beside Hinton with a supportive hand outstretched in readiness. When they reached the main road, he paused for a rest. Hinton looked into his blank face. Evidently, Tallis had no idea who his guide might be.

  ‘I’m Constable Hinton, sir,’ he explained.

  ‘Then why aren’t you in uniform?’

  ‘I’m in the Detective Department. We wear plain clothes.’

  ‘Ah, I see.’

  ‘You help to run it, sir.’

  Tallis was astonished. ‘Do I?’

  ‘That’s why you’re going to Scotland Yard this morning. It’s your place of work, Superintendent.’

  ‘Now that’s a title I do remember somehow.’

  ‘It’s your rank, sir. You are Superintendent Edward Tallis.’

  The older man’s brows met to form a chevron of doubt. He shook his head dismissively at first, then slowly reconsidered what he’d heard. Tall
is took a long, hard look at Hinton then nodded as if he’d recognised him at last. He looked around anxiously.

  ‘I forgot, that’s all,’ he said with a strained laugh. ‘I know perfectly well who I am and why I’m here. You didn’t need to remind me, Hinton. My mind was elsewhere for a while. It’s concentrated on my job now.’

  He thrust out his jaw. ‘I’m Superintendent Tallis and I’m a dedicated upholder of law enforcement.’

  ‘That’s right, sir,’ said Hinton.

  ‘Promise me one thing,’ said the other, grabbing him by the wrist. ‘Don’t say a word about this to anyone. Do you hear? I’m fine now. In fact, I’ve never felt better in my life.’

  Sergeant Duff’s day began with a series of chores and a long chat with the stationmaster. It was some time before he had the chance to take Horace Pryor aside.

  ‘Where was he going?’ he demanded.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Sergeant Leeming, of course – I saw you talking to him earlier.’

  ‘He was catching a train to London.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He told me he was going to Scotland Yard.’

  ‘Does that mean there’s been a development?’

  ‘Who knows?’

  ‘You should,’ said Duff, giving him a sharp push. ‘I told you I wanted every scrap of information you could find out. It’s no good asking the inspector but Leeming is not so guarded. You could have winkled something out of him.’

  ‘I only spoke to him for a minute, Bart.’

  ‘Work on him. Win his confidence. Get him to talk.’

  ‘I’ll try harder next time.’

  ‘How long will he be away?’

  ‘Ah,’ said Pryor, glad of the chance to earn some approval at last, ‘I can help you there. The sergeant is due back early this evening. I even know which train he’ll be on.’

  ‘Meet it.’

  ‘But I’ll have gone off duty by then.’

  ‘Meet it,’ repeated the other, reinforcing the order with a jab. ‘I don’t care if it doesn’t arrive until midnight. You’ll be here to greet him, Horry. And you must squeeze every piece of information out of him as if you’re wringing out a wet cloth.’

  ‘Why are you so keen to know what’s happening?’

  ‘That’s my business. Your business is to do as you’re told.’

  ‘Yes, Bart.’

  ‘Otherwise …’

  ‘You don’t need to threaten me again,’ said Pryor, wincing. ‘I know that my job is at stake. I’ll do anything you tell me.’

  Knowing that Mrs Freed intended to visit her friend again, Colbeck offered to drive her to the Swarbrick residence in the trap. From his point of view, it was an instructive journey because he learnt a great deal more about the second wife of the murder victim. Mrs Freed provided details that she hadn’t mentioned at the dinner table on the previous evening. Once started, she talked at length and all that he had to do was to react politely to what he heard.

  ‘It’s a pity you haven’t seen Grace at her best,’ she said. ‘She was a real beauty when she first arrived here. That was part of the reason so many people took against her, of course. They thought her too young for Jarvis and altogether too spirited. Then there was the other thing.’

  ‘What other thing?’ Colbeck prompted.

  ‘Grace has French blood. It’s highly diluted by now, I daresay, but you can see hints of it in her at times. It was another reason why she was distrusted by everybody at first. People are so prejudiced, inspector. They have this underlying suspicion of foreigners.’

  ‘It’s a mark of our insularity, Mrs Freed.’

  ‘That’s what I always say. Living on an island has its advantages but it does limit our horizons. I mean, when all is said and done, Jersey is much closer to France than it is to us. Grace has been able to imbibe a lot of French culture alongside our own. I see that as something to admire, whereas others take it as an additional reason to shy away from her. I once overheard someone say with condescension, “She’s a foreigner, you know”, as if it were the mark of the Devil.’

  ‘Jenny Lind was much more of a foreigner yet, from what you’ve told me, the city welcomed her with open arms.’

  ‘That’s true, inspector.’

  ‘Mrs Swarbrick is fortunate to have you at her side.’

  ‘I’ve tried hard to make up for the deficiencies of others.’

  ‘That’s admirable.’

  When they reached the house, a servant came out to hold the horse’s bridle while they got out of the trap. Waiting for them in the hall was Beth Wymark. She was openly relieved by their arrival.

  ‘Mrs Swarbrick is still in her bedroom,’ she told them.

  ‘Has the doctor been?’ asked Anthea.

  ‘He left about ten minutes ago, Mrs Freed.’

  ‘What were his instructions?’

  ‘Mrs Swarbrick should remain in bed and have no distractions.’

  ‘That’s the first time I’ve been called a distraction,’ said Anthea, amused. ‘I’ll go on up.’ She glanced at Colbeck. ‘Thank you for acting as my coachman, inspector.’

  ‘It was a pleasure, Mrs Freed.’ He waved her off, then turned to the housekeeper. ‘I’ve come to see young Mr Swarbrick.’

  ‘He’s in his father’s study,’ said the other. ‘Perhaps you’d like to wait in the drawing room while I tell him that you’re here.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Wymark.’

  Colbeck went off to the drawing room, which was aglow as morning sunshine flooded in. The bright light also seemed to animate the portrait of Jarvis Swarbrick that hung over the mantelpiece. Since he was kept waiting for over five minutes, Colbeck had plenty of time to study the painting. The artist had been kind to his sitter, making him slimmer and younger than he’d been in reality. It was, however, possible to read something of his character in his face. Colbeck could discern pride, determination, intelligence and fierce confidence. There was also more than a hint of pomposity. He was still staring up at the portrait when Andrew Swarbrick entered the room.

  ‘It doesn’t do my father justice,’ he insisted.

  ‘Good morning, sir,’ said Colbeck, turning to face him. ‘What are the defects in your view?’

  ‘The portrait is too reductive. It’s reduced his physical presence and his sense of power. Anyone who stood close to him was very much aware of both aspects. As for the setting, of course,’ he went on, ‘Father was not actually in the House of Commons lobby at the time. The artist did a sketch of that first, then used it as appropriate background.’

  ‘It defines the sitter immediately. I can’t comment on whether or not it’s a true reflection of your father, but the artist has clear talent.’

  ‘Do you know anything about painting?’ asked the other, loftily.

  ‘Yes, I do. My wife is a portrait artist, as it happens.’

  Colbeck didn’t tell him that Madeleine’s work consisted largely of studies of locomotives. As was his intention, he’d silenced the man for a few seconds and that pleased him. He indicated the portrait.

  ‘I understand that you’d like to become a habitué of that lobby.’

  ‘Cecil Freed will have told you that.’

  ‘He feels that you have legitimate aspirations.’

  ‘They’re far more than aspirations, inspector. My ambition is to continue the work that my father started, both with regard to the merger and to the constituency. I’ll do my best to establish seamless continuity.’

  ‘That’s only possible if you win the nomination, sir.’

  ‘I intend to do so with flying colours.’

  ‘There’ll be other contenders.’

  ‘None of them have my credentials. The Swarbrick name opens lots of doors in this part of the country. I have no qualms.’

  ‘Yet I hear that Mr Trant may be one of your rivals.’

  ‘That doesn’t worry me.’

  ‘Don’t underestimate him.’

  ‘I thought you were here to solve a murder, not
to discuss a bye-election.’

  ‘The two are interlinked, sir. I can’t ignore that fact.’

  ‘If it’s not a rude question, why are you bothering me again?’

  ‘I thought you’d be interested to hear what we’ve so far uncovered, sir,’ said Colbeck, ‘and besides, I have a few questions to put to you.’

  ‘This is getting very tedious.’

  ‘If I was in mourning over the murder of my father, I wouldn’t care how many questions I had to answer. I’d do everything I could to help the police catch the culprit.’

  Swarbrick was peevish. ‘Oh, very well, ask away if you must.’

  ‘First let me tell you about the progress we’ve made.’

  ‘What – in so short a period of time?’

  ‘Thanks to the assistance of the local constabulary, we’ve been able to work out exactly how and where the killer left the city. It may even be possible to identify his eventual destination,’ said Colbeck, meeting his gaze. ‘We’ve not been idle.’

  ‘I see.’

  Andrew Swarbrick smiled uneasily.

  When Mark Jellings got back to the police station, he invited Burridge into his office. Over a cup of tea, they discussed the latest discoveries. Certain that the man on the galloping horse had been the killer, the inspector had sent his men along the road to Acle and beyond in search of anyone who’d caught sight of the bay mare streaking past. Little by little, they’d built up a picture of the route.

  ‘He was heading for the coast,’ concluded Jellings.

  ‘That’s bad news, sir. He might have escaped by boat.’

  ‘Then we find out where he embarked and pass on the details to Sergeant Leeming. He was adamant that nobody was ever allowed to get away with murder. They’ll track him down somehow. He told me that he and the inspector once chased a killer all the way to America.’

  ‘That’s what I call dedication,’ said Burridge.

  ‘The sergeant is cleverer than he looks,’ admitted Jellings. ‘I thought that face of his belonged on the wrong side of the law, but I was mistaken. Now I’ve seen him in action, I’d say he was quite astute.’