Points of Danger Page 16

  ‘If that’s Miss Quayle,’ said Madeleine, ‘show her in.’

  ‘A gentleman has called to see you, Mrs Colbeck. He said that you’d know who he was.’

  ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘Mr Lionel Fairbank.’

  Madeleine was shaken. Getting to her feet, she went out into the hall where an elderly man in a smart suit was holding his top hat. Fairbank had a luxuriant silver moustache to match his curling locks.

  ‘Do excuse me, Mrs Colbeck,’ he said in a deep, educated voice, ‘but your letter reached me this morning just before I caught the train to London. I was so grateful to know your address. It seemed to be heaven-sent. Instead of meeting you at the Red Gallery, I took the liberty of coming here. I thought that we’d enjoy more privacy.’

  ‘Yes, that’s true,’ she said, slightly unnerved.

  ‘This, after all, is where you have your studio, I presume.’

  ‘It is, Mr Fairbank.’

  ‘Then what better place is there to meet my favourite artist?’

  ‘You’re … very welcome.’

  ‘I knew that I would be.’

  After beaming at her for a few moments, he gave a gracious bow.

  Andrew Swarbrick didn’t even wait for the secretary to announce his arrival. He simply pushed past the man and went straight into Cecil Freed’s office. The chairman of the ECR was working his way through a pile of daily newspapers, cringing at headlines that were openly critical of the company. When his visitor burst in, Freed got to his feet.

  ‘Andrew!’ he exclaimed. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘What do you think?’ said the other, sarcastically.

  ‘You’ve come at an awkward time, I’m afraid. I’ve got an important meeting with senior members of my staff in five minutes.’

  ‘They can wait.’

  ‘I’m known for my punctuality. It sets a good example.’

  ‘You’re going nowhere until I’ve spoken to you first,’ warned Swarbrick, squaring up to him. ‘Why did you smuggle my stepmother out of the house?’

  ‘I did nothing of the kind. It was my dear wife’s idea.’

  ‘You obviously gave it your approval.’

  ‘I was very glad to do so retrospectively,’ said Freed. ‘The doctor prescribed rest in a calm atmosphere. There was no chance of her getting that while you were rampaging around the house.’

  ‘Your wife had no right to interfere.’

  ‘When someone is in great distress, everyone has a right to offer help. We are only doing what we felt to be our duty.’

  ‘I need to see her.’

  ‘Not when you’re in this mood, Andrew. Your father would turn in his grave if he knew you were behaving so boorishly.’

  ‘He’s not in his grave yet,’ said Swarbrick, pointedly. ‘It’s one of the reasons I need to speak to my stepmother. I’ve made an appointment to see Father’s solicitor. She ought to be there as well.’

  ‘Stop issuing orders.’

  ‘You can’t hide her away for ever.’

  ‘Mrs Swarbrick needs to be protected.’

  ‘My father’s death has consequences.’

  ‘One of them is all too apparent,’ said Freed, tartly. ‘I’ve always thought of you as an intelligent and conscientious gentleman. At a stroke, you’ve turned into a rude, hectoring bully.’

  ‘I was referring to legal consequences.’

  ‘The only legal consequence that interests me is the arrest of the killer and the person or persons in league with him. Now stop being so truculent and sit down. If you want a sensible discussion, it’s best done in a degree of comfort.’

  Freed sat down behind his desk and ignored the other’s glare. For his part, Swarbrick was annoyed that he hadn’t intimidated the other man into making concessions. Though Freed looked nervous and ineffectual, he had a strong inner core that had now asserted itself. Swarbrick saw that he would get nowhere by trying to dominate him. After some tense moments, he eventually lowered himself into a chair.

  ‘That’s better,’ said Freed with a cold smile. ‘Now, what is it that you really want?’

  ‘I need to ask my stepmother some questions,’ said Swarbrick with an attempt at composure. ‘Chief among them is the location of my father’s last will and testament.’

  ‘It will be somewhere in his study.’

  ‘I’ve searched that. It’s not there.’

  ‘Then you’ll have to wait until you see his solicitor.’

  ‘My stepmother will know where it’s hidden. In fact, I wouldn’t put it past her to have taken it away with her just to annoy me.’

  ‘That’s an absurd accusation,’ said Freed, ‘and you know it only too well. When she agreed to come to us, Grace had to leave quickly before you came back. She barely had time to pack a few things with her. As for the will, I think it highly unlikely that she even knows where it is.’

  ‘Oh, she knows,’ said the other, bitterly. ‘Believe me.’

  ‘This attitude of yours is highly improper, Andrew. I have spent the last couple of days fighting off reporters and their sly innuendoes about the ECR. I’ve done everything in my power to defend the reputation of Jarvis Swarbrick. What do you think the newspapers would do if they knew about this incessant bickering behind the scenes?’

  ‘It’s none of their business.’

  ‘They’ll make it their business. The ECR has always had a bad press. We’re the favourite whipping boy of some newspapers. If they interviewed you in this state, they’d sense the undercurrents at once. Is that what you want?’

  ‘No, it isn’t,’ conceded Swarbrick. ‘It’s the reason I’ve refused to give them anything more than a few comments.’

  Freed sighed with relief. ‘Thank goodness for that!’

  ‘There was one question I kept being asked but, if you’ve read this morning’s newspapers, you’ll have seen my answer.’

  ‘I’ve only glanced at them, Andrew. There’s been no mention of you, so far. What did you tell them?’

  ‘I told them the truth. It seemed like a good opportunity to get some publicity for myself.’

  ‘Publicity?’

  ‘Yes,’ said the other. ‘I’m not one to hide my light under a bushel. When reporters asked me if I had any intention of following my father into politics, I told them that I did.’

  ‘It was far too soon to do that,’ complained Freed.

  ‘I disagree. I want the voters of Norwich to know that there’ll be continuity. Another member of the Swarbrick family is getting ready to represent them in Parliament.’

  ‘Don’t raise your hopes too high.’

  ‘I wanted to show him that the fight starts right now.’

  ‘Who are you talking about?’

  ‘Oliver Trant, of course,’ said Swarbrick. ‘He was boasting that the whole thing is a foregone conclusion and that he’s certain to win.’

  ‘I don’t know about that.’

  ‘Well, I’ve just fired a shot across his bows and, when he reads any of the papers this morning, he’ll realise he’s in for the battle of his life.’

  After counting out his money, Trant put it away in the safe and locked the door. It was the money he’d set aside to secure his election as Member of Parliament for the city. Though bribery was illegal, wining and dining influential people could smooth his path considerably and that was viewed in a different light. It was also the way he planned to win the nomination for the seat. Persuading men to vote for him was done much more easily when they were in their cups. He then went back to his desk and picked up the first from a pile of newspapers. After flipping through the pages, he came to one which had quoted Andrew Swarbrick extensively. When he saw what his rival had said, he scrunched up the newspaper and hurled it angrily into the wastepaper basket. His day had suddenly soured.

  The train journey to Yarmouth gave the detectives another chance to experience the shortcomings of the ECR. The train was late, the seats were uncomfortable and the compartment smelt of fish. Since i
t was only twenty miles or so from Norwich, they got there fairly quickly. What awaited them was a picturesque coastal town with a sense of verve and jollity about it. Leeming’s first reaction was that he’d love to bring his wife and children there to sit on the sand in the sunshine and inhale the ozone. After their success in an earlier investigation, they’d been given free train tickets to Brighton and the day the sergeant had spent there with his family still vibrated in his memory. He wanted to replicate the pleasure in Yarmouth.

  The purpose of their visit was to find out if anyone had hired a bay mare from any of the stables there. Colbeck had already told inspector Jellings to see if he could find the source from which the killer had hired the black horse on which he’d committed the murder. Having exchanged one horse for another, he might well have got rid of the second one in Yarmouth. They’d been loaned a map of the town by Sergeant Burridge and took time to study it before splitting up to begin the search. While Colbeck was concentrating on the matter in hand, Leeming’s mind was preoccupied with something else.

  ‘Do you think the commissioner just got rid of him, sir?’

  ‘I hope not, Victor.’

  ‘If he’d seen what I saw, he’d realise that the superintendent was not fit to be in such a responsible position.’

  ‘Tallis does seem to have had moments of lucidity.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Leeming, ‘he was quite normal at first – except that he wasn’t trying to bite my head off. Whatever is wrong with him just comes and goes.’

  ‘Alan Hinton said the same thing.’

  ‘Do you think he managed to get down to Canterbury?’

  ‘I’m sure he did,’ said Colbeck. ‘He saw the superintendent at his worst. Hinton is desperate to help him.’

  ‘So am I, sir. I never thought I’d hear myself saying this but, I’d miss him. Superintendent Tallis was an important part of my life.’

  It took Madeleine some time to adapt to the situation. When she’d written to Lionel Fairbank to say how delighted she was to accept his invitation, the last thing she expected was that he’d turn up unannounced on her doorstep the following day. She’d have preferred their initial meeting to have taken place on neutral ground. However, Madeleine could hardly turn him away. Taking him into the drawing room, she’d offered him refreshment and he accepted. Seated on opposite sides of the room, they began to make an early appraisal of each other.

  ‘You’re so much younger than I imagined,’ he said.

  ‘Am I?’

  ‘Your paintings have such maturity about them. I thought that I’d be talking to someone fifteen or twenty years older. Why do you have such a passion for railways?’

  ‘My father spent his entire working life as a railwayman.’

  ‘Ah, I see.’

  ‘Also,’ she confessed, ‘I have no talent for portraiture.’

  ‘I can’t believe that. You’re a born artist.’

  ‘I know my limitations, Mr Fairbank. If you asked me to paint a portrait of you, I’d have to refuse the commission.’

  ‘What I require is a railway scene – a very specific one.’

  ‘I’ll do my best to meet your wishes.’

  ‘That’s what I was hoping you’d say, Mrs Colbeck.’

  ‘What appeals to you about railways, Mr Fairbank?’

  ‘I have a vested interest in them,’ he replied. ‘That’s to say I’m a major shareholder in the GWR. Most people hate the idea of having trains puffing across their land all day long. I’m the odd one out, a role that fate has always selected me to play. From the rear of the house, I have an excellent view of the railway lines snaking their way across land I sold to the Great Western Railway. I love watching trains steaming to and fro.’

  Madeleine made a mental note to suppress any mention of his link with the GWR in her father’s presence. It would incense him once again.

  ‘You’re an unusual man, Mr Fairbank,’ she told him. ‘Many landowners have fought tooth and nail to keep railway companies at bay.’

  ‘My late wife – God bless her – said that the thing that first attracted her to me was the fact that I was so eccentric.’

  As she gradually relaxed, Madeleine came to like him. Fairbank was urbane, courteous and utterly benign. She’d soon forgiven him for giving her such a surprise.

  ‘I don’t suppose that I could prevail upon you to let me see your studio?’ he said. ‘I’d love to see the place where your paintings are brought so vividly to life.’

  ‘It’s far too cluttered for any visitors, I fear,’ she said.

  ‘A case of amiable chaos, is it? I suppose that’s artistic licence.’

  ‘It’s sheer untidiness.’

  ‘Yet your work is so scrupulously exact and detailed.’

  ‘It takes a long time to achieve that effect, Mr Fairbank.’

  He studied her quizzically for a long time before speaking.

  ‘What were you expecting?’ he asked.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘When you first read my letter, what sort of a person did you think I might be?’

  ‘I thought that you’d be exactly as you’d described yourself, and so it’s turned out to be. When you spoke of your grandchildren, I had some idea of your age, and your graceful handwriting told its own story.’

  He laughed. ‘You’re quite the detective, Mrs Colbeck.’

  Madeleine heard the doorbell ring. Glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece, she saw that it was the precise time when Lydia had promised to call. Moments later, she heard the familiar voice echoing around the hall.

  Fairbank was congenial company but Madeleine wondered why she nevertheless felt relieved by her friend’s arrival.

  It had taken Terence Wardlow a long time to persuade his old friend that he needed a holiday. When Tallis argued that he had to go to work in Scotland Yard, he was told that it was all arranged and that he simply had to be ready to leave on the following morning. Before he went to pick him up, Wardlow had gone to see the commissioner to explain that he needed to appoint someone else as acting superintendent because Tallis was too unwell to carry on. The commissioner had been very understanding and wondered why nobody inside Scotland Yard had alerted him to the fact that a senior officer was incapacitated.

  On the journey to Canterbury, Tallis had hardly said a word to his friend, drifting off to sleep from time to time then coming awake with a start. There was a nasty moment when they actually left the station and got their first glimpse of the famous cathedral. Tallis recoiled in horror. It was in the cathedral cloisters that he’d been abducted by two men and hustled out of the city. The memory of it had ignited his fears. Wardlow had quickly hailed a cab and it had taken them out to the village where he lived. Mrs Wardlow was there to give Tallis a welcome before he was taken upstairs to his room. It was light, airy, spacious and comfortable. When he looked out of the window, all that the visitor could see was rolling farmland and a distant oast house. There was a wonderful feeling of serenity. It was a far cry from the frantic activity of Tallis’s usual world.

  ‘What am I doing here?’ he asked, dreamily.

  ‘You’ve come to stay with friends, Edward.’

  ‘But they need me in London.’

  ‘Someone else will take over your job for a while.’

  ‘Will they?’

  ‘Forget about work. You’re here for a long, much-needed rest.’

  ‘How can I keep in touch with Colbeck if I’m down here in Kent?’

  ‘From what I remember of inspector Colbeck,’ said Wardlow with a smile, ‘he’ll manage perfectly well without you.’

  They met as arranged at a pub they’d noticed near the beach. Over a refreshing drink, they were able to rest their aching feet and to compare notes. Their searches had so far been fruitless. Leeming was pessimistic.

  ‘We’ll never find him, sir.’

  ‘I remain hopeful.’

  ‘Have you seen those rows?’

  ‘Yes, Victor.’

  ‘There
are hundreds and hundreds of places to hide down those alleys. We’d need an army to scour them properly.’

  ‘Why should the killer go to ground there?’

  ‘It’s because he could disappear from the face of the earth.’

  ‘Have you seen what’s down those alleys?’

  ‘Yes – lots and lots of dens.’

  ‘He’d spurn the whole lot of them,’ reasoned Colbeck. ‘Why go to ground in a hovel when he could afford to stay at the best hotel here? We know that he’ll be very well paid for what he did. Don’t you think that he’d want to enjoy his sudden wealth? I would, in his position.’

  ‘You’d never be in his position, sir. You’ve got moral standards.’

  ‘I can still think myself into his situation.’

  ‘And do you really believe he might be in a hotel?’

  ‘If he’s here, it’s more than possible.’

  ‘Then why don’t we simply call on every hotel?’

  ‘It’s because I don’t want us to be embarrassed, Victor.’

  ‘Why should that happen?’

  ‘Beyond the fact that he’s a cold-blooded killer, we know nothing whatsoever about the man. We don’t have any firm details about his appearance, his voice, his manner or even his age. Most embarrassing of all,’ said Colbeck, ‘we don’t know his name. Imagine the look on the face of a hotel manager if we asked him if a nameless guest whose features we can’t describe is staying there. He’d think we were mad.’

  ‘I see your point, sir.’

  ‘That’s why we have to press on and find the stable where he hired the bay mare.’

  ‘What if he didn’t hire it, sir? It could actually be his horse.’

  ‘I doubt it, somehow. That would mean he lived in this part of the world and could’ve been recognised by one of the many people who saw him galloping up to that branch line. No, Victor, whoever hired him brought him from somewhere else.’