Points of Danger Read online

‘How do you do?’ said Tallis, shaking hands with the newcomer.

  ‘I’m very glad to meet you, Superintendent,’ said Kitson. ‘Terence has told me a lot about you.’

  ‘Don’t believe him. He always exaggerates.’

  Kitson grinned then took the seat indicated by Wardlow.

  ‘I’m sure that you’ll enjoy your stay here,’ he said. ‘Canterbury is a delightful place to live – though I gather that your last visit here was rather gruelling. Is that true?’

  Returning to his office after his meeting with senior colleagues, Cecil Freed found someone waiting impatiently. Oliver Trant jumped up from his seat to confront him.

  ‘Have you seen this morning’s newspapers?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, I have.’

  ‘Swarbrick is quoted in nearly all of them.’

  ‘He told me that he’d given them a brief interview.’

  ‘Now we know what that interview was about,’ said Trant, acidly. ‘Instead of praising his dead father, he bragged about his determination to replace him as an MP.’

  ‘I can’t muzzle him, Oliver. He’s free to speak.’

  ‘You promised me that you’d try to dissuade him from standing, yet here he is, telling the whole world about his future in politics.’

  ‘I’d still back you to win,’ said Freed, ‘and I’ll use my influence for you behind the scenes.’

  ‘I need you to do it more openly, Cecil.’

  ‘That could cause difficulties.’

  ‘For whom?’

  ‘Principally, for me. Jarvis Swarbrick and I were close friends. Our respective wives are equally close. If I’m seen supporting you to the hilt, it could get very embarrassing for me.’

  ‘You promised me.’

  ‘All I said was that I’d help you to a degree.’

  ‘Meanwhile, you’ll be letting Swarbrick trade on the relationship between you and his father.’

  ‘I can’t help that, Oliver. I’ve tried to head him off by arguing that you have a lot of support here, but he’s resolved to make a bid for his father’s old seat. Whatever I can do to further your cause, I’ll do, but it won’t be visible.’

  ‘In that case, it won’t be effective.’

  ‘Oh, yes it will,’ said Freed, forcefully. ‘You’ll be surprised how much can be achieved by whispering in the right ears.’

  Trant was partially mollified. ‘I’ll hold you to that.’

  ‘If you’d come earlier, you could have met Andrew himself.’

  ‘What was he doing here?’

  ‘He was seething with anger because my wife had rescued his stepmother and brought her to our house for safety. Andrew has been dying to unload some of the resentment he’s built up against her over the years. Thankfully, Grace Swarbrick has been spared that.’

  ‘Your wife was wise to step in.’

  ‘Andrew didn’t see it that way,’ said Freed. ‘He believes that we’ve betrayed him. As for Grace, he claims that she’s hidden his father’s will somewhere so that he can’t get his hands on it.’

  ‘The solicitor will have a copy.’

  ‘He’ll be seeing him very soon. Andrew thinks that his stepmother should be forced to go with him.’

  ‘Is she capable of doing that?’

  ‘No, Oliver, she’s far too weak. I doubt if she’ll ever be the same happy and active woman ever again.’

  ‘What is she going to do?’

  ‘I don’t believe she dares to look into the future.’

  ‘Might she go back to Jersey?’

  ‘She’d be there right now, if Andrew had his way.’

  ‘He has no right to turn her out of the house.’

  ‘He’s hoping that the solicitor might give him that right.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad there’ll be a bitter family wrangle. It will help me.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘If Andrew Swarbrick gets involved in a long and acrimonious battle with his stepmother, he won’t win any friends in the constituency. People will be appalled by the way he treats a defenceless widow.’

  ‘Let me correct you straight away,’ said Freed. ‘Grace is by no means defenceless. She has my wife as her bodyguard and Anthea is a match for anyone.’

  To counter the feeling that she was locked away with no freedom of movement, Grace Swarbrick was taken for a walk through the estate by her hostess. She admired the scenic beauty on every side. Strolling through the parkland in bright sunshine was a tonic for her. When the two of them sat on a bench beside the lake, they watched the swans glide effortlessly across the water, oblivious to the crisis that had brought Grace to the property.

  ‘How do you feel now?’ asked her friend.

  ‘I feel safe. I’m so glad that you brought me here, Anthea.’

  ‘You had to get away from Andrew.’

  ‘There’s something I haven’t asked you – largely because I haven’t dared to think about it.’

  ‘You want to know what progress the detectives have made.’

  ‘I feel strong enough to ask now.’

  ‘Well, I can only go on what Cecil told me, which means that I’ve been feeding on scraps.’

  ‘I want my husband’s killer hanged,’ said Grace with a sudden burst of anger. ‘They will catch him, won’t they?’

  ‘It may take time,’ admitted the other. ‘According to Cecil, they’ve found some evidence but still haven’t been able to identify the man. inspector Colbeck, however, is tenacious.’

  ‘He was also very considerate.’

  ‘That’s rare among policemen. In the course of my work, I’ve dealt with quite a few of them. They’re not the most sensitive creatures.’

  ‘What is the inspector doing now?’

  ‘I daresay he’ll be looking for more clues.’

  ‘Well, I hope they lead him to the black-hearted devil who shot Jarvis dead right in front of me.’

  ‘Try not to dwell on it, Grace.’

  ‘I can’t help it.’

  ‘We must simply watch and pray.’

  ‘I’m in such constant agony,’ said Grace, wincing. ‘Until they arrest that fiend, I’ll have no relief from it.’

  The harbour was bustling. Bobbing up and down, vessels of all sizes were moored there. As they walked along, Colbeck and Leeming had to step over ropes and take care to avoid being soaked by the water slapping the thick timbers and sending up spray. A stiff breeze cooled their faces. Above the babble of voices, they could hear the cry of the gulls as they wheeled, swooped and floated on the wind. There was a bewildering frenzy of activity. As one boat arrived, a fishing smack departed. As passengers boarded one vessel, people were disembarking from another. Cargo was being unloaded everywhere. Somebody was playing a concertina and singing. Watching it all, the detectives couldn’t help admiring the bravery of sailors about to take relatively small craft across the unforgiving North Sea.

  ‘I’d be too scared to do that, sir,’ said Leeming.

  ‘Yet you once crossed the Atlantic.’

  ‘That was in a big steamship. It felt quite solid under our feet until we were caught in a squall, that is. I’ve never prayed so hard in my life.’

  Their search was futile at first. Nobody remembered a passenger by the name of John Gorey embarking days earlier. Colbeck’s description of the man was too general to be of any real use. In the course of their tour, they saw three or four young men who fitted it. Their only real hope lay with the name. They eventually came upon a couple of old salts, playing cards on an upturned basket. Both had weather-beaten faces, bronzed by the sun, and bare arms with thick veins entwined around them like small snakes. Leeming was fascinated by the tattoos they wore.

  ‘I wonder if one of you gentlemen could help us,’ Colbeck began.

  The men cackled. ‘We ain’t no gen’lemen, sir,’ said one.

  ‘What are ye after?’ asked the other.

  ‘We’re searching for a young man by the name of John Gorey.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘
He’s wanted for a brutal murder in Norwich.’

  ‘Ah, is this the one that happened on the railway?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We read about that.’ He peered at them. ‘Who’re you, then?’

  ‘We’re the detectives sent to arrest him.’

  ‘D’you hear that, Sam?’ he asked his friend.

  ‘Be quiet,’ said the other, a brawny man with a tattoo of a mermaid on his arms. ‘It’s that name as sounds a bit familiar.’ He took a small ledger from his pocket and flipped through the pages. ‘Did you call him John Gorey?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Colbeck. ‘Do you know where he went?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I got a list of passengers on our boat right here. You’re out of luck, sirs,’ he went on. ‘John Gorey – if it is the man you’re after – sailed on the Flying Fish three days ago.’

  ‘Where was the vessel going?’

  ‘Cherbourg.’

  It was a chance visit that couldn’t have been better timed. Having been sent to collect details of a burglary in Westminster, Alan Hinton couldn’t resist calling on Madeleine Colbeck who lived only four blocks away. To his delight, he found that Lydia Quayle was still there. She was as thrilled by the encounter as he was. Seeing a rare opportunity for them to be together, Madeleine made a polite excuse and moved away. He stepped forward to intercept her.

  ‘But I’ve come to tell you about the superintendent, Mrs Colbeck.’

  ‘You can tell Lydia instead,’ said Madeleine. ‘She’ll pass on the details to me later on.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’

  ‘I won’t be long.’

  When Madeleine disappeared, there was a slight awkwardness between the others. They sat down, gazed at each other and managed a few niceties. Lydia then asked about the superintendent. Hinton told her exactly what had happened the previous evening and how Wardlow had responded to the emergency in spite of his arthritis. When Hinton had arrived at work that morning, he recalled, he’d been told that Tallis was not there and that his orders would now come from inspector Vallence.

  Lydia was enthralled. Though she had great sympathy for Tallis, what she’d gleaned from his report was that Constable Hinton had behaved promptly and with compassion. She’d heard many accounts of the superintendent’s fiery temper. Some detectives would have been loath to help a man with such tyrannical leanings, yet Hinton had put his dislike aside to go in search of the one man who might rescue Tallis before his peculiar behaviour got him into serious trouble.

  ‘It was so kind of you, Alan,’ she said, effusively.

  ‘I tried my best.’

  ‘You made such an effort on the superintendent’s behalf.’

  ‘I felt that it was the least I could do, Lydia.’

  Since they’d now progressed to the stage of using first names, he let hers roll around his mouth like a chocolate. It tasted delicious.

  ‘What happens now?’

  ‘Captain Wardlow told me that he’d introduce the superintendent to a friend of his, a Dr Kitson. He wanted a professional opinion of his condition.’

  ‘That was thoughtful of him,’ said Lydia. ‘They can’t treat him properly until they know how poorly he really is.’

  ‘The most important thing is to conceal Dr Kitson’s medical background. If the superintendent knew the truth, it would upset him.’

  ‘But he’s a detective, Alan. Won’t he work it out for himself?’

  ‘It’s unlikely. His mind wanders everywhere. He couldn’t even find his way to Scotland Yard the other day. That’s how serious it is, Lydia. I think he works far too hard. He drives himself on relentlessly. At long last, he’s been taken off the treadmill.’

  ‘You talk about him with such affection.’

  Hinton laughed. ‘Most of the time, I think he’s a real ogre.’

  ‘Then it’s all the more credit to you that you can overlook any past slights and offer your help.’

  ‘He won’t thank me for it.’

  ‘I will, Alan. What you’ve done is admirable.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, beaming. ‘Thank you, Lydia.’

  On the train back to Norwich, they were able to review their search. Leeming’s reaction differed sharply from that of Colbeck. The sergeant believed that the exercise had not only been a waste of time, it had signalled an end to the possibility that they might ever catch the killer. He sagged despondently.

  ‘We might as well give up and go home,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t be so defeatist.’

  ‘He’s escaped from us, sir.’

  ‘What about the person or persons who hired him in the first place? Have they escaped from us as well?’

  ‘I was forgetting them.’

  ‘You’re also forgetting what those men told us,’ said Colbeck. ‘They’re hoping that the Flying Fish will arrive back in Yarmouth some time in the next couple of days.’

  ‘What use is that to us?’ asked Leeming. ‘It’s not as if John Gorey is going to sail back to England for our benefit.’

  ‘Perhaps not, but he may have told the captain what his destination was. After landing at Cherbourg, where would he go next? Once he was aboard that boat,’ argued Colbeck, ‘Gorey would have felt that he was safe. He’d have relaxed completely and chatted to the crew to pass the time. Someone was bound to have asked him where he was going.’

  ‘I never thought of that, sir.’

  ‘Losing him has been a setback,’ conceded Colbeck, ‘but we haven’t lost those who’ll know where he is.’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ said Leeming, resignedly, ‘but I still feel that he may have got away scot-free.’

  ‘Would you like to be the one to say that to his widow?’

  ‘No, I wouldn’t.’

  ‘We must remain positive, Victor.’

  ‘I’ll try my best, sir.’

  They arrived at Norwich Station to find the platform filled with waiting passengers. While Colbeck went off to speak to the stationmaster, Horace Pryor fought his way through the melee. He grabbed Leeming by the sleeve and took him aside.

  ‘How did you get on in Yarmouth?’

  ‘I watched a Punch and Judy show.’

  Pryor gaped. ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘It was very funny.’

  ‘I thought you might have picked up a scent.’

  ‘All we picked up was the smell of fish,’ said Leeming. ‘We could have got that in Norwich market. You’ll have to excuse me. We have to go off to the police station.’

  ‘Do you have anything to report there?’

  ‘Oh, yes – I can recommend the Punch and Judy show.’

  Leeming went off. Because he didn’t look over his shoulder, he didn’t see Sergeant Duff closing in quickly on Pryor.

  Feeling the need for one of his cigars, Tallis went out into the garden to smoke it so that he didn’t create a fug in the house. Wardlow and Kitson were left alone to talk about him.

  ‘I had the impression that my plan worked,’ said Wardlow. ‘He didn’t realise that you were a doctor.’

  ‘That’s because I didn’t question him in the searching way I would have done had he come to my surgery.’

  ‘You should have been an actor, Donald.’

  ‘It’s a precarious profession. I prefer to have a regular income.’

  ‘What’s your initial response to Edward?’

  ‘He has a problem, and a serious one at that.’

  ‘Is he beyond hope?’

  ‘Oh, no, I wouldn’t say that. All I’ve had so far is a brief chat with him, supplemented by those reports you gave me from two of his colleagues. I’ll need to see more of him, Terence.’

  ‘We mustn’t make it too obvious.’

  ‘In getting him away from his work, you’ve already taken the most important step. His convalescence has now started.’

  ‘What I’m hoping for is a cure.’

  ‘That might be asking too much.’

  Looking through the window, they could see Tallis strolling around the garden
and leaving a cloud of smoke in his wake. Wardlow pointed out that he’d done the same thing during his visit in the previous December. He’d had his cigars in the garden even though it was very cold out there.

  ‘What was your wife’s opinion of him?’

  ‘Oh,’ said Wardlow, ‘Margery found him rather stiff and uncommunicative. Edward has never been at ease in female company. Though he’s always polite, he tends to be shy.’

  ‘And yet he’s so forceful in the company of men.’

  ‘He has the habit of command, Donald. At least he did have it,’ he added, sadly. ‘It seems to have deserted him now.’

  ‘Who was that man he kept talking about?’

  ‘Inspector Colbeck?’

  ‘It’s a name that rings a bell.’

  ‘And so it should. Colbeck was instrumental in finding Edward and rescuing him from what would have been an excruciating death. It was in the national as well as the local newspapers.’

  ‘That’s how I must have come across the inspector.’

  ‘I’ve been trying to steer him away from talking about any of his colleagues. The less he thinks about Scotland Yard, the better.’

  ‘I agree.’

  ‘It’s just that Colbeck happens to be engaged in a particularly difficult case of murder at the moment. Edward feels that he should be urging him on to make an arrest.’

  ‘It’s strange that he didn’t mention the inspector when I got him talking about his abduction. In fact, he hardly touched on the actual rescue. His obsession was with the brutal treatment he received.’

  ‘Do you find that significant?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  Good news awaited the detectives when they got to the police station. As a result of their search, the police had found the stable from which the killer had hired the black horse he rode at the actual murder. The man had given the name of John Gorey and left a bay mare at livery. Leeming’s theory about the exchange of horses had been proved correct and he enjoyed the praise that inspector Jellings heaped on him.

  ‘I thought at first it was a wild guess,’ he said.

  Leeming grinned. ‘Yes, I could see that in your eyes, sir.’