Points of Danger Page 19

  ‘But I came to appreciate that it was a clever piece of deduction.’

  ‘Victor has a talent for it,’ said Colbeck.

  They were in the inspector’s office. Colbeck went on to give him an attenuated account of their visit to Yarmouth, admitting his irritation when he first heard that Gorey had sailed away from the town, yet still clinging to the possibility that someone in the crew of the returning Flying Fish might have some idea of the killer’s ultimate destination. Jellings was disappointed.

  ‘I’d hoped for better news,’ he admitted.

  ‘It will come in time,’ said Colbeck, cheerily.

  ‘Your optimism is reassuring.’

  ‘No, it isn’t,’ said Leeming. ‘I’m still worried that we’ve lost him.’

  ‘He’s followed a plan of escape,’ said Colbeck. ‘That confirms our earlier belief that the crime was not an opportunist one. There’s clear evidence of preparation and collusion.’

  ‘All we have to go on is the name – the false name, probably – of a man who’s now gone to France or even further afield.’

  ‘His confederates are still here, though,’ Colbeck reminded him. ‘Take heart, Sergeant. I have the feeling that we’re getting closer to solving this crime than we think.’

  The old man walked his dog through the streets until they came to a small park. Letting it off the leash, he smiled as it went bounding off across the grass. It disappeared into a thicket and its excited barking stopped. A moment later, it came running towards its owner with something between its teeth. The old man squinted.

  ‘What’ve you got there, then?’

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Everyone in the city had seen the posters advertising a reward for anyone who could provide information that led to the arrest and conviction of the man who had killed Jarvis Swarbrick. Local newspapers also carried the relevant details. The tempting size of the reward encouraged a number of people to come forward with concocted stories. They were soon exposed as falsehoods and their authors were issued with a stern warning and sent on their way or – in two cases – given a night in a police cell to reflect on the stupidity of trying to get money by means of fraud. As the days passed, the fevered speculation didn’t ease off in the slightest. It remained the main topic of conversation in Norwich and beyond. The killer was still at large. He’d left the whole region in a state of apprehension.

  Bartram Duff didn’t succumb to the general hysteria. Whenever he walked past the reward posters at the station, he simply smiled at them. Pryor passed on everything that Leeming had said to him and Duff found an even better source of information in Eric Burridge, who happened to drink in the same pub as the railway policeman. On the previous evening, Duff had learnt a great deal about the state of the investigation and it had only cost him the price of a pint. Leeming’s comments on his return from Yarmouth confirmed that the detectives had failed to find what they had been after. Duff savoured the good news.

  During a break that afternoon, he left the station to go in search of the friend who lived down the alley. When he banged on the door of the house, it was opened cautiously by the owner.

  ‘What have you found out?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s good news.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘The police have got nowhere. We’re in the clear.’

  The other man grinned. ‘You’d better come in, Bart.’

  Though she had stopped weeping so pathetically all the time, Grace Swarbrick had not adjusted fully to her grief. Her face was still a study in anguish and her eyes were red-rimmed. When her friend entered the room, Grace was hunched on the sofa, hands tightly clasped.

  ‘I’m not intruding, am I?’ asked Anthea.

  ‘No, no, do come in.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘There’s no need for thanks. This is your house.’

  ‘It’s also yours while you still have need for it.’

  ‘I’ll have to go back to face Andrew sooner or later.’

  ‘I think you should wait until his temper cools,’ said the other. ‘If he behaves like this at home, then my sympathy goes out to his poor wife. Caroline must have a lot to put up with.’

  ‘That’s partly my fault.’

  ‘I don’t see how it could be, Grace.’

  ‘If my stepson had behaved as his wife did, there’d be no problem. She was ready to accept me into the family but was shouted down by Andrew. Indirectly, Caroline suffered because of me.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I found her card among all the other condolences. She told me how upset she was that Jarvis had died before we could be united as a family. Needless to say,’ she went on, ‘Andrew doesn’t know that his wife has been in touch with me.’

  Before Anthea could comment, there was a tap on the door and it was opened, after a summons, by a maid. She bobbed politely.

  ‘Excuse me, Mrs Freed, but inspector Colbeck is here.’

  ‘I’ll come immediately.’

  ‘I wasn’t sent to find you,’ said the other. ‘He wants to speak to Mrs Swarbrick. He said that it was important.’

  Grace rose from her chair at once.

  Now that the air had been cleared between them, Madeleine was pleased to see her father that afternoon. Once he’d tired himself out by playing in the garden with his granddaughter, they were able to talk properly again. Andrews used a handkerchief to dab at the perspiration on his brow.

  ‘I wish we’d had a big garden like that when you were born, Maddy.’

  ‘We managed quite happily without.’

  ‘Living here, Helen has so many advantages. I just hope that she grows up to appreciate them.’

  ‘I had the advantage of a loving family,’ said Madeleine, ‘so I have no regrets about living in a small house with only a tiny garden.’

  ‘That’s good to hear.’

  ‘Lydia called in earlier.’

  ‘That was nice for you. There can’t be many people who meet for the first time because one of their fathers is murdered, but that was the case with you and Lydia. You’ve become really good friends.’

  ‘I’m not her only friend, Father.’

  ‘No, she’s got me as well.’

  Madeleine smiled. ‘I wasn’t thinking of you, actually. While she was here, Constable Hinton called. I left them alone.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It was so that they could talk in private, of course. Lydia likes him and he obviously dotes on her. When he turned up, it was too good a chance to miss.’

  ‘Are you plotting something, Maddy?’ he said, warningly.

  ‘No, I’m trying to help, that’s all.’

  ‘It sounds to me as if you’re interfering.’

  ‘When Alan had gone, Lydia thanked me for leaving them alone together.’

  ‘What was he doing here in the first place?’

  ‘Since he was in the area, he thought I’d like to know about what happened to Superintendent Tallis.’

  ‘And what did happen?’

  ‘He’s on leave from Scotland Yard.’

  ‘I don’t believe it!’ exclaimed Andrews. ‘He hates the very idea of having time off.’

  ‘I think it shows you how unwell he must be.’

  ‘Will he ever come back?’

  ‘I don’t know, Father.’

  ‘Well, I hope that he retires for good,’ said Andrews. ‘That way, Robert can take over as superintendent. Instead of gallivanting around the country on the railway system, he’d be able to work from home and have the pleasure of watching his daughter grow up.’

  ‘That would suit me and Helen, but it wouldn’t suit Robert.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘He loves his work in the same way that you did, Father. He enjoys shooting off to different parts of the country to deal with major crimes. I accepted that when I agreed to marry him. Besides,’ she said, ‘nothing will stop Edward Tallis from taking over once he’s better.’

  Grace Swarbrick stared at the re
ticule with mingled horror and gratitude. Though it was a startling reminder of the murder, it was something that she valued very much. She had to struggle to hold back tears. Colbeck held it out to her.

  ‘It had some grass stains on it,’ he said, ‘but I cleaned them off.’

  ‘Where did you find it?’ asked Anthea.

  ‘A man was walking his dog in a park. When he let the animal loose, it came back with this between its teeth.’

  ‘Take it, Grace. It’s yours.’

  ‘I could see that at a glance,’ said the other. ‘Jarvis bought it for me years ago.’

  ‘Please look inside and tell me what’s missing,’ said Colbeck.

  He handed the reticule to her and watched. She held it very gently as if it was fragile then she ran her fingers over it. They could see that memories were flooding back into her mind. Grace opened it very slowly and looked inside, taking out the items one by one. When she’d examined each one, she put them back in turn.

  ‘Everything is here,’ she said, ‘except the purse.’

  ‘I’m afraid that he kept that, Mrs Swarbrick,’ explained Colbeck. ‘With luck, he may still have it when we finally catch up with him.’

  ‘And when will that be, inspector?’ asked Anthea.

  ‘It may take time.’

  ‘Do you have any idea where he might be?’

  ‘Oh, yes, we know that he fled to Yarmouth. The sergeant and I spent the whole morning there. We tracked him to the stables where he’d hired a horse, using the name of John Gorey.’

  I don’t know anyone by that name,’ said Grace, a perplexed frown appearing. ‘Was my husband killed by a complete stranger?’

  ‘I think he was hiding his true identity.’

  ‘And where is he now?’

  ‘That’s the problem,’ admitted Colbeck with a sigh. ‘He sailed from Yarmouth on the day of the murder.’

  ‘Do you mean that he’s not even in this country?’

  ‘I’m afraid not, Mrs Swarbrick. He boarded a vessel that was heading for Cherbourg.’

  ‘Cherbourg!’ she cried in alarm. ‘You’ll never catch him.’

  She collapsed into convulsive sobs.

  Acting on medical advice, Wardlow took his guest for a long walk that afternoon. Dr Kitson had told him that healthy exercise was a vital part of the patient’s convalescence. They’d both agreed how important it was to keep Tallis unaware of the fact that he was being treated as a patient. To that end, Wardlow had suggested a stroll in as casual a manner as he could manage, saying that the pain from his arthritis had abated for once. Tallis was glad to accept the invitation. It was a fine day and he liked the feeling of the sun on his back as they strode along. By following the winding country lane outside Wardlow’s house, they eventually came to the parish church of St Peter and St Paul in Upper Hardres. It was set in the middle of a sheep farm and they could see the flock grazing happily in the fields around them. Stopping beside the churchyard, Tallis let his eye roam across the gravestones, damaged over the years by the vagaries of the climate and rearranged in some cases by subsidence.

  ‘Those are the fortunate ones,’ said Tallis, quietly.

  ‘I don’t regard dying as in any way fortunate, Edward.’

  ‘I was thinking of all the comrades of ours who fell in battle and who, in many cases, were buried in unmarked graves. No families would ever come with flowers or say prayers for the salvation of their souls. In a country churchyard like this,’ Tallis went on, ‘everyone has been laid to rest after a proper funeral, then mourned by their families and friends.’

  ‘That’s a rather morbid observation,’ said Wardlow.

  ‘It was one of the risks we took as soldiers. To die in a far-off land meant that we’d simply become anonymous casualties. I lost count of the number of letters I wrote from India to the parents of men who’d fallen in action. It was always a chastening exercise for me.’

  ‘The families were very grateful to be told what had happened.’

  ‘But that wasn’t always the case, Terence.’

  ‘Are you saying that some objected?’

  ‘No,’ replied Tallis. ‘I’m saying that I often manipulated the truth to spare their feelings. Instead of telling them their son had been blown to pieces by an exploding shell or hacked to death so viciously that he was completely unrecognisable, I simply pretended that he was killed while fighting valiantly.’

  ‘I think we should walk on,’ suggested Wardlow. ‘Standing beside a churchyard has prompted some unhappy memories for you.’

  ‘It wasn’t the gravestones,’ said the other, falling in beside him as they moved on. ‘I don’t need those to induce thoughts of death. They come to me unbidden.’

  ‘It’s unhealthy to brood on such things, Edward.’

  ‘I can’t help it. The last time I was in Canterbury I was taught a salutary lesson. I am not – as I foolishly imagined – immortal. Death is only around the corner for me. It’s already starting to crook its finger and beckon.’ He touched his friend’s shoulder apologetically. ‘Forgive me, Terence. You’ve made such an effort to keep up with me on your stick and I reward you by lapsing into macabre introspection.’

  ‘I’d hoped the fresh air would revive the both of us.’

  ‘And it’s done so in my case.’

  ‘No, it hasn’t. It’s brought on this avalanche of dark thoughts.’

  ‘They’re gone now, I promise you.’

  ‘Thank heaven for that.’

  ‘By the way,’ said Tallis, ‘I meant to say how much I enjoyed meeting your friend, Kitson. He’s good company and has a rich supply of anecdotes. What’s his background?’

  ‘He’s a retired stockbroker.’

  ‘Then he’s a wise man.’

  ‘Why do you think that?’

  ‘There are not many stockbrokers who go to India in order to get slaughtered in a fierce battle fought in blistering heat. They leave that to reckless, misguided men with a patriotic urge to fight our enemies. Look at your friend. Living in comfortable retirement, Kitson is hail and hearty with no old wounds to plague him and no bad memories to torment him.’

  ‘Would you rather have been a stockbroker?’

  ‘No, thank you,’ said Tallis, smiling. ‘I’d have died of boredom.’

  Madeleine went back to her studio with the intention of spending a couple of precious hours on her latest painting. The moment she picked up her brush, however, she felt her hand tremble with excitement. Instead of dealing with the canvas in front of her, she was preoccupied with thoughts of the commission from Lionel Fairbank. It had not merely boosted her confidence, she felt that it had somehow validated her as an artist. While still worried about the amount of money involved, she was keen to accept the commission. Colbeck had approved in principle and Lydia, who’d actually met and liked Fairbank, had urged her to give his offer priority.

  Yet something still held her back. There was the lingering doubt that she might be unequal to the task, the fear that it would mean more time away from her daughter, the worry that her father might somehow find out what she was actually painting and, in spite of his promises, accuse her of betrayal, and, most important of all, the fact that her husband didn’t know the full implications of the commission. Madeleine had written a letter of explanation, but it wouldn’t arrive until the following day and she couldn’t expect him to suspend his investigation and return home to discuss her situation. Critically, her husband couldn’t meet and appraise Lionel Fairbank. That troubled her.

  While not applying any pressure, Fairbank had asked for a decision to be made very soon. Ideally, he wanted her response during the two days when he was staying in London with his son. The address he’d left with her was in Belgravia and Madeleine was tempted to hire a cab to take her there so that she could give him her decision in person. She soon rejected that impulse, feeling that she should control her enthusiasm and appear more dignified. A polite letter was required. Ideally, she’d have liked Colbeck to have seen it f
irst, but he’d always encouraged her to make all the decisions regarding her work by herself. Here was a case in point. Madeleine decided to follow her instincts.

  When she’d written the letter, she asked one of the servants to take a cab to Belgravia to deliver it, ensuring that Fairbank got an early reply to his offer. During his visit to the house, he’d talked about Madeleine going to Berkshire to make sketches of the view and the locomotive from the vantage point of his house. Somehow she had to find the time to do that and was pleased when Lydia had volunteered to go with her. Now that the decision had actually been made, Madeleine shook off her nervousness. When she picked up her brush again, there were neither tremors nor hesitation this time. Madeleine was able to paint freely again.

  The firm of Gilby, Tate and Regan Solicitors was located in a large, solid building near the centre of the city that gave it a view of the two defining edifices of Norwich. From one side, they could see the castle looming above them while, from the other side, the spire of the beautiful medieval cathedral was clearly visible above the intervening premises. As he approached the offices on foot, Andrew Swarbrick was irked by the fact that he’d had to wait for an appointment with Neville Gilby, their family solicitor. When he was admitted to Gilby’s office, irritation showed clearly in his face.

  ‘I’m sorry for the delay,’ said Gilby, shaking his hand. ‘You’ve caught us at an extremely busy time, Mr Swarbrick.’

  ‘I would have thought that my father’s murder gave me some sort of priority in your appointments diary.’

  ‘Perhaps you’re right.’

  ‘I am right, Mr Gilby.’

  ‘Then I apologise once more.’

  As soon as they’d sat down, the solicitor started to offer his condolences, but he was silenced by a wave of Swarbrick’s hand.

  ‘We can dispense with the niceties,’ he said.

  ‘If that’s what you wish, sir.’

  ‘It is.’

  Gilby was an obese man of middle years with greying hair bisected by a centre parting. When he spoke, his jowls wobbled.