A Christmas Railway Mystery Page 23

  Wardlow was about to issue another stream of insults when the door suddenly opened and Grosvenor strode in purposefully. He took up a stance in the middle of the room.

  ‘I’m taking charge now,’ he declared.

  ‘Thank heavens somebody is,’ said Wardlow.

  ‘Hinton.’

  ‘Yes, sir?’ Hinton stood to attention.

  ‘I want a full report of what steps you’ve taken so far.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And I want to know who’s in charge of those soldiers I’ve seen in the streets.’

  ‘I can tell you that,’ said Wardlow.

  ‘I’m very glad that you’re here, Captain. I can assure you that the hunt will continue with a greater intensity now that I’m controlling it. On the train journey here, I’ve been working out my plan of campaign.’

  Grosvenor spoke as if it had been his decision to take over from Hinton. In fact, it was Wardlow’s telegraph that had brought about the change. Instead of developing a master plan on his way there, Grosvenor had been smarting at the caustic criticism he’d received from the commissioner. Sir Richard Mayne had insisted that he caught the next train to Canterbury in a bid to vindicate himself. His future was in jeopardy.

  ‘Well, come on, Hinton,’ he snapped, taking out his anger on the constable. ‘Bring me up to date with the situation. I want to put some real zest into this search. Speak up, man!’

  Though he had no real appetite for going, Daniel Gill forced himself to attend the concert. He and his wife, Anne, set out with the horse and cart borrowed from his uncle. It was not the most comfortable way to travel but it had to suffice. Anne Gill was a small, delicate, submissive woman with the long-suffering look of someone dominated by her husband. Having been roundly chastised for telling Leeming the truth about Gill’s whereabouts on the night of the murder, she was too afraid to open her mouth without her husband’s permission. She therefore sat beside him with a shawl around her shoulders and a hat pulled down over her ears. Anne listened to the jingle of the harness as they went along and wished that the cart didn’t smell quite so pungently of meat and offal.

  When they reached the New Town, they saw the silhouette of St Mark’s Church to their left. It prompted memories of their wedding there and she couldn’t help thinking of all the solemn promises Gill had given her on their wedding night. Without exception, none of them had been kept. Hers had been a marriage of continuous disappointment. He, meanwhile, was enjoying memories of a different kind. At the sight of the church, he smiled quietly to himself.

  Calling at the Knights’ house for the second time, Leeming hoped that he wouldn’t be mistaken for a client again. In his opinion, prostitution was a sin as well as a crime. He’d been brought up with Christian values and a respect for women. It was impossible to have any respect for Claire Knight and her daughter. Unlike so many prostitutes, however, they were not victims of a tyrannical master who forced them into the trade. It had been their choice and they’d somehow found a way to develop a profitable business without scandalising the neighbours. As long as there were men like Samway, Cudlip and Edgar Fellowes, they’d never lack for clients.

  Claire Knight answered the door in a red velvet gown and an array of cheap jewellery. She reeked of perfume. Inviting him in, she batted her eyelids at him and asked if he’d changed his mind. Leeming was offended.

  ‘I’m investigating a murder,’ he told her. ‘That’s the only reason I’d ever come near this place.’

  ‘Oh, we don’t only operate here, Sergeant. Euphemia and I pay calls on certain people. If the neighbours saw a stream of men coming here night after night, there’d be ructions. As it is, because we’re very discreet, we’re looked upon as a mother and daughter who live quiet, orderly lives and go to church every Sunday.’ She cackled. ‘I could tell you stories about some of the husbands we see there with their wives on their arms.’

  ‘I’m only interested in one person at the moment, Mrs Knight.’

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Hector Samway.’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘Earlier today, Inspector Colbeck called on Mr Samway. He became aware that someone was in the bedroom. Was it your daughter?’

  She was categorical. ‘No, it wasn’t.’

  ‘It’s important that you tell me the truth.’

  ‘Euphemia hasn’t been out of this house all day.’

  ‘Well, someone was in that bedroom with Samway.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, smiling sweetly. ‘It was me. Since he lives alone, he usually prefers one of us to go to him. We’re quite happy with the arrangement because it allows us to charge a little more.’

  ‘What state was he in?’

  She cackled again. ‘There’s only one state men are in when I’m alone with them. They have a need. I satisfy it.’

  ‘That wasn’t the case with Simeon Cudlip. The last time he came here, he was in a violent mood, according to you.’

  ‘It’s true. Hector can be wild as well but in a way that I don’t really mind, whereas Simeon came here with his eyes blazing.’

  ‘Do you or your daughter ever visit his house?’

  ‘Yes, we do. It’s always so clean and tidy. I can’t say the same of Hector. He doesn’t know how to look after the place properly. His sink was disgusting today. When I tried to wash in it, there were bloodstains everywhere. I have standards, Sergeant,’ she said, chin uplifted. ‘I made that clear to Hector Samway.’

  Since she needed good light in her studio, Madeleine had abandoned her latest painting as soon as shadows began to close in. She was now sitting alone in the drawing room in front of the fire, knowing that neither her father nor Lydia would be calling again. More to the point, her husband wouldn’t be making another surprise return. Colbeck had vowed to solve the murder before he left Swindon and even then he wouldn’t be coming directly home. He’d go straight on to Canterbury to take part in the search for the missing superintendent. Madeleine shared his anxiety. Tallis had been a hard taskmaster but an extremely efficient leader of the team of detectives under his control. He couldn’t easily be replaced. Because he preferred investigating crimes on the railway system, Colbeck had no interest in a job that would keep him, for the most part, in London. If a vacancy occurred, therefore, it would be filled by someone like Inspector Grosvenor. That prospect made her shudder. From what she’d heard about him, he would exploit his position to bully and belittle her husband. It would be a very unpleasant Christmas present for Colbeck and, by extension, for Victor Leeming.

  She hoped that Tallis would be found alive but knew that his chances were slim. If he was in the hands of villains bent on revenge, he might already be dead or kept alive for their sport. While she was pleased that Alan Hinton had been one of the detectives sent to Canterbury, his inexperience was unsettling. Ideally, she thought, he would acquit himself well and return to Scotland Yard to receive praise from the commissioner. There might even be a way to reunite him with Lydia Quayle. If he came back to London as a proven failure, however, there’d be a very different result. He might be castigated, or even demoted, and would feel too embarrassed to take up any invitation from her. Everything depended on rescuing Edward Tallis alive in a way that showed Hinton in a good light. It seemed impossible. Madeleine braced herself to cope with a more tragic outcome.

  Though it had only been opened six years earlier, the Mechanics’ Institution played a central part in the community and seemed always to have been there. It was a massive neo-Gothic structure with local stone for walling and Bath stone for dressings. It looked at first glance like a church or temple but some of the activities that occurred there would not have been entirely suitable to a place of worship. The ground floor comprised the reading room, the library, a coffee room, the men’s mess room and the council and housekeeper’s rooms. Hot and cold baths had also been built for the members. The concert was due to be performed on the upper floor, which housed the capacious assembly hall whose main feature was a
large stage, capable of holding the Mechanics’ Institution Band.

  Crowds flocked to the building. Some of the plays that were performed there from time to time had been poorly received but the musical entertainments were always a success. When they looked at their programme, the detectives saw that the band would be kept busy. The first half of the concert consisted of the overture from The Magic Flute by Mozart, followed by a song from the choir, a polonaise, a ballad, a polka, a duet, a comic song, a waltz and another Mozart overture. Since they were sitting next to William Morris, the detectives were able to get informed answers to any questions they posed.

  ‘How would you describe the band?’ asked Colbeck.

  ‘Oh, it’s more than serviceable,’ said Morris. ‘They can’t match the orchestras you’re likely to hear in London, perhaps, but they have talent and take their music very seriously. If anyone is late for a rehearsal, they’re fined a penny. If they’re absent, the fine is doubled.’

  ‘What happens if they’re persistently absent?’ said Leeming.

  ‘They’re replaced. There’s a waiting list to join the band. They’re part of a substantial organisation, you see. When the Institution was founded way back in 1843, they had only fifteen members at the Annual General Meeting. I know that because I’ve studied their records.’

  ‘How many members do they have now, Mr Morris?’

  ‘It must be over seven hundred.’

  ‘Then it’s clearly a thriving society,’ observed Colbeck.

  The room was filling rapidly. The babble of many voices was drowned out by the grating of chairs, the clacking of hundreds of feet on the bare boards and the noise of the musicians, practising a few bars. Most of the men had brass or woodwind instruments and there was a large bass drum being carried onstage by the smallest musician in the band. They wore dark uniforms but waistcoats of varying styles and colours. Their peaked caps were set at differing angles on their heads.

  As he looked around, Colbeck saw that he’d guessed correctly. All five suspects were there. Gareth Llewellyn was seated with his wife and a group of his compatriots, boasting that he would bring the concert to a rousing conclusion when it was his turn to sing. Yet there was no sign of Rachel Griffiths, the woman who’d been his secret lover and who’d reported something disturbing she noticed about Llewellyn on the night of the murder. Daniel Gill had also brought his wife and they were sitting at the rear. When he caught Colbeck’s eye, Gill looked away quickly. Hector Samway had obviously come on his own, as had Simeon Cudlip, noticeably smarter than most of his work colleagues. Fred Alford was there without his wife and Colbeck assumed that she was keeping Betty Rodman company once more. It would be a poignant evening for the murder victim’s widow because she’d be reminded that her husband should have been singing at the concert.

  The detectives recognised a number of other people. Howard and Jennifer Law were there seated close to Oswald Stinson and his wife, though the general manager looked as if he was there under sufferance rather than because he expected to enjoy the event. In the row behind them were Dr and Mrs Burnaby. Leeming was interested to spot Edgar Fellowes, divested of his uniform and wearing his best suit. When he entered the room, he had his wife beside him, a big, bosomy, middle-aged woman. Mrs Fellowes had an air of potency about her and Leeming was bound to wonder how she would react to the news that her husband was both an adulterer and a man who frequented a brothel. At that moment in time, he appeared to be an exemplar of respectability and he went out of his way to say a few words to the vicar and his wife.

  Thunderous applause greeted the arrival of the conductor, a tall, spindly man in his fifties who bowed to acknowledge the ovation. He made sure that he had the attention of every musician before deciding that they were ready to begin. Baton held high, he gave them their cue and let Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart weave his magic spell.

  In a sitting position against the stall, Tallis was in a marginally less painful position but his head was still aching and his limbs were under attack from cramp. To stave off his torture, he’d been thinking about the person who might have been behind his capture and finally settled on a name. It was Sam Byard, who’d travelled in a first-class carriage in order to pull a gun on his fellow passengers and rob them of a large amount of money. When one of them had refused to hand over his wallet, Byard had knocked him senseless. Since the crime had occurred on the railway, Colbeck had taken charge of the investigation but Tallis had been with him when Byard and an accomplice were arrested in Rochester. Along with Colbeck, he’d given evidence at the trial and been rewarded with a mouthful of abuse from the men in the dock. Byard had issued a chilling threat that the detectives had duly ignored, knowing that both men would be locked away for many years.

  Tallis couldn’t remember if they’d served their sentence or if they’d escaped from prison. What he did recall was the voice of the man who’d earlier come to see him then returned with someone else and knocked him out with the butt of his rifle. It sounded very much like the voice that had roared at him during the trial, though that was so long ago that he couldn’t be entirely sure. Tallis was perplexed. Believing that he might be being held by Byard, he tried to work out how the man could possibly know that he’d be in Canterbury. A spasm of pain made him cry out as he realised how it must have happened. Captain Wardlow had kindly sent him a cutting from the local newspaper in which details of the regimental reunion were given. Various luminaries from the military world were attending but Tallis was singled out because, retrospectively, he was being awarded a special medal for his gallantry in the field while in India. The fact that he was a close friend of Wardlow was mentioned.

  Was that how it had happened? Had Byard, who’d lived in Kent, seen the item in the press? Could he have found out where Wardlow lived? Or had he simply put the railway station under surveillance for days before the event on the supposition that Tallis was bound to arrive by train? That was it, he believed. Byard had actually witnessed the reunion between the two old friends. On their journey back to Wardlow’s house, they must have been followed.

  Tallis’s fevered thoughts were suddenly swept aside by a crisis. As well as the pain, the cold, the hunger pangs and the nagging fear that he’d never get out of there alive, there was a more immediate problem. Needing to relieve himself, he was in great discomfort. The wants of nature couldn’t be stemmed indefinitely.

  The detectives had taken care to sit in a position that allowed them to keep an eye on most of the audience. When the interval came, they watched their suspects carefully. Morris was too busy making notes for the review he intended to write so they were not distracted by him. Colbeck looked first at Hector Samway, a self-confessed enemy of Frank Rodman and a man who, in physical terms, looked capable of a savage murder. Why was he there? Colbeck decided that Samway wanted to use the crowd as a form of camouflage, mixing with them on a Saturday night as if he was going through a normal routine. Nothing about him suggested that a prostitute had earlier paid him a visit. Samway was chatting easily to the people next to him and seemed very much at home in the gathering. Leeming had brought back the information that Claire Knight had found bloodstains in the man’s house. How had they got there? Could it be that the sack containing the head had been kept there before being transferred to the church? As well as finding a way to avoid St Mark’s since the death of his wife, had Samway developed a hatred of a place that had failed to help him through his bereavement? It was certainly a possibility.

  Switching to Gareth Llewellyn, the inspector watched him preening in front of his friends and studiously ignoring his wife. Like Samway, the Welshman also had a double life, presenting one image to the public while conducting an illicit affair with another woman. Her evidence that he’d come back to the barracks on the night of the murder with blood on his hands couldn’t be disregarded. Leeming had established that a new coal sack must have been used and Llewellyn knew very well where he could find one. Had he used his superior strength to take Rodman into the Works and
to commit murder there? Colbeck was prepared to believe that he could but he had the gravest doubts about the Welshman being responsible for the outrage in the church. A religious man at heart, Llewellyn was highly unlikely to do anything so starkly blasphemous. Yet the question remained. Two suspects had blood on their hands: which one of them had acquired it from Rodman?

  ‘Look at Gill,’ whispered Leeming in his companion’s ear.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’ve never seen anyone so obviously guilty.’

  ‘Why did he come?’ asked Colbeck. ‘He must have known we’d be here.’

  ‘I’ve been watching him for minutes, sir. Every so often, he glances in my direction then turns his head away quickly. We know he got home late on the night of the murder but he still hasn’t given us a convincing alibi.’

  ‘Ask him again, Victor.’

  ‘What – now?’

  ‘Wait until the concert is over. We don’t want his wife to miss the entertainment. Speak to him when she is not present. I’m sure that Mrs Gill will have been told to keep silent but she’s an honest woman and, as you discovered, can’t control her facial expressions as easily as he does. Press him hard. Oh, and find out if he’s been using his skills as a locksmith of late.’

  ‘I will, sir. What about you?’

  ‘I fancy that another word with Samway is needed.’

  Colbeck turned to watch the man again. Leeming, meanwhile, switched his attention to Simeon Cudlip, the person most likely to have left a severed head on the main altar in St Mark’s. An avowed atheist, he’d scorned religion of any kind. But how did the fastidious clerk get Rodman into the Erecting Shop in the first place and then have the strength to kill him?

  Colbeck’s eye finally alighted on Fred Alford, the putative friend of the dead man. In her younger days, Betty Rodman had had many admirers and Alford had been the most devoted. Even his wife had admitted that. Others might have yearned for her in the past but it was Alford who was still in love with her and who had access to her that none of the others did. On the night of the murder, Alford had left the Queen’s Tap while his friend was having an argument with Llewellyn. Knowing that Rodman would be drunk when he left the pub, had Alford lain in wait for him, determined to kill him in order to release Betty from her suffocating marriage to a wayward Christian?