Blood on the Line irc-8 Read online

  ‘There is something else,’ she said, quietly.

  ‘I knew it.’

  ‘Though I fancy I’m probably fretting unnecessarily about it.’

  ‘Why not let me be the judge of that?’

  ‘It’s this investigation,’ she explained. ‘Robert has become obsessed with it. I know that he gets immersed in every case he deals with but this one is different. It’s made him so single-minded.’

  ‘Do you know why that is?’

  ‘Frankly, I don’t.’

  ‘Then let me tell you,’ said Andrews, tapping his chest, ‘because I understand what’s going through his mind. It’s those policemen, Maddy. Two were killed on the train and the other one was shot in London. Inspector Colbeck has a bond with fellow policemen, the same way that I do with engine drivers. It’s something that goes very deep. He’s single-minded because he’s chasing people who murdered his kin – at least, that’s what they’ll seem like to him.’

  ‘That’s not the whole story, Father.’

  ‘Yes it is, so you can stop losing sleep over it.’

  ‘It’s more personal than that.’

  ‘What could be more personal than a detective who worked alongside you on the case being shot dead?’

  ‘This is not about Constable Peebles,’ she said. ‘Robert was shocked by what happened to him but he’s driven by something from the distant past. He as good as said so when I last saw him.’

  ‘Did he explain what it was?’

  ‘No – that’s why I’m upset about it. I feel that he should have told me everything there is to tell. It’s so unlike Robert. He’s never concealed things from me before. This case has a real significance for him but he refused to say why. I feel as if I’m deliberately being kept ignorant,’ she said, shaking her head in despair, ‘and it’s not what I expect from the man I’m about to marry.’

  * * *

  A sudden squall cleared the upper deck of the Jura and made the vessel dip and rock on the choppy sea. While Leeming went into the saloon, Colbeck repaired to their state room to have some time alone. As he checked through the paperwork he’d brought with him, he picked out the passenger’s contract ticket, issued when he’d booked the passage. It was an interesting legal document, listing the obligations placed both on the shipping line and on the passenger. Trained as a lawyer, he noted the small print on the document. Among other things, it stipulated that the victualling scale had to be printed out in the body of the ticket. Consequently, the daily quantities of water and provisions for each person were listed. If the Jura defaulted in any way on its obligations, it was liable to legal redress.

  Studying one form of contract made him reflect on another. Marriage was the most solemn contract of all, committing two people to lifelong conditions from which they could not waver. As he went through the service of holy matrimony in his mind, he was ready to commit himself to Madeleine when the moment arose. Yet somehow he was not prepared to state exactly when that moment would be. The urge to delay and prevaricate was implanted deep within him. Even though he could see how much distress it was causing Madeleine, he could not bring himself to name the day when he would make her his wife. The invisible barrier stopped him.

  He recalled the joyous openness with which Ian Peebles had talked about his forthcoming marriage, and the way that Victor Leeming always looked back on his own nuptials with such fondness. Colbeck wished that his path to the altar had been as straight and uncomplicated as theirs. Before the wedding, the banns would have to be published. He remembered how nervous Leeming had been when that phrase about just cause or impediment had been read out before the congregation. Had his own banns been published, the phrase would have unsettled Colbeck even more because of the secret he’d nursed for so many years. Helen Millington was his impediment. Until she was laid to rest, he could never give himself wholly and exclusively to Madeleine Andrews. The only way he could finally reconcile himself to her death was by catching Jeremy Oxley.

  It had been a despicable murder. Colbeck had been shaken rigid when he read the details of the post-mortem. He was a young and impressionable barrister at the time, not a hardened detective who’d learnt to look on hideous sights without flinching. The manner of Helen’s death was almost as horrid as the fact of it. Such was the searing effect on him that Colbeck had abruptly changed direction in life so that he could begin the hunt for Oxley. Equally keen to arrest Irene Adnam, he was struck by the power of love to induce blindness. Irene was so entranced by Oxley that she did not apprehend his true character. Had she been aware of what he did to Helen Millington before he killed her, she would have shunned his company in disgust.

  Colbeck had a contract with the shipping line, but a far more important one with Madeleine Andrews existed. It would bind him for life. He had to remove the impediment to their marriage and return to her as a free man with no ghosts to keep them apart. As he thought about Madeleine now, he felt an upsurge of love for her that flooded through his entire body and left him exhilarated. It was an elation that had to be suppressed until the proper moment for release. Helen Millington had to be his sole inspiration for the time being. Once her unquiet spirit had been appeased, there would be a blissful future with Madeleine Andrews.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The suddenness of their departure from England had given them no time at all to plan for their future in a new country. That had troubled Irene deeply at first. She soon came to see that there was no need for alarm. Long weeks at sea gave them plenty of opportunity to discuss what they were going to do once they reached New York. Oxley was quick to realise that, if they befriended the right passengers, there was a fund of valuable information accessible to them. The voyage therefore became an exercise in collecting facts.

  ‘Ours is a great country,’ said Herschel Finn, expansively. ‘It rewards hard work and wise investment. If he has the right qualities, any man can succeed in America.’

  ‘That’s not true of England, alas,’ complained Oxley. ‘Family determines everything there. If you’re born into the aristocracy, you can lead a life of idle luxury. If you’re the child of a poor family, the chances are that you’ll remain in poverty for ever.’

  ‘It’s the main reason my father emigrated – not that he was exactly poor, mark you. His family ran a grocer’s shop in Leicester and, in the fullness of time, he would have inherited it. But he felt that there was more to life than serving bags of sugar and jars of pickled onions to his neighbours. So,’ said Finn, proudly, ‘he saved up his money and took ship to America.’

  ‘How old was he at the time?’ asked Irene.

  ‘He was barely twenty-one.’

  ‘That was very brave of him.’

  ‘My father was a brave man, Irene. He knew it would take time to fulfil his ambitions and he knew there’d be lean years beforehand. So he gritted his teeth and bent his back. And when the opening finally came,’ said Finn, snapping his fingers, ‘he seized it and moved into the textile business.’

  ‘It’s an inspiring story, Herschel,’ said Oxley.

  ‘It’s a typical American story.’

  They’d liked Herschel Finn and his wife from the outset and it was only days before all four of them were on first-name terms. Finn was the owner of a cotton mill in Beverly, Massachusetts and of a wool carding mill in Blackstone River Valley in the same state. Wealth had given him a confidence that never even approached brashness. He was a man of medium height and average build who’d kept his hair its original colour and who carried his fifty years lightly. His wife, Libby, was a short, round, genial woman with a chubby face and dimpled cheeks. She seemed to exude benevolence. Hearing that their new friends were about to settle in America, the Finns had taken Oxley and Irene under their wing.

  ‘When you find your feet,’ offered Finn, beaming hospitably, ‘you must come and stay with us.’

  ‘Yes,’ added Libby, squeezing Irene’s arm, ‘we’d be delighted to have you folks as our guests.’

  ‘That’s very
kind of you,’ said Irene.

  ‘We may well take you up on that invitation,’ warned Oxley.

  Finn chuckled. ‘We’ll insist on it, Rober.’

  The four of them were in the saloon, relaxing in upholstered chairs and enjoying each others’ company. The Finns had visited England so that Herschel could make contact with his surviving relatives and so that he could visit a number of textile factories to see if there were any technical improvements that he could adapt for use in his own mills. At both an emotional and business level, the visit had been highly successful but it had reminded Finn why he could not possibly live in the country that his father had left behind.

  ‘To begin with,’ he said, ‘we speak a different language.’

  Oxley shrugged. ‘The words sound the same to me.’

  ‘But they don’t mean the same, Robert. In England, people seem to hide behind words. They’re too reserved and afraid to speak out. Where we come from, everything is much more open. We say exactly what we mean and mean exactly what we say.’

  ‘You and Libby are perfect examples of that. Here we are, chatting happily away on the strength of a very short acquaintance. You’ve both been so wonderfully open. To reach this degree of familiarity with any English passengers,’ said Oxley, glancing around the saloon, ‘would take years. Isn’t that so, Irene?’

  ‘I’d have said decades,’ she put in.

  Their collective laughter was interrupted by the arrival of a steward. When they’d ordered refreshments, he went off with a tray under his arm. Conversation was resumed. Irene had marvelled at the way that Oxley had selected the Finns out of all the other passengers and made sure that he got to know them early on. In fact, however, it was Irene who helped to consolidate the friendship. Hearing that Finn owned textile mills, she immediately promoted her father to the board of directors of the Manchester mill from which he’d actually been sacked. Unknown to Silas Adnam, he was rescued from the abiding squalor of Deansgate to occupy an elevated position in British textile manufacture. Irene was even able to talk about visits she’d made to the mill when she was a child.

  ‘So,’ said Finn, becoming practical, ‘what are you folks going to do the moment you arrive in New York?’

  ‘From what you’ve been telling us about it,’ replied Oxley, ‘I think we’ll just stand around open-mouthed in awe. We’ll be the country cousins visiting the big city.’

  ‘You’ll need somewhere to stay.’

  ‘Can you recommend anywhere?’

  ‘Sure I can, Robert.’

  ‘Thank you – we’d be very grateful.’

  ‘What about that hotel where we stay, Herschel?’ said Libby.

  ‘That’s one possibility,’ agreed her husband, ‘but there are plenty of others. Robert and Irene can take their pick.’

  ‘Money is no problem,’ said Oxley, easily.

  ‘Then that makes the choice much easier. New York is a city of neighbourhoods. Some are safe, others are dangerous and others again are nothing but urban jungles with gangs roaming through them. For instance, you don’t want to go anywhere near Five Points. That’s completely lawless. Like London, I guess, there are places where crime just thrives.’

  ‘It’s the same in Manchester,’ said Irene, thinking of her father’s lodging. ‘There are some districts where a woman would never dare venture out alone.’

  ‘That’s shameful,’ opined Libby.

  ‘It’s the fault of our police,’ said Oxley, righteously. ‘There simply aren’t enough of them to keep major centres of population under control. We have far too many places where there’s no respect at all for law and order.’

  ‘That’s the basis of a civilised society,’ asserted Finn.

  ‘I couldn’t agree with you more, Herschel.’

  ‘Work hard, live within the law and attend church regularly. Those are the three guiding stars in my life.’

  ‘You always told me I was your guiding star,’ teased Libby.

  Finn patted her hand. ‘You are, honey.’

  ‘Now find these good folks a hotel where they can stay.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Oxley, taking out a pad and pencil. ‘I can’t tell you how grateful Irene and I are to make such dear friends. You’ve turned this voyage into a joy. Now where would you advise us to stay?’

  ‘Before I tell you that,’ said Finn, responding to a nudge from his wife, ‘there’s something I must ask you. It will settle a wager I have with Libby. I hope the question won’t embarrass you.’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Irene.

  ‘Ask whatever you wish,’ added Oxley.

  Finn leant forward. ‘Are you newly married?’

  Oxley held Irene’s hand and she pretended to look coy. They exchanged an affectionate glance then nodded in unison.

  ‘There you are, Libby,’ said Finn, triumphantly. ‘I was right.’

  ‘I concede defeat, Herschel.’ Libby turned to the others. ‘My husband is never wrong about people. The moment he saw you, he said that you were on honeymoon. I do hope we’re not monopolising your time but we find you such delightful company.’

  ‘The feeling is mutual,’ said Oxley with his most charming smile. ‘We can’t tell you how much we look forward to seeing you every day.’

  Herschel and Libby Finn chortled. They were hooked.

  The voyage was not without its setbacks. Two days away from her destination, the Jura was caught in a violent storm that lashed her with rain, battered her with gale-force winds and turned the sea into an apparently endless switchback ride. The noise was ear-splitting. Leeming felt that Mother Nature was trying to deafen him before drowning him in the depths of the ocean. He could not believe that the vessel would ever survive such a tempest. Nor could he understand why Colbeck showed no anxiety as the ship rose high, plunged low and twisted at all manner of different angles. The ferocious rain was like a continuous firing squad aiming at the porthole in their state room. Any moment, Leeming expected it to shatter the glass and allow the sea to engulf them.

  ‘Why did you make me come on this voyage?’ he yelled.

  ‘I thought that you were enjoying it, Victor.’

  ‘How can anyone enjoy a storm like this?’

  ‘It will blow itself out before too long. Would you like a game of chess to take your mind off it?’

  ‘The pieces would never stay on the board.’

  ‘That’s nothing new,’ said Colbeck with a wicked grin. ‘Your pieces never stay long on the board when you play me. They seem to have made a suicide pact.’

  As the ship listed again, Leeming clung to his chair. ‘I think that’s what we made when we agreed to sail to America. It was an act of suicide.’

  ‘It was a necessary response to the given situation. Wherever Oxley and Adnam go, we’ll set off in pursuit. They’re sailing on the Arethusa, remember. When they’re caught in a storm like this, they will fare even worse.’

  ‘Nothing could possibly be worse, sir.’

  ‘Yes, it could,’ said Colbeck. ‘The superintendent could be with us.’ Leeming’s laugh was a forlorn croak. ‘The Jura will not let us down, Victor. Try to ignore the discomfort.’

  ‘That’s like telling a drowning man to ignore the water.’

  ‘I find that very amusing.’

  ‘I find it terrifying!’ howled Leeming.

  The rain eventually eased off and the wind relented. It took longer for the sea to stop slapping the vessel like a giant hand but there was noticeably less turbulence. From that point on, the voyage was blessed with good weather. Passengers were able to bask on deck again and put their fears behind them. Leeming felt as if he’d been reborn. He marked the occasion by beating Colbeck at chess for the first time. Unaware that he’d been given a certain amount of help by his opponent, he boasted about it for hours.

  When they finally reached it, New York harbour was positively buzzing with activity. Crowds thronged the piers, wooden and iron vessels were safely moored and cranes were helping to unload luggage and freight
. The pilot boat came out to guide the Jura to its berth. Ropes were tossed ashore and made secure. The gangplank was lowered and the passengers began to disembark. Once they’d been through customs, Colbeck and Leeming reclaimed their luggage and found a cab to take them to police headquarters. Captain Matt Riley was fascinated to learn the purpose of their visit.

  ‘Both of them are killers?’ he said in surprise.

  ‘Both of them are killers of policemen,’ stressed Colbeck.

  ‘We don’t have too many female killers here, Inspector. Oh, we have our share of domestic violence, of course, and, from time to time, a wife might hit a husband a bit too hard during a fight, but that’s not what I’d call cold-blooded murder. Tell me about Miss Irene Adnam.’

  Matt Riley was a mountain of a man who seemed on the point of bursting out of his uniform. His craggy face bore the marks of several brawls and his thinning hair revealed some ugly scars on his head. When he grinned, it was possible to count the number of teeth on the fingers of one hand. His first impression of Colbeck had not been a flattering one. There was the whiff of a peacock about him that Riley instinctively disliked. Five minutes of conversation with him, however, had removed all his reservations about Colbeck. The inspector was patently an efficient and dedicated man with an intelligence not often found among policemen of any nation.

  They were in Riley’s office which smelt in equal parts of pipe tobacco, damp, and stale beer. It was tolerably tidy and had a series of posters pinned to the walls. Riley sat at his roll-top desk and listened to Colbeck’s account of the career of Irene Adnam. He was struck by the amount of information they’d gathered about her in such a short time. Though he was sickened by the litany of their crimes, Riley could not suppress a grin when told of the name under which they were sailing.