A Christmas Railway Mystery Read online

  ‘Women like that don’t get involved with the police because they’re breaking the law themselves.’

  ‘Is that why you felt free to ravish her?’

  ‘I’ve told you before. It was a rare lapse.’

  ‘You claimed that you were drunk at the time.’

  ‘To my shame, I admit it freely.’

  ‘Then why didn’t Mrs Knight mention it? In her profession, she’s used to seeing drunken men turn up on her doorstep. It’s often because they’d never have the gall to go there sober.’

  ‘Alcohol loosens their inhibitions,’ added Colbeck. ‘I don’t think it would be needed in your case, sir. You like to be in control at all times and that means keeping a clear head. So, if it wasn’t drink that made you behave so badly, what was it?’

  ‘That’s my business.’

  ‘Can you see how it looks from our point of view?’

  ‘Yes, I can,’ said Cudlip, ‘but I’m asking you to see it from mine. I’ve been working hard for the GWR and leading a life that appeals to me. All of a sudden, I’m a suspect in a murder case on the basis of an anonymous smear and an ill-timed visit to a brothel.’ He looked from one to the other. ‘Men are men. Have neither of you ever sought the comfort of a woman like that?’

  Leeming was aghast. ‘I’m a happily married man,’ he said, ‘and so is the inspector. We’d never dream of—’

  ‘Don’t dignify his question with an answer, Sergeant,’ said Colbeck, cutting him off. ‘He’s trying to talk his way out of it again.’

  ‘There’s nothing for me to answer to,’ said Cudlip with exasperation. ‘There must surely be more likely suspects than me.’

  ‘You’re the one who interests us at the moment.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because there are religious aspects to the murder,’ said Colbeck, watching him carefully, ‘and they suggest the work of an atheist. The killer decapitated his victim and the head turned up in St Mark’s Church in grotesque circumstances. It’s the work of a diseased mind, sir, and that’s why you’ve come under suspicion.’

  Cudlip sounded appalled. ‘I’d never do a thing like that.’

  ‘You’ve poured scorn on organised religion.’

  ‘Yes, but only because it’s a confidence trick played on the ignorant masses.’

  ‘Did you have to kill someone to make that point?’

  ‘I hardly knew Rodman.’

  ‘You knew his wife,’ said Leeming.

  ‘That’s all in the past.’

  ‘I don’t think you’d ever forget a woman like that. For her part, however, I fancy that she was rather glad to forget about you.’

  Cudlip was vehement. ‘That’s not true.’

  ‘Whatever you offered had no appeal for her.’

  ‘You’ve no idea what happened.’

  ‘I believe that it soured you for life,’ said Colbeck.

  ‘You know nothing whatsoever about me.’

  ‘We know that Frank Rodman got between you and the woman you doted on.’

  ‘Yes, he did,’ said Cudlip, losing his temper. ‘She preferred that lumbering ape to someone like me with an appreciation of the finer things in life. Betty was mine by rights. Why couldn’t she see that? When I went to that brothel the other night,’ he continued, eyes glistening, ‘I didn’t go to make love to Euphemia or to that mother of hers. I went there to take possession of a woman I once loved. Betty had to be punished, you see. When she married that dreadful husband of hers, she cast me aside as if I had no claim at all on her affections. It was cruel of her. She’d allowed me to get close to her then rejected me. That rejection has haunted me for years. My love for her has turned to hatred. I had this urge to punish her for condemning me to live the miserable life that I have. On the day before the mutder, I’d seen her in the street and she’d looked straight through me as if I meant nothing at all to her. It was humiliating. When I went to that house at night, I pretended that Euphemia was Betty Rodman and she was at my mercy at last. I could make her suffer for all those long years of loneliness I’ve had because of her cold-heartedness. That’s why I deliberately hurt her. I called Betty to account. I didn’t need to get drunk to do that. It was owed to me.’

  Madeleine Colbeck had tried to keep herself awake by reading a book but her eyelids were beginning to droop. She fretted at being unaware of what was happening in the two separate investigations. Since her husband was leading the murder inquiry, she should have been thinking about that but it was the other crime that was uppermost in her mind. The disappearance of Edward Tallis had become general knowledge now. There was a report in the day’s edition of The Times, praising him for his record at Scotland Yard but fearing for his safety. That worried Madeleine. While she knew that Tallis was strong, experienced and resourceful, she also remembered that he was close to her father’s age. He was therefore an old man with many of the defects that the passage of time inevitably brought. She pictured her father in the same situation, held prisoner and able to do virtually nothing against younger and more powerful enemies. Having once been held as a hostage herself, she recalled the sense of hopelessness that had threatened to overwhelm her.

  She had survived. There was no certainty that Tallis would do the same. The article in the newspaper had made no reference to a ransom note. Nobody was trying to trade the superintendent for money. That was the most frightening aspect of all. The whole event was shrouded in mystery. When, where and how had he been abducted? Why was he the chosen target in the first place? Where was he being held and how was he being treated? How successful was the search and was it bringing any credit to Alan Hinton? If he hadn’t been found yet, could anyone realistically believe that Tallis was still alive?

  Madeleine wished that Colbeck was in charge of the manhunt, using his experience, marshalling his men and taking decisions based on his instinct for the way that criminals behaved. He’d never forgive himself if he were still fettered to the case in Swindon while Edward Tallis, his old sparring partner, was being killed. It would haunt him beyond measure. Madeleine prayed once again that the superintendent was still alive and that he was not being tortured in any way.

  Tallis was in a quandary. Too exhausted to stay awake, he was also in too much pain to fall asleep. It was not for want of trying but, the moment he drifted off, the handcuffs seemed to bite his wrists and the rope around his ankles intensified his cramp. He’d long ago given up any hope of release in return for a ransom. It was clearly not in the minds of the people who’d snatched him in Canterbury and spirited him away. In making him suffer, they’d achieved their objective. In all probability, they were now starving him to death and leaving him to rot in a foul-smelling stable. He could hardly move, let alone consider a means of escape. All he could do was to show some spirit by fighting off the fatigue and maintaining his self-control. Whatever they did to him, he promised himself, he’d face it with courage and defiance. Essentially, he was still a soldier, refusing to plead for mercy with an enemy. They’d never make him submit.

  On the way back to Canterbury, the two constables retreated into silence, not wishing to provoke Grosvenor. He, meanwhile, was trying to find an excuse for what had turned out to be a minor disaster. Having sworn to capture the kidnappers, he was returning empty-handed to face Captain Wardlow. By the time they arrived at the police station, he’d been through every possible defence of his actions and found none that was remotely convincing. At the same time, however, there was something in his character that prevented him from admitting failure. Having explained that Sam Byard was not, after all, the man behind the kidnap, he did his best to sound an optimistic note.

  ‘What it proves is that I’m on the right track,’ he claimed. ‘Though it may not have been Byard, it was certainly someone like him, a disgruntled prisoner who has nursed a grudge against the superintendent throughout his long incarceration. Byard was the obvious choice. When I do more research at Scotland Yard, I’ll have other names.’

  ‘And while you’re
doing that,’ said Wardlow, sceptically, ‘my dear friend is in mortal danger with no hope of rescue.’

  ‘There is hope, Captain. That’s what I’m telling you.’

  ‘You assured me that you’d unmasked the kidnapper.’

  ‘That was an informed guess.’

  ‘So what will you give us next – more informed guesses? We don’t have time for guesses, Superintendent. Your two constables were struggling but at least they didn’t raise my hopes by claiming instant success as you did. I know what Edward Tallis would want at this moment,’ said Wardlow, ‘and it is not your blundering. He’d want Inspector Colbeck.’

  ‘That’s exactly who he’d want,’ ventured Hinton.

  ‘We need the very best man for the task in hand.’

  ‘You have him,’ said Grosvenor, smouldering.

  ‘What I have are three detectives who haven’t made an inch of progress between them. I’ll be reporting your failure to the commissioner and asking for Colbeck instead.’

  ‘He’s not available,’ Hinton reminded him. ‘Inspector Colbeck is committed to a murder investigation in Wiltshire.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Grosvenor, venting his spleen, ‘and, because he refused to take my advice, he’ll be there for very much longer. When I’ve solved this crime, as I most certainly will do, I’ll go straight to Swindon to bail out the great Inspector Colbeck.’

  Leeming had been profoundly shocked by Cudlip’s confession. Innocent of murder, he had, in the sergeant’s opinion, nevertheless committed a revolting crime. He had wanted to arrest the man on the spot but Colbeck told him that they had something more pressing to do. Leaving the house, he led the way down the street.

  ‘We can’t let him get away with it, sir,’ said Leeming.

  ‘We won’t.’

  ‘What he did was verging on rape.’

  ‘Inspector Piercey can deal with that,’ said Colbeck. ‘This village is under his aegis. We’ll pass on all the details to him but the arrest of a killer is paramount. That’s why we came here in the first place.’

  ‘Are you convinced that it’s Alford?’

  ‘Not entirely, Victor, but he’s the last man standing.’

  ‘I was so certain that Cudlip was the killer. When we both had a go at him, he was almost demented. Did you see the way his eyes blazed?’

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  They walked on until they came to Alford’s house. In response to their knock, Liza Alford came to the door. They were surprised to see her.

  ‘We thought you’d be looking after Mrs Rodman,’ said Colbeck.

  ‘She’s not there any more. They’ve moved her to the parsonage.’

  ‘That was very kind of the vicar and his wife.’

  ‘We could have managed,’ she said, ‘but they didn’t give us the chance.’

  ‘We need to speak to your husband, Mrs Alford.’

  ‘Fred’s not come back from the concert yet.’

  ‘It was over some time ago,’ said Leeming. ‘We were there.’

  ‘Fred will have gone to the Glue Pot for a drink, I expect. He was very upset when he heard that Betty and the children had been taken away from us by the vicar. I told him that we couldn’t offer what she’ll be given at the parsonage but it was no use. Fred is in one of his moods.’

  ‘Does that often happen?’

  ‘My husband is a good, decent man,’ she said, loyally. ‘I couldn’t ask for a better one.’

  ‘But he can be unpredictable,’ said Colbeck. ‘Is that what you mean?’

  She bit her lip. ‘Yes, Inspector, it is.’

  ‘We’re sorry to have disturbed you. Goodnight.’

  As they walked away, neither of them realised that she stayed on the doorstep, looking after them with an amalgam of concern and foreboding. The detectives went back in the direction of the Glue Pot, the pub to which Alford had obviously returned.

  ‘He doesn’t need to drink at the Queen’s Tap any more,’ said Colbeck.

  ‘No, sir,’ said Leeming. ‘Alford only went there when Rodman was barred from the Glue Pot. He’s gone back to where the beer is supposed to be better.’

  ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘Edgar Fellowes, the railway policeman.’

  ‘It’s a matter of individual taste, Victor.’

  ‘I know, sir. At this moment, my individual taste is for a pint of beer in either the Glue Pot or the Queen’s Tap. I don’t care which. I’m parched.’

  ‘Let’s save the drink until we have something to celebrate.’

  ‘It’s going to come as a fearful blow to Mrs Alford.’

  ‘I doubt that somehow,’ said Colbeck, pensively. ‘She knows her husband better than anybody.’

  When they got within reach of the Glue Pot, they heard the unmistakable sound of Welsh voices raised in song. Llewellyn and his friends were celebrating his success at the concert. The detectives entered the pub to the strains of ‘Clychau Aberdyfi’. Seeing no sign of Alford, they asked the landlord if he’d been there that evening and were told that he’d stepped in to have a pint of beer then gone straight out again.

  ‘Fred Alford didn’t seem himself tonight,’ said the landlord.

  ‘What was wrong with him?’ asked Colbeck.

  ‘I don’t know, sir. He was odd, that’s all.’

  After thanking him, they went back out into the street so that they didn’t have to compete with the choir inside the building. Leeming was curious.

  ‘Do you think he’s at the Queen’s Tap instead?’

  ‘No, Victor.’

  ‘Then where on earth, is he?’

  Colbeck fell silent for a few moments then a slow smile began to surface.

  ‘I think I know where we’ll find him,’ he said.

  Fred Alford was standing outside the parsonage, gazing upwards as he tried to guess in which room Betty Rodman was sleeping. It was colder than ever now but he was impervious to the low temperature and the swirling wind. He felt that he’d been robbed. The death of Frank Rodman had put Betty within reach of him at last but the vicar had intervened to whisk her away to the comfort of the parsonage. There’d be no more opportunities to be alone with her and to enfold her in his arms. With their immediate needs being taken care of, Betty and her children wouldn’t need him and his wife to the same degree. The most he could hope for was a glimpse of her in church on Sunday. It was not enough.

  Staring obsessively at the upper windows, he didn’t hear the footsteps approaching him. All of a sudden, Colbeck and Leeming were standing either side of him. The inspector was excessively polite.

  ‘Good evening, sir. I had a feeling you might be here.’

  ‘There’s no law against it, is there?’ said Alford, bristling.

  ‘None at all – but there is a law against murder.’

  ‘Then why don’t you find the killer and arrest him?’

  ‘That’s what we came to do, sir,’ said Leeming, a hand on his arm.

  Alford was roused. ‘I didn’t murder Frank. He was my friend.’

  ‘But he stood between you and Mrs Rodman. You were always more interested in her than in him. Why else are you keeping vigil out here in the cold while she and the children are inside the parsonage?’

  ‘You wouldn’t understand.’

  ‘In the course of our work,’ said Colbeck, ‘we’ve come to understand a great deal about human nature and we’ve been intrigued to see the way that people in this village behave. There was no better example of it than at the concert this evening. All five of the suspects we’ve identified were there – you, included. Each of you behaved in a way that told us a lot about your respective characters.’

  ‘Are you telling me that I’ve been a suspect all this time?’

  ‘Your name was put forward by Mr Cudlip.’

  ‘Don’t listen to that turd!’

  ‘Four of the men on our list have now been removed from it.’

  ‘That leaves you,’ said Leeming, tightening his grip.

  ‘Let go o
f me,’ cried Alford, trying to push him away.

  ‘Don’t struggle, sir, or I’ll have to use handcuffs.’

  ‘But you’ve no reason to arrest me. I love Betty Rodman. I’d do anything for her. Why on earth would I kill her husband and cause her such unbearable pain? The poor woman’s life has been ruined. You took me to identify the body, Sergeant. I saw what happened to Frank. His head had been sliced clean off. Only a maniac would do something like that. Is that what you think I am?’ he asked in disbelief. ‘Do you honestly think I’m capable of doing that to another human being?’

  ‘We believe that Mrs Rodman was treated badly by her husband,’ said Colbeck. ‘Is that true?’

  Alford grimaced. ‘Well, yes, it is.’

  ‘Did you ever tackle him about it?’

  ‘Of course I did.’

  ‘And did he change as a result?’

  ‘No, Inspector, he didn’t. Frank would agree to do something but, the moment he had a drink inside him, he’d forget all about it. In that sense, he could be a bit of a monster. I hated him for it,’ admitted Alford, ‘but I didn’t want to kill him or leave his corpse in that state. It made me sick just to look at what someone had done to him. All I could think about was how to keep the truth from Betty.’

  Alford spoke with such passion and sincerity that he jolted them. Colbeck gave a nod and Leeming released his grip on the man. Alford had worshipped Betty Rodman from afar, knowing that she could never be wholly his. The murder had brought the two of them closer for a time but that’s all it could achieve. Each of the detectives was forced to accept the same conclusion. Fred Alford was innocent of the crime. Leeming felt acutely embarrassed at their mistake but Colbeck took it in his stride.

  ‘I believe that we owe you an apology, sir,’ he said, briskly.

  Grosvenor was in a panic. After his failure in Canterbury, he’d taken the train back to London and gone straight to Scotland Yard, prepared to work all night in the interests of finding Edward Tallis. If he was to retain his reputation, he had to show his mettle. Otherwise, his hopes of a promotion would wither on the vine. Ensconced in Tallis’s chair, he went through the ledger once more, searching for the man most likely to have fulfilled the threats made against the superintendent. There were suspects in abundance. Sam Byard had stood out from the crowd but was clearly in no position to kidnap anyone. In settling too soon on him, Grosvenor had dispensed with his usual caution. He was being much more circumspect this time, determined to find the right name so that he could pursue the individual in the certain knowledge that he’d now identified the kidnapper.