Blood on the Line irc-8 Page 3

  Riggs folded his arms. ‘Explain yourself, Inspector.’

  ‘Very few people must have known when Oxley was being transferred from here to Birmingham. Is that agreed?’

  ‘Yes – only a handful of us had the details.’

  ‘I need the name of every man who knew the exact train on which the prisoner would be taken this morning. You, presumably, are one of them.’

  ‘Are you accusing me?’ howled Riggs, reddening.

  ‘Of course not,’ said Colbeck with a soothing smile. ‘You are evidently far too sensible to let such vital information slip. It must have been someone else. How many people knew?’

  ‘And where can we get in touch with them?’ added Leeming.

  ‘Let me see now,’ said Riggs, thinking hard and using his fingers to count. ‘Including me, there’d only be four of us – but I have complete faith in the other three. They’re all decent, reliable, upright men who’d never dare to be involved in anything like this.’

  ‘Would you care to put money on that?’ said Leeming.

  ‘I’m not a gambling man, Sergeant.’

  ‘It’s just as well because you’d certainly lose.’

  Riggs fell back on pomposity. ‘My men are above suspicion.’

  Colbeck was impassive. ‘Give us their names.’

  Though she was pleased to see her father, Madeleine did find him a distraction while she was trying to paint. He kept coming up behind her to look at her latest railway scene and to offer unwanted advice. It was Colbeck who’d discovered her talent as an artist and encouraged her to develop it to the point where she was able to sell her work. There were other female artists in London but none specialised in pictures of locomotives in the way that Madeleine did. Landscapes and seascapes had no appeal for her and she lacked the eye for figurative painting, but there were few people who could bring a train so vividly to life on a canvas in the way that she did. It was a gift.

  ‘I’m surprised that he hasn’t been in touch with me,’ said Andrews, looking over her shoulder. He nudged her elbow. ‘You’ve got the wrong colour on that carriage, Maddy.’

  ‘I haven’t finished painting it yet.’

  ‘I thought the inspector would be banging on my door by now.’

  ‘Why on earth should he do that, Father?’ she asked. ‘In the first place, Robert may not even be responsible for the investigation. And even if he is, how could he possibly know that you drove the train on which murder was committed?’

  He gave a grudging nod. ‘There is that, I suppose.’

  ‘You’ll just have to wait.’

  ‘Well, it won’t be for long,’ he said, ‘because I’m certain that he’ll be in charge of the case. The LNWR would be mad not to ask for him. It’s only a matter of time before he discovers that I was on the footplate this morning. That will bring him running.’

  ‘But you didn’t see anything of interest.’

  ‘Yes, I did. I saw those two policemen with their prisoner.’

  ‘Can you describe him?’

  ‘Well, he wasn’t young but, then again, you couldn’t call him an old man. As for the villain’s face, I must have been thirty-odd yards away, Maddy, so I can’t really help you.’

  ‘Then you won’t be able to help Robert either.’

  Andrews was deflated, fearing that his offer of assistance might be turned down by Colbeck. Slumping into his chair, he racked his brains for any tiny details that he might be able to pass on in the hope of ingratiating himself with the Railway Detective. When none came to mind, he was tempted to invent some. Madeleine, meanwhile, had resumed work at her easel. He looked across at her.

  ‘Have you set a date yet, Maddy?’

  ‘You know that we haven’t,’ she replied.

  ‘Then it’s high time that you did.’

  ‘There’s no real urgency.’

  ‘There may not be for you,’ he complained, ‘but what about me? How can I retire when I still have you to support? I told Dirk Sowerby about it this morning. He refused to believe that I’d finally turn my back on the railway but I can’t wait to do it.’

  ‘You could retire tomorrow, if you wished.’

  ‘Not while I’ve got a daughter to feed and clothe.’

  ‘I don’t need you to support me anymore, Father,’ she said. ‘Now that I can sell my work, I have a fair amount of money coming in. You can’t use me as an excuse.’

  It was true. Madeleine’s income – albeit irregular – had enabled them to buy all kinds of additional items for their little house in Camden. It had also transformed her wardrobe. When she and Colbeck went out together, she always dressed well and did not look out of place on his arm. It would be a wrench to leave the house in which she was born and brought up, but she was confident that her father could cope now that he’d finally got over the death of his wife. How he would fill his day during his retirement was another matter. Madeleine did not want him spending too much time at the marital home. She and Colbeck would value their privacy.

  ‘There’s lots of things I can do when I leave the LNWR,’ he said, giving his imagination free rein. ‘I could take an interest in gardening, learn to paint just like you, travel the country by train, get married again, have a stall in the market, write my life story, go to church more often or decorate the house. My real ambition, of course, is to work side by side with my son-in-law.’

  ‘You’re too old to join the police force, Father,’ she pointed out.

  ‘We’d have an unofficial arrangement. Whenever he had a tricky case, he’d tell me the full details and I’d advise him what to do. I think I’d make a wonderful detective, Maddy. Why don’t you mention that to the inspector? He might be grateful for my help.’

  Madeleine suppressed a grin. ‘Then again, he might not.’

  ‘But my instincts are sharp.’

  ‘Robert is well aware of your instincts, Father,’ she said, turning to offer a gentle smile. ‘If he felt he could make use of them, I’m sure that he would. You’ll just have to wait. In the meantime, I think that you should just let him get on with his job.’

  Two of the policemen who’d been aware of the exact train on which the prisoner would be travelling were on duty together. Colbeck and Leeming met them on their beat and interviewed them. Like Riggs, they were not receptive to the idea of detectives from London taking over the search for the killers of their former colleagues. When they realised why they were being questioned, they became indignant at the suggestion that they might unwittingly have given away the information that told Oxley’s accomplice when and where to strike. Their language became ripe. Roused by their aggressive attitude, Leeming had to control an urge to hit one of the men. Colbeck calmed all three of them down before apologising to the policemen. It was clear to him, he told them, that they were in no way implicated. After ridding themselves of some more bad language, they stalked off to continue their beat.

  ‘That leaves only one man,’ noted Leeming.

  ‘Yes,’ said Colbeck, ‘Constable Toby Marner.’

  ‘I hope he’s a little more helpful than those two.’

  ‘Nobody likes to be accused of a crime, Victor, even if it’s an unintentional one. Their intemperate reaction was forgivable.’

  ‘I’d have forgiven them with a punch on the nose.’

  ‘Save your strength for the real villain – Jerry Oxley. The one thing we can guarantee is that he’ll put up a fight.’

  They went to the address they’d been given and knocked on the door of a shabby house in one of the rougher districts of the town. The woman who answered the door was Toby Marner’s landlady. She told them that they might find him at the Waterloo, a nearby public house. Colbeck asked her some questions about her lodger and was told that he’d been a good tenant.

  When they located the seedy pub, they had no difficulty in picking out the man they were after. Sitting alone in a corner, the tall, rangy Marner was wearing his uniform and hat but he was not the image of sobriety expected of a law enforceme
nt officer. His eyes were glazed, his cheeks red and he was quaffing a pint of beer as if his life depended on it. The detectives joined him and introduced themselves. It took Marner a few moments to understand what they were saying.

  ‘What do you want with me?’ he asked, slurring his words.

  ‘We need your assistance,’ said Colbeck. ‘According to Sergeant Riggs, you were told on which train the prisoner would be travelling this morning. Is that true?’

  Marner was defensive. ‘I wasn’t the only one.’

  ‘We’ve spoken to the others. We’re satisfied that none of them passed on the information to anyone else.’

  ‘Neither did I.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ pressed Leeming.

  ‘I’m very sure.’

  ‘Well, somebody let the cat out of the bag.’

  Marner tensed. ‘Are you calling me a liar?’

  ‘We just want to solve this mystery,’ said Colbeck, adopting a quieter tone. ‘As you’re well aware, two of your fellow policemen were murdered this morning on a train. You must have known them well.’

  ‘I did, Inspector.’ There was a sob in his voice. ‘Bob Hungerford was my brother-in-law. We joined the police force together.’

  ‘Then you have a special reason to want his killers arrested.’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘Is there any chance that you might accidentally have divulged the details of Oxley’s transfer to anyone?’

  ‘None at all,’ said Marner, emphatically.

  ‘Not even to your landlady, for instance?’

  ‘I told nobody.’

  ‘What about other policemen?’

  Marner became truculent. ‘I’ve given you my answer, so you can leave me alone. Go back to London and let us deal with this. Arthur Wakeley and Bob Hungerford were Wolverhampton lads through and through. This is our case.’

  He was slurring his words even more now and almost keeled over at one point. When Marner reached for his tankard, Colbeck moved it out of the way. The policeman was outraged.

  ‘Give me my beer.’

  ‘I think you’ve had enough already,’ said Colbeck. ‘You can’t hold your beer because you’re not a drinking man.’

  ‘Who can afford to be on police pay?’ moaned Leeming.

  ‘Your landlady said that you very rarely go to a pub. That’s why she was so surprised when she saw you heading in this direction. Do you know what that tells me, Constable Marner? It tells me that you’re a man with a need to drown his sorrows.’

  ‘You’re right,’ said Marner. ‘I’m mourning the death of two good friends. Is there anything wrong in that?’

  ‘No,’ replied Colbeck, fixing him with a piercing stare. ‘I’d expect it – especially if you are somehow connected with those deaths. And I’m inclined to think that you are.’

  ‘That’s a filthy lie!’

  ‘You’re the one who’s lying and you know it.’

  ‘I want my beer back.’

  ‘It’s no good trying to block out the truth,’ said Colbeck, sternly. ‘It will always come out in the end. Do you know what I believe we should do? Instead of talking to you here, I think we should have this conversation at Constable Hungerford’s house. Your sister will be present then.’ He leant in close. ‘You’d never dare to tell lies in front of her, would you?’ Marner swallowed hard. ‘You wouldn’t be cruel enough to add to her grief by trying to deceive us.’ He stood up and gestured towards the door. ‘Shall we go?’

  Marner remained in his seat, staring anxiously ahead of him as he thought about what might lay ahead. He chewed his lip and wrung his hands. They could see the terror in his eyes. When Leeming took him by the elbow, Marner let out a yelp and burst into tears.

  ‘Don’t take me to my sister,’ he begged. ‘Please don’t make me go there. After what I did, I just can’t face Mary. I’d die of shame.’

  ‘And what exactly did you do?’ asked Leeming.

  Colbeck resumed his seat. ‘Let’s give him time to clear his mind, Victor,’ he advised, ‘then he’ll tell us the whole story. That’s right, isn’t it, Constable Marner?’

  ‘Yes, Inspector,’ murmured the other.

  ‘I fancy that you’re in possession of information that will help in the search for those who murdered your colleagues. To hold it back would be a crime in itself.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Then you should get it off your chest.’

  Marner needed a couple of minutes to compose his thoughts and to confront the horror of what had occurred. Colbeck let him have another sip of beer. Clearing his throat, Marner was about to confess when he started to weep again. Colbeck put a consoling hand on his shoulder and prompted him.

  ‘You didn’t think you were doing anything wrong, did you?’

  ‘No, Inspector,’ replied Marner.

  ‘Was any money involved?’

  ‘He offered me five pounds.’

  ‘Are you talking about Oxley?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Marner. ‘At first I refused, but five pounds is a lot of money to a man like me.’

  ‘And me,’ Leeming interjected. ‘What did you do to earn it?’

  ‘It seemed like a simple favour. All that I had to do was to tell the prisoner’s wife what train he’d be on and she’d give me five pounds. Oxley said she’d be there to wave him off.’

  ‘Instead of which,’ said Colbeck, ‘she caught the same train and helped him to escape.’

  ‘I wasn’t to know that,’ bleated Marner. ‘His wife was so pleased when I spoke to her. I felt sorry for her. I could see that she was carrying her husband’s child.’

  ‘She played on your emotions, Constable. To begin with, I doubt very much if she was his wife. I’m certain they cohabit but theirs is not a union blessed in the sight of God. As for being pregnant, that was another lie. What woman in that condition can run to catch a train then help to commit a murder?’

  ‘You were tricked,’ said Leeming with disgust. ‘You betrayed your friends. Because you took those five pounds, two policemen are going to their grave.’

  Marner was in despair. ‘You think I don’t realise that, Sergeant? Ever since I heard the news, I’ve been in torment. What I did was terrible. If I had a gun, I swear to God that I’d have used it on myself by now.’ He put his head in his hands. ‘I feel like a murderer.’

  ‘Stop thinking about yourself,’ said Colbeck, ‘and try to help us instead. You met this so-called wife and had the opportunity to take her measure. We need you to remember every single thing about her that you can. Each detail is important.’ Marner looked up at him through bleary eyes. ‘What was your first impression of her?’

  ‘She was a … very appealing young lady.’

  ‘At what age would you put her?’

  ‘I think she was not much more than twenty,’ said Marner.

  ‘What about her build, height and colouring?’

  ‘She was slim, of medium height and dark-haired.’

  ‘Can you recall any significant feature about her?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Marner, thinking about his encounter. ‘I’ll wager that she came from Manchester. She tried to hide her accent but I could hear it nevertheless. I lived in the city for a couple of years and you get to know the sound of a Manchester voice. That’s where Mrs Oxley – or whatever her real name is – hailed from. I’d stake every penny I have on it.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  To avoid being seen together, they travelled north to Manchester next morning in separate railway carriages. It gave each of them time to reflect on what had happened. For his part, Oxley was still excited. Twenty-four hours earlier, he’d been in custody and destined for certain imprisonment or – if his criminal record was unveiled – even a death sentence. Only a daring plan had rescued him. The fact that two policemen had died in the process did not disturb him in the slightest. They were expendable in his view. What stuck in his mind was the extraordinary cunning and audacity shown by Irene. It had drawn him closer than ever to her. N
one of his other mistresses – and there had been several over the years – would have had the nerve to devise and carry through such a plan. Irene Adnam was indeed exceptional. Oxley resolved that she would continue to pose as his wife for a long while yet.

  Ensconced in the corner of another carriage, Irene ignored the lascivious glances she was attracting from the elderly man opposite her and tried to confront the enormity of what she had done. She had killed one man and helped to throw another to a hideous death in the tunnel. Had he known the truth about her, the passenger would not be running such covetous eyes over her. Irene was still shaken. A night in Oxley’s arms had stilled her fears but they’d returned now that she was alone. Thieving was a way of life for her. It left her conscience untroubled. Murder, however, was a very different matter. Impelled to shoot one man out of love for another, she was unable to dismiss it from her mind. What if her victim had been married and had children? What kind of misery had she inflicted on them? The same could be asked of the policeman she’d struck with her pistol until he lost consciousness. His family would be suffering dreadfully. Friends of both men would be bereft. Such thoughts made her feel almost dizzy with remorse.

  Irene tried to tell herself that it had all been a means to an end. She was infatuated with Oxley. The idea of his being locked away for several years was unbearable. Whatever extreme steps it took, he had to be saved from imprisonment. He was amazed at her bravery and overcome with gratitude. In the course of their frantic lovemaking, he’d even talked of marriage for the first time. If she did become his wife in reality as well as in name, she would have paid a high price for it, but she convinced herself that it would have been worthwhile. Two dead Wolverhampton policemen would fade into the past; Jeremy Oxley was her future.

  As the train chugged into Manchester station, she got ready to leave. By the time she alighted onto the platform, Oxley was well ahead of her. He bought a newspaper from the bookstall then went out through the exit. Irene followed him. By prior arrangement, they were well clear of the station before they met up.