A Christmas Railway Mystery Read online

  ‘He’s the one who should have felt honoured.’

  ‘Mr Law is a true Christian. He invited us to stay in the parsonage.’

  ‘Well, I hope you didn’t agree,’ he said, quickly. ‘You can move in with us. Liza told you that, surely? Count on us for everything.’

  ‘It would be an imposition, Fred. Besides, you could never fit us all in. There’s plenty of room at the parsonage. Mrs Law showed us around once.’

  Alford was hurt. ‘I was banking on you to stay with us,’ he said. ‘Davy and Leonard get on so well with our children. It’s the obvious answer. Yes, I know it will be a squeeze to have ten of us under the same roof but Walter Hughes has an identical house to ours and there’s twelve of them living there.’

  ‘Mrs Hughes says it’s like Bedlam sometimes. You don’t want that.’

  ‘We’re your friends, Betty. We simply want to show our love.’

  She reached out to squeeze his hand. ‘There’s one way you can do that.’

  ‘Tell me what it is and I’ll do it.’

  ‘I want to know everything, Fred.’

  ‘You already do.’

  ‘No, I have this awful feeling that people are hiding things from me. Inspector Colbeck wouldn’t give me any details because he was afraid to upset me. But Frank was my husband,’ she said, firmly, ‘so I have a right to know.’

  ‘That … may not be wise.’

  ‘Is it that bad?’

  ‘I had to identify the body, I was so glad you didn’t have to do it.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you’ve got to be protected, Betty, that’s why.’

  ‘Won’t I ever be told the truth?’ she asked, anguish clouding her eyes.

  ‘Be patient, Betty,’ he suggested. ‘It won’t be long.’

  Conversation in the bar at the Queen’s Tap that evening was fuelled entirely by the murder. Everybody had an opinion on the subject and a number of potential suspects were mentioned. Seated in the next room, Colbeck and Leeming could hear names drifting through to them. Having chosen a table in the far corner, they sampled what turned out to be rather basic fare. However, the place was clean, the landlord’s wife was an attentive waitress, the food was edible and – thanks to the stern supervision of Hiram Wells – they were left in peace. They delayed any discussion until the meal was finished and the plates had been cleared away. Leeming then sipped his beer while Colbeck opted for a glass of whisky.

  After comparing notes, they concentrated on the anonymous mail that had been delivered to them at the pub. Leeming had had time to read through it and separate the wheat from the chaff.

  ‘Six of them named someone called Albert Crann,’ he said, ‘and I thought we had a real suspect at last.’

  ‘Is that what he is?’

  ‘No, sir, he’s just a blind alley.’

  ‘So why did six people pick him out?’

  ‘It’s because he’s the most unpopular foreman in the whole Works. According to the landlord, Crann is barely five feet in height. He couldn’t even reach Rodman’s head, let alone slice it off. His enemies simply wanted to set us on to him to give him a fright.’

  ‘Spare me the hoaxes, Victor. Who should we take seriously?’

  ‘I think there are three contenders,’ said Leeming. ‘I’d have added Llewellyn’s name but you ruled that out.’

  ‘Start with the prime suspect.’

  ‘That must be Hector Samway. Two of these letters point to him and they both tell you why.’ He handed them over. ‘He had a fight with Rodman some weeks ago and he came off worst. Samway was heard vowing to get his own back.’

  ‘Does he have a history of violence?’

  ‘Yes, he’s been banned from here and from the Glue Pot.’

  ‘Who else?’

  ‘There’s a man named Danny Gill who deserves looking at. He lost his job as a smith when they laid people off and reckons that Rodman was responsible. One of them had to go so Gill was sacked while Rodman stayed. He’s been seen hanging about the village and, of course, having worked there, he knows the geography of the Locomotive Works very well.’

  ‘Does he have a job?’

  ‘Yes, he’s employed by a butcher in the Old Town. Do you see why I singled him out, sir? Butchers know how to chop things in two with a cleaver.’

  ‘Gill sounds more promising than Samway.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘We must agree to differ. If you favour Samway, question him tomorrow.’

  ‘What about Gill?’

  ‘I’ll tackle him,’ decided Colbeck. ‘It will give me a chance to see the Old Town. What’s the third name?’

  ‘Simeon Cudlip,’ replied Leeming, ‘but he wasn’t suggested by any of the people in this pile of letters. It was Mr Alford who mentioned him. He was one of the men who was very fond of Rodman’s wife before she was married. Cudlip had hopes of calling her Mrs Cudlip one day but she turned him down.’

  ‘What manner of man is he?’

  ‘Alford said that he was quiet and determined. He works as a clerk.’

  ‘Is he physically capable of tackling someone like Rodman?’

  ‘So it appears.’

  ‘Does he have a family?’

  ‘No, it’s possible that he’s still pining for Betty Rodman.’

  ‘Well, we’ve got a start, anyway,’ said Colbeck. ‘I’ll speak to Mr Stinson to see what he has to say about these three individuals, then we can split up and talk to them in person.’

  ‘What about Superintendent Tallis?’

  Colbeck smiled. ‘Oh, I don’t think that he qualifies as a suspect, Victor.’

  ‘He’ll expect a report of our first day.’

  ‘Then he’ll get it tomorrow.’

  ‘On Friday he’s going off to the reunion. I was very pleased to hear about it at first. I breathe much easier when the superintendent is away,’ said Leeming. ‘Then he told us who’d take his place.’

  ‘Inspector Grosvenor will cope very well.’

  ‘I don’t want him having any power over us.’

  ‘It’s only for the weekend.’

  The sergeant scowled. ‘A lot can happen during a weekend, sir.’

  Summoned to the superintendent’s office, Grosvenor responded at once. He found Tallis seated at his desk and studying a copy of Bradshaw. He had to wait a couple of minutes before the older man eventually looked up.

  ‘You sent for me, sir,’ said Grosvenor.

  ‘Yes, yes, I did.’

  ‘Is there a problem?’

  ‘No,’ said Tallis, ‘but there’s a change of plan. I’ve had an invitation from an army friend. He lives in Kent and is within easy reach of the barracks where the reunion will take place. The invitation came at short notice because Captain Wardlow was unsure if he’d be well enough to attend. Fortunately, his arthritis has relented somewhat so he’s offered me hospitality. I’m going to stay with him tomorrow night. That means I’ll catch an afternoon train.’

  Grosvenor was delighted. ‘So I’ll be in charge sooner than I thought?’

  ‘I’ve spoken to the commissioner. I’ll leave here at midday.’ Tallis became nostalgic. ‘It will be wonderful to see Captain Wardlow again. We fought in the First Sikh War together. I still bear a few scars from that. People complain that the streets of London are not safe. If they want to know what real danger is, they should join the British army and fight against the Sikhs. It was a brutal campaign in every way but we held sway in the end. War is a terrible thing but it does mould a man’s character. After coming through the battles that I did, I feel able to take on anything. I like to think that I’ve had my triumphs in the Detective Department but they pale beside the thrill of conquest on a battlefield.’ He sat back in his chair and wallowed in his reminiscences. ‘Did I ever tell you what impelled me to join the army?’

  ‘No, sir,’ said Grosvenor. ‘I’d be interested to hear why.’

  But he was not listening to the superintendent. As Tallis regaled him wi
th a series of military escapades, all that the inspector was thinking about was the fact that he’d replace him at noon on the following day. He’d at last have the power to give orders, issue reprimands and wreak his revenge on his enemies.

  The face of Robert Colbeck came into his mind.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Oswald Stinson was an early riser. As the manager, he felt that he should set an example and arrive at the Works as the men were streaming in at the start of another day. What he hadn’t expected that morning was that someone would get to his office before he did. Seated outside it, looking relaxed and debonair, was Colbeck. He raised a hand in welcome.

  ‘What the devil are you doing here, Inspector?’ asked Stinson.

  ‘I’m hunting for the man who killed Frank Rodman.’

  ‘Well, you won’t find him in my office, I can assure you of that.’ Unlocking the door, he led Colbeck into the room then turned to face him. ‘Before we go any further, I must tell you something. I had a visitor late last night. He’d been in Bristol all day and had only caught up with developments here when he got back. His name is William Morris.’

  ‘William Morris, the poet and artist?’

  ‘This is a different man with the same name but he also makes a living with his pen. He’s the editor of the Swindon Advertiser and wanted details of the murder. Since we agreed to keep certain aspects of it back, I told him enough to give him something to print and took the opportunity to place a reward notice in the newspaper. I also insisted that he wasn’t to bother you at such an hour.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘That means you’ll find him on the doorstep of the Queen’s Tap when you get back there. Morris is very persistent.’

  ‘He’s only doing his job, sir.’

  ‘Be prepared,’ said Stinson. ‘Now, do you have any news for me?’

  ‘Yes, I’m full of admiration for the way that you manage to get to the Works at this unearthly hour. It must take a great effort.’

  ‘I was asking if there were any signs of progress.’

  ‘Progress is always difficult to quantify.’

  ‘Please explain what you mean.’

  ‘Well,’ said Colbeck, frankly, ‘in any investigation, you have to start by gathering evidence and meeting relevant witnesses. Without realising it, you may actually make headway from the very start. By the same token, you can expend an enormous amount of energy pursuing lines of inquiry, get the impression that you are very close to solving a crime then find that you’re back where you started.’

  ‘Which is it in this case?’

  ‘We’re advancing slowly, sir, to put it no higher than that. What we’ve done so far is this …’

  Colbeck went on to tell him about the information he and Leeming had amassed between them and how they were still trying to collate it. He mentioned the anonymous letters that had come in. He also told the manager how enlightening his visit to Howard Law had been.

  ‘You’re lucky to have such a man as your vicar, sir.’

  ‘That’s what I’ve always felt, Inspector. Howard Law is everything you want in a good shepherd. His sermons are uplifting and he’s renowned for his pastoral care. Yesterday, alas, I came up against a less pleasing side of his character.’

  Colbeck raised a disbelieving eyebrow. ‘Really?’

  ‘He tried to harass me into extending Mrs Rodman’s stay at the house.’

  ‘I would have thought you’d do that without being asked.’

  ‘Being asked is one thing, Inspector,’ said the other, ‘but I was subjected to undue pressure and made to feel as if I was being cruel to the Rodman family in planning for their departure. The GWR is not a charitable institution. Other families are waiting to move into a house. Mrs Rodman and her children must go.’

  ‘Agreed, sir, but I do feel that a show of sympathy is in order.’

  ‘The vicar wanted more than that. It was almost as if he expected me to let them stay in perpetuity – and that’s out of the question.’ He shot Colbeck a warning glance. ‘I hope you haven’t also come to tell me how to do my job.’

  ‘I wouldn’t presume to do so, Mr Stinson. I just wanted to see if you recognised the names of any of the three people we’ve picked out as credible suspects. They may, of course, have nothing whatsoever to do with the murder,’ Colbeck added, ‘but in the interests of thoroughness, we need to speak to them.’

  ‘Hundreds of men work here, Inspector. I don’t know them all.’

  ‘What about a coppersmith called Hector Samway?’

  Stinson frowned. ‘Oh, I’ve heard of him.’

  ‘What can you tell me?’

  ‘He used to be quite disruptive until I hauled him in here and threatened to dismiss him unless he behaved himself. He’s a rather surly character and he’s not a man to cross. There are rumours about him taking on Rodman in a fight outside the Glue Pot. Samway came to work with a black eye next day.’

  ‘What age would he be?’

  ‘Much the same age as Rodman, I fancy. He does, however, have a gentler side to him. Samway came to me last summer to beg for some time off to organise his wife’s funeral. A very sad business – she died of tuberculosis.’ His eyes flared momentarily. ‘I should have reminded the vicar of that. He’d have been forced to admit that we can be compassionate on occasion. I gave Samway a whole week off with pay.’

  ‘Let’s move on to Daniel Gill.’

  ‘That name is vaguely familiar to me, Inspector.’

  ‘He was laid off a few years ago and now works for a butcher.’

  ‘Lots of people had to leave, I’m afraid. Gill must have been one of them.’

  ‘That takes us on to our third suspect,’ said Colbeck. ‘Simeon Cudlip.’

  ‘I do recall him because of the unusual name. He’s a clerk here and a good one, by all accounts. Unlike Samway, he’s had no history of causing trouble. He’s quiet, industrious and gets on with his job. I wish more of them were like that.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ said Colbeck. ‘Your comments have been helpful. I’m sorry that you had nothing to say about Gill. I can’t explain why but he strikes me as the most interesting of the three.’

  Daniel Gill walked jauntily along Victoria Road until he came to Newspaper House, where he paused to glance at the front page of the Swindon Advertiser on display in the window. Beneath the stark headline – MURDER AT THE LOCOMOTIVE WORKS – was the name of the victim. Gill laughed all the way to the butcher’s shop.

  Hector Samway was unhappy at being dragged from of the burning heat of the Foundry into the cold air outside. He grumbled under his breath. Victor Leeming weighed him up. Samway was a chunky man in his forties with a neck so short that his head appeared to grow out of his shoulders. His face was a portrait of resentment. When he saw the sergeant waiting for him in frock coat and top hat, he assumed that he was part of the management and manufactured an expression of mute obedience. It was only when they got to the office assigned to the detectives that he understood who the stranger was.

  ‘You’re that inspector from London,’ he said, warily.

  ‘I’m only a sergeant, sir, as it happens, and I’m glad to be so. I’m Detective Sergeant Leeming from Scotland Yard.’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I just wanted a little talk with you, sir.’

  ‘I’ve got work to do.’

  ‘So have I,’ said Leeming, ‘and talking to you happens to be it. Would you mind telling me where you were the night before last?’

  Samway stiffened. ‘Why d’you want to know that?’

  ‘Just answer the question, please.’

  ‘I was at home.’

  ‘Would that be all night?’

  ‘What’s going on? Am I in trouble or something?’

  ‘You could be, sir.’

  ‘Hey,’ said the other, voice hardening, ‘you don’t think I had anything to do with … what happened here?’

  ‘We’re just making enquiries.’

  ‘Why
pick on me?’

  ‘I’m still waiting to hear if you were at home all night.’

  ‘Yes, I was – are you satisfied now?’

  ‘No, Mr Samway, and I won’t be until someone confirms what you just told me. I’ll need to speak to your wife.’

  ‘You can’t do that.’

  ‘Does that mean you’re not married?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then why can’t I speak to your wife?’

  Samway’s face crumpled. ‘Jean died last August.’

  ‘Oh,’ murmured Leeming, ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

  Seeing the other man’s patent grief, Leeming felt sorry for him at first and wished that he hadn’t mentioned the wife. But he had to put duty before sympathy. Samway needed to be questioned. He might still be in mourning but that wouldn’t rule him out as the killer. Indeed, he believed, it might be a reason to strengthen his suspicion of the man. Leeming had known others in the past who tried to compensate for a tragic loss by striking out violently at an enemy. Had Samway coped with one death by being responsible for another?

  ‘You knew Mr Rodman, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ grunted Samway.

  ‘And you didn’t like each other.’

  ‘He was a bastard.’

  ‘Is that why you had a fight with him?’

  ‘No, Sergeant.’

  ‘Then what was the reason?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘It matters a great deal, sir. I need to know.’

  ‘Then go and ask him,’ said Samway, curling his lip.

  ‘That’s a very cruel suggestion, sir.’

  ‘I hated the man. Rodman was a bully. He picked on people.’

  ‘Why did he single you out?’

  ‘Who cares? I’ve forgotten all about it.’

  ‘I don’t believe that, Mr Samway. I sense that you’re the kind of man who never forgets a thing. He goaded you, didn’t he?’