Points of Danger Read online

  Out in the corridor, he glanced at the telegraph. Finding the information Colbeck needed would be a straightforward task but it was not Hinton’s idea of being involved in a murder investigation. And what he discovered in the record office might well have no bearing on the case at all. He consoled himself with the thought that he’d spoken to Tallis and come away without being unfairly berated. It was progress of a kind and he settled for that.

  The moment he saw the goods train coming, Victor Leeming took the watch from his waistcoat pocket. Waiting until it reached the station, he timed it as wagon after wagon rumbled past. There was a symphony of banging, rattling and squeaking from rolling stock that had clearly seen better days. When the train had gone past, he memorised the time it had taken. Horace Pryor suddenly appeared at his shoulder.

  ‘What are you doing, Sergeant?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m putting your theory to the test.’

  Pryor was confused. ‘What theory is that, then?’

  ‘You told me you thought the points were switched when a goods train went through the station. That might well be what happened. Anyone standing on this platform wouldn’t have been able to see what was happening.’

  ‘Yes, and the goods train that went through yesterday was much slower because it had far more wagons to pull.’

  ‘Thank you – that’s worth knowing.’

  ‘I could be wrong,’ said Pryor. ‘It was only a guess.’

  ‘It was a policeman’s guess and they’re usually worth listening to.’

  Leeming looked up and down the platform. Several passengers were waiting for the next train and they all seemed ill at ease. The murder on the previous day had left everyone feeling nervous.

  ‘Have you been disciplined yet?’ asked Leeming.

  ‘I get told off regular.’

  ‘Sergeant Duff thinks you might even lose your job.’

  ‘I hope not,’ said the other with sudden alarm. ‘I’ve got four mouths to feed apart from mine. If I told my wife that I’d been sacked, there’d be ructions. You married, Sergeant?’

  ‘Yes, I am.’

  ‘Have you got any children?’

  ‘We have two sons,’ said Leeming, proudly.

  ‘Me and Sally have three daughters who eat like gannets. I must take home a wage.’ He squinted at Leeming. ‘What would happen if you lost your job?’

  ‘I’ll make sure that I don’t.’

  ‘How do you do that?’

  ‘By working very hard.’

  ‘Do you and the inspector always solve a murder?’

  ‘To be honest, we don’t.’

  ‘What about this one?’

  ‘Oh, we’ll certainly find the killer this time,’ promised Leeming. ‘I can feel it in my bones.’

  Breaking away from Pryor, he walked off down the platform. Pryor was not left alone for long. Someone soon sidled up to him.

  ‘What did he want?’ asked Duff.

  Anthea Freed’s arrival made an immediate difference. Admitted to the bedroom, she persuaded Grace Swarbrick that, to aid her recovery, she needed to have a light breakfast and it was duly sent up. While her friend picked at her food, Anthea watched her carefully, noting the pale cheeks and the haunted eyes. Though Grace occasionally managed a grateful smile, it seemed an effort for her. When she’d finished the meal, and the tray had been removed by a maid, the two women were able to talk properly. Anthea sat beside the bed and held her friend’s hand.

  ‘How do you feel now?’ she asked.

  ‘All the better for something to eat – I haven’t touched a thing since … it happened. Thank you, Anthea.’

  ‘You looked as if you were famished.’

  ‘I was,’ said Grace. ‘I need a favour from you.’

  ‘Whatever it is, you shall have it.’

  ‘The doctor told me that my stepson is back in the house. I begged him to keep Andrew at bay until I feel better. At the moment, I feel so dispirited that I couldn’t possibly face him.’

  ‘You won’t have to,’ said Anthea, decisively. ‘I’ve already made that clear to him.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘Let’s ignore him and think about you instead. You’re the one in need of sympathy and support. You’ve been through a horrid experience, Grace. Getting over it will take time.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ll get over it. Jarvis was shot dead when he was as close to me as you are. He slumped across my feet. In fact …’ Unable to find the words, she lowered her head.

  ‘You don’t have to suffer it again for my benefit, Grace. It would be far too taxing for you. I just hope that you’ll find the strength to speak to inspector Colbeck.’

  ‘Is he from the Norwich Constabulary?’

  ‘No,’ replied Anthea, ‘he’s from Scotland Yard. Cecil sent him a telegraph and he came at once. He and Sergeant Leeming are staying at our cottage.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘They’ve already been busy.’

  Grace was circumspect. ‘What sort of person is the inspector?’

  ‘He’s a real gentleman and utterly charming. Oh, and I should add that he’s a very intelligent man. He doesn’t look a bit like a detective.’

  ‘That’s a relief.’

  ‘I know that policemen can be uncouth at times – the sergeant looks as if he might be like that – but the inspector is quite different. He’s kind, sympathetic and very patient. At the same time,’ she went on, ‘he has asked me to point out that’s it’s vital for him to interview you as soon as possible.’

  Grace tensed. ‘I’d rather not speak to him.’

  ‘You must. There’s nothing to fear. I’ll be there.’

  ‘Is that a promise?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Anthea, squeezing her hand gently.

  ‘I’m not sure that I can be much use,’ said the other. ‘It all happened in a flash. I never got to see the man’s face and I couldn’t even hazard a guess at his age. When I saw that gun of his, I was in a panic.’

  ‘Just tell the full story to the inspector.’

  ‘That is the full story. There’s nothing else that I can add, really. Oh, I feel so useless, Anthea. I’m desperate for that man to be caught yet I can’t really help the police to catch him.’

  ‘Will you at least agree to see inspector Colbeck?’

  ‘Of course,’ said the other, making an effort to compose herself. ‘My husband would expect it of me.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  When he’d been given what sounded like a chore, Alan Hinton had felt once again that he was being treated without respect for his proven abilities. At the same time, he’d been allotted a task and wanted to perform it quickly, drawing some comfort from the fact that he might actually be assisting Colbeck in his latest investigation and not just dredging up information that would prove wholly irrelevant.

  The record office was a small, dusty, featureless room with ledgers stored on a series of shelves. He’d had to sign for the key to open the door and took a moment to get his bearings. The telegraph instructed him to go back at least ten years but, out of curiosity, he first looked at statistics relating to the formation of the Metropolitan Police Force in 1829.

  It was a chastening experience. Of the first 2,800 men enlisted, over three-quarters had been dismissed in due course, the vast majority being found guilty of drunkenness on duty. Hinton knew that uniformed policemen were still leaving in appreciable numbers but none that compared with what had happened in the early stages of its existence. He eventually found the ledger relating to 1851 and began to leaf through the names. After a thorough search, he accepted that Bartram Duff was not among them and reached for the ledger dealing with the previous year. That, too, contained no reference to the man who was now a sergeant in the railway police in Norwich.

  Hinton’s third search was more successful. In the list of dismissals for December, 1849, he came across the name Bartram Walter Duff from the Marylebone Division. It had to be the same man. When he saw what Duff had actually
done to merit dismissal, his eyes lit up with interest.

  ‘There’s no hurry, Mrs Swarbrick,’ said Colbeck, soothingly. ‘Don’t say a word until you feel ready to do so.’

  ‘Thank you, inspector.’

  ‘And if, at any time, you feel that talking about the incident is too uncomfortable for you, we can always have a rest.’

  ‘That’s very considerate of you,’ said Grace.

  ‘I told you what a kind man the inspector is,’ said Anthea, seated beside the bed and holding her friend’s hand. ‘He promised that he’d put you under no pressure.’

  ‘I have great reserves of patience,’ said Colbeck with a smile. ‘Don’t be afraid to keep me waiting.’

  It had taken him over ten minutes to calm Grace Swarbrick down. When he’d first been invited into the bedroom, he could see how fearful she was, having to talk to a complete stranger about an event that had changed her life irrevocably. She was, by turns, nervous, distracted, uncertain, disturbed, embarrassed and helpless, looking as if she was unequal to the challenge now offered. While Anthea offered her friend unconditional sympathy, Colbeck concentrated on trying to win the confidence of the murder victim’s wife. He eventually succeeded.

  ‘I think that I’m ready now, inspector,’ whispered Grace.

  ‘Go at your own pace, Mrs Swarbrick.’

  ‘Where do I start?’

  ‘Well,’ he suggested, ‘you might begin by telling me why you and your husband were travelling on that particular train.’

  ‘When we’ve spent the weekend in London, we always return on Monday morning on the same train. Indeed, we invariably occupy the same first-class compartment. We have exclusive use of it.’

  ‘Is that because of Mr Swarbrick’s status?’

  ‘It’s partly that but it’s also because I’m a poor traveller. Though I’ve never actually been sick, I always feel as if I’m on the point of doing so. I’d hate to disgrace myself in the company of strangers.’

  ‘If it’s such a problem,’ asked Colbeck, ‘why travel by rail at all?’

  ‘There are social obligations in London,’ Anthea interjected. ‘As a devoted wife, Grace hates to let her husband down.’

  ‘I accepted it as a necessary sacrifice,’ said the other woman. ‘My husband expected it of me.’

  ‘Tell me about the journey itself,’ invited Colbeck.

  ‘It was much the same as any other.’

  ‘You didn’t feel watched in any way when you left London?’

  ‘No, we simply did what we always did.’

  ‘Can you remember anyone peering into your compartment?’

  ‘I was too busy bracing myself for the journey, inspector.’

  ‘What was your husband doing?’

  ‘His head was deep in The Times.’

  ‘Let’s move on to your destination,’ he said. ‘Describe what happened when the train was approaching the station.’

  ‘Well,’ she replied, ‘everything seemed exactly as it should be at first. The train was late as usual and my husband, as usual, complained. And then it happened …’

  Inspector Jellings was irked. Having surrendered leadership of the investigation to detectives from Scotland Yard, he felt duty-bound to pass on every scrap of information gathered before they had reached Norwich. When a new witness came forward, therefore, he summoned Leeming to the police station so that the sergeant could take part in the interview. Claude Ryle was a burly man in his fifties with weathered features and missing front teeth. He’d come into the city with his wife the previous day to sell their produce in the market. Ryle was slow of speech but had a kind of earthy honesty about him. When he shook his hand, Leeming noticed the dirt under the man’s fingernails. They were in the inspector’s office. Instead of being able to take the lead in the interview, Jellings had to defer to someone who held a lower rank than him. It was galling.

  After finding out something of the witness’s background and getting some idea of his reliability, Leeming took out his notebook and encouraged him to tell his tale. Ryle cleared his throat as if about to spit then looked from one man to the other before beginning.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I thought nothin’ of it at the time. I mean, it does ’appen a lot. When you drives a cart like I do, you’ll always get riders gallopin’ past. This one was goin’ faster than most. Then this mornin’ I spoke to Archie Broadmead, a farmer I knows. I’m not a readin’ man, you see, but Archie is and ’e told me about the notice in the paper.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Jellings. ‘I was responsible for putting it there.’

  ‘So ’ere I am.’

  ‘And we’re very grateful that you came,’ said Leeming. ‘Tell us more about the horseman who rode past you.’

  ‘Well, sir,’ resumed Ryle, ‘’e was goin’ ’ell for leather as if ’e was in a race. It was only when Archie told me what it said in the paper that I begins to wonder, if you sees what I mean.’

  ‘What time would this be?’ asked Leeming.

  ‘Oh, it’d be near eleven o’clock, sir. That’s the time my wife and me is usually going ’ome after the market. We’d been there since six o’clock and, luckily, sold all we’d brought. Yes, I’d say eleven or near it’d be a good guess.’

  ‘That would chime in with the time of the murder,’ Jellings pointed out. ‘Where exactly were you?’

  ‘We’d be a little way outside the city, sir.’

  ‘On which road would that be?’

  ‘Our small’olding’s near Acle.’

  ‘Can you describe the man?’ asked Leeming.

  ‘Well, ’e’s a good rider, I’ll say that for ’im.’

  ‘Do you have any idea of his age?’

  ‘All we saw were the man’s back, sir.’

  ‘What was he wearing?’

  ‘Dark clothes and a black ’at.’

  ‘What about the horse?’

  ‘It were a bay mare. I remembers that cos it went past so close to my old nag that it frightened ’im. “Why is that man in such an ’urry?” my wife asks me. Then we both forgets all about it cos we ’ad more important things to talk about. I’d never’ve remembered it if I ’adn’t spoke to Archie Broadmead an’ learnt about that murder. Was I right to come in?’

  ‘You were, Mr Ryle,’ said Leeming, ‘and we’re very grateful that you did. What you’ve told us could be extremely helpful.’

  ‘Yes,’ added Jellings, more or less hustling the man to the door. ‘I endorse what Sergeant Leeming has said. It was so good of you to come.’ Opening the door, he let him out. After closing the door, his tone changed. ‘You can cross out what you wrote in your notebook.’

  ‘Why is that?’ asked Leeming.

  ‘The rider that Ryle saw was definitely not the killer.’

  ‘How can you be so sure of that?’

  ‘Immediately after the murder, several people saw him gallop away and they all agree on one thing. He was riding a black horse. If Ryle saw a man on a bay mare, it was somebody else altogether.’

  ‘I disagree,’ said Leeming.

  ‘Horses don’t change their colour, Sergeant.’

  ‘In effect, this one might have done just that.’

  Jellings was perplexed. ‘That doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘Put yourself in the killer’s place,’ advised Leeming. ‘After you’ve committed the murder, you need to get away quickly so, while you’re on railway property, you’ll ride as fast as you can.’

  ‘That’s obvious.’

  ‘Once you’re clear, however, you have a choice to make. Do you continue to ride through the city at full pelt and attract the attention of everyone you pass, or do you choose a safer option?’

  ‘You’ve lost me,’ said Jellings, irritably.

  ‘Apart from those in and around the railway station, how many witnesses have come forward to say that they saw a man on a black horse riding as if he had the hounds of hell on his tail?’

  Jellings shrugged. ‘To be honest, there haven’t been a
ny.’

  ‘Doesn’t that surprise you?’

  ‘I never really thought about it, to be honest.’

  ‘The killer must have changed his mount,’ argued Leeming. ‘That’s why nobody saw him at full gallop on a black horse. He had a bay mare waiting somewhere and rode it at a moderate pace through the streets so that he wouldn’t draw attention to himself. The moment he was out of the city – and that’s where Ryle was, remember – he kicked the horse into action and off they sped. So you see, inspector,’ he went on, ‘I don’t need to cross out anything in my notebook. Thanks to Ryle, we know which direction the killer took.’

  Jellings was impressed. ‘You could be right,’ he said.

  ‘I believe that I am.’

  ‘What should we do next?’

  ‘Your men need to start asking questions along the road to Acle and beyond it. Other people will have noticed a horse racing past at that speed. If we talk to enough of them, we might discover which way he went and even work out his likely destination.’ Leeming smiled. ‘It’s worth a try, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes … I believe it is.’

  Jellings looked at him with reluctant admiration.

  When he entered the office, Hinton did so with a degree of trepidation, not knowing if he’d be the victim of another outburst of anger or find that the superintendent had drifted off into a reverie once more. As it was, neither possibility materialised. Tallis was civil rather than pleasant as he took the sheet of paper from his visitor.

  ‘Thank you, Hinton,’ he said. ‘I’ll get the information sent off to Colbeck immediately.’

  ‘The inspector will find it interesting.’

  ‘Then your time in the record office was not wasted.’

  ‘It was eye-opening, sir. I hadn’t realised how many policemen were dismissed on a regular basis.’

  ‘If they don’t reach the necessary standards,’ said Tallis, ‘out they must go. Colonel Rowan, one of the two original commissioners, insisted that the Metropolitan Police Force had a military structure and ethos. Men were arranged in companies at first, rather than the divisions we now have. Far too many officers fell by the wayside because of drunkenness. Those who came from civilian occupations found it hard to adapt to the more rigorous routine of a policeman’s life.’