Murder in Transit, page 4
Gwendoline Cardus had been in royal service for many years. She was a full-bodied woman in her early forties with a face that had retained some of its youthful prettiness. Devoted and endlessly patient, Gwendoline regarded working for the Queen as both a joy and a privilege. She relished the way that Her Majesty always turned to her for approval. When the final notes were played, she clapped her hands gently. The Queen smiled.
‘Was it really that good?’ she asked.
‘You played beautifully, Your Majesty.’
‘I had to. Somewhere up in heaven, my dear husband was listening.’
Having been tired out that morning by his granddaughter, Caleb Andrews was glad to hand her over to Nanny Hopkins for the afternoon. The old man was able to relax indoors and to have his habitual nap. Andrews was short, slight, bearded and – as Madeleine knew only too well – possessed of a combative streak. When he awoke, he found his daughter seated beside him. A pot of tea and some teacups were on the little table in front of them.
‘I knew that you’d wake up if I ordered tea,’ she said.
‘How long have I been asleep, Maddy?’
‘As long as was necessary.’ She poured two cups of tea and added milk and sugar. ‘Helena Rose showed you no mercy today. I’ve tried to explain to her that older people have limited strength and need to be treated carefully. And she should never – ever – pull your beard.’
‘I’m as right as rain,’ he boasted, ‘and she is the main reason. If I didn’t have daily exercise with her, I’d start to dwindle. I’ve seen it happen to friends I worked with. As soon as they retire, they become lazy old men with pot bellies. It’s the ones with grandchildren or dogs that still have some life in them. They’re kept busy.’ He reached for his tea. ‘Any word from Robert?’
‘Give him time, Father!’
‘If he’s gone to Portsmouth, he’ll have travelled on the London, Brighton and South Coast Railway. That stirs up unhappy memories for me.’
‘Why?’
‘Don’t tell me that you’ve forgotten, Maddy! I lost a good friend on that line. Frank Pike was driving the Brighton Express for the first time. Some cruel devils arranged for it to crash into an oncoming ballast train. He stayed bravely on the footplate. His fireman jumped clear, but Frank was crushed to death.’
‘I remember him. He used to be your fireman when he worked for the LNWR.’
‘Robert will certainly remember the name.’
‘I’m sure he will.’
‘He led the investigation into the crash on the Brighton. Yes, and he arrested the people responsible for it. Travelling on that line again will awaken old ghosts for him.’
The Hope and Anchor was a large, characterful public house with ambitions to be regarded as a hotel. Since it provided them with adjoining rooms, Colbeck and Leeming were very satisfied with it. Leeming had warmed to the cheerful publican. The man had not turned a hair when he first saw the sergeant’s face. Some of the customers, however, were startled.
Leeming and Colbeck met in the latter’s room for a private conversation.
‘What do we do next, sir?’ asked Leeming.
‘We take a closer look at Portsmouth itself. Since the killer – or killers – got off the train here, it’s more than likely that they live in the town. I daresay that it’s a place with lots of hiding places. Let’s explore some of them.’
‘That suits me.’
‘We’ll spend the afternoon here,’ said Colbeck, ‘but I want you back at the Haven Club this evening. The members will be recovering from the shock of what happened. Find an opportunity to speak to Douglas Collier at length. Ask him why he introduced Mr Blanchard to the club – then probe him about the man’s private life. And Victor …’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘Be gentle with him. Let him go at his own pace.’
‘It will be very slow,’ said Leeming. ‘I’m going to be there for a very long time.’
‘That’s what I’m hoping because I want you on the last train to Portsmouth. As passengers get off it, they’ll see that appeal the stationmaster has drafted. One or more of them might have travelled on the train last night,’ said Colbeck. ‘They may have seen something … unusual.’
‘I’ll draw everyone’s attention to the appeal.’
‘Good idea.’
‘What will you be doing?’
‘I’ll be finding out a lot more about the Welshman whose name was given to me by Paul Blanchard. He knows the Isle of Wight far better than me because he’s at the heart of the business community there. And he feels certain that one of his rivals is involved in the murder.’
‘When is he going to start mourning the death of his father?’
‘I’m not sure that he ever will. Right,’ said Colbeck, rising to his feet. ‘let’s go and explore Portsmouth. It is, after all, the principal naval station in England. Also, it’s a perfect fortress. In my opinion, it houses the man – and his accomplice – who killed Giles Blanchard. Let’s see if we can pick up their scent.’
They arrived at the hotel early that evening. Because it was a special occasion, they had dressed accordingly. As they were conducted to the dining room, they collected admiring glances from everyone they passed. They relished the attention. No sooner had they settled down at their table than the wine waiter glided across to them.
‘May I get you something to drink?’ he asked, looking from one to the other.
‘Only one thing will suffice,’ the man told him.
‘And what’s that, sir?’
‘Champagne!’
Madeleine Colbeck and Lydia Quayle were also enjoying a drink before dinner. Completely at ease with each other, they were in the drawing room of the house with a glass of sherry in their hands. As they reflected on how they first met, Lydia was full of gratitude.
‘My life changed for the better when you came into it, Madeleine,’ she said. ‘You caught me at a very low ebb.’
‘It was Robert who first brought us together. He was leading the investigation into your father’s murder and felt that I might be helpful.’
‘Helpful! You were much more than that. You were so kind and understanding. I could talk to you in a way that I couldn’t do with anyone else. The truth was that I hated my father. It’s the reason I left home. But his death made me reel. You were there to steady me. Thank you.’
‘I’m the one who should be thanking you,’ said Madeleine. ‘You started out as a stranger and now you’re my best friend. Well,’ she added, ‘your second-best friend, perhaps.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘There’s someone who adores you even more than I do.’
Lydia smiled. ‘Don’t you dare start teasing me about Alan.’
‘I’m simply telling you what I was told,’ said Madeleine. ‘When he delivered a message from Robert earlier today, he asked me to pass on his love to you.’
‘That’s very sweet of him.’
‘He’s hoping that he might be involved in this latest murder investigation.’
‘Every time he’s worked with the inspector, Alan has impressed him.’
‘Robert is not the only person he’s trying to impress. Alan likes to be part of a murder investigation because he wants to catch your eye.’
‘I’m very flattered, Madeleine,’ said her friend, ‘but he is first and foremost a detective. He patterns himself on Robert. I respect that. Now let’s put Alan aside, shall we?’ she added, before taking a sip of wine. ‘I came here for dinner, remember. And I want to hear your news.’
When he got to Chichester station, Victor Leeming took the precaution of slipping into the refreshment room for a bite to eat. He hoped for a welcome at the Haven Club, but he could not expect them to invite him to dine in their restaurant. Besides, the food at the refreshment room was warm and more than serviceable. Since there would be several members at the club, he expected to be the centre of attention but that was not the case. When he arrived there, the steward told him that Douglas Collier had been so upset by the sad news about his friend that he was staying at home that evening. Hoping that he could hear more about the investigation, however, the old man had left word that, if the sergeant returned, he would be happy to see him at his home.
Leeming had seized on the invitation. He needed time alone with the old man to probe his memory. After taking a cab to the address he was given, he found himself outside a large, striking Regency house in a tree-lined avenue. When he rang the bell, he was admitted by a servant. Leeming was soon sitting in a comfortable armchair with a glass of whisky in his hand.
‘I prayed that you’d come back,’ said Collier, seated opposite him. ‘There are so many things I want to tell you about Giles.’
‘I’m so glad to hear that, Mr Collier.’
‘Some of it is private, mind. I don’t want you jotting it down in that notebook of yours.’
‘Trust me, sir. I can be discreet.’
‘Good.’
Slumping forward, Collier promptly fell asleep. Leeming was not sure whether he should wake his companion or leave him until he recovered. In the event, it was only a short lapse. Collier suddenly opened his eyes, let out a cry of apology, and sat up straight.
‘That won’t happen again, Sergeant,’ he promised.
‘I can see you’re under great strain, sir.’
‘Giles and I were so close, you see. We had … similar interests.’
‘Were you an estate agent as well, sir?’
‘I was a very successful one,’ said Collier with pride. ‘That’s why I ended up with such a lovely house as this. Giles loved it. He stayed here occasionally.’
‘Oh!’ Leeming’s eyebrows lifted. ‘I heard that he used to spend the night at the Haven Club.’
‘It depended on what had brought him to Chichester.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Never you mind,’ said the old man with a quiet smile.
Robert Colbeck had been busy. Having sent Leeming off to Chichester, he took the ferry across to the island for the second time. Disappointingly, his old acquaintance, Brendan Mulryne, was no longer on duty. He stepped ashore in Ryde when the town was bathed in evening sunshine, and he began the lengthy walk along its pier. Colbeck then hired a cab to take him to Newport, some four miles away. In the interests of speed, he would have preferred to travel by rail, but no line had been built between Ryde and the island’s capital. There was simply no demand for it. Colbeck recalled that the first railway built – between Newport and Cowes in 1862 – had a disappointing start. On the day when it came into operation, the train carried a mere half-a-dozen passengers. Such was the initial response of the islanders to a new mode of travel.
When he arrived at the headquarters of the Newport Borough Police, the most senior officer on duty was Inspector Ruggles, a bear of a man with a full beard. He guessed who his visitor was the moment that Colbeck entered the building.
‘Good evening, Inspector,’ said Ruggles. ‘We were warned that you were coming to the island. As you probably know, we operate separately from the Hampshire Constabulary.’
‘I’ve also had dealings with the Portsmouth City Police,’ said Colbeck. ‘When you add the railway police, you’ll see that I have considerable support to call upon.’
Ruggles invited him into his office and indicated a chair. He was struck by Colbeck’s poise and tailoring. For his part, the newcomer was grateful to be given such a warm welcome. As he sat down, he glanced around the office. It was small, cosy, and smelt of tobacco. The inspector’s pipe rested in an ashtray. Ruggles sat behind his desk.
‘Have you made any progress yet?’ he asked.
‘It’s too early to say.’
‘If there’s anything that we can do, you only have to ask.’
‘Thank you. I really wanted to find out more about the victim, Giles Blanchard.’
‘The best person to talk to,’ said Ruggles, ‘is his son, Paul.’
‘I’ve already done that. All that he did was to boast about his father’s success as a businessman.’
‘Blanchard made a small fortune. It’s no wonder that he was so unpopular with his rivals. They used to writhe with envy when he had another triumph.’
‘Did it go any further than envy?’
‘I doubt it. Angry businessmen will curse and threaten in private, but they tend to behave themselves in public.’
‘Did you ever meet Mr Blanchard?’
‘Oh, yes – several times,’ said Ruggles. ‘I heard him speak at a couple of functions. To be fair to him, he could hold an audience. Other estate agents claimed that he resorted to sharp practice. All that that meant was that he was better at getting what he wanted. Berwyn Rees called him all sorts of vile names. Luckily, they were in Welsh, so I didn’t understand them.’ He let out a thunderous laugh. ‘But the expression on Berwyn’s face told that he loathed the man.’
‘Do you know Mr Rees?’ asked Colbeck.
‘I should do. I play bowls with him sometimes. Berwyn is a lucky devil. He usually wins.’
‘I saw his name above an estate agency in the high street when we drove past. Judging by the size of his premises, he’s a successful businessman.’
‘Well, he never talks business to me,’ said Ruggles, ‘any more than I talk about my work to him. We’re all entitled to time off, Inspector. We can’t be on duty indefinitely.’
‘We have no choice sometimes.’
‘How did you get on with the chief constable?’
‘We only had a relatively short meeting with him,’ said Colbeck, ‘but he impressed me. Superintendent Forrest seems to be dedicated to his job.’
‘You try talking to those poor devils who work under him.’
‘Why? What do they have against him?’
‘He behaves as if he’s still in the army,’ said Ruggles. ‘Discipline is important, but Forrest takes it to extremes.’
For a fleeting moment, an image of Superintendent Tallis flashed in Colbeck’s mind.
‘Were you born on the Isle of Wight?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I was, and I’ve spent my whole life here. It’s got everything I want. If there’s anything you wish to know about this place, you’ve come to the right person.’
‘I’m glad to hear it, Inspector,’ said Colbeck. ‘You must have seen Giles Blanchard start and develop his business over the years.’
‘He did have one setback.’
‘Oh?’
‘You might not think it to look at him now, but he was a good cricketer in his day. I know that from personal experience.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I was a useful bowler as a young man,’ said Ruggles, tapping his chest. ‘I once played for the Newport XI against a team from Ryde. Blanchard was their best batsman. When he saw the captain handing me the ball, he grinned like a baboon, thinking he could hit me for miles.’
‘And?’
Ruggles slapped his thigh in triumph. ‘I bowled him out with my first ball. Blanchard was furious. He just couldn’t believe that a skinny young constable like me could get him out. I’ll never forget the way he glared at me as he walked off.’ Ruggles grinned. ‘When he was in company, he was very sociable. What I exposed in that cricket match was his true character.’
The visit to the home of Douglas Collier had been long but thoroughly worthwhile. Without realising it, Leeming had helped the old man to drink through most of the contents of an ornate whisky decanter. It was only when he left the house that the sergeant realised the effect that it had had on him. He lurched and tottered so much that he was lucky to stay on his feet. Collier had been kind enough to despatch a servant in search of a cab. Leeming had great difficulty clambering into it and scolded himself for drinking too much. When they reached Chichester station, the driver had to wake him up. Having paid him, Leeming staggered along with one hand on a wall.
Once on the platform, he dipped a hand into a fire bucket and rubbed cold water over his face. It helped to clear his mind slightly. On the train journey to Portsmouth, he was lucky enough to find an empty compartment, sparing fellow passengers the sight of a drunken man with an unsightly face. He forced himself to stay awake by stamping his feet and pinching himself whenever he was about to drift off. When the train finally reached its terminus, it took him minutes to get himself ready before venturing onto the platform. Other passengers streamed past him. Most of them ignored the board on which the appeal for witnesses had been pinned. They had places to go.
Then one man did stop to read it by the light of the nearby lamp. He spoke to the porter standing beside the appeal. Leeming arrived in time to overhear the passenger say that he had seen something odd as he left the train on the previous night. After taking a deep breath, Leeming stepped in front of the man and introduced himself.
‘What exactly did you see, sir?’ he asked, trying to sound sober.
CHAPTER SIX
Edward Tallis was always one of the first people to arrive at Scotland Yard in the morning. When he got to his office, he put his top hat aside and sat behind his desk. He then opened the copy of The Times he had bought and flicked through the pages in search of a mention of the murder of Giles Blanchard. He soon found it. A whole column was devoted to the crime, giving the basic details before announcing that Inspector Robert Colbeck had taken charge of the investigation. Tallis sniffed in disgust. Why was it that the press always praised the Railway Detective and ignored the superintendent who was responsible for assigning him to his cases? It was monstrously unfair.
He was still bristling with annoyance when there was a knock on his door.
‘Come in!’ he growled.
The door opened and Captain Forrest stepped into the room. Tallis was on his feet at once, shaking the newcomer’s hand and apologising for the brusque command. He indicated a chair and Forrest sat down in it. Tallis resumed his own seat.
