11 - Ticket to Oblivion (28 page)

Coming to the studio in Chelsea had been the salvation of Lucinda Graham. She was among friends who cared and who did not sit in judgement on her because of her way of life. She was treated solely as a victim in dire need of love and comfort. Lucinda now hurt far less and felt much better. Over a late breakfast with Dolly Wrenson and George Vaughan, she was even able to talk about something other than her ordeal at the hands of her lover.

‘What made you become an artist, George?’ she asked.

‘I was called to it,’ he replied. ‘I didn’t choose art – it chose me.’

‘You make it sound like a vocation.’

‘That’s exactly what it is, Lucinda. It’s what I was born to be. My brother, Percy, is a curate in a little church in
Gloucestershire. From the age of ten, he wanted to be a clergyman. In the same way that Percy answered his call, I answered mine.’ He waved an arm. ‘This is my church. Dolly is my congregation.’

Dolly shook with mirth. ‘I hope that your brother’s congregation doesn’t behave the way that I do or he might be in serious trouble. I can’t see the ladies in his parish posing in the nude, somehow.’ She pointed to the easel. ‘You’ve seen what George can do. He can bring me to life on canvas.’

‘I captured your essence, that’s all,’ he said.

‘It’s so wonderful that you can work together,’ said Lucinda. ‘I envy you.’

‘Artists are always looking for models.’

‘How could I be a model with a face like this?’

‘The bruises will go and the eye will heal,’ said Dolly, encouragingly. ‘Keep your mouth closed and you’ll be as beautiful as ever.’ She heard footsteps on the stairs. ‘Who’s that coming up here?’ she wondered. ‘You didn’t forget to pay the rent, did you, George?’

‘No, no,’ he said, ‘I gave the landlady a month in advance.’

‘I’ll see who it is.’

Dolly got up and crossed to the door, opening it at the precise moment when a young man was about to knock. He was a courier from Scotland Yard. When he’d delivered his letter, he bade farewell and trotted off down the stairs. Dolly closed the door behind him and crossed over to Lucinda.

‘It’s for you,’ she said.

Her friend drew back. ‘It’s not from
him
, is it?’ she said,
fearfully. ‘If it is, I don’t even want to touch it. Open it for me, Dolly.’

‘It has your name on it.’

‘Just find out who sent it.’

Dolly opened the letter and saw Colbeck’s name at the bottom. When she read what he’d written in his neat hand, she let out a whoop of surprise.

‘What is it?’ asked the artist.

‘Inspector Colbeck has sent news that he felt Lucinda should hear.’ She handed the letter to her friend. ‘Take it, please. It will cheer you.’

When she read the letter, Lucinda shuttled between joy and disbelief, thrilled that the man she hated had been killed yet uncertain that such a miracle could really have occurred. George Vaughan was baffled. He looked to Dolly for enlightenment.

‘Lucinda’s prayers are answered,’ she told him. ‘Mr Tunnadine is dead.’

Euston station was filled with its customary pandemonium when the detectives arrived there. Victor Leeming had been bracing himself against the possibility of being away from home for days but he realised how selfish his concern was. The inspector was in the same position, leaving a wife behind him for an unspecified period. Colbeck would suffer the same pangs of separation.

‘It’s time I called you to mind, sir,’ said Leeming.

Colbeck grinned. ‘I flattered myself that I was always in your thoughts, Victor.’

‘You’ll feel sad to leave your wife behind you while we go to Crewe.’

‘No, I won’t.’

‘You’ll miss her, surely?’

‘Not this time,’ said Colbeck. ‘Madeleine is coming with us.’

Leeming was taken aback. It was true. Madeleine had been waiting for them by the bookstall. When she saw them coming, she walked over to them to receive a kiss from her husband and a look of astonishment from Leeming. Colbeck bought the tickets, then led them to the appropriate platform. The train was already waiting for them so they found an empty compartment and climbed in. Having escaped the hullabaloo outside, Colbeck was able to justify the step he’d taken.

‘The two ladies have been through a hideous experience,’ he said. ‘They’ve not only been abducted and used as pawns by these men. They witnessed the murder of someone they knew well. Such an event would unnerve anyone.’

‘It would terrify me,’ confessed Madeleine. ‘You’ll remember how upset I was in similar circumstances.’

‘If and when we rescue them, they’ll be distraught.’

‘They’ll be distraught and distracted, Robert.’

‘With the best will in the world, Victor, you and I may not be the ideal comforters.’

‘I see what you mean, sir,’ said Leeming. ‘They need another woman.’

‘Fortunately, Madeleine was at hand.’

‘I think you might have phrased that differently,’ she complained. ‘I’m not simply there like an umbrella that can be reached out of the stand on a rainy day. I’m grateful for the chance to help but I’ll not be taken for granted.’

Colbeck was penitent. ‘I take back what I said without hesitation.’

‘I think you should.’

‘You can offer a priceless service to us, Madeleine, far greater than any umbrella could manage. There’s no doubting the fact that Imogen Burnhope and her maid will be relieved to see Victor and me, but I fancy that they’ll be even more pleased to set eyes on you.’

Rhoda Wills wedged the chair against the door, then they shoved the bed against it to add more resistance. She opened the window, looked down, then signalled to Imogen.

‘There’s nobody about. You go first.’

‘It’s too dangerous, Rhoda.’

‘It’s far more dangerous to stay here. You saw what they did to Mr Tunnadine. Do you want to end up like that?’ Imogen crossed to the window and looked out with trepidation. ‘Yes, it may look difficult but think of the number of times you’ve ridden a horse and taken it over a fence. That needs a lot of courage. Show the same bravery now,’ urged Rhoda. ‘Lower yourself onto the roof below, work your way along it, then climb down the drainpipe to the ground.’

‘I can’t do it,’ said Imogen, pulling back. ‘It’s impossible in this dress.’

‘Lift it up and tuck it in. That’s what I’ll do.’

‘What if we fall?’

‘We won’t fall if we take care. Please hurry. They’ll be here any moment.’

Imogen was in two minds. Part of her wanted to follow her maid’s bold plan of escape. Their room was on the first
floor. The roof of an extension was only feet below. It would be relatively easy to climb onto it. Getting down to the ground from there would be more problematical. Rhoda was so eager to get away that she was even prepared to jump from the roof. Imogen’s desire for escape was balanced by her fear of injury and retribution. Even if she got to the ground without tearing her dress or breaking an ankle, she couldn’t expect to outrun the two men. They would catch the fugitives and punish them accordingly. Rhoda’s scheme consisted of leaving the hotel and hiding nearby but they had no idea where they were or what cover was available.

‘We must go now,’ insisted Rhoda, trying to instil some confidence in her. ‘What they have in mind for us may be far worse than what we’ve already suffered. They think they’ve broken our spirits, but they haven’t.’

‘No,’ said Imogen, reviving. ‘They haven’t.’

‘I’ll help you out of the window.’

‘You go first, Rhoda. I’ll follow you.’

Clambering onto the roof with a dress to hamper her was not easy but Rhoda did it eventually. She turned to help Imogen, advising her not to look down and guiding her with both hands. They were now both on the roof of the extension, edging their way to the corner so that they could descend by means of a thick drainpipe. When they got to the second stage of their flight, they heard an ominous sound. Someone was trying to get into their room. Their fortifications were holding firm but the door was being rattled with ferocity. Suddenly, the noise stopped.

Terrified of being caught, Rhoda changed her plan. She lay face down on the roof and lowered herself slowly backwards until she was hanging from the guttering. She
then let go and dropped heavily to the ground, jarring both legs as she did so but causing no real injury. She begged Imogen to do the same thing and the latter copied her maid, soiling her dress as she worked her way down the roof then dangling from the guttering. Rhoda reached up to steady her.

‘Leave go now,’ she said.

Imogen obeyed and dropped to the ground, falling over but so pleased to have got free that she almost shouted with joy. Rhoda helped her up and they hugged each other excitedly.

‘We did it,’ said Imogen. ‘We did it, Rhoda.’

When they tried to run off, however, Whiteside was blocking their way.

‘Where do you think
you’re
going?’ he asked, menacingly.

The return to Crewe brought memories rushing back for all three of them. Years before, it had been the scene of an incident that set the detectives off on one of their most challenging assignments. When a trunk was being unloaded from the roof of a railway carriage, it fell and landed on a large hat box, breaking the strap so that the lid flipped open. Out of the hatbox rolled a human head. It had taken Colbeck and Leeming a long time to match a dead body to it and to identify a killer. In the later stages of the investigation, Madeleine had more than proved her worth. The severed head at Crewe station had taken them all the way to that year’s Derby at Epsom. The present case, they felt certain, would involve a different itinerary.

While he went off to the police station, Colbeck left Madeleine in the waiting room with Leeming. Sergeant
Dean was very helpful, especially when he realised to whom he was talking. He’d been a humble constable when Colbeck was in the town investigating the earlier murder and had been very impressed by the thoroughness of the Railway Detective. To be able to assist him now was in the nature of an honour. Dean told his visitor everything he’d already heard from Alban Kee with a few minor discrepancies. Colbeck was curious.

‘What did you make of Mr Kee?’

‘Is he a friend of yours?’ asked Dean, cautiously.

‘No, he’s far from it, Sergeant.’

‘Then my impression was that he didn’t tell me the full truth, sir. Like you, I’m used to listening to people giving long accounts of crimes and I’ve learnt to pick out the wheat from the chaff. In fairness,’ he went on, ‘there wasn’t much chaff with Mr Kee’s story but I thought I detected some.’

‘I think that you’re about to confirm my own reservations,’ said Colbeck. ‘What seemed perverse to me was that he should try to hide in a ditch which was difficult to get out of when he would have had far better protection behind the hedge on the other side of the field.’

‘That’s exactly what I was about to say, Inspector. Mr Kee gave me the precise location so I rode out there to investigate the site. Nobody would choose the ditch over the hedge.’

‘What did you infer from that?’

‘Well,’ said Dean, rubbing the side of his nose with a finger, ‘I think he
was
behind that hedge but was somehow prevented from interfering. He lied to us.’

‘You’ve sound instincts, Sergeant.’

‘Thank you, sir. But I discovered something else that
may help you. When I drove back to the railway station, I timed the journey. The stables which they’d used are very close. Mr Kee gave me the exact time of the murder and the kidnappers would have gone immediately to the station. Allowing time for them to return what they’d hired,’ said Dean, reaching for a sheet of paper on his desk, ‘I had a rough idea of the first train they’d be able to catch.’

‘They certainly wouldn’t have wanted to linger in Crewe,’ said Colbeck, ‘because they’d know the murder would soon be reported by Kee.’

Dean handed over the paper. ‘This is a list of trains that left here in the hour after they’d returned to the stables. My guess,’ said Dean, ‘is that, before they met up with Mr Tunnadine, they’d already booked tickets.’ Colbeck scanned the list. ‘Is that of any use to you, Inspector?’

‘It’s invaluable. I congratulate you.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘I think I know exactly the train that they took.’

‘How did you work that out, sir?’

‘It was my first thought,’ said Colbeck, ‘and you’ve given me the evidence to buttress it. The men we’re after are former soldiers – Captain Whiteside and Sergeant Cullen. They’ve extracted a substantial amount of money out of two separate people, one of whom they shot dead. What they need now is a hiding place.’

‘That’s true.’

‘They’ve chosen somewhere they think we’re unlikely to find them.’

‘Have you worked out where it might be?’

‘I think so. Our superintendent searched army records to identify these two individuals. They’re deserters who live
on their wits. Manus Cullen was born in Dublin. This is the train they caught,’ decided Colbeck, tapping the sheet of paper. ‘It would have taken them to Holyhead. They were on their way to Ireland.’

Choppy water made the crossing very unpleasant. The one time that Imogen and Rhoda had been afloat before was on the placid surface of a lake where the pull of the oars caused the only ripples. The sea was altogether more aggressive, hurling its waves at the side of the vessel as if indignant that anyone should dare to ride upon its back. Both of them felt so sick that all they could think about was the heaving of their stomachs. Terence Whiteside, on the other hand, suffering no discomfort, was very much aware of their escape attempt and vowed that they wouldn’t be given a second chance to get away. While they were on board, of course, there was no possibility of flight but he nevertheless separated them so that they could not devise a plot. He and Imogen sat side by side in a tiny cabin while Cullen and Rhoda were seated on deck together. As long as the women were kept apart, they’d never try to run away.

They were in sight of the Irish coast before Imogen’s queasiness slowly abated. She finally found her voice again.

‘Why did you have to kill Mr Tunnadine?’ she asked.