Blood on the Line (10 page)

He spelt the name for them and set the pencils off again. Colbeck praised Inspector Zachary Boone for the help given him in Manchester and explained how he had tracked down the woman’s father. He told them that Irene and Oxley would be hiding somewhere together and that their newspapers could be the means of catching them. The large reward on offer would, he hoped, encourage anyone who had spotted them to come forward.

‘The description of Irene Adnam that I’m about to give you,’ he said with easy authority, ‘is based on conversations with two people who knew her well – her father and a former employer. Her criminal career began in Manchester where, as you will hear, she left a number of victims in her wake.’

Colbeck went on to give details of her age, height, build, weight and hair colouring. He also mentioned that her voice had traces of a Manchester accent. Her father had described her as very lovely, and even the embittered Ambrose Holte had conceded that she had both physical appeal and natural charm. What had fooled the mill owner was her abiding air of innocence. As he offered them additional details of the woman, she began to take shape before him and did so in such clear outline that he was jolted. Colbeck had met her before. If he omitted the list of
her crimes and her local accent, he could be talking about someone else entirely. The coincidence was so unexpected that it brought him to a sudden halt.

Age, height, build, weight and hair colouring – it was uncanny. Even the air of purity was an exact match. In every particular, he had just been describing Helen Millington.

Having taken a train to Euston, they hired two cabs to convey them to Trafalgar Square. It was carpeted by pigeons whose strutting boldness amazed Irene. Instead of taking to the air as she approached, they simply dodged her feet and continued to hunt for food on the paved slabs. One even perched on the knee of a beggar as he lay propped in a stupor up against a wall. Younger and his wife had visited the square too often to be overwhelmed by its scale and magnificence. Oxley, too, had seen it many times and was once again assessing the opportunities afforded to pickpockets by people gazing fixedly up at Horatio Nelson and therefore off guard. To Irene, however, the whole area was a thing of wonder and she was mesmerised by the fluted Corinthian column of Devonshire granite. She stared up at the statue of the nation’s great naval hero.

‘How on earth did they get it up there?’ she asked.

‘Very slowly, I should imagine,’ said Younger.

‘It’s so high.’

‘They built a wooden scaffold to help them erect the column, then they must have winched up the statue.’ He pointed to the bronze bas-reliefs at the base of the column. ‘Those were cast from cannon taken from enemy ships captured by Nelson in battle.’

‘Gordon can even tell you which battles they represent,’ said Susanna, fondly. ‘He loves that kind of detail about the past.’

‘History has always been my passion,’ he agreed.

‘Well, I always look to the future instead of the past,’ said Oxley. ‘I want to know what tomorrow holds for me and not what a one-eyed admiral did all those years ago at sea.’

‘Jerry!’ chided Irene. ‘You should show some respect.’

‘Why?’

‘Nelson was one of the greatest sailors of all time,’ Younger reminded him. ‘He defeated the French at Trafalgar even though his fleet was outnumbered. Unfortunately, he died during the action.’ He tossed a glance upward. ‘If anyone deserves to be honoured, it’s Nelson.’

Oxley was no longer listening. His attention had shifted to an urchin who’d been mingling with the crowd and who was in the act of removing a wallet from an unsuspecting sightseer. Oxley had no desire to warn the victim. He sided instinctively with the criminal. He wanted to step forward and advise the boy to take more time. Sudden movement would alert the man. The urchin was too hasty. His final snatch of the wallet made his victim turn round
and clap a hand to his pocket. The boy darted off into the throng. Yelling in outrage, the man went after him, but Oxley came to the lad’s aid. Stepping sharply to the left, he deliberately collided with the victim to slow him down then showered him with apologies. By the time the man continued his pursuit, it was too late. The boy had vanished. Oxley smiled at what he considered to be a good deed. Irene was puzzled.

‘What happened?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know,’ replied Oxley, innocently.

‘Someone just robbed that man,’ said Younger.

‘No wonder he seemed so angry.’

‘He ran straight into you.’

Irene was sympathetic. ‘Were you hurt, Jerry?’

‘No,’ said Oxley, holding his lapels to straighten his frock coat. ‘I hardly felt a thing. The truth of it is that he came off far worse than me because I’m bigger and stronger. Come on,’ he added, ‘let’s walk down Whitehall to see Scotland Yard. That’s far more interesting to me than Nelson’s column.’

He led the way through the crowd, wondering how long it would be before the irate man into whom he’d just bumped realised that, in the process of doing so, Oxley had deftly relieved him of his gold watch.

Colbeck had been impressed by Ian Peebles. To begin with, the new recruit was unfailingly polite. It was not always the case with those whose formative years had been spent in the army. Edward Tallis, for instance, had no truck with politeness. It was a foreign concept to him and foreigners
were, by definition, creatures to be shunned. The habit of command had deprived him of conversational niceties. He issued orders with the splenetic zeal of one who expected them to be obeyed without question. Unlike the superintendent, Peebles had not been an officer but he had risen to the rank of army sergeant and was thus used to drilling those under his authority. Beneath his youthful exterior, there was palpably a core of steel. Even in his short time in the department, he’d shown flashes of inspiration. Colbeck believed that he would turn out to be a formidable detective.

It was detection of another kind that prompted Peebles. When he found himself alone with Colbeck in the latter’s office, he asked the question he’d be saving up for such a moment.

‘Is it true that you’re about to get married, Inspector?’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘Have you set a date for the wedding?’

‘It’s … under discussion,’ said Colbeck.

‘Catherine and I have already started to make arrangements. It will be a quiet affair as neither of us has a large family. That’s all to the good in my mind. I hate fuss of any kind. I simply want to be with the woman I adore.’

Colbeck thought about Madeleine. ‘We have that ambition in common.’

‘Where will you get married?’

‘The parish church in Camden. Madeleine has worshipped there since she was a small child. As in your case, we anticipate a very quiet wedding.’

‘Are you going to invite the superintendent?’

‘Oh, no,’ said Colbeck, laughing. ‘He will certainly not be invited and, even if he were, he would certainly refuse to attend. I don’t wish to put him in a position where he has to turn down the invitation.’

‘It’s strange, isn’t it?’ mused Peebles. ‘I’m talking about the way that your life can turn full circle as a result of a chance meeting. To be honest with you, I never thought that I’d ever get married. I had few opportunities to spend time in mixed company and fewer still to meet eligible young women. Besides,’ he said with a self-effacing smile, ‘I never considered that I had much to offer. I’m not the sort of person who courts the mirror or who has a large income to dangle in front of a prospective wife. I was prepared to stay married to the army instead. Then I met Catherine …’

‘And she rearranged your priorities for you, I daresay.’

‘It was rather frightening how quickly it all happened. I had no control whatsoever over it. Was it the same for you, Inspector?’

‘Not quite,’ said Colbeck, unwilling to confide too much about his own situation. ‘The demands of my work tended to slow everything down. But,’ he went on, changing the subject, ‘we shouldn’t be revelling in our own good fortune. The relationship on which we should concentrate is that between Jeremy Oxley and Irene Adnam. Though it falls well short of marriage, it’s just as binding in their minds. They are conjoined by murder. That makes them especially dangerous and I speak for her as well as for him. People who kill once will have few qualms about doing so again. We must beware.’

‘I faced death many times in the army.’

‘Yes, Constable, but you had a weapon with which to defend yourself. The rules of engagement are different now. We have neither rifles nor any other firearm. Our weapons are intelligence, swiftness of reaction and surprise. We must deploy all three. At the moment, of course, Oxley and Adnam think themselves supremely safe. That will change dramatically.’

‘Why is that, Inspector?’

‘We’ve tried to harness the power of the press. Until today, everyone was wondering about the identity of Oxley’s mysterious female accomplice. Her name will be voiced abroad tomorrow.’

‘What effect do you think that will have?’

‘I’m hoping that it will be twofold,’ said Colbeck. ‘With luck, it will prompt members of the general public to come forward with details of sightings of the couple.
Somebody
must have seen them and nothing jogs the memory as much as the promise of a large reward. The other consequence is obvious.’

‘It will put the wind up the pair of them.’

Colbeck nodded. ‘I think they’ll panic and, when people do that, they usually act on impulse. Oxley and Adnam will know that time is running out for them. They may well bolt from their hiding place.’

Madeleine made breakfast that morning with a sense of duty tinged with sadness. It was only a matter of weeks before her father could stay in bed for as long as he liked. Retirement would revolutionise their lives. It was an
unsettling thought. Routine had been the salvation of Caleb Andrews. When his wife had died, he’d been inconsolable and his daughter had had to bear the crushing weight of his grief as well as her own sorrow. She’d rescued him from complete collapse by adhering to a strict routine, waking him for breakfast in the morning and having supper ready for him when he returned in the evening. On the occasions when he had time off, she insisted on taking him for a walk or invited friends and relatives to visit them. Madeleine never let her father be on his own for any length of time when he might surrender to his anguish. On Sundays she first went to church then visited her mother’s grave with him.

Shared bereavement drew them together and deepened their love. It took a long time for Andrews to emerge from the long, dark tunnel of his misery. When he’d finished blinking in the light and could see properly again, he realised just how much he’d depended on Madeleine and how much responsibility she’d had to shoulder. He felt guilty that he’d unintentionally turned her into a cook, domestic servant and nurse. Caring for him for endless months had deprived her of any independent life. It was time that could never be clawed back. He was deeply in her debt. He liked to think that he’d repaid some of that debt when the injuries he received during a train robbery had led directly to Madeleine’s friendship with Robert Colbeck.

‘Are you certain that you told him, Maddy?’ he asked.

‘Eat your breakfast.’

‘Does he know that I was driving that particular train?’

‘Yes, Father,’ she said, cutting a slice off the loaf of bread, ‘I made a point of telling him.’

‘Then why hasn’t he made the effort to see me? I can recount exactly what happened.’

‘I think he’s following other lines of enquiry.’

‘Dirk Sowerby and I were
there
.’

‘So were all the passengers on the train but Robert doesn’t think it worthwhile to interview any of them because nobody actually witnessed the shooting and the escape.’

‘I’d still like to be involved, Maddy.’

‘You need to be involved on another train,’ she warned him, ‘and you’ll be late if you dawdle over your breakfast.’

‘I’ll walk to work faster,’ he said through a mouthful of food. ‘And if you do see him again, tell him I ought to be consulted about this case. I’ve got a theory about that woman, you see.’

‘Tell it to Dirk Sowerby.’

Gobbling the remainder of his breakfast, he washed it down with some tea then got ready to leave. As she gave him his farewell kiss, he pulled her close.

‘I haven’t forgotten what you did for me, Maddy,’ he said with sudden emotion. ‘But for you, I’d have died of grief. I was a heavy cross for you to bear. It was selfish of me to impose on you like that.’

She kissed him again. ‘That’s what daughters are for.’

‘Well, I won’t be a burden for much longer. When I retire from the railway, you can leave me to my own devices and start to enjoy life on your own.’ Nudging her in the ribs, he gave a low cackle. ‘Well, maybe not entirely on your own.’

‘Off you go, Father,’ she said, opening the door.

‘Are you throwing me out?’ he complained.

‘Yes I am, and I have only one request.’

‘What’s that?

‘Make sure that you bring the newspaper home with you.’

‘Supposing that I forget?’ he teased.

‘Then I’ll forget to cook you supper.’

He cackled again. ‘In that case, you’ll have your newspaper. It’s important for you to keep abreast of what’s happening in the world.’

‘There’s only one thing that interests me at the moment,’ she told him. ‘I want to know how the investigation is going. Robert was unfairly criticised in yesterday’s edition. I hope that they have the grace to recognise his qualities in today’s paper.’

Face contorted with fury, Tallis read the article in
The Times
aloud.

‘“Days have now elapsed since the discovery of two inhuman murders and the perpetrators of these unspeakable deeds are, we regret to say, still at liberty to kill again. Surely the distinguished Railway Detective can do better than this? The public has a right to expect certain standards from our police and they have fallen woefully below those standards in this instance. If Superintendent Tallis and Inspector Colbeck suffer these devils to remain at liberty, they will inflict on themselves indelible disgrace …”’

Scrunching the newspaper up, Tallis hurled it to the floor and reached for a cigar. Not daring to move, Leeming
remained motionless but Colbeck retrieved the paper and smoothed it between his hands.

‘They did name Irene Adnam,’ he pointed out, ‘and that, after all, was the object of the exercise.’

Tallis smouldered. ‘They can never resist a chance to attack me,’ he said. ‘Newspapers are a despicable invention.’

‘Our lives would be a struggle without them, sir. Set against their defects are many virtues. All that you read was one article out of many. Read the whole newspaper and you’ll see the range of its coverage. It’s a mine of useful information.’

‘Superintendent Tallis is an incompetent idiot – is that what you call useful information?’

‘You’ve been called worse, sir,’ Leeming put in cheerily before recoiling from the superintendent’s icy glare. ‘There’s one thing that we may be sure of, I fancy. Constable Peebles will not wish to include anything from that article in his scrapbook. It suggests that the police only recruit imbeciles.’

‘The other newspapers were less trenchant,’ noted Colbeck. ‘Each and every one of them did what we asked and identified Irene Adnam as the person who shot Constable Wakeley. That will cause an enormous shock. Who would expect a young woman to be capable of such a heinous crime?’

‘That’s what Estelle said to me.’

‘Sergeant Leeming,’ growled Tallis.

‘Yes, sir?’