The Railway Detective Collection: The Railway Detective, the Excursion Train, the Railway Viaduct (The Railway Detective Series) (48 page)

‘I like to know the way that things are put together,’ said Colbeck. ‘I come from a family of cabinetmakers, you see. As
a boy, I was always intrigued at the way that my father could take a pile of wood and turn it into the most exquisite desk or wardrobe.’

‘There’s nothing quite so fancy in making a boiler.’

‘It takes skill and that impresses me.’

‘You wouldn’t say that if you worked here,’ said Newman. His grin was inviting. ‘What can I tell you this time, Inspector?’

‘I’d like to hear how far you’ve got.’

‘In what?’

‘Your search for the man who
did
kill Joseph Dykes.’

‘Not as far as we’d like,’ conceded the other, ‘but we won’t give up. The trouble is that we have such limited time. That holds us back.’

‘Us?’

‘Me and the friends helping me.’

‘How many of them are there?’

‘A handful,’ said Newman, ‘and you can include Win Hawkshaw as well. Nobody is more eager to track down the culprit than Win.’

‘Do you have any suspects?’

‘Yes, Inspector. One, in particular.’

‘Why didn’t you mention him before?’

‘Let’s be frank about this. You didn’t come to Ashford because you thought Nathan was innocent, did you? You only came to find out who killed Jake Guttridge and now you have the murder of the prison chaplain on your plate.’

‘All three murders are closely linked.’

‘But only two of them have any interest for you,’ said Newman.

‘That’s untrue. If you have any new information relating to
the murder of Joseph Dykes, I want to hear it.’

‘Why?’

‘I told you, Mr Newman. I like to know the way that things are put together, whether they’re desks, wardrobes, steam locomotives or crimes. I thrive on detail.’

The other man scratched his beard as he pondered. Like Winifred Hawkshaw, he had a deep distrust of policemen but he seemed to sense that Colbeck might be different from the general run.

‘His name is Angel,’ he said.

‘Your suspect?’

‘Yes. We don’t know his surname – he may not even have one – but he’s been through here a number of times over the years. I once shod a horse for him, only to discover that he’d stolen it from Bybrook Farm.’

‘Did you report it to the police?’

‘Of course, but Angel was long gone by then. I didn’t catch sight of him again for eighteen months. He moves around, Inspector. He’s half-gypsy. That type never settle.’

‘Why do you think that he was Dykes’s killer?’

‘He was at that fair in Lenham. I saw him going into the Red Lion with my own eyes. According to the landlord, he and Joe Dykes had a disagreement over something or other. When Joe left, Angel must have sneaked out after him.’

‘Do you have any proof of that?’

‘None at all. But we know how Angel can harbour grudges.’

‘Dykes was killed with a meat cleaver belonging to Nathan Hawkshaw. How could this man possibly have got hold of that?’

‘By stealing it, Inspector. The day before the fair, it went
missing from the shop along with a number of other items. Nathan told them that at the trial,’ said Newman with a hint of anger, ‘but they didn’t believe him. That weasel of a prosecution barrister said that Nathan could have faked the burglary himself.’

‘Was this other man – Angel – mentioned in court?’

‘I raised his name but nobody would listen to me.’

‘You have no firm evidence, then?’

‘Not yet, maybe,’ said Newman, ‘but I’ll beat it out of Angel when he shows that ugly face of his in Ashford again.’

‘I should imagine he’ll have the sense to keep well clear of here.’

‘We’ll find him somehow, Inspector.’

‘And then?’

Newman grinned. ‘He’ll be passed on to the police.’

‘I hope so,’ warned Colbeck. ‘We don’t want anyone taking the law into their own hands. You said that a small number of you are looking out for this man.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Perhaps you’d give me their names, Mr Newman. And while we’re on the subject, I’d appreciate the names of everyone who supported the campaign to free Hawkshaw.’

‘I’m afraid that I can’t do that, Inspector.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because there are far too many of them to remember. In any case, some people simply gave some money to our fighting fund. They only did that if they could remain anonymous.’

‘I see.’

‘As for the handful I mentioned, you’ve already met one of them.’

‘Adam Hawkshaw?’

‘Yes. The others wouldn’t want their names to be known.’

‘Is that a polite way of saying that you won’t divulge them?’

‘I can see why you became a detective,’ said Newman with amusement. He became brusque. ‘If you want us on your side, you’ve got to help us in return. Angel is the man we want. Find him, Inspector.’

‘There are other suspects at the top of my list first.’

‘An innocent man was hanged. Doesn’t that matter to you?’

‘It matters a great deal, Mr Newman. Innocent or guilty, his death has already provoked two murders. What other crimes are there to come?’ He changed his tack. ‘How well do you know Emily Hawkshaw?’

‘As well as anyone, I suppose,’ said Newman, hunching his shoulders. ‘My wife and I were not blessed with children – Meg was struck down when she was still a young woman. Nathan let us share his family. Both of the children used to come and watch me at the forge, especially Emily. She was there every day at one time.’

‘Why has she drawn away from her mother?’

‘What makes you ask that?’

‘I spoke to Mrs Hawkshaw earlier,’ explained Colbeck. ‘She was upset at the way that she and her daughter seem to have lost touch. She traced it back to the assault made by Joseph Dykes.’

‘That put the fear of death into Emily.’

‘Then you’d expect her to turn to her mother. Yet she didn’t.’

‘I know.’

‘Have you any idea why that might be?’

‘No, Inspector,’ said Newman, sadly. ‘I don’t. As a matter of fact, I had a word with the girl yesterday and asked her why she spurned her mother at a time when they needed to mourn together. At first, Emily wouldn’t say anything at all. When I pushed her, she told me that she wanted to be left alone because she felt ashamed at Nathan’s death.’

‘Ashamed?’

‘She feels responsible for it somehow.’

‘That’s absurd.’

‘She’s only a young girl, after all. In her eyes, none of this would have happened if she hadn’t been attacked in that lane. She ran home in tears to Nathan and he swore that he’d make Joe Dykes pay. Can you see it from Emily’s point of view, Inspector?’

‘Yes – she gave her stepfather a motive.’

‘It helped to put him on that scaffold.’

‘Was Emily at the fair that day?’

‘Yes, she went with Adam.’

‘Did they stay together?’

Newman chuckled. ‘I can see that you don’t know much about country fairs,’ he said. ‘It’s a big event for us. We don’t just go there to buy and sell. There are games, dances, races, competitions and they even put on a little play this year. Emily and Adam would have split up and enjoyed the fair in their own way.’

‘Did either of them witness the argument with Dykes?’

‘I can’t honestly say.’

‘You were the one who stopped Hawkshaw from going into the Red Lion after Dykes. You persuaded him to go home, didn’t you?’

‘That’s right, Inspector.’

‘Then why didn’t either of the children go as well?’

‘I’ve no idea. I was back in my cousin’s forge by then.’

‘I find it surprising that Emily, in particular, didn’t go with him.’

‘He was in no real state for company, Inspector. He stalked off.’

‘But I’m told he was very protective towards his stepdaughter.’

‘He was, believe me.’ He caught sight of someone out of the corner of his eye. ‘Ah,’ said Newman, grimacing, ‘the foreman has come out to see why I’m not earning my pay. I’ll have to go, Inspector.’

‘Of course. Thank you for your help.’

‘If you want to talk to me again, come to my house in Turton Street. Number 10. You’ll find me sitting with my wife most evenings,’ he said, walking away. ‘I don’t go far from Meg.’

‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ said Colbeck.

There were several moments when Madeleine Andrews regretted the impulse that had taken her to Hoxton again, but she felt obscurely that her visit might be of some help to Robert Colbeck and that made her stay. Never having been in a Roman Catholic church before, she felt like an intruder and, since she was wearing black, the charge of impostor could be levelled at her as well. The morning newspaper had printed the bare details of Jacob Guttridge’s funeral. Madeleine was one of a pitifully small congregation. The widow and the other mourners occupied the front row of seats while she remained at the rear of the church.

Even from that distance, she found the service profoundly moving, conducted by Father Cleary in a high-pitched voice
that reached every corner of the building without effort. The burial was even more affecting and, though she only watched it from behind one of the statues in the graveyard, Madeleine felt as if she were actually part of the event. Louise Guttridge tossed a handful of earth on to the coffin then turned away. The rest of the mourners took their leave of Father Cleary and dispersed.

To Madeleine’s horror, the widow walked slowly in her direction. The interloper had been seen. Madeleine feared the worst, expecting to be castigated for daring to trespass on private grief, for attending the funeral of a man she had never known and could not possibly admire. Pursing her lips, she braced herself for deserved censure. Louise Guttridge stopped a few yards from her and beckoned with a finger.

‘Come on out, please,’ she said.

‘Yes, Mrs Guttridge,’ agreed Madeleine, emerging from her refuge.

‘I thought it was you, Miss Andrews.’

‘I didn’t mean to upset you in any way.’

‘I’m sure that you didn’t. You came out of the goodness of your heart, didn’t you?’ She looked around. ‘That’s more than I can say for my son. Michael and his wife could not even bother to turn up today. You, a complete stranger, have more sympathy in you than our only child.’

‘It was perhaps as well that he did stay away, Mrs Guttridge.’

‘Yes, you may be right.’

‘At a time like this, you don’t want old wounds to be opened.’

‘That’s true, Miss Andrews.’

‘Your son has his own life now.’

‘Rebecca is welcome to him!’

Louise Guttridge’s face glowed with anger for a second then she went off into a reverie. It lasted for minutes. All that Madeleine could do was to stand there and wait. She felt highly embarrassed. When she saw that Father Cleary was heading their way, Madeleine squirmed and wished that she had never dared to go to Hoxton that morning. She began to move slowly away.

‘Perhaps I should go, Mrs Guttridge,’ she said.

‘No, no. Wait here.’

‘I sense that I’m in the way.’

‘Not at all,’ said the other woman, taking her by the wrist. ‘Stay here while I speak with Father Cleary. I need to talk to you alone afterwards.’ She gave a semblance of a smile. ‘And don’t worry about me, Miss Andrews. Jacob has been laid to rest now and I’m at peace with myself. God has provided.’

Edward Tallis was feared for the strong discipline he enforced but he was also respected for his effectiveness. As soon as he reached London, he drafted a letter to the Home Office in response to Colbeck’s request. Sent by hand, it prompted an instant response and he was able to dispatch the document to Ashford. It arrived by courier that afternoon as Robert Colbeck and Victor Leeming sat down to a late luncheon at the Saracen’s Head. The Inspector took the long sheet of paper out of the envelope with a flourish.

‘Here it is, Victor,’ he said, unfolding it. ‘The petition I wanted.’

‘Well done, Mr Tallis!’

‘I knew that he wouldn’t let us down.’

‘I never believed that the Home Secretary would bother to
keep this sort of thing,’ said Leeming. ‘I imagined that he’d tear it into strips and use them to light his cigars.’

‘You’re being unfair to Mr Walpole. His duty is to consider every appeal made on behalf of a condemned man. In this case, he did not see any grounds for a reprieve.’

‘They wanted more than a reprieve, sir.’

‘Yes,’ said Colbeck as he read the preamble at the top of the petition. ‘It’s an uncompromising demand for Nathan Hawkshaw’s freedom, neatly written and well worded.’

‘How many names in all?’

‘Dozens. Fifty or sixty, at least.’

Leeming sighed. ‘Will we have to speak to them all?’

‘No, Victor. My guess is that the man we’re after will be somewhere in the first column of names. Those are the ones they collected first, the ones they knew they could count on.’

‘Who’s at the top, sir – Hawkshaw’s wife?’

‘Yes,’ replied Colbeck, ‘followed by his son. At least, I take it to be Adam Hawkshaw’s signature. It’s very shaky. Then we have Gregory Newman, Timothy Lodge, Horace Fillimore, Peter Stelling and so on. The one name we don’t seem to have,’ he said, running his eye down the parallel columns, ‘is that of Emily Hawkshaw. Now, why wouldn’t the girl sign a petition on behalf of her stepfather?’

‘You’ll have to ask her, Inspector.’

‘I will, I promise you.’

‘Are there any women on the list – apart from the wife, that is?’

‘Quite a few, Victor. By the look of it, most of the names are beside those of their husbands but there are one or two on their own.’

‘Perhaps she’s one of them.’

‘She?’

‘The female accomplice you believe is implicated.’

‘I think that there’s a good chance of that. However,’ said Colbeck, setting the petition aside, ‘let’s order our meal and exchange our news. I long to hear how you got on. Was your visit to Canterbury productive?’

‘Far more productive than the journey there and back, sir.’

‘Constable Butterkiss?’

‘He keeps on treating me as if I’m a recruiting sergeant for the Metropolitan Police,’ grumbled Leeming. ‘I had to listen to his life story and it was not the most gripping adventure I’ve heard. Thank heavens I never became a tailor. I’d hate to be so servile.’

‘He’ll learn, I’m sure. He’s raw and inexperienced but I sense that he has the makings of a good policeman. Bear with him, Victor. Apart from anything else, he can help us to identify the people on this list.’