Murder on the Brighton Express (18 page)

She was roused. ‘You’ve been drinking – I can smell it on you.’

‘I only had one pint.’

‘And what did
she
have?’ Josie challenged. ‘What did your fancy woman drink? That’s where you’ve been, Dick Chiffney, isn’t it – strolling along the promenade in Brighton with someone else on your arm! While I’ve been shut away here like a prisoner, you’ve been dipping your wick at the seaside.’

‘That’s a lie!’ he shouted. ‘
You’re
the only woman I want, Josie. You should know that by now. Nobody compares with you, my love. In any case,’ he said, pointing to his face with a harsh laugh, ‘this ugly mug of mine frightens women away. Only you had the kindness to take me on. Do you think I’d forget that?’

‘There’s nobody else, then?’

‘I give you my word.’

She was pacified. ‘So tell me what happened.’

‘I waited and watched in vain.’

‘What were you supposed to do?’

‘That doesn’t matter. The point is that I wasn’t able to do it.’

‘Were you there to kill someone, Dick?’

‘No, no,’ he said, evasively.

‘Then why did you take that gun with you?’

‘It was for my protection, Josie. There’s lots of thieves about. You can’t be too careful.’

‘Don’t try to pull the wool over my eyes,’ she said. ‘Any thief would have more sense than to take on a man like you. That gun was given you for a purpose – and so was that rifle. Now stop feeding me lies or I’ll walk out of here now.’

‘You mustn’t do that, Josie – you could be
seen
.’

‘The police are after you, not me.’

‘Just let me do the job,’ he pleaded, ‘then the pair of us can get out of London altogether. I know you’re upset because all your things are back at the house but they can be fetched. As soon as it gets dark, I’ll sneak back and get whatever you want.’

‘The only thing I want is the truth,’ she declared, giving him an ultimatum. ‘If I don’t hear it in the next few minutes, then you can find someone else to lie to because I’ll be on my way home.’

Chiffney was in an awkward predicament. If he told her the full truth, he would be breaking his word to the man who was employing him. He would also risk losing Josie altogether. When she realised the enormity of what he had already done, she would be horrified and might well want nothing to do with him. While she would happily flout the law when it served her purpose, she would never condone the crime in which Chiffney had become involved. On the other hand, to withhold everything from her would provoke Josie into walking out and he was desperate to prevent that. After careful consideration, he decided on a partial confession.

‘I met this man some weeks ago,’ he began.

‘What’s his name?’

‘Now that’s something I can’t tell you, my love, because I don’t know it myself. He made sure of that. What I can tell you is that he lives in Brighton and he’s not short of money.’

‘Why did he get in touch with you?’

‘He wanted someone who could do a job for him without asking any questions. My name was mentioned to him and he got in touch.’ He smirked. ‘It was the best bit of luck I’ve had since I met you.’

‘What sort of job is it?’

‘A dangerous one,’ he admitted.

‘I knew it,’ she said, wide-eyed with alarm. ‘He’s paying you to murder someone, isn’t he?’

‘Let’s just say that he wants a certain man hurt bad. I hurt him once already and that’s why I got that money. But there’s more to come if I hurt him again.’ She was patently worried. ‘It will be over in seconds, Josie,’ he went on, slipping an arm around her. ‘This man means nothing to us – why should we care what happens to him?’

‘Who is he?’

‘He lives in Brighton, that’s all I can tell you.’

‘Why does the other man want him hurt?’

‘Revenge,’ said Chiffney. ‘I don’t know what he did to the man who’s paying me but it must have been something terrible. In other words, he
deserves
what’s coming to him.’ He pulled her close. ‘So now you know the truth, Josie. I’ve been living off you too long and it made me feel bad. When I had a chance like this, I couldn’t turn it down. I’m being paid more than I could earn on the railway in ten years. Think what we could do with the money.’ Releasing her, he stood aside and indicated the door. ‘If you’re too scared to be my woman
any more, you can walk out right now. Is that what you want to do, Josie? Make up your mind.’

It took her an instant to do so. She started to undress.

‘Let’s go to bed,’ she decided.

Expecting to report to the superintendent the moment he returned from Brighton that evening, Robert Colbeck discovered that Tallis was in a meeting with the Commissioner, defending his officers against the jibes made about them in the newspaper and trying to justify the time and money allotted to the investigation. Colbeck instead invited Victor Leeming into his office to tell him what he had learnt in the course of his trip to the south coast. Before the inspector could speak, however, Leeming blurted out his own news.

‘I arrested Matthew Shanklin,’ he said, proudly.

‘Did the handwriting match?’

‘Yes, Inspector – he admitted sending that funeral card.’

‘Is he still in custody?’

‘No – he’s been released on bail.’

Colbeck was staggered. ‘For a crime of this magnitude?’

‘Mr Shanklin had nothing to do with the train crash, sir.’

‘Are you sure of that, Victor? I was beginning to feel certain that he and Chiffney were working in partnership.’

Leeming told him the full story, pointing out that he would much sooner face questioning by Colbeck than submit to the kind of badgering interrogation perfected by Tallis. In sending
the funeral card, Shanklin was guilty of malicious behaviour designed to inflict pain on a man he despised. Beyond that, no other charges could be brought against him.

It was a setback for Colbeck. Disappointed that Shanklin was innocent of any part in the crime on the Brighton line, he was at least glad that he had been flushed out into the open. One name could now be eliminated from the major inquiry. The problem was that it left them with only a single suspect.

‘Did Mr Shanklin tell you where he’d been today?’ said Colbeck.

‘He claimed that he’d taken the day off to visit friends.’

‘That was an arrant lie.’

‘I know that he went somewhere by train because the cab driver remembered picking him up at a railway station.’

‘He’d been to Brighton. Far from visiting friends, he was there to call on his sworn enemy, Horace Bardwell.’

‘How do you know?’ asked Leeming.

‘I looked in at the hospital before I left,’ said Colbeck. ‘I wanted to see how Mr Bardwell and some of the other survivors were faring. Shanklin, apparently, came into the ward in order to gloat over Mr Bardwell. From what I could gather, there was quite a scene. Mr Bardwell was so upset that he had to be sedated for a while.’

‘That ought to be mentioned when Shanklin comes to court.’

‘It will be, Victor. I’ll make sure of it.’

‘What else did you find out in Brighton?’

‘A great deal – it’s difficult to know where to start.’

Colbeck told him about meeting Giles Thornhill, spending time with Sidney Weaver and taking tea with Ezra Follis. He also talked about the visit to the gunsmith. Leeming was
puzzled.

‘Why did you advise Mr Thornhill to speak tomorrow?’ he said.

‘It’s the only way to bring our assassin out of hiding. As long as the man is at liberty, Mr Thornhill’s life is in constant danger.’

‘But you’re putting him in even more danger by urging him to speak in a public meeting, sir. He could be shot dead on the platform.’

‘I think that highly unlikely, Victor,’ said Colbeck.

‘Why is that, sir?’

‘Put yourself in the position of the man with the rifle.’

‘Could his name be Dick Chiffney?’

‘In all probability, it is. Imagine that you were stalking Mr Thornhill. When you see an advertisement for a public meeting addressed by him, what would you do?’

‘Sit at the back of the hall and wait for the right moment.’

Colbeck grinned. ‘You’d never make an assassin, I’m afraid.’

‘Wouldn’t I?’

‘No, Victor – the first thing you need to do is to conceal your identity. How can you do that if you appear in public? You’ll be seen by people who can give an accurate description of you. Also, of course, there’s the small matter of making an escape from the hall. You could well be chased by some public-spirited citizen.’

‘All right,’ said Leeming, deflated, ‘tell me what you’d do.’

‘I wouldn’t let Mr Thornhill get anywhere near the hall.’

‘Then where would you kill him?’

‘Near the house,’ said Colbeck. ‘It’s more private and
would save me the trouble of shooting over other people’s heads in the hall. The man we’re after has been inside the grounds before, remember. He knows how to find his way around.’

‘But you told me the estate was well guarded.’

‘It is at the moment. Very few men will be on duty tomorrow.’

‘Has Mr Thornhill agreed to make that speech?’

‘He’s giving it serious thought, Victor.’

‘If he refuses to go,’ said Leeming, ‘then your plan will have no chance at all of success.’

‘Oh, I don’t think he’ll refuse somehow.’

‘Why is that, Inspector?’

‘Pride is at stake,’ explained Colbeck. ‘If Giles Thornhill is not available tomorrow, he’ll have to yield the platform to a man he dislikes intensely and I can’t see him doing that.’

‘Who is the man?’

‘The Rector of St Dunstan’s.’

Ezra Follis rose at his habitual early hour and shaved with care in order to avoid the scratches on his cheeks. Tiring of the bandaging around his head, he ignored the doctor’s advice and unwound it to reveal some gashes on his forehead. There were wounds in his scalp as well but he could not see them in the mirror and they had ceased to remind him of their presence. Now that he had discarded the bandaging, he felt much better. After dressing in his bedroom, he took a smoking cap from the wardrobe and put it on. Follis did not, in fact, smoke but the cap had been a gift from the female parishioner who had made it for him and he did not have the heart to refuse it.

When he came down for breakfast, Mrs Ashmore was already
busy in the kitchen. They exchanged greetings, commented on the weather then discussed the day’s commitments. It was only when the housekeeper finally turned round that she saw what he had done.

‘You’ve taken it off,’ she scolded.

‘It was like having my head in a vice.’

‘Doctor Lentle will be very cross with you.’

‘Only if he finds out what I’ve done,’ said Follis, ‘and I know I can count on you not to tell him. Besides, I’ve finally found a use for this cap that Mrs Gregory made for me. How does it look?’

‘Very becoming,’ said the housekeeper.

‘Do you think I should take up smoking?’

She was stern. ‘No, Mr Follis, it will make a stink. My husband used to smoke and the smell was terrible. I think that pipe of his was one of the things that took him away before his time. He had this awful hacking cough.’

‘Yet it didn’t stop him smoking.’

‘He just wouldn’t listen.’

‘A common fault of the male gender, I fear,’ he conceded. ‘We’re always deaf to sound advice about our health.’ He became serious. ‘The truth of it is that I felt something of a fraud with all that bandaging on. Those lying in hospital were the real victims. Some have lost limbs in the crash and Mr Bardwell has been blinded. I’m embarrassed when people offer sympathy to
me
. I don’t deserve it.’

‘You deserved every ounce of it,’ she said, softly. ‘I saw what other people didn’t see. I watched you struggling as you went up those stairs. I heard you groaning in pain during the night. You put on a brave face for your parishioners but I know the truth.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Ashmore,’ he said, touching her gently on the shoulder. ‘I have no secrets from you.’ He adjusted the cap slightly. ‘I wonder if I should wear this when I go to that meeting.’

‘I think your own hat would be more suitable.’

‘It’s not an ecclesiastical function. I’ll be speaking to the good citizens of Brighton about the future of their fair town. It will be a talk and not a sermon.’

‘You can hold an audience wherever you speak.’

‘I’m not sure how some of them will cope with the shock. They’re expecting to hear Giles Thornhill and they get the Rector of St Dunstan’s instead. We’re as different as chalk and cheese.’

‘I’ve always preferred cheese,’ she said with a half-smile. ‘Now, off you go into the dining room and I’ll serve breakfast.’

He looked at the clock on the wall. ‘I’ve got the verger coming at eight-thirty and the dean at nine. Then the ladies of the sewing circle will be descending on us. I must remember the smoking cap for that because Mrs Gregory is certain to be among them. No sooner do they go than I have to discuss the implications of holy matrimony with those delightful young people whose banns will be read for the first time next Sunday.’ He smiled apologetically. ‘We’ll needs lots of cups of tea, I’m afraid.’

‘That’s what I’m here for, Mr Follis.’

‘And how grateful I am to have you!’ he said. Follis breathed in deeply then exhaled with a broad smile. ‘You know, I really do feel so much better. I can even face the dean with equanimity in spite of the criticism I’m certain to incur from him. He always has some rebuke for me. If my recovery
continues,’ he went on, chirpily, ‘I might even change my mind about Thursday.’

‘You mean that you’ll stay overnight in London?’

‘I mean exactly that, Mrs Ashmore.’

‘Very good, sir,’ she said, obediently.

‘Do you have any objection to that?’

‘It’s not my place to object, Mr Follis. You must do whatever you wish. You’ll never hear a word of complaint from me.’

She turned away so that he could not see her disappointment.

The day began early at Scotland Yard. Summoned to the superintendent’s office, Colbeck saw the morning newspapers strewn across his desk. Tallis was embittered.

‘Is there any profession more abhorrent and untrustworthy than that of journalism?’ he asked, scowling. ‘They pour their poison into the unsuspecting minds of the British public and warp their judgement. Our press is nothing but an instrument of torture.’

‘I think that’s a gross exaggeration, sir,’ said Colbeck.

‘Then you’ve not read the morning editions.’

‘I’ve not had time, superintendent.’

‘This one,’ continued Tallis, slapping a newspaper, ‘suggests that we’re causing widespread distress among both survivors of the crash and relatives of the victims by daring to suggest that foul play was an element in the disaster. The author of this vicious article claims that
we
are the ones guilty of foul play by persisting with an investigation that is wrong-headed and redundant. What do you say to that?’

‘We’ll have to make the gentleman eat his words, sir.’

‘Gentleman!’ bellowed the other. ‘I see nothing gentlemanly in this brutal prose. We are being soundly cudgelled, Inspector. You are traduced by name and I by implication. In trying to uphold the law, we are mocked unmercifully.’

‘I always ignore such censure,’ said Colbeck.

‘Well, I don’t, I can tell you. Newspaper editors should have statutory restraints imposed upon them. They should not be allowed to trade freely in sly innuendo and outright abuse. They should be prevented from holding up the Metropolitan Police Force to mockery.’

‘With respect, sir, it’s our job to do that.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘By appearing to make mistakes,’ said Colbeck, ‘we lay ourselves open to ridicule. The only way to stop that happening in this case is to solve the crime at the heart of it.’

‘According to the newspapers, there
is
no crime.’

‘Then I’ll enjoy reading them when we make an arrest and prove that Captain Ridgeon’s assessment of the crash was both hasty and misguided. Nobody is entitled to unstinting praise,’ he went on, reasonably. ‘We have to earn it. It’s annoying to be pilloried in the press but we can rectify that.’

‘I want an abject apology from every editor,’ demanded Tallis.

‘That may be too much to ask, Superintendent.’

‘Confound it, man – it’s their duty to help us!’

‘They’d argue that it’s their duty to report events in as honest and unbiased a way as they can. Sadly, that’s not always the case but it’s no use fulminating against them. Unless they print something defamatory, there’s little we can do.’

‘I can write strong letters of denial.’

‘That would be pointless at this stage, sir,’ said Colbeck. ‘In a war of words, the press always has more ink. Besides, in order to defend what we’re doing, you’d have to reveal some of the evidence we’ve gathered and that would be imprudent. Those responsible for that train crash have already been warned that we are after them. If they realise how close we are, they may bolt altogether.’

Tallis stood up. ‘How close are we, Inspector?’

‘I anticipate significant progress by the end of the day.’

‘You thought we’d achieve that by matching Mr Shanklin’s handwriting with that on a funeral card.’

‘I was too optimistic,’ admitted Colbeck.

‘And are you being too optimistic today?’

‘No, sir – I’m being much more cautious.’

Tallis opened a box on the desk and took out a cigar, cutting the end off it before thrusting it into his mouth and lighting it. He puffed vigorously until the cigar began to glow and acrid smoke curled up to the ceiling.

‘We
need
that significant progress, Inspector,’ he said. ‘It’s the only way to stop these jackals from snapping at our heels.’

‘Never be upset by press criticism,’ advised Colbeck. ‘There’s a very simple way to avoid it.’

‘Is there?’

‘Yes, Superintendent – cancel the newspapers.’

Before Tallis could muster a reply, Colbeck bade him farewell and left the office. Victor Leeming was waiting for him in the corridor. Having read one of the morning newspapers, he knew how violently the superintendent would react and was grateful that he had not had to confront him. He was surprised how unruffled Colbeck was.

‘What sort of mood was he in?’ asked Leeming.

Colbeck grinned. ‘Mr Tallis wants us to bring him the head of every journalist who has attacked us,’ he said. ‘I think he’d like to stick them on poles and throw paper darts at them.’

‘I’d throw more than paper darts, Inspector.’

‘The most effective missile would be an arrest, Victor.’