Murder on the Brighton Express (2 page)

‘I’m not sure that he
has
a defence.’

‘There are recommended speeds for every stretch of the track.’

‘Everyone I’ve spoken to says the same thing,’ argued Ridgeon. ‘The speed was excessive. They were
there
, Inspector. These people were in the Brighton Express at the time.’

‘That’s precisely the reason I’d doubt their word,’ said Colbeck. ‘Oh, I’m sure they gave an honest opinion and I’m not criticising them in any way. But all the passengers have been through a terrible experience. They’ll be in a state of shock. You have to allow for a degree of exaggeration.’

‘I talk to survivors of accidents all the time,’ Ridgeon told him, eyes blazing, ‘and I know how to get the truth out of them. I won’t have you casting aspersions upon my methods.’

‘I’m not doing so, Captain Ridgeon.’

‘Well, it sounds to me as if you are.’

‘I’d merely point out that there are no bends of any significance on this stretch of line. Indeed, on the whole journey from London to Brighton, you won’t find dangerous curves or problematical gradients.’

Ridgeon stuck out a challenging chin. ‘Are you trying to teach me my job, Inspector?’

‘No, sir,’ said Colbeck, trying to smooth his ruffled
feathers with an emollient smile. ‘I simply think that it would be unwise to rush to judgement when you’re not in full possession of the facts.’

‘I’ve garnered rather more of them than you.’

‘That’s not in dispute.’

‘Then have the grace to bow to my superior expertise.’

‘I’ll be interested to read your report,’ said Colbeck, meeting his stern gaze without flinching. ‘Meanwhile, I’d be grateful for the names of the two drivers and the fireman who died.’

‘Why?’ asked Ridgeon.

‘Because, over the years, I’ve become acquainted with many people who work on the railway,’ came the reply. ‘I’ve been summoned twice before by the LB&SCR and got to know a number of their staff.’

Ridgeon consulted the pad he was holding. ‘The driver of the ballast train was Edmund Liversedge and his fireman was Timothy Parke.’ He glanced up at Colbeck who shook his head. ‘The driver of the other locomotive, presumed dead, was in charge of the Brighton Express for the first time, another factor that I have to take into account. Inexperience on the footplate can be fatal.’

‘What was the man’s name, sir?’

‘Frank Pike.’ He saw Colbeck heave a sigh. ‘You know him?’

‘I knew him quite well at one time,’ said Colbeck, coming to a decision and taking a step backward. ‘If you’ll excuse us, Captain Ridgeon, the sergeant and I will get back to London at once. I’ll take upon myself the duty of informing Mrs Pike of the death of her husband. It’s the least I can do for her.’

‘There’s nothing to keep you here, Inspector. The
investigation is in safe hands and will not need to involve the Detective Department in any shape or form.’ He flicked a hand. ‘Good day to you.’

‘Oh, we’ll be back first thing tomorrow,’ said Colbeck, resenting the curt dismissal. ‘I want to make a closer examination of the site.’ He gave a disarming smile. ‘You’ll be amazed how different things can look in daylight.’

The Round House was a vast and intricate structure of wrought iron and brick, built to accommodate the turntable used by trains belonging to the London and North Western Railway. Situated in Chalk Farm Road, it was always filled with clamour and action. Since its erection in 1847, it had attracted many visitors but few of them were female and fewer still were as handsome as Madeleine Andrews. In effect, she was a human turntable, making the head of every man there veer round sharply when she entered.

Many engine drivers had taken their young sons to view the interior of the Round House. Caleb Andrews, a short, wiry man whose fringe beard was speckled with grey, was the only one who had taken a daughter armed with a sketch pad. Taller than her father, Madeleine was an alert, intelligent, spirited young woman who had taken over the running of their Camden house when her mother died. Andrews was known at work for his acid tongue and trenchant opinions but his daughter had tamed him at home, coping easily with his shifting moods and taking the edge off his irascibility.

‘There you are, Maddy,’ he said, raising his voice over the din and making a sweeping gesture. ‘What do you think of
it?’

She gave a shrug. ‘It’s magnificent,’ she agreed, running her eye over the interior. ‘It’s like an industrial cathedral. It’s even bigger than it looks from outside.’

‘Bigger and noisier – I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve driven on to that turntable. It must be hundreds.’

‘Do you think anyone would mind if I made a few sketches?’

‘They wouldn’t
dare
to mind,’ said Andrews, distributing a warning glare around the circle of railwaymen. ‘Any daughter of mine has special privileges.’

‘Does that mean I can stand on the footplate while an engine is being turned?’ she teased.

He laughed. ‘Even I can’t arrange that for you, Maddy.’

Fiercely proud of her, Andrews stood there with arms akimbo as she began her first quick sketch. Her interest in locomotives was not a casual one. Having discovered an artistic talent, Madeleine had developed it to the point where it had become a source of income. Prints of her railway scenes had been bought by several people. What she had never drawn before, however, was a turntable in action. That was why she had asked her father to take her to the Round House.

Aware of the attention she was getting, she kept her head down and worked swiftly. It was left to Andrews to explain what she was doing and to boast about her modest success as an artist. Any talent she possessed, he was keen to point out, must have been inherited from him. While he chatted to his friends, Madeleine was sketching the locomotive that had just been driven on to the turntable before being swung round so that it could leave frontward. A simple, necessary, mechanical action was carried out with relative ease then the locomotive
left with a series of short, sharp puffs of smoke.

Madeleine’s pencil danced over the paper and she scribbled some notes beside each lightning sketch. When she turned her attention to the structure itself, she craned her neck to look up at the domed roof. It was inspiring. The fact that the whole place was bathed in evening shadows somehow made the scene more magical and evocative. She was so absorbed in her work that she did not notice the man who came into the building and spoke earnestly to her father. After his jocular conversation with the others, Andrews was now tense and concerned, plying the newcomer with questions until he had extracted every last detail from him.

On their walk home through the gathering gloom, Madeleine noticed the radical change in her father’s manner. Instead of talking incessantly, as he usually did, he lapsed into a brooding silence.

‘Is anything wrong, Father?’ she asked.

‘I’m afraid that it is.’

She was worried. ‘You’re not in trouble for taking me there, are you? I’d hate to think that I made things awkward for you.’

‘It’s nothing like that, Maddy,’ he told her with an affectionate squeeze of her arm. ‘In fact, it’s nothing whatsoever to do with the LNWR. While you were drawing in there, Nat Ruggles passed on some disturbing news to me. There’s been a bad accident.’

‘Where?’

‘On the Brighton line.’

‘What happened?’

‘According to Nat, there was a collision between two trains the other side of the Balcombe tunnel. I suppose the only
consolation is that it happened in open country and not in the tunnel itself.’

‘Nor on the Ouse Viaduct,’ she noted.

‘That would have been a terrible calamity, Maddy. If the viaduct was destroyed in a crash, the line would be closed indefinitely. Nobody would be able to take an excursion train to the seaside,’ he pointed out. ‘As it is, there are bound to be deaths and serious injuries. The Brighton Express would have been going at a fair speed and you know how poor the braking system is.’ He showed a flash of temper. ‘All that those brainless engineers think about is making trains go faster and faster. It’s high time someone designed a means of stopping them.’

He fell silent again and Madeleine left him to his thoughts. She knew how upset he was at the news of any railway accidents. He was always uncomfortably reminded of how hazardous his own job was. Andrews had courted disaster on more than one occasion but always escaped it. There was a camaraderie among railwaymen that meant a tragedy on one line was mourned by every rival company. There was no gloating. With regard to the LB&SCR, Caleb Andrews had even more reason for alarm. He had many friends who worked for the company and feared that one or more of them had been involved.

When they reached the house, they let themselves in. Having met his daughter at the end of his day’s shift, Andrews was still in his working clothes. He removed his cap and slumped into a chair.

‘I’ll make some supper,’ offered Madeleine.

‘Not for me.’

‘You have to eat something, Father. You must be
starving.’

‘I couldn’t touch a thing, Maddy,’ he said with a grimace. ‘I don’t think I’d be able to keep it down. Just leave me be, there’s a good girl. I have too many things on my mind.’

It was late evening when Robert Colbeck arrived at the house and he was pleased to see a light in the living room. After paying the cab driver and sending him on his way, he knocked on the door. When it was opened by Madeleine, she let out a spontaneous cry of delight.

‘Robert! What are you doing here?’

‘At the moment,’ he said with a warm smile, ‘I’m enjoying that look of surprise on your face.’ He gave her a token kiss. ‘I’m sorry to turn up on your doorstep so late, Madeleine.’

‘You’re welcome whatever time you come,’ she said, standing back so that he could step into the house. She closed the front door behind him. ‘It’s lovely to see you so unexpectedly.’

‘Good evening, Mr Andrews,’ he said, doffing his top hat.

Deep in thought, the engine driver did not even hear him.

‘You must excuse Father,’ said Madeleine in a whisper. ‘He’s been upset by news of an accident on the Brighton line. Let’s go on through to the kitchen, shall we?’

‘But it was the accident that brought me here,’ explained Colbeck. ‘As it happens, I’ve just returned from the site.’

‘What’s that?’ asked Andrews, hearing him this time and getting up instantly from his chair. ‘You know something about the crash?’

‘Yes, Mr Andrews.’

‘Tell me everything.’

‘Give Robert a proper greeting first,’ chided Madeleine.

‘This is important to me, Maddy.’

‘I appreciate that, Mr Andrews,’ said Colbeck, ‘and that’s why I came. If we could all sit down, I’ll be happy to give you the full details. I don’t think you should hear them standing up.’

‘Why not?’

‘Just do as Robert suggests, Father,’ said Madeleine.

‘Well?’ pressed Andrews as he resumed his seat.

Sitting on the sofa, Colbeck took a deep breath. ‘It was a head-on collision,’ he told them. ‘Six people were killed and dozens were badly injured.’

‘Do you know who was on the footplate at the time?’

‘Yes, Mr Andrews. The driver of the ballast train was Edmund Liversedge. His fireman was Timothy Parke.’

Andrews shook his head. ‘I don’t know either of them.’

‘Their families are being informed of their deaths, as we speak.’

‘What about the express?’

‘The fireman was the only survivor on the footplate. He managed to jump clear before the crash. His name is John Heddle.’

‘Heddle!’ repeated the other. ‘That little monkey. I remember him when he was a cleaner for the LNWR. He was always in trouble. In the end, he was sacked.’ He scratched his beard. ‘So he’s made something of himself, after all, has he? Good for him. I never thought John Heddle would become a fireman.’

‘What about the driver?’ said Madeleine.

‘It appears that he was killed instantly,’ said Colbeck.

After looking from one to the other, he lowered his voice. ‘I’m afraid that I have some distressing news for you. The driver
was Frank Pike.’

Madeleine was shocked and her father turned white. Frank Pike was more than a friend of the family. Andrews had been seriously injured during the train robbery that had brought Robert Colbeck into his life. The fireman that day had been Frank Pike and Colbeck had been impressed by his loyalty and steadfastness. He had been even more impressed by Madeleine Andrews and what had begun as a meeting in disturbing circumstances had blossomed over the years into something far more than a mere friendship.

‘I felt that you ought to know as soon as possible,’ Colbeck went on. ‘It seemed to me that you and Madeleine might prefer to be there when I break the news to his wife. Mrs Pike is sure to be sitting at home, wondering why her husband has not come back from work. She’s going to need a lot of support.’

‘Then Rose will get it from us,’ promised Madeleine. ‘This will be a crushing blow. She was so proud when Frank became a driver.’

‘It’s the reason he left the LNWR,’ recalled Andrews, sorrowfully. ‘They refused to promote him. The only way he could be a driver was to move to another company so that’s what he did. Frank Pike was the best fireman I ever had,’ he said, wincing. ‘I’ll miss him dreadfully.’ His eyes flicked to Colbeck. ‘Do you know what caused the accident?’

‘No,’ replied the detective, ‘and I was very sceptical about the one theory that was put forward. It was suggested that the express train went too fast around a bend and came off the rails as a result. Is that the kind of thing you’d expect of Frank Pike?’

‘Not in a hundred years!’ said Andrews, red with anger. ‘Frank would always err on the side of safety. I should know
– I
taught
him.’ He jumped up and struck a combative pose. ‘Who’s been spreading lies about him?’

‘It’s just a foolish idea starting to take root.’

‘It’s more than foolish – it’s an insult to Frank!’

‘Don’t shout, Father,’ said Madeleine, trying to calm him.

‘Isn’t it enough that the poor man has been killed doing his job?’ yelled Andrews. ‘Why do they have to blacken his name by claiming that the accident was his fault? It’s wrong, Maddy. It’s downright cruel, that’s what it is.’

‘I agree with you wholeheartedly, Mr Andrews,’ said Colbeck, ‘and I’m sure that Pike will be exonerated when the full truth is known. Meanwhile, however, I don’t believe you should let this idle speculation upset you and I strongly advise you against making any mention of it to his widow.’

‘That’s right,’ said Madeleine. ‘We must consider Rose’s feelings.’

‘Shall we all go there together? I know that she lives nearby.’

‘It’s only minutes away, Robert.’

‘This is a job for Maddy and me,’ announced Andrews, making an effort to control himself. ‘It was good of you to come, Inspector, and I’m very grateful. But I know Rose Pike well. She’ll be upset by the sight of a stranger. She’d much rather hear the news from friends.’

‘I accept that,’ said Colbeck.

‘Before we go, I’d like to hear more detail of what actually happened. Don’t worry,’ Andrews continued, holding up a palm, ‘I won’t pass any of it on to Rose. I just want to know whatever you can tell me about the accident. You don’t have to listen to this, Maddy,’ he said. ‘If it’s going to upset you, wait in the kitchen.’

‘I’ll stay here,’ she decided. ‘I want to hear everything.’

‘In that case,’ said Colbeck, weighing his words carefully, ‘I’ll tell you what we discovered when we got to the scene.’

Since he had been spared the ordeal of spending a night way from his family, Victor Leeming made no complaint about the early start. He and Colbeck were aboard a train that took them to Balcombe not long after dawn. It was a fine day and the sun was already painting the grass with gold. Watching the fields scud past, Leeming thought about the present he ought to buy for his wife’s forthcoming birthday, hoping that he would be able to spend some of the occasion with her instead of being sent away on police business. Colbeck was reading a newspaper bought at London Bridge station. As he read an account of the train crash, his jaw tightened.

‘Someone has been talking to Captain Ridgeon,’ he said.

The sergeant turned to him. ‘What’s that, Inspector?’

‘This report lays the blame squarely on the shoulders of Frank Pike. I just hope that his widow doesn’t read it.’

‘Isn’t it possible that the driver of the Brighton Express
was
at fault?’ suggested Leeming.

‘I think it highly unlikely, Victor.’

‘Why?’

‘Pike had an unblemished record,’ said Colbeck. ‘If there had been any doubts at all about his skill as an engine driver, he would never have been allowed to take charge of the Brighton Express.’

‘We all make mistakes from time to time, sir.’

‘I’m not convinced that a mistake was made in this case.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘I don’t,’ admitted Colbeck. ‘I’m working on instinct.’

‘Well,’ said Leeming, ‘for what it’s worth, my instinct tells me that we’re on a wild goose chase. In my view, we could be more usefully employed elsewhere. We should let the railway company do their job while we get on with ours.’