Murder on the Brighton Express (21 page)

‘How much longer do you need?’ he demanded.

‘I haven’t caught him in the right place yet, sir,’ said Chiffney. ‘Whenever I’ve seen him, he’s been with other people.’

‘That was your excuse yesterday as well.’

‘I don’t want to shoot the wrong person.’

‘The way things are going, I doubt if you’ll be shooting anyone. What’s holding you back, man? You swore to me that you’d do anything for money yet you keep letting me down.’

‘I didn’t let you down when I arranged that crash,’ said Chiffney, groping for approval. ‘If I’d been caught levering that rail away, I’d be in prison right now, waiting for the noose. I took a big risk for you.’

‘And you got your due reward.’

‘It wasn’t my fault he didn’t die when the trains collided.’

‘Perhaps not,’ said the man, ‘but it’s your fault that he’s still alive now. I gave you the weapons, I taught you how to fire them and I showed you exactly where he lived. Yet you’ve spent the best part of two days in Brighton, lying in wait but too cowardly to pull the trigger when you see him.’

Chiffney was insulted. ‘I’m not a coward, sir.’

‘Then why haven’t you obeyed your orders?’

‘A coward wouldn’t have brought the express off the track the way I did. A coward wouldn’t have taken this job on in the first place. I got my faults, sir – God knows I have – but there’s nobody as can call Dick Chiffney a coward.’ He banged his chest. ‘I’ve never walked away from a fight in my life.’

‘You’re not involved in a brawl now,’ said the man. ‘This is far more serious than giving someone a bloody nose. It takes nerve. I’m beginning to think you don’t have that nerve.’

‘That’s a rotten lie!’

‘Then do what I’m paying you for.’

They were in a quiet street where they had arranged to meet. Dick Chiffney was still carrying the rifle and telescope in the sacking. Having driven there in a trap, his companion remained in the vehicle. The problem for Chiffney was that the accusation against him contained more than a grain of truth. His courage had indeed faltered. In the course of two days, he had had a number of opportunities to shoot his victim but his finger had always hesitated on the trigger.

Something had stopped him firing. In setting up the train crash, he knew that several people would be killed and many more would be badly injured. Yet their individual fates did not trouble him in the least because he was not there at the time of the disaster. Shooting someone in cold blood and watching him die was not quite so easy. To his embarrassment, Chiffney had discovered the glimmering of a conscience that had never existed before. With the victim in his sights, he had been fettered by guilt.

His employer was not prepared to tolerate any more delays.

‘Time is running out, Chiffney,’ he warned. ‘If he’s still alive at the end of the day, our contract is null and void.’

‘But I need that money, sir,’ pleaded Chiffney.

‘Then
earn
it.’

‘I can’t get near him if he stays indoors.’

‘He won’t do that this evening,’ said the man. ‘I’ve done your job for you and discovered that he’ll be going to the town hall within the hour. Somewhere along the way, you must kill him.’

‘Yes, sir – I swear that I will.’

‘You won’t need the rifle. I want you to get close enough to make sure. Shoot him with the pistol.’ He held out a hand. ‘I’ll take the rifle.’

‘What about the telescope, sir?’

‘You might need that.’

Chiffney reached into the sacking to remove the telescope then handed over the rifle. The man laid the sacking down in the trap. Chiffney was worried. His hand was being forced and that unsettled him. He would have preferred to shoot from a distance so that he could escape more easily after the event. Getting close to his victim presented problems yet they had to be overcome. He had given his word to Josie Murlow and could not go back on it. She was expecting him to return with enough money to transform their lives. Thinking about Josie helped to make his misgivings disappear.

‘I’ll do it, sir,’ he vowed. ‘I’ll blow the bastard’s head off.’

Josie Murlow was having second thoughts about her decision to come to Brighton that day. In responding to an overpowering urge, she had not bothered to consider its consequences. What she believed would be a perfect disguise was also a profound hindrance. Josie was dressed in widow’s weeds. Black from head to foot, she had gained respect and sympathy from everyone she met but she was not able to do any of the things she had planned. It would look unseemly for a grieving widow to stroll merrily along the promenade, still less to go on the beach or walk on the pier over a thousand feet out to the sea.

There was another handicap she had not foreseen. Since she had not worn the dress for some years, it was now too tight on her, straining at her increased dimensions like a small
fishing net trying to hold a large whale. The hot weather only added to her discomfort. Behind the black veil, perspiration trickled down her face. Her armpits were dripping pools, her crotch was sodden and a constant rivulet ran down her spine with meandering malevolence.

All that she could do was to walk, watch, rest and take occasional refreshment. Josie saw the Royal Pavilion, the town hall, the assembly rooms, the baths, the theatre and some of the finest hotels in the kingdom. She waddled through the Lanes, the oldest quarter of the town, a rabbit warren of narrow, twisting, brick paved passages lined with fisherman’s cottages. She was also astounded by the number of schools, almshouses, infirmaries and other charities. Brighton was a fine town in which to live. It was not, however, the ideal place to visit in tight clothing on a summer’s day.

Whenever she stopped to take tea at a small restaurant or sat down from exhaustion on a bench, a compassionate citizen would offer his or her condolences and oblige her to invent either a dead husband whom she had never had, a mother whom she did not, in fact, remember or – by way of variation – a daughter who had been knocked down in London by a runaway horse. While she got some cruel amusement out of deceiving people so plausibly, it did not atone for the pain and boredom from which she was suffering.

She struggled back to the railway station three times in a row, intending to abandon her scheme and return to London. What held her back on each occasion was the thought that her efforts would have come to nought. Josie had gone to Brighton to be there when Chiffney committed murder and created a happy life for them. She had fantasies about intercepting him at the station, or even travelling on the same train as him
without revealing her identity until they reached London. Even now, as the early evening brought no relief from the heat, she somehow felt that she had to stay until he came.

Dick Chiffney was her man. They belonged together.

Heinrich Freytag caused no trouble. Though he continued to rail against Giles Thornhill, he made no attempt to escape. Accepting that his plan had failed, he was resigned to his fate. After charging him, Colbeck and Leeming were driven into Brighton so that their prisoner could be placed in custody at the police station. The landau then returned to Thornhill’s estate, leaving the detectives still in the town. Leeming could not understand Colbeck’s desire to attend the meeting.

‘It’s the last thing
I’d
wish to do, sir,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to hear Mr Thornhill talking down his beaky nose at me.’

‘Yes, he has cultivated a patrician air, hasn’t he?’

‘If you stay for the meeting, you’ll have to catch a later train.’

‘I’m in no hurry to get back to Scotland Yard,’ Colbeck confided. ‘The superintendent is relying on good news from Brighton.’

‘We arrested a man for attempted murder.’

‘But he had nothing to do with the train crash.’

‘Mr Tallis should be impressed by what we did, Inspector.’

‘Not when we’re under siege from the press. The only thing that would impress him is the capture of Dick Chiffney. That will get us favourable headlines in the newspapers and force Captain Ridgeon to eat some humble pie. We’ll have to begin a new search for Chiffney tomorrow. Meanwhile,’ Colbeck went on, ‘there’s no need for you to stay here, Victor. I’m sure
you’d much rather get home to your family.’

‘I would, sir – thank you.’

‘We’ll share a cab and it can drop you off at the railway station.’

Leeming was able for once to look forward to a train journey. It would take him back to his wife and children without the intervening torment of delivering a report to Edward Tallis. They hailed a cab and climbed into it. The horse set off at a steady trot in the direction of the station, its hooves clip-clopping on the hard surface. Colbeck was preoccupied. It was the sergeant who eventually spoke.

‘I’m sorry that we gained nothing at all from our visit,’ he said.

‘But we did,’ said Colbeck with amusement. ‘If nothing else, we discovered an alternative career for you. Mr Thornhill will always readily employ you as a gardener.’

‘No, he won’t – pulling out those weeds made my back ache.’

‘I was only joking. You’re too good a detective to lose.’

‘I don’t feel that I’ve been at my best in this investigation, sir.’

‘That’s largely
my
fault, Victor.’

‘I don’t agree with that,’ said Leeming. ‘You put us on the right track from the very start.’

‘Your loyalty is gratifying,’ said Colbeck, ‘but the truth is that I made mistakes. A moment ago, I was just thinking about a painting that Madeleine is working on at present. The subject is the Round House. I fancy it might have relevance to our present situation.’

‘Well, I can’t see the slightest connection.’

‘Inside the Round House is a turntable. Locomotives go in
one way and come out the other. We failed to do that, Victor. Once we decided to go one particular way, we pressed on regardless in the same direction. What we really needed,’ he said, thoughtfully, ‘was a sort of mental turntable – something that rotated our minds so that we viewed this crime in a different way.’

‘I wish I knew what you meant, Inspector,’ said Leeming.

‘We were too blinkered,’ admitted Colbeck. ‘Once we concluded that the train crash was a vengeful act against a single individual, we set about looking for possible targets. Horace Bardwell was an obvious possibility.’

‘And so was Giles Thornhill.’

‘Yet in both cases we were misled. It’s time to get on a turntable and swing round so that we can look at the situation from another angle. It’s something for you to think about on the train.’

‘I would if I had a clue what you were talking about, sir.’ The cab drew up outside the station. Leeming was on the point of getting out when he saw someone and stiffened. ‘It
can’t
be her,’ he said, staring at a figure walking towards the entrance. ‘And yet it looks so much like her.’ He pointed a finger. ‘Do you see that woman, Inspector?

‘What about her?’

‘I think it’s Josie Murlow.’

‘No,’ said Colbeck, studying her. ‘She might have the same shape but what would Josie Murlow be doing in mourning?’

‘I’ve no idea, sir, but that’s definitely her. I’d put money on it.’

‘I can’t be that certain, Victor.’

‘That’s because you didn’t walk behind her for as long as I did,’ said Leeming. ‘I’d know that rolling gait of hers
anywhere.’

At that moment, the woman turned around and lifted her black veil so that she could dab at her forehead with a handkerchief. It was all the confirmation the two detectives needed.

‘You’re right,’ said Colbeck, excitedly. ‘It
is
Josie Murlow.’

‘Why has she come to Brighton?’

‘I don’t know but I suspect that Chiffney won’t be too far away. We must have a change of plan. Instead of going home, I think you should stay and watch her. I hope you don’t mind, Victor.’

‘I’d insist on it, sir,’ said Leeming with enthusiasm. ‘If it’s a choice between watching her and sitting on a train trying to put my brain on a turntable, I know which one I’d prefer.’

‘Make sure you’re not caught unawares this time.’

‘Chiffney won’t be allowed to creep up on me twice. Anyway, he doesn’t know what I look like. I was in disguise when he hit me.’

‘Josie Murlow might recognise you.’

‘How well can she see through that black veil?’

‘Take no chances.’

‘I promise you that she won’t lay eyes on me,’ said Leeming, confidently, ‘until I have to arrest her, that is.’

Ezra Follis had had a burdensome day but he only allowed himself a nap late in the afternoon. As soon as he woke up, he prepared to go out. Mrs Ashmore came into the drawing room of the rectory as he was putting on his hat in front of the mirror.

‘You’re never going to that meeting at the town hall, are
you?’ she said with disapproval.

‘That’s exactly where I’m going, Mrs Ashmore.’

‘But I thought they didn’t need you any more.’

‘They
always
need me – especially if Giles Thornhill is speaking. The good people of Brighton need someone to talk common sense. They’ll certainly get none from the platform.’

‘You’d be far better off resting, Mr Follis.’

‘I can’t rest while that man is preaching his vile gospel,’ said Follis, resolutely. ‘I’ll heckle him every inch of the way.’

She was concerned. ‘I don’t want you to get into trouble again.’

‘Don’t fret about me, Mrs Ashmore,’

‘I’m bound to fret,’ she said. ‘Mr Thornhill has too many friends in high places. He can turn them against you. I haven’t forgotten the last time you went to a meeting of his.’

Follis cackled. ‘Neither have I,’ he said, gleefully. ‘I challenged almost every statement he made that evening and got loud applause for doing so.’

‘But look what happened afterwards. Mr Thornhill made sure that nasty things were written about you in the newspapers and he reported you to the bishop. You were warned.’

‘I’ve lost count of the number of times the bishop has warned me and I daresay that he’s done so as well. There are times when the Church of England must speak out, Mrs Ashmore. We shouldn’t stand by when an elected Member of Parliament is using his position to incite hatred and distort people’s minds. We must fight against bigots like Thornhill.’ He took her by the hand and squeezed it. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, gently. ‘I shouldn’t bore you with my opinions. You know them well enough by now.’