Peril on the Royal Train (4 page)

‘We’ll be up against competition,’ said Colbeck.

‘What do you mean, sir?’

‘Well, for a start, there’ll be an inquiry set up by the procurator fiscal. It’s an office unique to Scotland. Procurator fiscals are public prosecutors who investigate all suspicious deaths and fatal accidents. This crash comes very much under their jurisdiction. They’ll institute a form of inquest.’

‘Then they don’t need us here, do they?’ said Leeming, hopefully.

‘The railway inspector will also want to decide on the precise cause of the crash. The same thing happened after that disaster on the Brighton line. You’ll remember the problems we had with his counterpart there.’

‘I do, indeed – he told us that we were wasting our time.’

‘We had to disillusion him on that score,’ said Colbeck, smiling at the memory. ‘Let’s hope we have a more cooperative inspector this time. As for the local sheriff, I’m not quite sure how far his powers stretch.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘Then, of course, there are the railway police. They usually resent us more than anyone.’

‘In other words, we could have a lot of interference.’

‘I’m certain of it, Victor. The Scots are very territorial. We’re unwanted intruders, part of the nation that invaded and subdued them. My guess is that some people will do everything they can to get in our way. Expect a lot of opposition.’

‘That’s a disappointment,’ said Leeming with light sarcasm. ‘I was hoping that they’d put the flags out for us and organise a brass band. When are we going to go somewhere where they actually
want
us?’

‘We’ll simply have to win them over, that’s all.’

‘The best way to do that is to go straight back to London. It’s an idea that would win
me
over as well.’ When the train began to slow down, he peered through the window. ‘Thank heaven for that!’ exclaimed Leeming. ‘This journey seems to have taken days. Was it really worth all this effort?’

‘Yes, it was,’ said Colbeck, seriously. ‘Three railwaymen were murdered. The only way to offer consolation to their grieving families is to solve the crime. It will take a lot more effort to achieve that objective but every last second will be worth it.’

Even in daylight, some of the bolder thieves had returned for more booty. McTurk had laid a trap for them, hiding some of his men near an overturned wagon that had spilt its cargo of meat down the embankment. The superintendent himself was crouched beside a wagon piled high with leatherware from the tanneries of Carlisle, reasoning that it would be less of a target than prime beef and lamb. His instincts were sound. Thinking that everyone there was distracted by the work of clearing the line, a couple of young men in ragged clothing crept furtively towards the crates of meat. It was too big a temptation to resist. When they felt they were safe, the pair of them darted out of cover, ran to a crate and lifted it between them. Intending to scamper away, they were dismayed when three railway policemen appeared out of nowhere.

One of the thieves reacted much quicker than his companion, leaving go of the crate and cleverly dodging the outstretched arms of the policemen before sprinting off down the embankment. His friend was too slow. By the time he made his dash for freedom, a strong hand was already on his shoulder. He was grabbed, overpowered and held tight. McTurk came out from behind the consignment of leatherware to confront the prisoner.

‘Hungry, are you, lad?’ he asked, curling a lip. ‘Take a good look at all this meat. It’s the last you’ll be seeing for a while. Prison food is like sawdust, only not as tasty. You’ll be lucky to get enough grub to keep you alive.’

‘We didnae mean to tek it,’ said the thief, piteously. ‘We only wanted to see what was going on, I swear it.’

‘Is that so? Sightseers, were you?’ He addressed his men. ‘Do you hear that? He and his friend didn’t come to steal. They just wanted to see what was happening here – and whether or not our backs were turned. They’re as innocent as the driven snow.’ There was derisive laughter from the policemen. ‘What’s the name of your accomplice?’

The thief was defiant. ‘I’ll no’ tell ye.’

‘He was a wee bit younger than you and faster on his feet.’

‘Ye’ve got me and it’s all ye’ll get.’

‘Forgotten his name, have you? Then I’ll have to jog your memory, won’t I?’ He took the thief by the scruff of his neck and hurled him against a wagon. It knocked all the breath out of him. ‘I can always get people to talk – it’s so simple. All I have to do is to kick seven barrels of shit out of them and they sing their heads off.’ He lumbered forward and punched the thief full in the face, drawing blood from his nose. ‘Has that helped you to remember his name?’ he taunted.

Before he could administer further punishment, McTurk heard someone call his name and he saw the general manager waddling towards him. He was annoyed at having to suspend his interrogation but he’d already done enough. Recognising the hopelessness of his position, the thief willingly surrendered the name and address of his accomplice. The superintendent nodded to his men and they hustled the prisoner out of sight. Nairn Craig was panting by the time he finally reached McTurk.

‘What’s going on, Superintendent?’ he asked.

‘We caught a thief, sir. His accomplice managed to get away but he won’t go far. I persuaded the lad to tell us who he is. When we pick him up at his home, I daresay we’ll find a lot of stolen property that disappeared during the night.’

‘Good work!’

‘We know our job, sir.’

‘Our freight customers are already demanding compensation for any losses. They’ll be heartened to learn that you’re catching some of the thieves. But that’s not what I came to tell you,’ he went on. ‘There’s some cheering news. A telegraph arrived at our Glasgow office earlier today. It confirmed that Inspector Colbeck is definitely on his way.’ McTurk growled silently into his beard. ‘Indeed, he could be here at any time.’

‘You know my view. We can sort everything out ourselves.’

‘Be realistic, man. You’ve never led a complex investigation before. That’s why we need professional assistance.’

‘We already have it,’ asserted McTurk. ‘Inspector Rae is here at the behest of the procurator fiscal. I’ve been able to give him the benefit of my opinion.’

‘Then you can do the same to the Railway Detective,’ said Craig, tartly. ‘The other piece of news is that we’re offering a reward of four hundred pounds for information leading to the arrest and conviction of those responsible for this outrage. Posters are already being printed.’

McTurk was impressed by the size of the reward. To a man on his wage, it was an absolute fortune. A new element was suddenly brought into play. There was pecuniary gain as well as kudos to be had. McTurk wanted both. He now had an even greater incentive to solve the crime himself and to keep any Scotland Yard detectives in the dark. Supremely confident of his ability, he allowed himself a knowing grin.

‘I’ll spread the word, sir,’ he said. ‘That kind of money will loosen a few tongues. We’ll find the bastards who caused all this chaos. You have my word.’

It was beautiful countryside and even Victor Leeming was struck by it. After leaving the train at Wamphray station, he and Colbeck had watched the other passengers climbing into a variety of vehicles before setting off on a long curve that would take them past the site of the crash. The detectives, by contrast, were driven directly towards it, travelling through a verdant dale that was ringed with hills. It was a far cry from the narrow streets and abiding stink of London. Shaken out of his apathy, the sergeant forgot all about the discomfort of the long journey.

‘I’d love Estelle and the children to see this,’ he declared. ‘The air is so clean and we can see for miles. It’s … well, it’s wonderful.’

‘You must bring them here on holiday,’ said Colbeck.

‘Ha!’ Leeming’s face crumpled. ‘There’s fat chance of that ever happening.’

‘Don’t be too sure, Victor. Railway companies can be very grateful if we solve heinous crimes for them. Look what happened after our success at that other crash. You finished up with tickets to take the family to Brighton.’

Leeming beamed. ‘That’s true, sir – and we had a grand day at the seaside. The children keep asking when we can go again. Do you really think I’d be able to bring them here one day?’

‘It’s not impossible. But,’ said Colbeck, adding a rider, ‘it would, of course, be conditional upon our finding and arresting the culprits behind the disaster. Put any thought of reward out of your mind until then and simply enjoy the scenery.’

After travelling to Scotland in a first-class carriage, they were now being taken along a winding track in an ancient cart. Seated beside the taciturn driver, they had to hold on tight as the vehicle swayed violently and explored every bump and hollow. In the back of the cart, their luggage bounced all over the place. Colbeck tried to prise some information out of the old man at the reins.

‘Have you seen where the accident happened?’ he asked.

‘Aye, sir.’

‘Is it as bad as everyone says?’

‘Aye, sir.’

‘Do you live nearby?’

‘Aye, sir.’

‘And where would that be?’

‘Dinwoodie.’

‘We came past there in the train,’ recalled Leeming.

‘Aye, sir, ye would.’

‘What can you tell us about the crash?’ wondered Colbeck.

‘Ah’ll no’ speak of it, sir.’

‘Why is that?’

There was no reply. The driver lapsed back into a hurt silence. Colbeck understood. Shocked by what he’d seen, the man was unable to put it into words that would rekindle ugly memories. He was being paid to transport two people to a site further up the line and that’s all he was prepared to do. Conversation was too painful for him. If they wanted a description of the wreckage ahead, his passengers would have to wait until they reached their destination.

Wamphray had been over thirty miles from Carlisle and it had been reached at a good speed. The pace had now slowed dramatically. It gave Colbeck time to reflect on what might lie in wait for them and it offered Leeming the opportunity to indulge his fantasies about an extended holiday in Annandale with his family. The railway line was never far away from them on the right and, in normal circumstances, it would be singing under the wheels of trains going in both directions. It was deserted now, useless until the track ahead was cleared. They heard the noise of the rescue operation long before they caught sight of it. Smoke from burning debris rose up into the sky and helped to pinpoint the exact spot. As they got closer, raised voices were audible amid the banging and bumping and clang of metal.

When they finally came round the bend, the driver pulled his horse to a halt.

‘Ye’ll have to walk now,’ he said, averting his gaze from the disaster.

‘We could do with some exercise,’ said Colbeck, hopping off the cart and retrieving his bag. ‘Come on, Victor.’

Leeming was open-mouthed. ‘Look at it!’ he gasped. ‘It’s terrible!’

‘That’s why we mustn’t detain our friend here. He wants to get away and I don’t blame him.’ While the sergeant got down from the cart, Colbeck paid the driver and gave him a handsome tip. It elicited no thanks. ‘Goodbye.’

Turning his cart in a circle, the driver went back in the direction from which they’d just come. Leeming had to move smartly to snatch his valise before it set off towards Wamphray. Both detectives surveyed the scene. Many hands had worked to clear the devastation for a period of over twenty-four hours yet they seemed to have made little impact. A huge area was littered with a frightening array of battered wagons and their erstwhile contents. What could not be salvaged had been sacrificed on one of the fires. The locomotive itself lay twisted and forlorn. The damage to the train was colossal but Colbeck also bewailed the brutal punishment inflicted on the embankment. Large holes had been gouged out and runaway wagons had cut deep channels into it. Green swathes had been sullied by discarded coal. An air of ruin and despair hung over the whole landscape.

Colbeck studied the line on the other side of the disaster area.

‘A train coming from the south would be bound to hit any obstruction when it came around the bend,’ he noted. ‘There’d be no time to stop. Trains coming from the north must have the best part of a mile of straight line before reaching the spot. They’d have seen any rockfall and taken measures to avoid it.’

‘What does that tell you, Inspector?’ asked Leeming.

‘The goods train was a specific target.’

‘There would have been more victims if they’d waited for a passenger train.’

‘But they didn’t, Victor. That’s an important detail.’

‘I don’t understand why.’

‘Neither do I at the moment,’ confessed Colbeck, ‘but I intend to find out.’

Light was fading and evening shadows were starting to dapple the scene. The droves of people engaged in the clearance worked on regardless of the time of day. Colbeck raised his eyes to the hills beyond and thought he saw a solitary figure, silhouetted against the sky with an animal of some kind at his side. When Colbeck concentrated his gaze, the figure and the animal had vanished and he was left to wonder if they’d really been there in the first place.

The meeting was held at the Glasgow home of Tam and Flora Howie, a middle-aged couple who – like everyone present – were an image of respectability. There were ten of them altogether, seven men and three women. Seated comfortably in the parlour, they were able to study the framed biblical tracts on the wall and the other evidence of a fiercely Christian household. As their leader, Howie spoke first, rising to his feet and gripping his lapels between thumb and forefinger. Of medium height and spare frame, he somehow seemed more substantial when taking the floor.

‘You all know why we’re here,’ he said, crisply. ‘In spite of years of protest, the railway companies remain defiant. They insist on running trains on the Sabbath and flouting the teaching of the Good Book. We have protested time and time again but all to no avail. Posters and pamphlets have a limited effect. All that they can do is to express our opinion. They are not enough in themselves to change minds.’