The Excursion Train

CHAPTER NINE

After a hearty breakfast and a discussion as to how the investigation would proceed, Superintendent Edward Tallis was driven in a trap to Ashford Station to catch a train back to London. Both detectives were pleased to see him go but it was Victor Leeming who really savoured his departure. Slapping his thigh, he let out a controlled whoop of delight.

'He's gone at last!' he cried.

'He was only here for about twelve hours,' Colbeck pointed out.

'It seemed much longer somehow. If I have to spend a night away from my wife, I'd rather not do it under the same roof as Mr Tallis. It unsettled me, knowing that His Lordship was only a few doors away. I took ages to get off and I expect that you did as well.'

'No, I slept extremely well.'

'Well, I didn't. It's not the same without Estelle,' said Leeming. 'I missed her, Inspector.'

'And I'm sure that she missed you just as much, Victor. The sooner we solve these crimes, the sooner you can get back to her.'

Having bidden farewell to their superior, they were still under the portico outside the Saracen's Head. It was relatively early but the town was already busy. People were bustling around the streets, shops were getting ready to open and the pandemonium from the railway works showed that the first shift of the day had begun. Across the road from them, an ironmonger was going slowly through his morning routine of displaying his wares outside his shop. He heaved out a long tin bath.

'That's what I could do with,' said Leeming, covetously. 'A bath.'

'Take one back to your wife as a present.'

'I meant that I'd like to soak in warm water for half an hour.'

'I was only teasing you,' said Colbeck, smiling. 'There's no time for either of us to relax, I fear. You need to be on your way to Canterbury.'

'How will I find this Mr Perivale?'

'His chambers are in Watling Street. Get his address from there.'

'What if he doesn't live in the city?'

'Then go out to where he does live,' instructed Colbeck. 'The man could be unaware of the danger that he's in. But that's not the only reason you must speak to him, Victor. He was a key figure in the trial of Nathan Hawkshaw. I've several questions I'd like you to put to him,' he said, extracting a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and handing it over. 'I've written them down for you. Peruse them carefully.'

'Wouldn't it be better if you put them to him in person?'

'Ideally, yes.'

'You were a barrister. You talk the same language as this man.'

'Unfortunately, I can't be in two places at once.'

'Where will you be, sir?'

'Here in Ashford, for the most part,' replied Colbeck. 'I want to make some inquiries at the station, then I need to have a longer talk with Winifred Hawkshaw and with Gregory Newman. To mount the sort of campaign that they did was a formidable challenge to anyone yet they brought if off somehow.'

'It failed all the same.'

'That's irrelevant. When I paid my first visit to Maidstone, I saw some of the leaflets calling for Hawkshaw's release, and Sergeant Lugg showed me the advertisements placed in the local newspapers. They were all well written and must have cost money to produce. Who penned that literature and how could they afford to have it printed?'

'Are they likely to tell you?'

'It depends how I ask.'

'I'd better go and find Constable Butterkiss,' said Leeming. 'He's promised to drive me to Canterbury in a trap. If he keeps on at me about the Metropolitan Police, it's going to be a very long journey. Oh, I do hope that I can get back home soon!' he went on, earnestly. 'I miss everything about London. And so do you, I daresay, sir.'

'My place is here in Kent at the moment.'

'Even you must have regrets.'

'Regrets?'

'Yes,' said Leeming, broaching a topic he had never touched on before. 'You must be sorry to be apart from Miss Andrews. I know that you like to spend time with her occasionally.'

'I'll certainly look forward to seeing her again,' admitted Colbeck, smiling to himself at the unexpected mention of her name, 'but Madeleine understands that my work always takes precedence.'

'That won't stop the lady missing you, sir.'

Madeleine Andrews scanned the newspaper report with a combination of interest and horror. Her father was eating his breakfast before going off to work. She indicated the paper.

'Have you seen this?' she asked.

'I read it on the way back from the shop, Maddy. When I saw that Inspector Colbeck was on the front page again, I knew you'd want to see it for yourself.'

'A prison chaplain has been murdered.'

'Yes.'

'What kind of monster could want to kill a priest?'

'Oh, I can think of one or two priests I'd like to have met in a dark alley,' said Andrews with a grim chuckle.

'Father!' she said, reproachfully.

'I'm only being honest, Maddy. When I was a boy, there was a Canon Howells at St Saviour's who could make a sermon last a whole afternoon, and he'd give you such a clout if you dozed off in the middle. I should know. I had a clip around my ear from him more than once.'

'This is not something to joke about.'

'It's no joke. I'm serious. Canon Howells was a holy terror and his deacon, Father Morris, was even worse.' He swallowed the last of his porridge. 'But I don't think you have to look very far to find the man who killed that Reverend Jones.'

'What do you mean?'

'It was obviously someone who'd been in Maidstone prison.'

'That's not what Robert thinks,' said Madeleine, pointing to the article on the front page. 'He's certain that the murderer was the same man who killed the public hangman in that excursion train.'

'Yes, a former prisoner with a grudge.'

'Robert is the detective. You keep to driving trains.'

'I'm entitled to my opinion, aren't I?' he asked, combatively.

'You'd give it in any case,' she said, fondly, 'whether you're entitled to or not. You've got an opinion on everything, Father. Nobody can silence Caleb Andrews – even when he's wrong.'

'I'm not wrong, Maddy.'

'You don't know all the facts of the case.'

'I know enough to make a comment.'

'I'd sooner trust Robert's judgement.'

'Well, he does have an eye for picking things out,' he said, wryly, 'I have to admit that. After all, he picked you out, didn't he?'

'Please don't start all that again,' she warned. 'You should be off.'

'Let me finish this cup of tea first.'

'Which train are you driving today?'

'London to Birmingham.'

'You must know that route by heart.'

'I could drive it with my eyes closed,' he boasted, draining his cup and getting up from the table. 'Thanks for the breakfast, Maddy.'

'You need a good meal inside you at the start of the day.'

'You sound like your mother.'

'What time will I expect you?'

'Not too late.'

'Will you be going for a drink first?'

'Probably,' he replied, taking his hat from the peg behind the front door. 'I'll call in for a beer or two and tell them all what I think about this latest murder. They listen to me.'

'Do you give them any choice?'

'I've got this instinct, Maddy. Whenever there's a serious crime, I always have this strange feeling about who committed it. Look at this case of the dead chaplain.'

'It's shocking.'

'The person who done him in just has to be someone who was locked up in that prison and took against the Reverend Jones. It was the same with that hangman,' he went on, putting on his hat and opening the front door. 'All prisoners hate Jack Ketch because he could be coming for them with his noose one day.'

'Yes,' she said, immersed in the paper again.

'That's enough to make anyone want revenge.'

'Maybe.'

'I know that I would if I was put behind bars.'

'Of course.'

'Goodbye, Maddy. I'm off.'

'Goodbye.'

'Don't I get my kiss?' he whined.

But she did not even hear his complaint. Madeleine had just noticed a small item at the bottom of the page. Linked to the main story, it reminded her poignantly of the last time that she had seen Robert Colbeck. An idea suddenly flashed into her mind. Caleb Andrews had to manage without his farewell kiss for once.

As soon as the shop opened, Adam Hawkshaw brought some meat out and started to hack it expertly into pieces before setting them out on the table. Other butchers were also getting ready for customers in Middle Row but all they had in response to their greeting was a curt nod of acknowledgement. The first person to appear in the passage was Inspector Colbeck. He strolled up to Adam Hawkshaw.

'Good morning,' he said, politely.

'I've nothing to say to you.'

'Are you always so rude to your customers?'

'Customers?'

'Yes,' said Colbeck. 'I didn't come to buy meat but I am shopping for information and I'm not leaving until I get it. If you insist on refusing to speak to me, of course, I may have to arrest you.'

'Why?' rejoined the other, testily. 'I done nothing wrong.'

'Obstructing a police officer in the exercise of his duties is a crime, Mr Hawkshaw. In other words, a decision confronts you.'

'Eh?'

'We can either have this conversation here and now or we'll have it when you're in custody. It's your choice.'

'I got to work in this shop.'

'Then we'll sort this out right away, shall we?' said Colbeck, briskly. 'Where were you the night before last?'

'That's my business,' retorted Hawkshaw.

'It also happens to be my business.'

'Why?'

'I need to establish your whereabouts during that evening.'

'I was in my room,' said the other, evasively. 'Satisfied now?'

'Only if we have a witness who can verify that. Do we?' Hawkshaw shook his head. 'I thought not.'

'I was on my own.'

'Gregory Newman told me that you rented a room near the Corn Exchange. There must have been someone else in the house at the time. Your landlord, for instance?'

'I can't remember.'

'I'll ask him if he remembers.'

'He wouldn't know,' said Hawkshaw. 'I come and go as I please.'

'I've just been talking to the stationmaster at Ashford station. He recalls a young man of your build and colouring, who took a train to Paddock Wood on the evening in question.'

'It must have been someone else, Inspector.'

'Are you quite certain of that?'

Hawkshaw met his gaze. 'I was alone in my room all evening.'

'Studying the Bible, I daresay.'

'What?'

'No,' said Colbeck on reflection, glancing at the board beside him. 'I don't think you have much time for reading – or for writing either. That's evident. I doubt if you'd even know where to find St Paul's Epistle to the Romans, would you?' Hawkshaw looked mystified. 'There you are,' Colbeck went on, 'that wasn't too difficult was it? I'll have some more questions for you in time but I'll not hold you up any longer. I need to speak to your stepmother now.'

'She's not in,' claimed the butcher.

'Then I wonder whose face I saw in the bedroom window when I crossed the high street just now. Is it possible that Mrs Hawkshaw has a twin sister living over the shop?' Hawkshaw glowered at him. 'Excuse me while I speak to someone who's a little more forthcoming.'

Meat cleaver in his hand, Hawkshaw moved across to block his way but the determination in Colbeck's eye made him change his mind. He stood aside and the detective went into the shop before tapping on the door at the rear. It was not long before he and Winifred Hawkshaw were sitting down together in the parlour. He held his top hat in his lap. She was watchful.

'I finally had a conversation with your stepson,' he said.

'Oh?'

'He seems to be having a problem with his memory.'

'Does he, Inspector?'

'Yes, Mrs Hawkshaw. He tells me that he spent the night before last alone in his room yet a witness places him – or someone very much like him – at the railway station that evening. Have you any idea where he might have been going?'

'Adam was where he said he was.'

'How can you be so sure?'

'Because we brought him up to be honest,' said Winifred, stoutly. 'I know you think he might have had something to do with the murder of the prison chaplain but you're wrong. Adam is like his father – he's been falsely accused.'

'I haven't accused him of anything, Mrs Hawkshaw.'

'You suspect him. Why else are you here?'

'I wanted to eliminate him from my inquiries,' said Colbeck, levelly, 'and I did so by discovering if he had any acquaintance with the New Testament. Patently, he does not. The reason I wanted to see you is to ask a favour.'

She was suspicious. 'What sort of favour?'

'When your husband was arrested, several people rallied around you and supported your campaign.'

'Nathan had lots of friends.'

'Did you keep a record of their names?'

'Why should I do that?'

'Because you knew how to organise things properly.'

'That was Gregory's doing, Inspector.'

'I fancy that you were intimately involved in every aspect of the campaign, Mrs Hawkshaw. You had the biggest stake in it, after all. He was your husband. That's why you fought tooth and nail to save him.'

'Yes,' she said, proudly, 'and I'd do the same again.'

'I respect that.'

'Yet you still think Nathan was guilty.'

'Oddly enough, I don't,' he told her. 'In fact, having learnt more details of the case, I'd question the safety of the conviction.'

'Do you?' Winifred Hawkshaw regarded him frank distrust. 'Or are you just saying that to trick me?'

'Trick you into what?'

'I'm not sure yet.'

'All I want to know is who helped you in your campaign and how you funded the whole thing? There's no trickery in that, is there?'

'I can't remember all the names,' she said. 'There were far too many of them. Most people paid a little towards our expenses.'

'And what about the rescue attempt at Maidstone prison?'

'I told you before – I know nothing of that.'

'But you must have approved of it.'

'If I thought I could have got my husband out,' she said, 'I'd have climbed over the wall of the prison myself.' She looked at him quizzically. 'Are you married, Inspector?'

'No, I'm not.'

'Then you'll never understand how I felt. Nathan was everything to me. He came along at a very bad time in my life when I had to fend alone for Emily and myself. Nathan saved us.'

'But he wasn't your first husband, was he?'

'No, he wasn't. Martin was killed in an accident years ago.'

'In a fire, I believe. What were the circumstances exactly?'

'Please!' she protested. 'It's painful enough to talk about one husband who was taken away from me before his time. Don't ask me about Martin as well. I've tried to bury those memories.'

'I'm sorry, Mrs Hawkshaw. It was wrong of me to bring it up.'

'Have you finished with me now?'

'One last question,' he said, choosing his words with care. 'Your second husband had good reason to loathe Joseph Dykes. What impelled him to go after the man was the assault on your daughter, Emily. Can you recall what she told you about that incident?'

'Why you should want to know that?'

'It could be important. What precisely did she say to you?'

'Nothing at all at the time,' answered Winifred, 'because I wasn't here. I was visiting my mother. It was Nathan who had to console her. As soon as he'd done that, he left Adam in charge of the shop and charged off to find Joe Dykes.'

'With a meat cleaver in his hand.'

'You sound just like that barrister at the trial.'

'I don't mean to, Mrs Hawkshaw,' he apologised. 'Your daughter had just been through a frightening experience. She must have told your husband enough about it to make him seek retribution. Though I daresay that she reserved the full details for you.'

'No,' she confessed. 'That's the strange thing. She didn't.'

'But you're her mother. Surely, she confided in you?'

'If only she had, Inspector. I tried to get the story out of her but Emily refused to talk about it. She said that she wanted to forget it but there's no way that she could do that. In fact,' she went on as if realising something for the first time, 'that's when it really started.'

'What did?'

'This odd behaviour of hers. Emily pulled away from me. We just couldn't talk to each other properly again. I don't know what Joe Dykes did to her in that lane but I was his victim as well. He took my daughter away from me.'

Victor Leeming was in luck. When he got to the venerable city of Canterbury, he discovered that Patrick Perivale was at his chambers, interviewing a client. The detective did not mind waiting in the gracious Georgian house that served as a base for the barrister. After a ride through the countryside with Constable George Butterkiss at his most aggravating, Leeming felt that he was due some good fortune. Taking out the piece of paper that Colbeck had given him, he memorised the questions by repeating them over and over again in his head. Eventually, he was shown into a large, well-proportioned, high-ceilinged room with serried ranks of legal tomes along one wall.

Standing in the middle of the room, Patrick Perivale did not even offer him a handshake. A smart, dark-haired, dapper man in his forties with curling side-whiskers, he wore an expression of disdain for lesser mortals and he clearly put his visitor in that category. The bruising on Leeming's face made him even less welcome to someone who resented unforeseen calls on his time.

'What's this all about, Sergeant?' he inquired, fussily.

'The trial of Nathan Hawkshaw.'

'That's history. There's no cause to reopen it.'

'I simply want to discuss it, sir.'

'Now?' said Perivale, producing a watch from his waistcoat pocket and looking at it. 'I have another appointment soon.'

'You'll have to hear me out first,' said Leeming, doggedly.

'Must I?'

'Inspector Colbeck was most insistent that I should warn you.'

'About what?' asked the other, putting his watch away. 'Oh, very well,' he went on, going to the chair behind his desk. 'I suppose that you'd better sit down – and please make this visit a short one, Sergeant.'

'Yes, sir.' Leeming lowered himself into a high-backed leather armchair that creaked slightly. 'Are you aware that the man who hanged Nathan Hawkshaw was murdered recently?'

'I do read the papers, you know.'

'Then you'll also have picked up the information that the Reverend Jones, the prison chaplain from Maidstone, was killed the night before last in a railway carriage.'

'Is this some kind of test for me on recent news events?'

'Both murder victims received death threats from someone.'

'Not for the first time, I warrant.'

'But it was for the last,' stressed Leeming. 'One of them heeded the warning but was nevertheless killed. The other – the chaplain – took no notice of the threat and lost his life as a result.'

'I was truly sorry to hear that,' said Perivale. 'I met the chaplain once and he struck me as a fellow of sterling virtue – not always the case with Welshmen. As a nation, they tend to veer towards the other side of the law.'

'Did you receive a death threat, sir?'

'That's none of your damned business, Sergeant!'

'I think that it is.'

'I refuse to divulge any information about what I receive in relation to my cases. It's a question of professional confidentiality.'

Leeming was blunt. 'I'd say it was a question of staying alive.'

'That's a very offensive remark.'

'There's a pattern here, sir. Two people have had-'

'Yes, yes,' said the barrister, interrupting him. 'I can see that, man. When you deal with criminal law, you inevitably make enemies but that does not mean you let the imprecations of some worthless villain upset the even tenor of your life.'

'So you did get a death threat.'

'I didn't say that. What I am telling you – if only you had the grace to listen – is that I am very conscious of the dangers appertaining to my profession and I take all sensible precautions. To be more precise,' he continued, opening a drawer to pull out a gun, 'I always carry this when I go abroad in the streets. It's a Manton pocket pistol.'

'Jacob Guttridge was armed as well but it did him no good.'

'Thank you for telling me, Sergeant.' He put the pistol away then stood up. 'Now that you've delivered your message, you can go.'

'But I haven't asked the questions yet, sir.'

'What questions?'

'The ones given to me by Inspector Colbeck.'

'I don't have time to play guessing games.'

'The Inspector used to be a barrister,' said Leeming, irritated by the other man's pomposity. 'Of course, he worked in the London criminal courts where they get the important cases that provincial barristers like you would never be allowed to touch. If you don't help me,' he cautioned, 'then Inspector Colbeck will come looking for you to know the reason why. And he won't be scared off by that toy pistol of yours either.'

Patrick Perivale was checked momentarily by Leeming's forthrightness but he soon recovered his natural arrogance. One hand on a hip, he gave a supercilious smile.

'Why did your Inspector leave the bar?'

'Because he wanted to do something more worthwhile.'

'Nothing is more worthwhile than convicting criminals.'

'They have to be caught first, sir,' said Leeming. 'Besides, you don't always see justice being done in court, do you? I've sat through too many trials to know that. I've watched guilty men go free because they had a clever barrister and innocent men convicted because they didn't.'

'I hope that you don't have the effrontery to suggest that Nathan Hawkshaw was innocent.'

'I don't know the facts of the case well enough, sir, but Inspector Colbeck has studied it in detail and he's raised a few queries.'

'He's too late. Sentence has been passed.'

'It was passed on the hangman and the prison chaplain as well.'

'Are you being frivolous, Sergeant?'

'No, sir,' said Leeming, 'I was just pointing out that this case is by no means over for those who feel aggrieved on Hawkshaw's behalf. Two lives have been lost already. We'd like to catch the killer before anyone else joins the list. To do that, we need your help.'

'What can I possibly do?'

'Tell us something about the trial. Newspaper reports can only give us so much. You were there.'

'Yes,' said the other with self-importance, 'and I regard it as one of my most successful cases. The reason for that is that I refused to be intimidated. I had to walk through a baying crowd outside the court and defy the howling mob in the public gallery.'

'The judge had them cleared out, didn't he?'

'Not before they'd made their point and weaker vessels would have been influenced by that. I was simply spurred on to get the conviction that Hawkshaw so obviously deserved.'

'And how did you do that?'

'By making him crack under cross-examination.'

'He maintained his innocence until the end.'

'But he'd already given himself away by then,' said Perivale with a note of triumph in his voice. 'He could not give a convincing explanation of where he was at the time of the murder. That was his undoing, Sergeant. He had no alibi and I taunted him with that fact.'

'He claimed that he walked away from Lenham to think things over and then returned in a calmer frame of mind.'

'Calmer frame of mind – balderdash! The fellow was in a state of sustained fury. He had to be to inflict such butchery on his victim. It was an assault of almost demonic proportions.'

'I know. I visited the scene of the crime.'

'Then you'll have seen how secluded it was. Hawkshaw chose it with care so that he'd not be disturbed.'

'But how did he persuade Dykes to join him there?'

'That's beside the point.'

'I don't think so,' said Leeming, remembering one of Colbeck's notes. 'Dykes would hardly agree to meet him in a private place when he knew that the butcher was after him. He'd have stayed drinking in the Red Lion where he was safe. And what proof is there that Hawkshaw was in that part of the woods, anyway?'

'He was seen there by a witness.'

'After the event. Yet there was no blood on him.'

'You're dragging up the same feeble argument as the defence,' said the barrister. 'Because there was no blood on him, they argued, he could not have committed such a violent crime. Yet there was a stream nearby. Hawkshaw could easily have washed himself clean.'

'What about his clothing? He couldn't wash blood off that.'

'Quite right. That's why his coat mysteriously disappeared.'

'His coat?'

'Yes,' continued Perivale, almost crowing over him. 'That's one little detail that you and the Inspector missed. When he went to that fair in Lenham, Hawkshaw was wearing a coat. A number of witnesses testify to that, including his son. Later, however, when he was observed by the youth returning to the farm, he had no coat on and was thoroughly dishevelled, as if he'd been involved in vigorous exercise. In other words,' he said, coming to the end of his peroration, 'he discarded his coat because it was spattered with the blood of his victim.'

'Was the coat never found?'

'No – he must have buried it somewhere.'

'Then why wasn't it discovered? The police searched the area.'

'They were only looking for a certain part of Joseph Dykes's anatomy that had gone astray – a fact that tells you everything about the mentality of the killer. Taken together, the missing coat and the absence of an alibi put Hawkshaw's neck into the hangman's noose. Hundreds of people were at that fair with more arriving every minute. If Hawkshaw really had walked off towards Ashford, somebody must have seen him but no witnesses could be found.'

'So where do you think he was?'

'Searching the wood for a place to commit a murder.'

'In the hope that Dykes would happen to pass by later on?'

'He enticed him there somehow.'

'I wouldn't be enticed by an angry butcher with a meat cleaver.'

'You never met Nathan Hawkshaw,' countered the barrister. 'He was an evil man and capable of any ruse. You never saw the murder dancing in those black eyes of his. When I had him in the dock,' he said, raising a finger, 'I showed the jury what he was really like. I put him under such stern cross-examination that this decent, kind, popular, reasonable man that all his friends claimed him to be suddenly turned into a snarling animal. I've never seen such a vivid expression of guilt on the face of any prisoner.'

'You have no reservations about that trial then?'

'None whatsoever.'

'What's happened since has not alarmed you in any way?'

'I'm upset that two men have died unnecessarily and in such a brutal way, but I have no fears at all for my own safety. When I led the prosecution in that trial, I was doing my bounden duty.'

'And you believe that you convicted the right man.'

'Without a scintilla of doubt,' said Perivale, lapsing into his courtroom manner. 'The evidence against Nathan Hawkshaw was quite overwhelming. Any other barrister in my place – including your Inspector Colbeck – would have done exactly the same thing as me and striven hard for a death sentence.'

'I hope that you won't make a habit of this, Inspector,' said Gregory Newman with a laugh. 'If you keep taking me away from my work, the foreman will start to dock my wages.'

'I won't keep you long.'

'We could hardly talk in the boiler shop.'

'That's a pity,' said Colbeck. 'I'd have been interested to see more of what goes on in there.'

'You really like locomotives, don't you?'

'They fascinate me.'

'They fascinate lots of people, Inspector, but only if they're running along railway lines. You're the first person I've ever met who wants to see how they're built.'

'Very noisily, by the sound of it.'

Newman grinned. The two men were standing outside the railway works in Ashford. A train was just leaving the station, adding to the industrial uproar and sending up clouds of smoke into an overcast sky. Colbeck waited until it had rolled past them.

'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.'

The waiter took their order and went off to the kitchen. Leeming was able to describe his jarring encounter with Patrick Perivale. He quoted some of the barrister's remarks verbatim.

'He was exactly the sort of man you said he'd be, Inspector.'

'The egotistical type that never admit they can make a mistake. I've met too many of those in the courtroom,' said Colbeck. 'Winning is everything to them. It doesn't matter if a human life is at stake. All that concerns them is their standing as an advocate.'

'I could see how Mr Perivale had built his reputation.'

'Why – did he hector you?'

'He tried to,' said Leeming, 'but I put him in his place by telling him that you'd been a barrister in London.'

'No word of thanks for warning him, then?'

'He was insulted that we'd even dared to do so.'

'Outwardly, perhaps,' decided Colbeck, 'but it was all bravado. I can't believe that even he will ignore the fact that two murders have already been committed as a result of that trial.'

'I agree, sir. I reckon that he loaded that pistol of his as soon as I left. At one point,' said Leeming with a laugh, 'I thought he'd fire the thing at me. I got under his skin somehow.'

'You were right to do so, Victor, or you'd have learnt nothing.'

'What worried me was that detail about the missing coat.'

'Yes, that disturbs me as well.'

'Hawkshaw was unable to explain its disappearance.'

'I can see why the prosecution drew blood on that point,' said Colbeck, thoughtfully. 'It further undermined Hawkshaw's defence. Nothing you've told me about him has been very flattering or, for that matter, endearing, but Mr Perivale must be an able man or he'd not have been retained in the first place. Unlike us, he saw all the evidence and made a judgement accordingly. I'm beginning to wonder if my own assumptions have been wrong.'

'You think that Hawkshaw was guilty?'

'It's a possibility that we have to entertain, Victor.'

'Then why are so many people certain of his innocence?' asked Leeming, touching the petition. 'They must have good cause.'

'Yes,' said Colbeck, 'they must. But thank you for making the journey to Canterbury. It's thrown up some valuable information.'

'What about you, sir?'

'Oh, I, too, have made a number of discoveries.'

Colbeck went on to describe what he had gleaned from the various people to whom he had talked that morning. In the middle of his account, the first course arrived and they were able to start their meal while the Inspector continued. Leeming seized on one detail.

'Adam Hawkshaw went to Paddock Wood that night?' he said.

'Someone resembling him did.'

'Can't you get the stationmaster to make a positive identification? All we have to do is to take Hawkshaw along to the station.'

'Even if it was him on that train from Ashford, it doesn't mean that he was implicated in the murder. Adam Hawkshaw can barely write. How could someone that illiterate be able to pick out a verse in the Bible to serve his purpose?'

'Was he travelling alone?'

'Yes, Victor, and that's another point in his favour. He had no female companion. Given his surly manner,' said Colbeck, 'I doubt if he ever will have one. I'm certain that he lied to me about being at home that evening but I don't think he's a suspect for the chaplain's murder.'

'Who else travelled from Ashford to Paddock Wood on that train?'

'Several people. Some of the men from the railway works live there and use the line regularly. The only reason that Adam Hawkshaw – or the person who looked like him – stayed in the stationmaster's mind was that he was so irascible.'

'I still think that Hawkshaw needs watching.'

'He'll stay under observation, Victor. Have no fear.'

'What about this other character?' asked Leeming, spooning the last of his soup into his mouth. 'This gypsy that they're looking for?'

'His name is Angel, apparently.'

'He could turn out to be an Angel of Death.'

'If he really exists.'

'Is there any doubt about that, Inspector?'

'I don't know,' said Colbeck, sprinkling more salt on his food. 'I'm not entirely sure how I feel about Gregory Newman. He's very plausible but he's obviously keeping certain things from me. This story about someone called Angel being the potential killer of Dykes might just be a way of misleading us.'

'Why would Newman want to do that?'

'We're policemen, Victor. We represent the law that sent his best friend to the gallows. He could be trying to confuse us out of spite.'

'I'm confused enough already,' admitted Leeming.

'We can soon find out if Newman was telling the truth. You simply have to ask your assistant if he's even heard of this man, Angel.'

'My assistant?'

'Constable Butterkiss,' said Colbeck, 'and while you're at it, show him this petition and ask him where we could find the first ten people on that list, excluding Newman and the Hawkshaw family.'

'Why must I always be landed with George Butterkiss?'

'The two of you clearly have an affinity, Victor.'

'Is that what it's called?' Leeming was disconsolate. 'I can think of a very different word for it, sir.' He sat back while the waiter cleared the plates away. 'What will you be doing this afternoon?'

'Trying to speak to Emily Hawkshaw. There's something about her behaviour that troubles me. I want to find out what it is.'

Emily lay on her bed and stared up at the ceiling. She was so preoccupied that she did not hear the tap on the door. When her mother came into the room, the girl sat up guiltily.

'You startled me,' she said.

'I didn't mean to do that, Emily. I just came to warn you.'

'About what?'

'Inspector Colbeck just called again,' said Winifred Hawkshaw. 'He's very anxious to talk to you.'

Emily was alarmed. 'Me?'

'Yes.'

'Why?'

'It's nothing to be afraid of, dear,' said her mother, sitting on the bed beside her. 'He needs to ask you a few questions, that's all.'

'Is he still here?'

'No, I thought you'd need fair warning so I told him that you were asleep. The Inspector will be back later.'

'What do I say to him?'

'The truth, Emily. He's trying to help us.'

'None of the other policemen did that.'

'Their minds were already made up. They'd decided that your father was guilty and that was that. Inspector Colbeck is different. You'll have to speak to him, dear. He won't go away.'

'What does he want to know?'

'You'll find out when he comes back.'

'Didn't he say?'

'He did wonder why you didn't sign that petition for your father's release,' said her mother, 'and I told him it was because you were too young, but he still felt your name should have been there. So do I, really.' She touched the girl's arm. 'Why wasn't it?'

'I don't know.'

'Gregory asked you to sign but you refused.'

'I had too many things on my mind,' whimpered the girl. 'I just couldn't bring myself to do it somehow. As soon as I saw that list of names, I lost heart. I knew that it would do no good.'

'It showed everyone what we felt, Emily.'

'I felt the same.'

'Then you should have been part of it.'

Emily stifled a cry then began to convulse wildly. Putting her arms around the girl, her mother tried to control the spasms but to no avail. Emily seemed to be in the grip of a seizure.

'What's wrong with you?' asked Winifred, tightening her hold on her daughter. 'Emily, what's wrong?'

Robert Colbeck had been in the town for over twenty-four hours without really exploring it properly. While he waited to speak to Emily Hawkshaw, therefore, he decided to stroll around Ashford and take the measure of the place. It also gave him an opportunity to reflect on what he had learnt earlier and to sift through the evidence that Leeming had obtained from his visit to Canterbury. The solution to the two murders aboard trains, he felt, still lay buried in the case of Nathan Hawkshaw. Until he could unearth the truth about the first killing, he was convinced that he would never catch those responsible for the other crimes. Deep in thought, he ambled gently along.

Industry was encroaching fast but Ashford was still largely a pleasant market town with a paved high street at its heart and an ancient grammar school that, for well over two hundred years, had educated privileged pupils and turned them into useful citizens. Shops dominated the centre of the town. It was in the sidestreets that houses, tenements and artisans' villas abounded. Having stopped to admire the soaring church tower of St Mary's, Colbeck read some of the inscriptions on the gravestones surrounding it, sobered by the thought that Nathan Hawkshaw had been deprived of his right to a last resting place there.

Continuing his walk, he went in a loop around the town so that he could see every aspect of it, his striking appearance causing much interest among the townspeople and more than a few comments. When he finally returned to the high street, he elected to call once more on Emily Hawkshaw but, before he could turn into Middle Row, he saw what at first he took to be some kind of mirage. Walking towards him with purposeful strides was an attractive young woman in a dress that he had seen once before. Colbeck rubbed his eyes to make sure that they were not deceiving him. At that moment, the woman saw him and quickened her step at once. Colbeck was astonished and excited to see her.

It was Madeleine Andrews.