The excursion train irc-2

by Edward Marston

  'I want the full story, Emily. And let me assure you of one thing. Whatever you tell me is in strictest confidence. I'm not going to pass it on to anyone – not even to your mother. She's the one person who must never know, isn't she? At least, that's what you think now.'

  'I don't know what you're talking about.'

  'I think you do, Emily. Did your father commit that murder?'

  'No!' she retorted.

  'Would you swear to that?'

  'On the Bible.'

  'But would you confess why you're so certain about it?' asked Colbeck, lowering his voice. 'No, you wouldn't, would you? Because you had a chance to do just that at the trial.' Emily's cheeks were drained of what little colour they possessed. 'The reason you know that he could not possibly have killed Joseph Dykes is that you were with your father at the time.'

  'That's not true!' she cried.

  'Except that you never saw him as your real father, did you? He was kind to you. He protected you from Adam. He was your friend.' The girl let out a gasp of horror at being found out. 'You loved him as a friend, didn't you, Emily? There's no question that he loved you. Nathan Hawkshaw went to the gallows rather than betray you.'

  'Stop!' she implored.

  'It has to come out, Emily,' he told her, getting up to stand beside the girl. 'The truth is a poison that must be sucked out of you before it kills you. I'm not here to judge you or to tell you that what you did was wrong. All I want to do is to find the man who did kill Joseph Dykes then went on to murder two other people. Did your mother tell you what happened yesterday evening?'

  'No.'

  'This man that we're after tried to shoot me, Emily.' She looked at him with dismay. 'Unless we catch him, there'll be other victims. You're in a position to help us. Do you want more people to be killed as a result of what happened that day at Lenham fair?' She shook her head. 'Then tell me the truth. You'll be helping yourself as much as me.'

  Emily stared up at him with a fear that was tempered with a wild hope. Colbeck could see that she was wrestling hard with her demons. The guilt that had been oppressing her for weeks was now bearing down like a ton weight.

  'You won't tell Mother?' she whispered.

  'That's something that only you should do, Emily.'

  'I feel so ashamed.'

  'I think that your father – your friend, I should say – deserved to bear the greater shame. You were too young to understand what was happening. He was much older – he knew.'

  'I loved him.'

  'And he loved you, Emily, but not in a way that a stepfather should. It cost him his life.' She shuddered. 'I'm sure that he repented at the last. He took the sin upon himself. You don't have to go through life with it hanging over you forever.'

  'Yes, I do.'

  'Why?'

  Emily was not able to tell him yet. She was still shocked and frightened by the way that he seemed to have looked into her mind and discerned her secret. It was unnerving.

  'How did you know?' she asked.

  'There were clues,' he explained. 'When you were attacked by Dykes, you didn't turn to your mother for help. In fact, you pulled away from her. And, at the very time when you should have been drawn closer as you mourned together, you shut her out.'

  'I had to, Inspector.'

  'You lost the person you really loved and you felt that you couldn't live without him.'

  'I caused him to die.'

  'No, Emily.'

  'If he hadn't been with me that day, he'd be alive now.'

  'And what sort of life would it have been?' asked Colbeck. 'The two of you were lying to your mother and lying to each other. It could never have gone on like that, Emily. It was only a matter of time before you were found out. Think what would have happened then.'

  'I hated all the lies and deceit,' she admitted.

  'You went along with them out of love but it was never a love that you could show to the world. You asked me how I knew,' he went on, 'and it wasn't only because of the way you treated your mother. There was your fear of the doctor as well.' His inquiry was gentle. 'Are you with child, Emily?'

  'I don't know – I may be.'

  'If that's the case, then you tried to kill two people when you went up that church tower. That makes it even worse. You must have been in despair to do that.'

  'I was. I still am.'

  'No, Emily. We're drawing that poison out of you. It's going to hurt but you'll feel better for it in the end. You have to face up to what you did instead of trying to run away from it. Most important of all,' he stressed, 'you mustn't take all the blame on your own shoulders.'

  'I can't help it, Inspector.'

  'You were led astray by your stepfather.'

  'That isn't how it was.'

  'He admitted his guilt by giving his life to save yours.'

  'It was not like that,' she told him, her eyes filling with tears.

  'Joe Dykes did touch me in that lane but that was all he did. I only pretended that he did much more than that. Before I ran back here, I even tore my dress. I wanted Nathan to comfort me. That's how it all started,' she said with a sob in her voice. 'I just wanted him.'

  By the time he got back to the inn, Victor Leeming had decided that his visit to Wye had not been in vain at all. He had something to report. To his disappointment, however, he did not find Colbeck at the Saracen's Head. In the Inspector's place were George Butterkiss and a complete stranger. The Constable leapt up at once from his chair and came across to Leeming.

  'I found him, Sergeant,' he declared, as if expecting a reward.

  'Who?'

  'Amos Lockyer. Come and meet him.'

  He took Leeming across to the table and introduced him to his friend. The two of them sat down opposite Lockyer, a short, fleshy man in his late fifties with an ugly face that was redeemed by a benign smile. His hand was curled around a pint of beer and, from the way he slurred his words, it was clearly not his first drink of the day.

  'How did you track him down, Constable?' asked Leeming.

  'I remembered the Romney Marshes.'

  'Why?'

  'Because I once told George that I'd like to retire there,' said Lockyer, taking up the story. 'I had an uncle who was on his last legs and he promised to leave his cottage to me. I got word of his death when I was working at Leeds Castle. That was no job for me,' he told them with disgust. 'I wasn't born to fetch and carry for my betters because I don't believe that they were any better than me.' He gave a throaty chuckle. 'So, after I'd buried Uncle Sidney, I decided to retire.'

  'That's where I found him,' said Butterkiss. 'At his new home.'

  'You did well,' conceded Leeming.

  'Thank you, Sergeant. But how have you got on?'

  'The first two ladies on that list could be discounted at once, but I'm not so sure about the third. What can you tell me about Kathleen Brennan from Wye?'

  'Nothing beyond what I told you before.'

  'There was something very odd about Mrs Brennan.'

  'You should have asked me about her,' said Lockyer, helpfully. 'What's odd about Mrs Brennan is that she's the only woman I know who wears a wedding ring without having been anywhere near a husband.' He grinned amiably. 'A husband of her own, that is.'

  'She's not married?'

  'No, Sergeant, and never has been.'

  'How do you know her?'

  'From the time when she used to serve beer at the Fountain,' recalled the older man. 'This was before your time, George, so you won't remember Kathy Brennan. She was very popular with the customers.'

  'That was the feeling I had about her,' said Leeming. 'She was too knowing. As if she was no better than she ought to be.'

  'Oh, I don't condemn a woman for making the most of her charms and Kathy certainly had those. They were good enough to start charging money for, which was how she and I crossed swords.'

  'You mean that she was a prostitute?' asked Butterkiss.

  'Of sorts,' said Lockyer, indulgently. 'And only for a short time un
til she saw the dangers of it. I liked the woman. She always struck me as someone who wanted a man to love her enough to stay by her but she couldn't find one in Ashford. What made her change her ways was that business with Joe Dykes.'

  'I don't remember that,' said Butterkiss.

  'What happened?' prompted Leeming.

  'Joe was in the Fountain one night,' said Lockyer, 'and he took a fancy to Kathy. So off they go to that lane behind the Corn Exchange. Only she's heard about his reputation for having his fun then running off without paying, so she asked for some cash beforehand.'

  'Did he give it?'

  'Yes, Sergeant. But as soon as Joe had had his money's worth up against a wall, he attacked the poor woman and took his money back from her. Kathy came crying to me but, as usual, Joe had made himself scarce. He was cruel.'

  'In other words,' said Leeming, realising that he had just been given a valuable piece of information, 'Kathleen Brennan had a good reason to hate Dykes.'

  'Hate him? She'd have scratched his eyes out.'

  It was at that point that Robert Colbeck returned to the inn. Seeing the three of them, he came across to their table. As soon as he had been introduced to Lockyer, he took over the questioning.

  'Did you follow Jacob Guttridge to his home?'

  'Yes,' replied Lockyer, uncomfortably.

  'Then you are an accessory to his murder.'

  'No, Inspector!'

  'Amos didn't even know that he was dead,' said Butterkiss, trying to defend his former colleague. 'The first he heard about the murder – and that of the prison chaplain – was when I told him about them.'

  'It's true,' added Lockyer, earnestly. 'I was stuck on a farm, miles from anywhere. You don't get to read a newspaper when you're digging up turnips all day. When George told me what's been going on, I was shaken to the core.'

  'Yet you admit that you followed Guttridge,' noted Colbeck.

  'That's what I'm good at – finding where people live.' He took a long sip of his beer. 'I knew he'd lie low in Maidstone prison after the execution so I stayed the night there and waited at the station early next morning. Mr Guttridge caught the first train to Paddock Wood then took the train to London from there. Unknown to him, I was right behind him all the way.'

  'Like a shadow,' said Butterkiss, admiringly.

  'Not exactly, George, because he walked much faster than me. This old injury slows me right down,' he said, slapping his thigh. 'He almost gave me the slip in Hoxton. I saw the street he went down but I didn't know which house was his. So I waited on the corner until he came out again and I followed him all the way to Bethnal Green.'

  'To the Seven Stars,' said Colbeck.

  'That's right, Inspector. How did you know?'

  Leeming was bitter. 'We know all about the Seven Stars,' he said. 'If you went there, you must have discovered that Guttridge was going to be on that excursion train to watch the big fight.'

  'It was the only thing that people were talking about,' explained Lockyer. 'The landlord was making a list of all those who were going to support the Bargeman. Jake Guttridge was one of the first to put himself forward, though he gave a different name. I don't blame him. The Seven Stars wasn't the place to own up to being a hangman.'

  'What happened afterwards?'

  'I trailed him back to Hoxton. The trouble was that he spotted me and broke into a run. I had a job to keep up with him but at least I got the number of his house this time. I earned my money.'

  'From whom?'

  'The person who paid me to find his address.'

  'And who was that?'

  'Inspector,' pleaded Lockyer, 'I had no idea that he intended to kill Guttridge. I swear it. He said that he just wanted to scare him. If I'd known what I know now, I'd never have taken on the job.'

  'Give me his name, Mr Lockyer.'

  'I was a policeman. I'd never willingly break the law.'

  'his name,' demanded Colbeck.

  'Adam Hawkshaw.'

  Inspector Colbeck took no chances. Aware that Hawkshaw was a strong young man in a shop that was filled with weaponry, he stationed Leeming and Butterkiss at either end of Middle Row to prevent any attempt at escape. When he confronted the butcher in the empty shop, Colbeck was given a sneer of contempt.

  'What have you come for this time?' said Hawkshaw.

  'You.'

  'Eh?'

  'I'm placing you under arrest for the murders of Jacob Guttridge and Narcissus Jones,' said Colbeck, producing a pair of handcuffs from beneath his coat, 'and for the attempted murder of a police officer.'

  'I never murdered anybody!' protested the other.

  'Then why did you pay Amos Lockyer to find the hangman's address for you?' Hawkshaw's mouth fell open. 'I don't think it was to send him your greetings, was it? What you sent him was a death threat.'

  'No,' said Hawkshaw, defiantly.

  'You'll have to come with me.'

  'But I'm innocent, Inspector.'

  'Then how do you explain your interest in Jacob Guttridge's whereabouts?' asked Colbeck, snapping the handcuffs on his wrists. 'How do you account for the fact that you were seen taking a train to Paddock Wood on the night of the chaplain's murder?'

  'I can't tell you that.'

  'No, and you probably can't tell me where you were yesterday evening, can you? Because I don't believe that you were in your lodging. You were cowering in a doorway opposite the Saracen's Head, waiting for me to come out so that you could shoot me.'

  'That's not true,' said Hawkshaw, struggling to get out of the handcuffs. 'Take these things off me!'

  'Not until you're safely behind bars.'

  'I had nothing to do with the murders!'

  'Prove it.'

  The butcher looked shamefaced. Biting his lip, he grappled with his conscience for a long time. Eventually, he blurted out his confession.

  'On the night of the chaplain's murder, I did take a train to Paddock Wood,' he said, the words coming out slowly and with obvious embarrassment, 'but it was not to go after him. I went to see someone and I took the train over there again last night.'

  'Can this person vouch for you?'

  'Yes, Inspector, but I'd rather you didn't ask her.'

  'A lady, then – a young lady, I expect. What was her name?'

  'I can't tell you that.'

  'Is that because you just invented her?' pressed Colbeck.

  'No,' rejoined the other, 'Jenny is real.'

  'I'll believe that when I see her, Mr Hawkshaw. Meanwhile, I'm going to make your mother aware of your arrest then take you back to London.'

  'Wait!' said Hawkshaw in desperation. 'There's no need for this.' He swallowed hard. 'Her name is Jenny Skillen.'

  'Why couldn't you tell me that before?'

  'She's married.'

  'Ah.'

  'Her husband is coming back today.'

  Colbeck knew that he was telling the truth. If he had a witness who could absolve him of the murder of Narcissus Jones then he could not be responsible for the other killings.

  'Why did you pay Amos Lockyer to find that address?' he asked.

  'I wanted revenge,' admitted Hawkshaw. 'When I saw the way that he made my father suffer on the scaffold, I just wanted to tear out his heart. I didn't say that to Amos. I told him that I just wanted to give the man a fright. He agreed to find his address for me, that was all. When he came back, he told me that Guttridge would be at a prizefight in a few weeks' time.'

  'So you decided to go on the same excursion train?'

  'No, Inspector – I give you my word. If I'm honest, I thought about it. I even planned what I'd do when I caught up with him. But I don't think I could have gone through with it.'

  'Did you discuss this with anyone else?'

  'Yes,' said Hawkshaw, 'and he talked me out of it. He told me that I couldn't bring back my father by killing the man who hanged him. He made me see how wrong it would have been and got me to promise that I'd forget all about it. He stopped me.'

  'Who did?'


  'Gregory – Gregory Newman.'

  There were tears in his eyes as he stood beside the bed and looked down at his wife. Meg Newman had not woken all day. She lay in a sleep so deep that it was almost a coma. On the rare occasions when she did open her eyes for any length of time, she inhabited a twilight world of her own in which she could neither speak, move nor do anything for herself. Her husband gazed down at her with a mixture of love and resignation. Then he bent down to give her a farewell kiss that she never even felt.

  'You once begged me to do this,' he said, 'and I didn't have the courage to put you out of your pain and misery. I have to do it now, Meg. Please forgive me.'

  Gregory Newman put the pillow over her face and pressed down hard. It was not long before his wife stopped breathing.

  Having released his prisoner, Colbeck went marching off to the railway works with Leeming and Butterkiss. As a precaution, he deployed them at the two exits from the boiler shop before he went in. When he found the foreman, he had to shout above the incessant din.

  'I've come to see Gregory Newman again,' he yelled.

  'You're too late, Inspector.'

  'What do you mean?'

  'He left half an hour ago,' replied the foreman. 'Someone brought word that his wife had taken a turn for the worse. I let him go home.'

  'Who brought the message?'

  'A young woman.'

  Colbeck thanked him then hurried outside to collect the others. When he heard what had happened, Leeming was able to identify the bearer of the message.

  'Kathleen Brennan,' he said. 'I think she came to warn him.'

  'Let's go to his house,' ordered Colbeck.

  They hurried to Turton Street and found the door of the house wide open. The blind had been drawn on the downstairs front window. Colbeck went quickly inside and looked into the front room. Weeping quietly, Mrs Sheen was pulling the sheet over the face of Meg Newman. She looked up in surprise at Colbeck.

  'Forgive this intrusion,' he said, removing his hat. 'We're looking for Mr Newman. Is he here?'

  'Not any more, sir. He told me Meg had passed on and he left.'

  'Where did he go?'

  'I don't know,' said Mrs Sheen, 'but he had a bag with him.'

  'Thank you. Please excuse me.'