Murder on the Brighton Express

by Edward Marston

  ‘What was that, sir?’ asked Colbeck.

  ‘Searching through the list of their major shareholders, I came across the name of Giles Thornhill. He has a large financial stake in the company. You should have found that out, Inspector.’

  ‘I agree, sir, and I’m grateful that you did so on my behalf.’

  ‘It tips the balance of probability in favour of Mr Thornhill. If, that is,’ added Tallis with beetle-browed scepticism, ‘your theory about the crime is correct.’

  ‘Do you have an alternative theory, Superintendent?’

  ‘No, but Captain Ridgeon certainly does. He called here today.’

  ‘I daresay that he wanted to complain about me,’ said Colbeck.

  ‘You upset him, Inspector, and I fear that I upset him even more by supporting you to the hilt.’ He leant forward across his desk. ‘I hope you won’t make me regret that support.’

  ‘We won’t, sir. Victor and I owe you our thanks.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ agreed Leeming, picking up his cue. ‘We need you to back us. Captain Ridgeon didn’t like what we were doing.’

  ‘I’m not sure that I do,’ said Tallis, twitching his moustache. ‘You may have identified the intended target of the crash but are no nearer finding those who seem to have engineered it.’ His gaze fell on Leeming. ‘What new information have you garnered today, Sergeant?’

  Leeming cleared his throat before launching into his report. It was short, apologetic and delivered with breathless speed. Tallis reacted with a mixture of sarcasm and outrage.

  ‘What have you been doing all day?’ he asked. ‘Twelve hours of detective work have yielded precisely nothing. If the Sunday Trading Bill had become law this year, at least you’d have been spared the chore of running pointlessly from one public house to another.’

  ‘I think you’re being unfair on Victor,’ said Colbeck. ‘Because he was a plate-layer, Dick Chiffney has to be a major suspect.’

  ‘Then find the man, Inspector.’

  ‘We will, sir.’

  ‘And track down his accomplice – if such a person exists.’

  ‘I’m certain that he does,’ said Colbeck. ‘From everything that Victor learnt about Chiffney, it seems clear that he’d never be capable of planning and carrying out the work on his own. Someone far more calculating has been giving the orders.’

  ‘It could be Matthew Shanklin,’ suggested Leeming.

  ‘I don’t want to know who it could be,’ said Tallis, scornfully. ‘Tell me who it actually is and produce the evidence to prove it.’

  ‘We’ll start by locating Dick Chiffney,’ decided Colbeck.

  ‘That won’t be easy, Inspector,’ warned Leeming. ‘If the woman he lives with can’t find him, what chance have we got?’

  ‘We’ll catch him, Victor.’

  ‘Then we need to do so before Josie Murlow gets hold of him, sir, or there’ll be nothing left of Chiffney to question.’

  Josie Murlow was dozing in a chair when she heard the noise. It brought her awake instantly. When a second stone hit the window of the living room, she struggled up, ready for combat, flinging open the front door and peering into the half-dark. Through the gloom, she could pick out a familiar shape.

  ‘Is that you, Dick Chiffney?’ she challenged. ‘Don’t think you can come back here with your snivelling excuses.’

  ‘I’ve brought no excuses, my love,’ said Chiffney, taking a few tentative steps forward. ‘But I’ve brought a flagon of gin.’

  Her manner softened. ‘Where have you been, you devil?’

  ‘I’ll explain that later, Josie.’

  ‘You left me high and dry.’

  ‘I was sworn to secrecy, my love. I was working for a gentleman and he paid me well.’ He came closer, allowing her to see that he was wearing a new suit. ‘Do you like the look of this?’

  ‘How could you afford that?’

  ‘I can afford a lot more, Josie, and you’ll share in my good luck.’ He gave a sly smile. ‘If you want to, that is.’

  Chiffney was only yards away now. He was a hulking man with broad shoulders and massive fists. A broken nose and a squint turned an ugly, misshapen face into a grotesque one. He had even fewer teeth than she did. Josie took time to make her decision, remembering the lonely nights without him and aching to take revenge. At the same time, she was a practical woman. A man with money in his pocket was always welcome and – whatever his reasons for leaving – Chiffney had come back to her at last. She spat on the ground before speaking.

  ‘What kind of gin is it?’ she asked.

  ‘The very best, my love,’ he said.

  ‘And is it paid for?’

  ‘Everything is paid for, including the present I brought you.’

  She was tempted. ‘You’ve got a present for me?’

  ‘I couldn’t come back empty-handed now, could I?’ he said with a leer. ‘As soon as I saw it in the shop, I thought of you.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Invite me in and I’ll show you.’

  She folded her arms. ‘I swore that you’d never cross this threshold again.’ Chiffney lowered his head in disappointment then turned to walk away. ‘But since you’re here,’ she added, quickly, ‘you may as well come in.’

  Chiffney rallied, turned around and rushed to embrace her. As they went into the house, Chiffney kicked the door shut behind them then muffled the questions she hurled at him with passionate kisses. When he broke away from her, he felt in a pocket and whisked out a string of garnets on a gold chain. The necklace sparkled in the light from the candles. Josie was thrilled with the gift. Nobody had ever bought her anything so expensive before. He helped her to put it on.

  ‘It’s wonderful, Dick,’ she cried, looking in a mirror.

  ‘So are you, my love.’

  ‘Let’s get some glasses,’ he said, going into the kitchen.

  Josie followed him. ‘Who needs glasses?’ she said, snatching the flagon from him and uncorking it to take a long swig. ‘Did you miss me, Dick Chiffney?’

  ‘Every second I was away.’

  ‘Show me how much.’

  Chiffney cackled with joy. After taking a swig of gin himself, he put the flagon aside, tore off his coat and reached for her. Big as she was, he lifted Josie up in his arms and carried her upstairs to the bedroom. Lowering her onto the bed, he flung himself on top of her and they kissed away their differences. Josie soon forgot about his apparent desertion of her and his inability to forewarn her of his movements. All that mattered now was that Chiffney had lots of money and an overwhelming desire for her. Josie laughed joyously. Her man was back.

  Later on, as they had a supper of cheese and gin, Chiffney gave her a partial explanation of where he had been, unable to tell her the whole story or to name the man who had employed him.

  ‘What I can tell is this, my love,’ he confided, swallowing a hunk of cheese. ‘There could be more money to come.’

  ‘Could there?’

  ‘I was paid for one job but there’s another to be done now.’

  ‘It’s against the law, though, isn’t it?’ she guessed.

  Chiffney sat back in his chair. ‘Who cares?’ he said airily. ‘One day’s work will bring in a lot more money and nobody will be any the wiser. It’s against the law but it’s safe.’

  ‘No, it isn’t,’ she cautioned, remembering her visitor earlier that day. ‘You’d better take care, Dick.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Because someone come looking for you,’ she told him. ‘It was a detective from Scotland Yard.’

  He was jerked out of his complacency. ‘Are you sure, Josie?’

  ‘His name was Sergeant Leeming.’

  ‘What did he want?’

  ‘All he’d tell me was that he needed to speak to you. He said it was something to do with the railway.’

  Chiffney got to his feet. ‘That’s impossible!’ he exclaimed. ‘How could he possibly know?’

  ‘Know what?’ she asked
.

  ‘Nothing, my love,’ he said, reaching for his coat. ‘I’ve got to get out of here. Don’t worry,’ he went on as she tried to stop him. ‘I’ll send word where I am when I’ve found somewhere to hide. But I can’t be caught here when there’s such a big pay day to come. If I get that money,’ he promised, pausing to take a guzzling kiss, ‘then the two of us can afford to get out of this place.’

  ‘Why are the police after you, Dick?’

  But she was talking to thin air. Chiffney had already fled through the back door and left it wide open. Josie closed it and leant against it as she mused on how fleeting happiness could be. Then she felt the necklace around her fleshy neck and noticed the flagon of gin still standing on the table. There were compensations.

  When his unexpected visitor called, Captain Harvey Ridgeon was studying reports in the office loaned to him by the railway company. He rose to his feet and offered Colbeck a subdued welcome.

  ‘I should have thought you’d be out looking for ruthless villains, Inspector,’ he said with a slight edge.

  ‘I wanted to speak to you first, sir.’

  ‘What use can I be? I don’t believe that the people who caused that accident even exist. They’re phantoms of your imagination.’

  ‘We must agree to differ on that,’ said Colbeck, pleasantly. ‘It seems to me that, though we take opposing views, we are both striving for the same result – namely, to find out what caused that disaster.’

  ‘You know my view, Inspector Colbeck.’

  ‘Given your position, I respect it. I have the feeling that you might respect my position a little more if you were aware of the evidence on which it’s based.’

  ‘I doubt that.’

  ‘At all events,’ said C you had the right to know how our investigation was proceeding even though you did your best to bring it to a complete halt yesterday.’

  ‘There’s not room for two us in the inquiry,’ asserted Ridgeon.

  ‘I believe that there is, Captain. What’s more, we have a greater chance of learning the full truth if we pool our resources, so to speak. Yes,’ he said before Ridgeon could interrupt, ‘I know that you feel a police investigation is an irritating irrelevance but I hope to convince you to think again. I’ve come here in the spirit of cooperation. Is it too much to ask for a small amount of your time?’

  ‘Superintendent Tallis showed no spirit of cooperation.’

  Colbeck smiled. ‘He and I have somewhat different approaches to these situations, sir. I trust that you’ll find mine less abrasive.’

  Ridgeon studied him warily for a moment then relaxed slightly. ‘I’m sure that I will, Inspector,’ he said. ‘Why don’t we both sit down then you can say your piece?’ As they each took a seat, Ridgeon pulled a face. ‘I must say, that I don’t envy you one bit, working under the superintendent.’

  ‘Mr Tallis is a fine detective,’ replied Colbeck, loyally, ‘and it needs someone with his experience of command to keep the rest of us in order. You must have realised that he was an army man.’

  ‘Oh, he made that abundantly clear.’

  Ridgeon gave a first smile as he remembered the confrontation with Tallis at Scotland Yard. Though he had left feeling disappointed, he admired the superintendent for standing unequivocally by his officers in the teeth of a protest about their behaviour. For his part, Colbeck sensed an easing of the tension between the two of them. In meeting the man, he was acting on his own initiative and had seen no need to forewarn Tallis of his plan for fear that it might be overruled. As an enemy, Ridgeon would be a continuing nuisance. As an ally, Colbeck reasoned, he might prove extremely useful.

  ‘Well, Inspector,’ invited Ridgeon with a gesture, ‘why don’t you present your case?’

  It was something in which Colbeck was well-versed. Before joining the Metropolitan Police, he had been a barrister and had presented a case in court on numerous occasions. He knew how to marshal his facts to the best advantage. Eschewing the histrionics he used before a jury, he spoke directly and persuasively as he reviewed the evidence that had so far been gathered. Ridgeon was an attentive listener who blinked in surprise more than once. He was not, however, entirely won over by the argument.

  ‘It’s an ingenious theory,’ he admitted, ‘but it owes more to the liveliness of your imagination than to the known facts. Whenever an accident occurs on the railway, one of the first things I look for is human intervention. There were, I grant you, signs of it in this case but not enough of them to be convincing. As for the notion that the object of the crash was to kill a single individual on the express, I find that too ludicrous to accept.’

  ‘Look at how carefully chosen the scene of the crash was,’ said Colbeck. ‘A great deal of thought went into it.’

  ‘I disagree, Inspector. Far more damage could have been caused had the collision taken place on the Ouse Bridge or in the Mertsham Tunnel – and, I would suggest, more people might have been killed as a result. As it was,’ he continued, ‘the death toll was mercifully low. In similar crashes, dozens of passengers have perished.’

  ‘The intention was to have one man among the victims.’

  ‘Yet there was no guarantee that he would be killed.’

  ‘There was every chance that he might be,’ said Colbeck. ‘Horace Bardwell was in the carriage immediately behind the locomotive, the one that would suffer the full force of the impact.’

  ‘What about your other potential target?’ asked Ridgeon.

  ‘Giles Thornhill was in the next carriage, again near the front of the train. Like Mr Bardwell, he always travelled first class.’

  ‘So do lots of other people, Inspector.’

  ‘Most of them don’t have dangerous enemies.’

  ‘I see no criminal intent behind this accident.’

  ‘Then we’ll have to convince you otherwise, Captain.’

  ‘I defy you to do so.’

  Colbeck took up the challenge. ‘It’s only a matter of time before we banish all your doubts,’ he said. ‘If we do, how will you respond?’

  ‘By being honest enough to concede that I was mistaken,’ said Ridgeon. ‘I’ll also shake your hand in apology. Somehow,’ he added with a thin smile, ‘I don’t think an apology will be necessary. You talk of two men watching trains go by – a harmless event in itself – as if it’s proof of conspiracy to derail a train. Yet you have absolutely no idea who those men were.’

  ‘That’s not true, sir,’ said Colbeck. ‘As a matter of fact, Sergeant Leeming could well be talking to one of them at this moment.’

  Matthew Shanklin was not at work that morning. Hearing that the man had sent a note to say that he was ill, Victor Leeming asked for his address and went to visit him. The house was an Italianate villa in St John’s Wood, indicative of the high salary Shanklin had once commanded as a manager with the LB&SCR. Admitted by a maid, Leeming was surprised to find Shanklin fully dressed and seated in his drawing room with a newspaper.

  ‘I was told that you were unwell, sir,’ said Leeming.

  ‘I suffer from migraines, Inspector,’ explained Shanklin, putting a hand to his head. ‘First thing this morning, I was in agony.’

  ‘I’m glad to see that you’ve made something of a recovery.’

  Invited to sit down, Leeming lowered himself on to a settee but he refused the offer of refreshment. After his encounter with Josie Murlow on a doorstep, he found it reassuring to be able to conduct an interview with a civilised man in such pleasant surroundings. He had to remind himself that Shanklin was a suspect.

  ‘This won’t take long, sir,’ he began, taking out his notebook. ‘I just wanted to hear a little more about your relationship with Mr Bardwell.’

  ‘It came to an abrupt end,’ said Shanklin, sullenly.

  ‘Since you were part of the management, you must have seen a lot of each other at one time. What sort of man was he?’

  ‘He was self-important and dictatorial.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Leeming as the face of Edward
Tallis was conjured up before his eyes, ‘it can be difficult working for someone like that.’

  ‘Our job was to run the company efficiently. Mr Bardwell’s job was to ensure that we had sufficient funds to do so and that we showed a healthy profit. There was no call for him to interfere in what we were doing.’

  ‘Why do you think he did so?’

  ‘It was partly force of habit, I suppose,’ said Shanklin. ‘He likes to exercise complete control. But the main reason was a financial one. He was always urging us to find ways to cut costs and increase our income. Needless to say, as the managing director, he always got the largest dividend each year.’

  ‘So there was a long history of strife between the two of you?’

  ‘You could put it that way.’

  ‘Hostility built over a period of time.’

  ‘Listen,’ said Shanklin, irritably, ‘I’ve already told you that I disliked him. I’ve given you my reasons for doing so. What more do you want me to say?’

  ‘What interested me was Mr Bardwell’s reaction to your name, sir. When my colleague, Inspector Colbeck, visited him in hospital, he found Mr Bardwell in a serious condition.’

  ‘I hope you’re not asking for sympathy from me.’

  ‘In fact, he was so bad that it was impossible to talk to him. Mr Bardwell’s mind kept wandering. Until, that is,’ said Leeming, ‘your name was mentioned. It caused him to go into convulsions.’

  ‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ said Shanklin with a grim smile.

  ‘Why should he respond like that, sir?’

  ‘I found him out for the scheming fraud that he was.’

  ‘Was that the only reason?’

  ‘You’ll have to ask Mr Bardwell.’

  ‘Until he recovers his senses,’ said Leeming, sadly, ‘that’s rather difficult. I can see that you gave him a fright by uncovering his attempt to defraud investors but that scare was long behind him. I wondered if there was a more personal reason why he reacted so violently.’

  ‘It was pure guilt, Sergeant – no more, no less.’

  ‘Yet you gave me the impression that Mr Bardwell was an unscrupulous man with no conscience whatsoever. If he felt guilty over what he had tried to do, he would surely have resigned from the board altogether.’