Points of Danger

by Edward Marston

  He went off smartly into the hall and was let out of the house.

  Sergeant Duff was strutting along the platform when he felt a heavy hand descend on his shoulder. Brushing it away, he spun round but his anger melted into surprise when he saw Colbeck standing there.

  ‘Can I do anything for you, inspector?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, you can accompany me to the police station. You’ll meet an old friend of yours there – Jack Noonan. I took exception to the fact that he followed me today in the same way that he followed Sergeant Leeming.’

  ‘I’ve never heard of a Jack Noonan.’

  ‘He employed you to feed information to him.’

  ‘That’s nonsense.’

  ‘No, it isn’t,’ said Colbeck. ‘The pair of you set your sights on that reward money and decided to get it by fair means or foul. You were very cunning, weren’t you? To make sure you knew how the investigation was going, you bribed the man responsible for sending and receiving any telegraphs. By that means, you had confidential information and passed it on to Noonan.’

  ‘I deny it.’

  ‘He doesn’t and neither does the man who’s just been sacked from the telegraph station. He admitted that he was in your pay.’

  ‘It’s a lie.’

  ‘Incidentally,’ said Colbeck, ‘I have to pass on the bad news that you will be dismissed from your post as well.’

  ‘I did nothing wrong!’

  ‘You did everything wrong, Duff. I’ll explain why when I drive you to the police station. Come on,’ said Colbeck, taking him by the arm. ‘Let’s not keep Jack Noonan waiting. You and he will have a lot to talk about.’

  As they walked through the cathedral cloisters, Dr Kitson had to slow down to keep pace with his hobbling friend. Wardlow had called on him, explained the situation and told him that he believed he might know where Tallis had gone. Kitson had been sceptical. When they reached their destination, his doubts had been justified.

  ‘Why should he come here, Terence?’ he asked.

  ‘It was just an idea.’

  ‘But you told me that he was scared when he saw the cathedral again. It’s the last place he’d want to visit.’

  ‘You may be right, Donald.’

  They were standing in the tunnel that connected the cloisters with King’s College, the school through which Tallis had been hustled away by his kidnappers. Nobody else was about.

  ‘I just had this feeling he’d be here somehow,’ said Wardlow, voice filled with despair.

  ‘Where are the police searching for him?’

  ‘They’re combing the whole city.’

  ‘Why don’t we leave it to them?’

  ‘I must do something, Donald. I feel so guilty. If I’d spotted the signs, I could have stopped him leaving. The next time I see Edward,’ he said, worriedly, ‘they’ll probably be dragging his body from the river.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think there’s any risk of suicide,’ said Kitson. ‘If there had been, why walk all the way to Canterbury? You still have your old army revolver and you showed me some other weaponry once. If he was bent on taking his own life, the means were under your roof.’

  ‘That’s true,’ said Wardlow, slightly cheered. ‘But the fact is that he sneaked away in the night. Where the devil is he?’

  Edward Tallis trudged across the field. Tired and confused, he was driven on by an impulse he could neither understand nor resist. When he paused for a rest, he could hear the bells of the distant cathedral floating on the air. It was a hot day and he was already feeling uncomfortable. Removing his hat, he took out a handkerchief to wipe away the sweat trickling down his forehead. After allowing himself a brief respite, he put on the hat again and set off, each step a conscious effort. Punctilious about his appearance, he nevertheless took no notice of the dirt on his shoes and bottoms of his trousers. Whatever was guiding his footsteps made him blind to the consequences of going over rough ground in his best attire. He had been on the move for hours now. Tallis knew that it was only a matter of time before complete exhaustion set in.

  Victor Leeming was fast approaching desperation. He felt that he’d been deliberately led astray by someone with malign intent. On the return journey to St Helier, he did not admire the scenery. He was too busy trying to work out what to do next. At the back of his mind was the thought that, in order to get back home, he would have to endure another terrifying voyage. He’d never felt so alone in his life.

  When he reached the island capital, it took him the best part of an hour to find the estate agency that owned the property overlooking St Brelade’s Bay. Tucked away in a side street, it occupied the ground floor of a quaint terraced house. Though Jersey had nothing on the scale of Yarmouth’s holiday traffic, it was starting to attract more and more people there. Gregory Milner was one of the people employed to find accommodation for them. He was a sleek man in his thirties with a permanent smile painted on his face. Leeming suspected that he was French and was relieved to hear an English voice coming out of his mouth.

  ‘Good day to you, sir. How may we help you?’

  ‘I’ve just come from that castle in St Brelade’s Bay.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ said the other, ‘it is not available, I’m afraid. The Fauvel family have taken it for six months.’

  ‘I don’t want to stay there. I simply want details of people who were there three or four years ago.’

  ‘That was before my time, I’m afraid.’

  ‘You must have records, surely?’

  Milner frowned. ‘I can’t let a complete stranger look at them, sir.’

  When Leeming explained who he was and why he was there, the man looked at him with more respect. Since he’d only been with the company a couple of years, he had no memory of renting out the castle to a Michael Hern. The name did, however, ring a bell. He reached under the counter to bring out a letter.

  ‘This was handed to me a day or so ago,’ he said. ‘It’s addressed to Michael Hern and I agreed to hold on to it for a while before destroying it.’

  ‘Let me open it,’ said Leeming.

  ‘I’m not sure that I should do that. It’s private correspondence.’

  ‘Mr Hern will be in England by now. He’s the brother-in-law of the murder victim and has gone to console his sister. Hand it over, please.’

  Milner did so reluctantly, and Leeming opened it. Written by Cecil Freed, it told of the murder of Jarvis Swarbrick. It ended with a plea to Michael Hern to sail to England at once to be with his sister. Leeming was bewildered.

  ‘Yet he never got this letter,’ he said to himself. ‘How could he go to England when he had no idea that he was needed there?’

  As he read the letter again, an idea began to form in his mind.

  ‘Let me see your record book,’ he said.

  When Colbeck returned to the house, he was told that Hern was in the garden with his sister. He came upon them in an arbour. Hern had an arm around his sister. When he saw Colbeck, he rose to his feet.

  ‘I’ve been looking for you, inspector,’ he said, showing his annoyance. ‘Where have you been hiding?’

  ‘I was called away, sir. I had information that one of our suspects had been behaving strangely. As a result of questioning him, I made an arrest. He’s now in a cell at the police station.’

  ‘You arrested him?’ said Hern, worriedly. ‘Who is the man?’

  ‘His name is Bartram Duff, a sergeant with the railway police.’

  Hern inflated his chest. ‘Let me have a word with him.’

  ‘There’s no need for violence, sir.’

  ‘It will save someone the cost of an execution.’

  ‘I’m not absolutely sure of his guilt, Mr Hern. That’s to say, we don’t have the cast-iron proof we’d need in court. I just wanted to let you know as a courtesy what was happening.’

  ‘Thank you very much,’ said Grace.

  ‘How are you feeling today, Mrs Swarbrick?’

  ‘I’m much the same, I’m afraid.’

>   ‘Grace has been cooped up indoors ever since it happened,’ said Hern. ‘That’s unhealthy. I brought her out here to put some fresh air in her lungs.’

  ‘You did the right thing, sir,’ said Colbeck. ‘Anyway, now that you know what I’ve been up to, I’ll leave you alone.’

  ‘But I want to come with you, inspector.’

  ‘That’s out of the question, sir. Please don’t pester me again.’

  ‘Stay here, Michael,’ said his sister. ‘There’s nothing you can do.’

  ‘I’d be an extra pair of hands,’ he told her.

  ‘Yes,’ said Colbeck, ‘but my fear is that you’d use those hands on the prisoner. I’d hate to have to arrest you for assault. Your sister needs you. Leave the investigation to me. That’s an order.’

  Grace touched her brother’s arm. ‘The inspector is right, Michael.’

  ‘Heed your sister’s advice, Mr Hern.’

  ‘Very well,’ said the other, resignedly, ‘but I want to hear about any major development. I have a personal stake in this case, inspector. You don’t.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I do,’ said Colbeck, forcefully. ‘A murder investigation is always a personal matter to me. That’s why I never let anyone get in my way when I’m looking for a killer.’

  Walking across the lawn, Colbeck disappeared around the bushes.

  Notwithstanding the fact that he thought it a waste of time, Dr Kitson agreed to accompany his friend as he drove into the countryside. Wardlow kept the horse going at a steady canter even though the frequent bumps and swerves made him wince with pain.

  ‘This could be another wild goose chase,’ warned Kitson.

  ‘Please humour me.’

  ‘If the man was too scared to go to the cathedral, he’s even less likely to visit the place where he was actually imprisoned. Superintendent Tallis would dread going anywhere near it.’

  ‘I’m not so convinced of that,’ said Wardlow.

  ‘Well, I am, Terence. What would he gain by revisiting what was, in effect, a torture chamber? It must hold appalling memories for him.’

  ‘That’s exactly why he might be there, Donald.’

  They carried on until they caught sight of a straggle of farm buildings that had fallen into disuse. Even from a distance, they could see the holes in some of the roofs and the decayed wood in the walls and doors. Remote and deserted, the place had an unfriendly air about it.

  ‘Do you know where exactly he was held?’ asked Kitson.

  ‘Yes, I came here once on my own. I was interested to see where Edward had suffered so much.’

  ‘Would you have dared to bring him here?’

  ‘Oh, no,’ said Wardlow. ‘I’d never have suggested it.’

  Kitson was complacent. ‘I rest my case.’

  ‘I just have this feeling, Donald.’

  ‘Is it the same one you had about that tunnel by the cloisters?’

  ‘Don’t mock me.’

  ‘I’m just trying to be realistic. I’ve dealt with patients who’ve undergone ordeals. To a man, they’ve avoided the places and the situations that brought them such misery. Why should your friend be any different?’

  ‘I can’t answer that,’ confessed Wardlow.

  When he reached the buildings, he brought the horse to a halt then got out of the dog cart with some difficulty. Kitson surveyed the abandoned stables and barns with distaste.

  ‘Which one was it?’ he asked.

  ‘Follow me.’

  Wardlow stumbled over the uneven ground until he came to a building with a broken window. When he gazed through it, he let out a cry of alarm, a hand to his heart. Hanging from a beam was a noose.

  What struck Leeming as he walked to the heart of St Helier was the strange absence of police uniforms. There was no sense of the city being under supervision. Having started his career as a uniformed constable in London, he knew that officers were walking their beats in twos day and night. A police presence, he’d always been told, was a visible deterrent to crime. Looming up in front of him was the Newgate Street Prison, named after the notorious Newgate Prison in London. Architecturally, the two were very different. Had he been able to peer over the high perimeter walls, he’d have seen the attractive granite facade of the main block, complete with a series of exquisite arches that gave the structure an almost palatial look to it.

  Leeming went up to the main gate and rang the bell.

  Fearing the worst, Wardlow and Kitson went into the building. The sight that met their gaze was shocking. Seated on the floor among the sodden remains of some straw was Edward Tallis. He’d removed his top hat, coat and shoes. Because he’d also taken out his cufflinks, his cuffs were hanging loose. The extraordinary thing was that he didn’t seem to be in any pain. If anything, he was remarkably serene. Lost in thought, he didn’t see them until Wardlow spoke to him.

  ‘What’s going on, Edward?’ asked his friend.

  Tallis sat up. ‘Oh, hello, Terence,’ he said before noticing his other visitor. ‘It’s nice to see you again, Dr Kitson.’

  ‘I had such a fright when I saw that noose through the window. I was afraid that you were going to hang yourself.’

  ‘No, I’d never do that. When I got here, I noticed that length of rope. It had been used to tie me up. I made the noose and dangled it from a beam so that I could contemplate it.’

  ‘Why did you do that?’ asked Kitson.

  ‘I wondered if it would have been a kinder sentence.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘The two men who abducted me were sentenced to transportation to Australia. For the rest of their miserable lives they’ll be in hell. How much quicker their deaths would have been at the end of a rope. They did plan to kill me, after all. Fifty years ago, they’d have been sentenced to hang for kidnap and attempted murder. Given the choice,’ Tallis went on, ‘they might well have chosen the noose.’

  ‘But what brought you here, Edward?’ said Wardlow, ‘and why are you dressed like that?’

  ‘This was how they tied me up, you see.’ He held up his wrists. ‘Worst of all, they took my cufflinks with the regimental crest on them. That angered me more than anything.’

  ‘Were you trying to … recreate what happened?’

  ‘Yes, Terence, I wanted to stand up to that horrendous experience again and look it in the eyes without flinching. I wanted to see and smell the sheer desolation of this place.’ A radiant smile spread across his face. ‘I feel so happy now. I’ve won my private battle.’

  ‘Let me help you up,’ said Kitson, taking his arm.

  ‘It’s all right. I can get up on my own without any effort.’ He scrambled to his feet. ‘It’s all in the past now. I’m free at last.’

  ‘At least, let me help you on with your coat.’

  ‘You’re forgetting something, Dr Kitson,’ said Tallis, taking something from his pocket and opening his palm to display them. ‘I have to put in my cufflinks first.’

  Admitted to the governor’s office, Leeming at last felt that he was getting somewhere. Jonas Yarrow was an angular man of middle years with side whiskers that curled down his face to meet under his chin. Having been in the prison service for many years, he gave the impression that nothing could ever surprise him. When Leeming explained why he was there, the governor listened with increasing interest. He soon came to admire his unexpected visitor.

  ‘You made a good decision, Sergeant.’

  ‘The man I’m after is a killer,’ said Leeming. ‘I can’t believe that a murder would be his first crime. The chances are that he’ll have had convictions for earlier offences and may well have ended up in here.’

  ‘That sounds more than likely but, if it does prove to be the case, then we failed in our purpose. This is a mixed prison,’ said Yarrow. ‘Our aim is to discharge a male or female prisoner who has become a better human being because of his or her stay here.’

  ‘It’s an ambitious target, sir.’

  ‘They’re here for improvement as well as pun
ishment.’

  ‘I don’t think you would have improved this man,’ said Leeming. ‘He was cold, calculated and quite ruthless.’

  ‘Tell me again what you know about him, Sergeant.’

  ‘He’s a young man with a dark beard and we think he must be an expert horseman.’

  ‘You’ve just described a lot of people on this island. Beards are popular and those people who own a horse can ride it well. Are you sure there isn’t something else, some crucial detail that will set him apart?’

  Leeming was dubious. ‘Not really, Governor …’

  ‘It’s an article of faith with me that I know every prisoner here by name, but I can’t really identify the man you want on the strength of such flimsy evidence.’

  ‘The name he was using was John Gorey. Is that any help to you?’ Yarrow shook his head. ‘Ah, there is one thing I forgot,’ said Leeming, snapping his fingers. ‘He’s a sort of perfectionist. He rehearsed the crime very carefully before he committed it. inspector Colbeck found the exact place where he’d practised.’

  ‘Then maybe I can help you, after all.’

  ‘Do you recognise him, sir?’

  ‘I might do,’ said the other. ‘The man I have in mind is David Le Brun. He lives on a farm near Gorey. He spent time in here for a robbery. What upset him most was that he wasn’t able to take part in the annual point-to-point. Do you ride, Sergeant?’

  ‘Not if I can help it, sir.’

  ‘Le Brun did. He won the point-to-point three times in a row. I must confess that I once bet on him and went home with a profit.’

  ‘What makes you think he may be John Gorey?’

  ‘It was your description of his careful rehearsals. An expert horseman who knows the value of practising something time and again until there’s no room for error – it has to be David le Brun. He lives on a farm, but he has another string to his bow.’

  ‘What is it?’ asked Leeming.