Edward Marston - Railway to the Grave

‘Then you can abandon all hope of marriage,’ she teased.

‘It’s a serious business, Maddy. It takes time to make up your mind. Well, look how long it took you and the inspector to come to a decision.’

‘That was because of Robert’s work.’

‘It won’t be a problem in my case,’ he said, ‘because I’m near retirement. I’ll be here most of the time. That’s another thing,’ he added. ‘I don’t want a wife who’ll be under my feet all day long.’

‘The truth is, Father,’ she said with an affectionate smile, ‘you don’t want a wife at all, do you?’

He chuckled. ‘Probably not – but I’m open to offers.’

When the meal was over, they adjourned to the parlour. He saw the copy of Cranford on the table beside her chair.

‘Did you mention what I said about it?’

‘We had other things to discuss.’

‘What did he tell you about the investigation?’ asked Andrews. ‘It says in the newspaper that it’s come to a halt.’

‘Reporters know nothing.’

‘They must get their information from somewhere, Maddy.’

‘Well, they didn’t get it from Robert. He’s much more optimistic. He’s hoping to make an arrest before long.’

‘He ought to arrest you for reading nonsense like Cranford.’

‘It’s a lovely book and much more restful than Dickens.’

‘I like blood and violence,’ said Andrews.

‘You wouldn’t say that if you had to deal with them every day as Robert does,’ she told him. ‘He has to see and do the most dreadful things. Take this case, for instance. How would you like to dig up a rotting corpse in the middle of the night?’

‘I’d be more than happy to do so, Maddy,’ he replied, cackling, ‘as long as it was the corpse of the man who runs the Great Northern Railway, that is. I’d go so far as to say it’d be a real pleasure.’

While Colbeck went off to confront the rector, Leeming stayed at the Black Bull in case the visitor from Doncaster turned up. The pub served good beer but the sergeant only drank in moderation so that his mind was not befuddled. The bar was quite full and, when he heard the door open, he was unable to see over the heads of the people standing between his table and the entrance. Hoping that Kinchin had at last arrived, Leeming was perturbed to see the unlovely face of Eric Hepworth beaming down at him.

‘Good evening, Sergeant,’ said Hepworth.

‘Good evening.’

‘May I join you?’

‘Actually,’ said Leeming, ‘I’m waiting for someone.’

‘Oh – and who might that be?’

‘That doesn’t concern you, Sergeant.’

‘If it’s related to the murder – and it obviously is – then it does concern me. I live here and I don’t want this hanging over us. It gives us a bad name. I want to cleanse the village. The sooner you arrest Michael Bruntcliffe, the better.’

‘We have to find him first and that’s proving difficult. Besides, we only have circumstantial evidence that he may be involved. The inspector is not fully persuaded that Bruntcliffe is our man.’

‘Who else could have committed the murder?’

‘I don’t know,’ admitted Leeming.

‘That’s why you need me. I can help. If the inspector spoke to my superintendent, I could be released from my duties to join in the search for Bruntcliffe.’

‘You do your job, Sergeant, and we’ll do ours.’

‘But you’ve made no progress at all.’

‘Yes, we have – though I can’t go into detail.’

‘I don’t believe you,’ challenged Hepworth.

‘You can believe or disbelieve what you like,’ said Leeming without rising to the bait. ‘And it’s not only the murder that we’ve been investigating. There’s the series of poison-pen letters that were sent to the colonel. It might interest you to know that we’ve already identified one of the people who sent them.’

Hepworth was shocked. ‘Who was that?’

‘You’ll have to wait until it becomes public knowledge.’

‘Why bother about a few silly letters when there’s a killer on the loose?’

‘Those letters were not silly,’ said Leeming. ‘They were malicious and helped to drive the colonel to suicide. I read one of them. It was disgusting. The people who wrote such poisonous things need to be tracked down.’ Hepworth plucked nervously at his beard. ‘You talked about cleansing the village of an ugly stain. We need to cleanse a few filthy minds around here as well.’

‘Yes,’ said Hepworth, backing away, ‘I agree. If you’re expecting company, I won’t intrude any longer.’

The railway policeman vanished into the crowd but his place was almost immediately taken by a dapper individual with a walrus moustache flecked with grey. Guessing that it must be Royston Kinchin, Leeming got up and introduced himself to the newcomer. Kinchin had the partly-hesitant, partly-defensive look of a man who’s been summoned by the police without knowing why. When he’d bought the visitor a drink, they sat down at the table. Leeming glanced around the bar to make sure that Hepworth was not lurking nearby but there was no sign of their self-appointed assistant. The sergeant turned to Kinchin.

‘Thank you for coming, sir,’ he began.

‘Ned Staddle said that it was important.’

‘It could be. It concerns Colonel Tarleton.’

‘Yes,’ said Kinchin with a pained expression. ‘I read about the suicide. It shocked me. The colonel always seemed such a level-headed sort of man. I’d never have expected him to do such a thing.’

‘How well did you know him?’

‘I wouldn’t call myself a close friend but we did see each other from time to time. We had a mutual interest.’

‘I had a feeling you might have been in the army, sir.’

‘No, you’re quite wrong there, Sergeant. I’m an engineer. I was lucky enough to be in the right place when the railways began to develop. Most of my career was spent in management. When the Great Northern extended its line, I bought a house in Doncaster.’

‘Is that where the colonel used to visit you?’

‘He didn’t come to see me,’ explained Kinchin. ‘I met him at the station so that I could give him a lift in my carriage.’

‘And where did you take him?’

‘More often than not, we went to a concert. Sometimes, we simply attended a rehearsal. The colonel was one of the sponsors, you see.’ Leeming was baffled. ‘Evidently, you don’t see, Sergeant.’

‘What sort of concerts are you talking about, sir?’

‘The colonel and I shared a passion for brass bands. When he heard that a railway band had been formed in Doncaster, he got in touch with it and offered a generous donation. That’s why we were allowed to attend rehearsals,’ said Kinchin. ‘I, too, was a supporter of the band. We whiled away many an hour, listening to them. The Doncaster Loco Band has real quality.’

‘I’ll take your word for it.’

‘Indeed, when I first heard of his death, I wondered if I should ask the band to play at his funeral. Then I realised that it would hardly be appropriate. The booming harmonies of a brass band have no place around a grave. On the other hand,’ added Kinchin, stroking his moustache, ‘if there’s to be a memorial service, we might think again. The band has a wide repertoire of hymns.’

‘So that’s all it was,’ said Leeming with disappointment. ‘The colonel went to Doncaster to listen to a band. I was hoping for some information that might assist us in our investigation.’

‘I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful, Sergeant.’

‘It’s not your fault, Mr Kinchin. And at least we’ve now solved one little mystery.’

‘Perhaps you can solve one for me in return.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well,’ said the other, ‘the colonel was as passionate as I am about brass band music. Neither his wife nor his friends would understand that. They preferred orchestral concerts.’