Edward Marston - Railway to the Grave

‘Are you one of the people trying to take over my duties?’ he challenged. ‘You got no right to do that.’

‘You must be Sergeant Hepworth,’ said the newcomer.

‘That’s right.’

‘I’m Detective Sergeant Leeming of Scotland Yard.’

‘I don’t care if you’re the Emperor of China. Nobody pushes me aside.’

‘That’s not what we’re trying to do.’

Leeming took a step towards him and promptly lost his hat as it collided with a beam. Showing quick reactions, he managed to catch it. Hepworth laughed derisively.

‘A fine bleeding detective you are,’ he said. ‘You couldn’t even detect a beam above your head.’

‘Maybe not,’ riposted Leeming, squaring up to him, ‘but I can detect hostility when I find it. If you value your position, Sergeant, you’d better learn to show some respect.’

‘You have no jurisdiction over this stretch of line. It’s my patch and I look after it well.’

‘Then you should patrol it more effectively so that people don’t get killed by a train.’

Hepworth was indignant. ‘That wasn’t my doing!’ he bellowed. ‘If someone is stupid enough to walk on the track, that’s his funeral. My job is to clear up the mess afterwards. I won’t listen to threats. You have no authority over me.’

‘Inspector Colbeck does.’

‘Colbeck?’ The name jolted him. ‘Are you talking about the Railway Detective?’

‘That’s the man. His reputation goes before him. The inspector has solved crimes for most of the railway companies in this country and they’ve been extremely grateful. He will doubtless have influence with your employers and won’t hesitate to use it. If, that is,’ Leeming went on, ‘he meets with the same boneheaded resistance that I did.’

‘Who are you calling boneheaded?’

Hepworth took a combative stance but soon thought better of actually exchanging blows. Leeming stood his ground fearlessly. He was a solid man with the powerful fists and battered face of someone who’d survived many brawls. Ten years younger than Hepworth, he also looked much fitter. Realising that he’d met his match, the railway policeman resorted to a companionable chuckle. He patted Leeming’s shoulder.

‘There’s no call for us to fall out,’ he said, genially. ‘After all, we’re in the same business, really. If you’ve come all this way, Sergeant, you must have built up a thirst. What can I get you?’

Leeming asked for a pint of beer and the two of them were able to have a conversation instead of an argument. It was not long before Colbeck came into the bar, doffing his hat as he did so.

‘There,’ said Hepworth, approvingly. ‘That’s what I call a real detective. He spotted that beam at once.’

Leeming introduced the two men and they shook hands. The debonair Colbeck looked rather incongruous in the rough-and-ready surroundings of a rural pub but he was completely at ease. Having heard of his reputation, Hepworth regarded him with wonder.

‘You actually saw the body, then,’ said Colbeck.

‘I saw what was left of it, Inspector,’ replied Hepworth. ‘It was a sorry sight. His own mother wouldn’t have recognised him. I had the remains taken to an undertaker in Northallerton.’

‘Mrs Withers told us that. Superintendent Tallis is on his way there right now by train. He wants to see the body for himself.’

‘That’s more than I’d want to do,’ said Leeming.

‘He’s acting out of a sense of duty.’

‘Then he’s in for a nasty shock,’ warned Hepworth. ‘That train broke almost every bone in his body.’

‘The superintendent was in the army. He must have seen some hideous things on the battlefield. He won’t blench.’

‘I would,’ confessed Leeming. ‘I felt sick when our cat was crushed to death under the wheel of a coal haulier’s cart.’

Hepworth insisted on buying Colbeck a pint of beer, then the three of them moved to sit down at one of the tables. The railway policeman took a long sip from his tankard.

‘This is my first suicide,’ he said. ‘I don’t count the sheep and cows that wandered onto the line and got themselves smashed to smithereens. That’s not suicide – it was plain stupidity.’

‘It’s the duty of farmers to keep their stock fenced in,’ said Colbeck. ‘When there are accidents, it’s not only the animal that suffers. Locomotives have sometimes been derailed by the impact.’

‘Fences cost money, Inspector, and there are farmers who resent having track across their land. They defy railways.’

‘They stand to profit by it. They can move their stock to market far quicker by rail than by driving them there overland.’

‘This is Yorkshire. Old ways die hard.’

‘I’ve no complaints about the beer here,’ said Leeming, quaffing his pint then licking his lips. ‘I like it.’ He glanced at Hepworth. ‘The sergeant is afraid that we want to do his job for him.’

‘Not at all,’ soothed Colbeck. ‘The most needful thing has already been done and that was to clear the remains from the track. The colonel is dead. Our interest shifts to his wife and we may be forced to tread on a few toes there. I take it that the search was conducted by police from Northallerton.’

‘What few there are,’ said Hepworth. ‘Most of those who went out were villagers recruited by the colonel. I was glad to help myself when I was off duty, and not only because we were paid.’

‘How far afield did you search?’

‘We went for miles, Inspector. We combed every inch between here and Northallerton because that’s where Mrs Tarleton was going when she disappeared.’ He hunched his shoulders. ‘There was no trace of her.’

‘Do you know whom she was going to see in the town?’

‘Oh, yes, it was Mrs Reader. She’s the wife of a banker and was very friendly with Mrs Tarleton. They often visited each other’s houses. So did their husbands. The four of them played cards together.’

‘We’ll need to speak to Mr and Mrs Reader,’ said Colbeck.

‘He’s easy to find. His bank is in the High Street.’

‘Thank you for telling me.’

‘I’m always available, if you need help, sir,’ said Hepworth. ‘Policemen are few and far between in the North Riding. It would be a feather in my cap if I could assist the famous Railway Detective.’

‘The best way to assist me is to tell me what your own opinion is, Sergeant. Some unpleasant rumours are circulating, I hear.’

‘Not only in South Otterington,’ Leeming put in. ‘When I spoke to Hal Woodman in Northallerton, he claimed that everyone there knew for a fact that the colonel had murdered his wife.’

‘What evidence did he put forward, Victor?’

‘None at all, really – he seemed to think it was so obvious.’

‘You can tell me later about your visit to him. What about you, Sergeant?’ asked Colbeck, looking into Hepworth’s eyes. ‘Do you subscribe to the notion that it’s so obvious?’

‘No, sir, I don’t,’ replied Hepworth, seeing a chance to impress. ‘I’m a policeman. I like to study all the facts before I make any decision. On the other hand,’ he said, thoughtfully, ‘the suicide could have been some kind of repentance for a heinous crime.’

‘It could equally well have been the action of a loving husband, driven to desperation by the disappearance of his wife.’

‘You’ll not find many people around here who agree with that.’

‘Why is that?’

‘Colonel Tarleton was a peppery character. He was the sort of man who has to have his own way no matter how much offence that might cause. Everyone here respected him but few of us liked him. Fewer still would have called him a loving husband.’

‘How would you describe him?’