Edward Marston - The Stationmaster's farewell

‘No, Inspector,’ confessed the other, ‘I haven’t. We have a lot of crime here but it’s largely confined to theft, disorder, drunkenness, fraud and prostitution. The last murder in Exeter was over fifteen years ago and that was before my time.’

Leeming was interested. ‘Who was the victim?’

‘It was a man named Bennett who worked for an insurance company. After visiting the Bonhay Fair, he fell in with some unsavoury characters in the Cattle Market Inn. Someone followed him home. He was later found floating in the river near Trews Weir.’

‘Did they catch the killer?’

‘Yes,’ replied Steel, ‘but the case against him rested on the word of an accomplice who turned Queen’s evidence. The general feeling was that the accomplice was more of a villain than the man in the dock. Incredibly, the killer was found not guilty of murder but guilty of the lesser charge of larceny. Instead of being hanged, he was sentenced to fifteen years’ transportation.’

Colbeck was impressed that he’d taken the trouble to look into details of the case. Steel struck him as an honest, straightforward, diligent man who took pride in his work and who was justifiably upset by the arrival of two detectives from Scotland Yard. Colbeck could see why Quinnell had described him as awkward. Steel was his own man and would not be browbeaten by others. If they could win his approval, he could be a useful ally.

For his part, Steel had been taken aback when he first met them. Leeming reminded him of the ruffians who glared at him from behind bars in his cells and Colbeck looked like anything but an experienced detective. Five minutes of talking to them, however, had convinced the superintendent that he should perhaps take them on trust. Colbeck was intelligent and incisive, while his sergeant was patently a man accustomed to the rough and tumble of policing. There was a mutual respect between the two and they seemed to complement each other. Some of Steel’s reservations about them faded away.

‘You said that there were three questions, Inspector,’ he remembered. ‘I fancy that I can guess the third one. Do we have any suspects?’

Colbeck smiled. ‘You must be a mind-reader.’

‘The answer is that we do. We have one in particular. He’s a man well known to us and he’s been arrested on previous occasions. Though he travels a great deal, he’s been seen in the vicinity recently and that’s always a worrying sign.’

‘What makes you think he’s capable of murder?’

‘He has a violent temper and loses control of it when he’s drunk. He also nurses grudges and we know that he had a grudge against Heygate.’

‘I thought you said that the stationmaster had no real enemies.’

‘I was thinking of people in Exeter,’ said Steel, ‘and Bagsy Browne doesn’t live here. He simply infects the city from time to time.’

‘Why is he called Bagsy?’ asked Leeming.

‘Heaven knows — his real name is Bernard.’

‘Tell us about this grudge he holds,’ prompted Colbeck.

‘It’s rather more than a grudge, Inspector. They have troublesome passengers at St David’s now and then but the stationmaster can usually handle them. Then Bagsy Browne rolled up roaring drunk one day and became obstreperous. When Heygate tried to eject him, Bagsy gave him a mouthful of abuse and broke some of the windows in the ticket office. He used foul language to female passengers then attacked one of the porters. Heygate was not standing for that,’ said Steel, ‘so he took matters into his own hands.’

‘What did he do?’

‘He knocked Bagsy out with the flat of a garden spade.’

‘Good for him!’ said Leeming.

‘Needless to say,’ Steel went on, ‘Bagsy wanted him arrested for unprovoked assault. He was furious when I told him that Heygate was only acting in defence of his staff and of railway property. The stationmaster was a hero and Bagsy went off yet again to cool his heels in prison.’

‘When did all this happen?’

‘It was earlier this year, Sergeant. When he’d served his sentence, Bagsy went off somewhere, threatening that he’d be back one day and that he’d come looking for Joel Heygate.’

‘Is that what you think may have happened?’ asked Colbeck.

‘Yes, Inspector — he got his revenge.’

With his shirt flapping and his breeches around his ankles, Bagsy Browne pumped away rhythmically between the thighs of a full-bodied woman with swarthy skin and long black hair. When he reached the height of his passion, he let out a piercing cry of triumph and simultaneously broke wind.

Adeline Goss lay back on the pillow and shook with mirth.

‘You always do that, Bagsy,’ she said.

‘It’s the beer,’ he explained, reaching for the flagon on the floor beside them and taking a long swig. ‘It makes me fart.’

She hugged him. ‘Oh, it’s so good to have you back again!’

‘You’re entitled to have a real man for once.’

Putting the flagon back on the floor, he pulled out of her and rolled over on to his back. The bed creaked under his weight. Browne was a big, barrel-chested man in his forties with a pockmarked face half-hidden beneath a black beard. His hair hung to his shoulders and there was hardly any part of his body that was not afforested. His naked companion was a middle-aged woman of generous dimensions with powder dabbed liberally over her cheeks and a beauty spot on her left breast. They were in one of the brothels in Rockfield Place. No money would change hands. Browne was there as a friend rather than a client. He’d once saved her from being badly beaten by a gypsy and she was eternally grateful to him.

‘Did you miss me?’ she asked, angling for a compliment.

‘I always miss you, Ad.’

‘Is that true?’

‘You’re my favourite girl.’

‘Tell me why.’

‘I just showed you why,’ he said with a ripe chuckle.

She snuggled up to him. ‘Where have you been all this time?’

‘I’ve been here, there and everywhere.’

‘Someone said they saw you at Honiton Fair.’

His shrug was non-committal. ‘Maybe I was there, maybe not.’

‘Don’t you remember?’

‘What’s past is past, Ad. Forget it.’

‘At least you got here in time for Guy Fawkes Night.’

‘I wasn’t going to miss that,’ he said with a throaty laugh, ‘and I wasn’t going to miss you. You’re the light of my life.’

‘Then why don’t you come here more often?’

‘I’ve got things to do elsewhere.’

‘Couldn’t I go with you one time?’

‘No, Ad — they’re things I have to do on my own. Stop asking me questions,’ he chided. ‘Why not just enjoy me while I’m here?’

‘I will,’ she said, running her fingers through the matted hair on his chest.

‘Good — I feel at home in your bed.’

‘How long will you stay in Exeter?’

‘Who knows?’

‘Will it be a matter of days or weeks?’

‘There’s only one thing I’m sure of,’ he said with a grin of satisfaction. ‘I’m going to stay long enough for the stationmaster’s funeral. If I had the chance, I’d piss on his coffin as they lower it into the grave.’

No sooner had Colbeck settled into his room at the Acland Tavern than a policeman came looking for him with a message. The inspector was summoned to the bishop’s palace to meet Henry Phillpotts. He told Leeming where he was going and suggested that the sergeant used the hours before dinner by finding his way around Exeter. It was dark when Colbeck walked along High Street but there were plenty of people abroad. Since there was a lot of animated discussion, he surmised that the topic of conversation was the cruel death of Joel Heygate. In a city that had not witnessed a murder for so many years, it caused a sensation. When he reached the cathedral close, he found Steel waiting for him. The superintendent indicated the scene of the crime.