Edward Marston - The excursion train

'Well, I didn't. It's not the same without Estelle,' said Leeming. 'I missed her, Inspector.'

'And I'm sure that she missed you just as much, Victor. The sooner we solve these crimes, the sooner you can get back to her.'

Having bidden farewell to their superior, they were still under the portico outside the Saracen's Head. It was relatively early but the town was already busy. People were bustling around the streets, shops were getting ready to open and the pandemonium from the railway works showed that the first shift of the day had begun. Across the road from them, an ironmonger was going slowly through his morning routine of displaying his wares outside his shop. He heaved out a long tin bath.

'That's what I could do with,' said Leeming, covetously. 'A bath.'

'Take one back to your wife as a present.'

'I meant that I'd like to soak in warm water for half an hour.'

'I was only teasing you,' said Colbeck, smiling. 'There's no time for either of us to relax, I fear. You need to be on your way to Canterbury.'

'How will I find this Mr Perivale?'

'His chambers are in Watling Street. Get his address from there.'

'What if he doesn't live in the city?'

'Then go out to where he does live,' instructed Colbeck. 'The man could be unaware of the danger that he's in. But that's not the only reason you must speak to him, Victor. He was a key figure in the trial of Nathan Hawkshaw. I've several questions I'd like you to put to him,' he said, extracting a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and handing it over. 'I've written them down for you. Peruse them carefully.'

'Wouldn't it be better if you put them to him in person?'

'Ideally, yes.'

'You were a barrister. You talk the same language as this man.'

'Unfortunately, I can't be in two places at once.'

'Where will you be, sir?'

'Here in Ashford, for the most part,' replied Colbeck. 'I want to make some inquiries at the station, then I need to have a longer talk with Winifred Hawkshaw and with Gregory Newman. To mount the sort of campaign that they did was a formidable challenge to anyone yet they brought if off somehow.'

'It failed all the same.'

'That's irrelevant. When I paid my first visit to Maidstone, I saw some of the leaflets calling for Hawkshaw's release, and Sergeant Lugg showed me the advertisements placed in the local newspapers. They were all well written and must have cost money to produce. Who penned that literature and how could they afford to have it printed?'

'Are they likely to tell you?'

'It depends how I ask.'

'I'd better go and find Constable Butterkiss,' said Leeming. 'He's promised to drive me to Canterbury in a trap. If he keeps on at me about the Metropolitan Police, it's going to be a very long journey. Oh, I do hope that I can get back home soon!' he went on, earnestly. 'I miss everything about London. And so do you, I daresay, sir.'

'My place is here in Kent at the moment.'

'Even you must have regrets.'

'Regrets?'

'Yes,' said Leeming, broaching a topic he had never touched on before. 'You must be sorry to be apart from Miss Andrews. I know that you like to spend time with her occasionally.'

'I'll certainly look forward to seeing her again,' admitted Colbeck, smiling to himself at the unexpected mention of her name, 'but Madeleine understands that my work always takes precedence.'

'That won't stop the lady missing you, sir.'

Madeleine Andrews scanned the newspaper report with a combination of interest and horror. Her father was eating his breakfast before going off to work. She indicated the paper.

'Have you seen this?' she asked.

'I read it on the way back from the shop, Maddy. When I saw that Inspector Colbeck was on the front page again, I knew you'd want to see it for yourself.'

'A prison chaplain has been murdered.'

'Yes.'

'What kind of monster could want to kill a priest?'

'Oh, I can think of one or two priests I'd like to have met in a dark alley,' said Andrews with a grim chuckle.

'Father!' she said, reproachfully.

'I'm only being honest, Maddy. When I was a boy, there was a Canon Howells at St Saviour's who could make a sermon last a whole afternoon, and he'd give you such a clout if you dozed off in the middle. I should know. I had a clip around my ear from him more than once.'

'This is not something to joke about.'

'It's no joke. I'm serious. Canon Howells was a holy terror and his deacon, Father Morris, was even worse.' He swallowed the last of his porridge. 'But I don't think you have to look very far to find the man who killed that Reverend Jones.'

'What do you mean?'

'It was obviously someone who'd been in Maidstone prison.'

'That's not what Robert thinks,' said Madeleine, pointing to the article on the front page. 'He's certain that the murderer was the same man who killed the public hangman in that excursion train.'

'Yes, a former prisoner with a grudge.'

'Robert is the detective. You keep to driving trains.'

'I'm entitled to my opinion, aren't I?' he asked, combatively.

'You'd give it in any case,' she said, fondly, 'whether you're entitled to or not. You've got an opinion on everything, Father. Nobody can silence Caleb Andrews – even when he's wrong.'

'I'm not wrong, Maddy.'

'You don't know all the facts of the case.'

'I know enough to make a comment.'

'I'd sooner trust Robert's judgement.'

'Well, he does have an eye for picking things out,' he said, wryly, 'I have to admit that. After all, he picked you out, didn't he?'

'Please don't start all that again,' she warned. 'You should be off.'

'Let me finish this cup of tea first.'

'Which train are you driving today?'

'London to Birmingham.'

'You must know that route by heart.'

'I could drive it with my eyes closed,' he boasted, draining his cup and getting up from the table. 'Thanks for the breakfast, Maddy.'

'You need a good meal inside you at the start of the day.'

'You sound like your mother.'

'What time will I expect you?'

'Not too late.'

'Will you be going for a drink first?'

'Probably,' he replied, taking his hat from the peg behind the front door. 'I'll call in for a beer or two and tell them all what I think about this latest murder. They listen to me.'

'Do you give them any choice?'

'I've got this instinct, Maddy. Whenever there's a serious crime, I always have this strange feeling about who committed it. Look at this case of the dead chaplain.'

'It's shocking.'

'The person who done him in just has to be someone who was locked up in that prison and took against the Reverend Jones. It was the same with that hangman,' he went on, putting on his hat and opening the front door. 'All prisoners hate Jack Ketch because he could be coming for them with his noose one day.'

'Yes,' she said, immersed in the paper again.

'That's enough to make anyone want revenge.'

'Maybe.'

'I know that I would if I was put behind bars.'

'Of course.'

'Goodbye, Maddy. I'm off.'

'Goodbye.'

'Don't I get my kiss?' he whined.

But she did not even hear his complaint. Madeleine had just noticed a small item at the bottom of the page. Linked to the main story, it reminded her poignantly of the last time that she had seen Robert Colbeck. An idea suddenly flashed into her mind. Caleb Andrews had to manage without his farewell kiss for once.

As soon as the shop opened, Adam Hawkshaw brought some meat out and started to hack it expertly into pieces before setting them out on the table. Other butchers were also getting ready for customers in Middle Row but all they had in response to their greeting was a curt nod of acknowledgement. The first person to appear in the passage was Inspector Colbeck. He strolled up to Adam Hawkshaw.