Edward Marston - The excursion train

'What about his clothing? He couldn't wash blood off that.'

'Quite right. That's why his coat mysteriously disappeared.'

'His coat?'

'Yes,' continued Perivale, almost crowing over him. 'That's one little detail that you and the Inspector missed. When he went to that fair in Lenham, Hawkshaw was wearing a coat. A number of witnesses testify to that, including his son. Later, however, when he was observed by the youth returning to the farm, he had no coat on and was thoroughly dishevelled, as if he'd been involved in vigorous exercise. In other words,' he said, coming to the end of his peroration, 'he discarded his coat because it was spattered with the blood of his victim.'

'Was the coat never found?'

'No – he must have buried it somewhere.'

'Then why wasn't it discovered? The police searched the area.'

'They were only looking for a certain part of Joseph Dykes's anatomy that had gone astray – a fact that tells you everything about the mentality of the killer. Taken together, the missing coat and the absence of an alibi put Hawkshaw's neck into the hangman's noose. Hundreds of people were at that fair with more arriving every minute. If Hawkshaw really had walked off towards Ashford, somebody must have seen him but no witnesses could be found.'

'So where do you think he was?'

'Searching the wood for a place to commit a murder.'

'In the hope that Dykes would happen to pass by later on?'

'He enticed him there somehow.'

'I wouldn't be enticed by an angry butcher with a meat cleaver.'

'You never met Nathan Hawkshaw,' countered the barrister. 'He was an evil man and capable of any ruse. You never saw the murder dancing in those black eyes of his. When I had him in the dock,' he said, raising a finger, 'I showed the jury what he was really like. I put him under such stern cross-examination that this decent, kind, popular, reasonable man that all his friends claimed him to be suddenly turned into a snarling animal. I've never seen such a vivid expression of guilt on the face of any prisoner.'

'You have no reservations about that trial then?'

'None whatsoever.'

'What's happened since has not alarmed you in any way?'

'I'm upset that two men have died unnecessarily and in such a brutal way, but I have no fears at all for my own safety. When I led the prosecution in that trial, I was doing my bounden duty.'

'And you believe that you convicted the right man.'

'Without a scintilla of doubt,' said Perivale, lapsing into his courtroom manner. 'The evidence against Nathan Hawkshaw was quite overwhelming. Any other barrister in my place – including your Inspector Colbeck – would have done exactly the same thing as me and striven hard for a death sentence.'

'I hope that you won't make a habit of this, Inspector,' said Gregory Newman with a laugh. 'If you keep taking me away from my work, the foreman will start to dock my wages.'

'I won't keep you long.'

'We could hardly talk in the boiler shop.'

'That's a pity,' said Colbeck. 'I'd have been interested to see more of what goes on in there.'

'You really like locomotives, don't you?'

'They fascinate me.'

'They fascinate lots of people, Inspector, but only if they're running along railway lines. You're the first person I've ever met who wants to see how they're built.'

'Very noisily, by the sound of it.'

Newman grinned. The two men were standing outside the railway works in Ashford. A train was just leaving the station, adding to the industrial uproar and sending up clouds of smoke into an overcast sky. Colbeck waited until it had rolled past them.

'I like to know the way that things are put together,' said Colbeck. 'I come from a family of cabinetmakers, you see. As a boy, I was always intrigued at the way that my father could take a pile of wood and turn it into the most exquisite desk or wardrobe.'

'There's nothing quite so fancy in making a boiler.'

'It takes skill and that impresses me.'

'You wouldn't say that if you worked here,' said Newman. His grin was inviting. 'What can I tell you this time, Inspector?'

'I'd like to hear how far you've got.'

'In what?'

'Your search for the man who did kill Joseph Dykes.'

'Not as far as we'd like,' conceded the other, 'but we won't give up. The trouble is that we have such limited time. That holds us back.'

'Us?'

'Me and the friends helping me.'

'How many of them are there?'

'A handful,' said Newman, 'and you can include Win Hawkshaw as well. Nobody is more eager to track down the culprit than Win.'

'Do you have any suspects?'

'Yes, Inspector. One, in particular.'

'Why didn't you mention him before?'

'Let's be frank about this. You didn't come to Ashford because you thought Nathan was innocent, did you? You only came to find out who killed Jake Guttridge and now you have the murder of the prison chaplain on your plate.'

'All three murders are closely linked.'

'But only two of them have any interest for you,' said Newman.

'That's untrue. If you have any new information relating to the murder of Joseph Dykes, I want to hear it.'

'Why?'

'I told you, Mr Newman. I like to know the way that things are put together, whether they're desks, wardrobes, steam locomotives or crimes. I thrive on detail.'

The other man scratched his beard as he pondered. Like Winifred Hawkshaw, he had a deep distrust of policemen but he seemed to sense that Colbeck might be different from the general run.

'His name is Angel,' he said.

'Your suspect?'

'Yes. We don't know his surname – he may not even have one – but he's been through here a number of times over the years. I once shod a horse for him, only to discover that he'd stolen it from Bybrook Farm.'

'Did you report it to the police?'

'Of course, but Angel was long gone by then. I didn't catch sight of him again for eighteen months. He moves around, Inspector. He's half-gypsy. That type never settle.'

'Why do you think that he was Dykes's killer?'

'He was at that fair in Lenham. I saw him going into the Red Lion with my own eyes. According to the landlord, he and Joe Dykes had a disagreement over something or other. When Joe left, Angel must have sneaked out after him.'

'Do you have any proof of that?'

'None at all. But we know how Angel can harbour grudges.'

'Dykes was killed with a meat cleaver belonging to Nathan Hawkshaw. how could this man possibly have got hold of that?'

'By stealing it, Inspector. The day before the fair, it went missing from the shop along with a number of other items. Nathan told them that at the trial,' said Newman with a hint of anger, 'but they didn't believe him. That weasel of a prosecution barrister said that Nathan could have faked the burglary himself.'

'Was this other man – Angel – mentioned in court?'

'I raised his name but nobody would listen to me.'

'You have no firm evidence, then?'

'Not yet, maybe,' said Newman, 'but I'll beat it out of Angel when he shows that ugly face of his in Ashford again.'

'I should imagine he'll have the sense to keep well clear of here.'

'We'll find him somehow, Inspector.'

'And then?'

Newman grinned. 'He'll be passed on to the police.'

'I hope so,' warned Colbeck. 'We don't want anyone taking the law into their own hands. You said that a small number of you are looking out for this man.'

'That's right.'

'Perhaps you'd give me their names, Mr Newman. And while we're on the subject, I'd appreciate the names of everyone who supported the campaign to free Hawkshaw.'

'I'm afraid that I can't do that, Inspector.'

'Why not?'

'Because there are far too many of them to remember. In any case, some people simply gave some money to our fighting fund. They only did that if they could remain anonymous.'