Edward Marston - Murder on the Brighton express

'Then you shall, superintendent.'

Colbeck told him about his fleeting encounter with Bardwell and what he had gleaned from other patients. He emphasised the number of people who had praised the work of Ezra Follis.

'Disasters produce victims,' said Tallis, grimly, 'but they also create heroes. It sounds to me as if the Reverend Follis is one of them.'

'There's no question of that, sir. One of the doctors told me that he should be in hospital himself instead of carrying on as if nothing had happened to him.'

'Christian stoicism – we can all learn from his example.'

'Strictly speaking,' said Colbeck, 'Stoics were members of an ancient Greek school of philosophy, holding that virtue and happiness can only be attained by submission to destiny and natural law. I'm not sure that it can be aligned to Christianity.'

'Don't be so pedantic!'

'Nevertheless, I see and appreciate what you were trying to say.'

'I was not trying to say anything, Inspector – I was saying it.'

'And your point was crystal clear,' said Colbeck, suppressing a smile. 'To return to Horace Bardwell, do you accept that his presence on that express train may – and I put it no higher than that – have been the reason it was derailed?'

'I reserve my judgement.'

'You've read Victor's report and heard how Mr Bardwell reacted when I mentioned the name of Matthew Shanklin to him. Are you still not persuaded, sir?'

'I'm persuaded that there might, after all, be something in your extraordinary notion that the train crash was intended to kill a particular individual,' said Tallis, eyebrows forming a bushy chevron, 'but I very much doubt if his name was Horace Bardwell.'

'Who else could it possibly be?' said Colbeck.

'The gentleman who sent me this letter earlier today,' replied the other, jabbing a finger on the missive. 'According to this, he's had two death threats to date and is sure that he is being followed. When he discharged himself from hospital, he did so under police guard.'

'May I know his name, Superintendent?'

'It's Giles Thornhill, a Member of Parliament for Brighton.'

Colbeck was decisive. 'I'll call on him tomorrow morning, sir.'

When he finished his shift that Saturday evening, Caleb Andrews had left Euston station with his fireman, drunk a reviving pint of beer in his favourite public house then walked briskly home to Camden. His daughter, as usual, was waiting to make his supper.

'Have you had a good day, Father?' asked Madeleine.

'No,' he answered, removing his cap and hanging it on a peg. 'I keep thinking about Frank Pike. I miss him, Maddy. I like a man who takes his job as seriously as he did. Frank listened to me. He was ready to learn.' He nestled into his armchair. 'How was Rose today?'

'I only spent an hour with her. Rose's parents were there and so was Frank's mother. The house was rather crowded.'

'Is she bearing up?'

'She's trying to be brave,' said Madeleine with a sigh, 'but, every so often, the pain is too much for her and she breaks down. I've told her that she can call on me at any hour of the day or night.'

'It's Sunday tomorrow – my rest day. I'll pay Rose another visit myself. She needs someone to tell her what a good man Frank was.'

'She found that out for herself, Father.'

'Yes,' he said, 'I'm sure that she did.' He looked up quizzically. 'Is there any word from Inspector Colbeck?'

'No,' she replied, 'but that's not surprising. You know how busy Robert always is. He works all the hours God sends him. I imagine that he's still looking into the accident.'

'That's why I asked, Maddy. There's a nasty rumour flying around that it might not have been an accident. I mean, why should the Railway Detective take an interest in it unless a crime had been committed?'

'Robert said nothing about a crime when he was here.'

'He'd only paid a short visit to the site and had no time to find out what really happened. If it turns out that some black-hearted devil caused that crash,' he went on with sudden rage, 'then he should be hanged, drawn and quartered. And I'd volunteer to do it.'

Madeleine was shocked. 'That's a terrible thing to say!'

'It's a terrible thing to do, Maddy. Can you think of anything worse than derailing a train like that? Supposing it had happened on the LNWR,' he said, hauling himself to his feet. 'Supposing that I was driving an express when it came off the line and was hit by another train. Rose Pike would have been here to comfort you then.'

'Perish the thought!'

'This monster must be caught and put to death.'

'It's not even certain that someone did cause the crash,' she said, trying to calm him down. 'I think you should wait until we know the truth.'

'I already know it,' he asserted. 'I feel it in my bones.'

'It's only a rumour.'

'Look at the facts. Trains come off the track for three main reasons – the driver makes a bad mistake, there's a landslip or a stray animal on the rails, or someone sets out to cause a disaster. You can forget the first reason,' he said, dismissively, 'because Frank Pike never made mistakes. As for the second, Inspector Colbeck made no mention of an obstruction on the line. In other words, this simply has to be the work of some villain.'

'That's a frightening thought.'

'It's one we're going to have to get used to, Maddy.'

'Well, I hope, for Rose's sake, that you're wrong,' she said, concerned for the stricken widow. 'If she found out that Frank and the others had been deliberately killed, Rose would be in despair.'

Andrews was disgusted. 'I can't think of any crime worse than this,' he said with vehemence. 'As long as this man is at large, we're all in danger. He could strike anywhere on the railway. Doesn't he have a conscience? Doesn't he have any human decency?'

'There's no point in getting yourself worked up, Father.'

'There's every point. What he did was pure evil.'

'Then leave the police to deal with it,' she urged. 'If there's even a suspicion of a crime, Robert will investigate it thoroughly. He loves the railway as much as you do. You could see how troubled he was about this crash.'

'Every railwayman in the country is troubled.'

'Our job is to help Rose Pike through her torment. She doted on her husband. Now that he's gone, Rose is in a dreadful state.'

'We owe it to Frank to find his killer.'

'There were other people on that train,' she reminded him, 'and some of them died horrible deaths in the crash.'

'Frank is the only one that matters to me.'

Madeleine was roused. 'Then you should be ashamed of yourself, Father. Have you no sympathy for the families and friends of the other victims? And what about all those who were badly injured? Some have been maimed for life,' she said, reproachfully, 'yet you don't care a jot about them.'

'Of course, I do, Maddy,' he said, apologetically.

'As for the person who may or may not have been responsible for the crash, leave Robert to worry about that. He's a detective. He knows what to do. If the crash was deliberate,' she assured him, 'then Robert will be searching for the man who caused it right this minute.'

Crime had no respect for the Sabbath. Since villains continued unabated, the Metropolitan Police could not afford to take a day off and let it thrive unchecked. Robert Colbeck had long ago learnt that, if an investigation demanded it, he would be required to work on the Lord's Day with the same application as in the rest of the week. It was an aspect of his job that he had accepted without complaint. Victor Leeming, by contrast, never ceased to moan about it.

'I should be taking my family to church,' he grumbled.

'I'm sure they'll say a prayer on your behalf, Victor.'

'It's not the same, Inspector. They want me there.'