11 - Ticket to Oblivion (27 page)

‘I’ve had a more rewarding time than you, by the sound of it, Robert. I’ve almost finished the latest painting. Would you like to see it?’

‘I’d love to, Madeleine.’

He took her upstairs with an arm around her shoulders.
When they entered her studio, he lit an oil lamp and held it close to the easel so that it could shed the light. Madeleine lifted the cloth that covered her painting and a locomotive was revealed, hurtling towards them with dramatic effect. It seemed about to drive off from the canvas. Colbeck squeezed her in congratulation.

‘It’s wonderful,’ he said, scrutinising every detail. ‘You’ve improved so much over the years, Madeleine. The locomotives used to look so passive when you first took up painting. Now they race along. The sense of movement is quite breathtaking.’

‘It’s my idea of how
Cornwall
looked at top speed,’ she said. ‘The first time I painted her, she looked very static. Having driven her, Father insisted on giving me all the details. She was built at Crewe over ten years ago for the LNWR. Her weight was twenty-nine tons and her driving wheel was eight feet six inches. I was able to show the coal capacity, of course, but things like the boiler pressure and the traction power are mysteries that only people like Father know about. What do you think, Robert?’

Colbeck was highly complimentary and not only because Madeleine was his wife. She really had worked hard to hone her skills. As he looked with pride at the cosy surroundings of her studio, he found himself comparing it with the draughty attic inhabited by George Vaughan. He’d made obvious sacrifices in order to pursue his dreams of success. Colbeck was about to remark on the contrast when he heard the doorbell ring. A servant answered the door and the unexpected voice of Edward Tallis rose up from the hall. Colbeck and his wife descended the
stairs to greet him. Madeleine offered him refreshment but Tallis declined the offer, and not simply because he was uncomfortable in the presence of women. Clearly, he’d come to speak to Colbeck as a matter of urgency. Madeleine therefore excused herself so that the two men could go into the drawing room.

‘I apologise for calling at this late hour,’ said Tallis, rotating the top hat he was holding by the brim, ‘but I felt that you ought to know the news.’

‘What’s happened, sir?’

‘I received a telegraph sent by Alban Kee. Doubtless, you remember him.’

‘Yes,’ said Colbeck, ‘I do – though not with great fondness.’

‘You may warm a little towards him when you hear what he’s told us. It seems that he was employed by Mr Tunnadine and was present when the fellow was shot dead by one of the kidnappers. Needless to say, the telegraph is brief. Kee has promised to give us full details when he gets back tomorrow morning. I’d like you to be there when he turns up at Scotland Yard.’

‘Oh, I’ll be there,’ said Colbeck, sensing that a new stage of the investigation had suddenly opened up, ‘and I’ll make sure that Victor Leeming is there as well.’

‘It looks as if that arrest warrant for Tunnadine will not be needed.’

‘Apparently not – Sir Marcus will be shocked to hear of his death.’

‘He’ll also wonder why the man didn’t confide that he, too, had received a ransom demand. Kee may be able to explain that. He will supervise the return of the body to
London before coming on to us with the full story of what happened.’

‘From where was his telegraph sent, sir?’

‘It came from the railway station in Crewe.’

Colbeck thought about Madeleine’s latest painting. It featured a locomotive that had been built at the railway works in the same town. A smile touched his lips.

‘Why do you find that amusing?’ asked Tallis, gruffly.

‘I’m not so much amused as excited, sir,’ replied Colbeck, ‘and I’m bound to ask a teasing question.’

‘What is it?’

‘When does a coincidence become an omen?’

Sir Marcus Burnhope was troubled. After the detectives left him at his club, he went up to his room and sat in a chair with a glass of whisky beside him. Sleep was out of the question. Too many unanswerable questions plagued him. While the fate of his daughter still dominated his mind, the figure of Clive Tunnadine kept popping up and his friend was now in a slightly different guise. The allegations that Colbeck and Leeming had presented to him only served to infuriate Sir Marcus and forced him back on the defensive. Now that he was alone, however, and able to review what they told him with a degree of dispassion, niggling doubts began to appear. He recalled some joking remarks made in the House of Commons about Tunnadine, the kind of silly banter in which he never indulged and, as a rule, studiously ignored. Then there were the knowing looks that Tunnadine sometimes attracted and the nudges he’d seen between other politicians when his friend approached them. The jokes, looks and nudges now took on some significance.

Yet he still couldn’t believe that Tunnadine was capable of the violence his nephew had described and the detectives had confirmed. Nor could he entertain the thought that his friend had kept a mistress. Tunnadine had always seemed so fully committed to political affairs that he had no time for dalliances of any kind and no discernible inclination towards them. The two men had sat on committees together, prepared reports for the Prime Minister and even travelled abroad as colleagues. In all the years that Sir Marcus had known him, there was not the slightest hint that Tunnadine had a secret life involving deception, immorality and violent behaviour. As he downed his whisky, he veered back to his original belief. Lucinda Graham’s accusation, he concluded, was the work of a devious woman who sought to wrest money out of a decent man by threatening to blacken his name. The arrest warrant carried by Colbeck should – in Sir Marcus’s opinion – have borne the name of the supposed victim of the assault. She was the real criminal.

Satisfied that he had rationalised the situation, he was ready to retire to bed. It was then that the letter arrived from Superintendent Tallis. It was delivered by a member of the club staff who awaited his response. When Sir Marcus read the contents of the missive, his bleary eyes widened in absolute horror. He immediately gave the man orders that he should be awakened at dawn. In fact, he needed no call next day because he found it impossible to doze off during the night. When he set off from the club in a cab, fingers of light were poking through the gloom of the capital. The train from Paddington took him to Oxford where he changed platforms and caught an express to Shrub Hill.

As on a previous occasion, he’d arranged for a telegraph to be sent to the station, asking for someone to ride to Burnhope Manor to alert his coachman. Vernon Tolley was therefore waiting to open the door of the landau and lower the step.

‘Welcome back, Sir Marcus!’ he said, politely.

‘Drive me home.’

‘I hope that you had a good journey.’

‘You heard me, Tolley,’ snapped the other. ‘Do as you’re told and get me back to Burnhope Manor as soon as possible.’

Dominic Vaughan and his elder son were up far too early for breakfast. To work up an appetite and to pray for the release of the hostages, they walked the quarter of a mile to the village church and let themselves in. It was Percy Vaughan who became the senior figure now, shepherding his father to the altar rail and kneeling beside him to recite a long prayer that somehow brought them closer together than they had been for years. Little had been said on the journey there. On the way back, however, father and son were able to have a proper conversation.

‘That was a very moving prayer, Percy.’

‘The words just came to me.’

‘They were both poignant and appropriate,’ said Vaughan. ‘I’m so grateful that you decided to come to Burnhope Manor.’

‘I was a prey to the same impulse as you, Father. I felt I was needed here.’

‘If truth be told, you’ve been far more use than your mother. There are times when her presence can be a little
abrasive and your aunt needs a more tranquil personality at her bedside.’

‘I’ve only done what I’ve been trained to do.’

‘It’s more a case of instinct than training. You have a knack that nobody else in the family possesses. Emma is too inexperienced, poor girl, and George is too skittish. Had he been trying to comfort your aunt, he’d have made her feel worse rather than better.’

‘I’d absolve him of that charge,’ said the curate. ‘What’s happened to Imogen and her maid seems to have calmed George down immeasurably and given him a sense of maturity. It’s made a great impact on all of us, of course, but it’s taught my brother a valuable lesson about family values.’

‘You could be right, Percy.’

Listening to the birdsong, they strolled on down the country lane. Dominic Vaughan was aware of a natural togetherness absent for a very long time.

‘Your aunt said a strange thing to me last evening,’ he said.

‘What was it, Father?’

‘Perhaps it’s best if I don’t repeat it. You might feel embarrassment.’

His son was curious. ‘Was it to do with Imogen’s engagement, by any chance?’ he asked. ‘If it was, then Aunt Paulina has already confided in me that she was not entirely happy with their choice of husband.’

‘When I spoke to her, she added a rider.’

‘Oh?’

‘Your aunt said in passing that
you’d
be a far more suitable candidate for your cousin’s hand.’ Vaughan saw his son’s confusion and felt remorseful. ‘There,’ he went
on, ‘I told you that it might bring a blush to your cheek.’

‘Aunt Paulina is unwell,’ said the other, covering his unease with a smile. ‘I shouldn’t pay too much attention to what she says. When I sat with her yesterday, her mind wandered constantly.’

Pretending to treat his aunt’s comment as unimportant, he was instead deeply touched by it. Percy Vaughan had always felt that nobody at Burnhope Manor had ever taken him seriously. They were more interested in his brother’s antics or in his sister’s latest news. The curate had been slightly peripheral. The fact that someone had now spoken up for him filled him with a joy that was clouded by apprehension. Until the release of his cousin, any hopes he might nurse were illusory.

The two of them had almost reached the house when the landau came down the drive at speed and scattered gravel everywhere as it slid to a halt. Sir Marcus was on his feet at once. The coachman opened the door, let down the step and stood out of the way. As Sir Marcus alighted, they rushed across to him.

‘You seem to be in a devil of a hurry,’ observed Vaughan.

‘I’ve had the most alarming news, Dominic.’

‘Is it about Imogen?’ asked his nephew in concern.

‘Indirectly, it is,’ replied Sir Marcus. ‘A letter from Superintendent Tallis was delivered to my club. It informed me that Clive Tunnadine had been shot dead by one of the kidnappers. The only logical explanation for his confronting them is that they’d demanded a ransom from him as well.’

‘Tunnadine was murdered?’ gasped Vaughan.

‘God rest his soul!’ said the curate.

‘The superintendent advised me to return here. He
believes that they may contact me with yet another demand. Their greed knows no bounds,’ wailed Sir Marcus. ‘Not content with tricking money out of me, they did the same to Clive Tunnadine then killed him. The villains are playing games with us – and there’s still no sign of Imogen.’

‘What about Rhoda Wills?’ murmured Tolley. ‘She’s there as well.’

The hotel room in Crewe had been cramped and uncomfortable but it was almost luxurious when compared to the one in which they’d spent the night. It was small, sparsely furnished, uncarpeted and flavoured by an odour faintly redolent of horse manure. Imogen had taken the single bed, leaving Rhoda to occupy the sagging armchair. Neither of them slept a wink. The proximity of their captors made them too afraid to remove any clothing so they wore the same crumpled dresses they’d had on for days. Tunnadine’s murder preoccupied them.

‘Are they going to do the same to us?’ asked Imogen, trembling.

‘I think they have other plans,’ said her maid, worriedly.

‘It’s frightening.’

What frightened Rhoda was the hungry look that had come into Cullen’s eyes whenever he gazed at her. Imogen had patently been reserved for Whiteside, leaving the maid to his accomplice and Rhoda was deeply disturbed. The women had been so far unmolested but it was only a matter of time before the kidnappers moved in to enjoy their spoils.

‘Do you hate me very much?’ asked Imogen.

‘I don’t hate you at all.’

‘But I was the one who landed you in this torment.’

‘I’ve told you before,’ said Rhoda, firmly. ‘I was beguiled just as much as you. I was ready to believe false promises. If anyone should take the blame, it’s me for urging you to take such a bold step into the dark.’

‘I thought I was stepping into bright light,’ admitted Imogen, sadly. ‘Its glare completely blinded me to potential dangers.’ She embraced Rhoda. ‘Will we ever get away from this hell?’

The maid was determined. ‘I think we have to – before it’s too late.’

Given the history that existed between them, the detectives were never going to be pleased to see Alban Kee. They regarded him as the bad apple that had to be thrown away before it spread its mould to the rest of the barrel. Tallis looked at him with disdain, Colbeck’s manner was cold and Leeming’s hostility to the private detective was plain. Nevertheless, the man had to be endured because he possessed information that was vital in the hunt for the kidnappers.

They were in the superintendent’s office at Scotland Yard and Kee was enjoying his moment as the centre of attention. Looking tired, he sat between Colbeck and Leeming. Tallis opened the questioning.

‘Why did Mr Tunnadine employ you?’

‘He’d lost faith in the abilities of the Metropolitan Police,’ replied Kee with a sly smile, ‘and wanted someone who was not so fettered by official procedure.’

‘Then he chose the right person,’ said Colbeck, smoothly. ‘When you were here in the Detective Department, you never let official procedure hinder you in your pursuit of illegal bribes.’

Kee struck back. ‘I resent that comment, Inspector.’

‘And I resent what you did in the name of Scotland Yard.’

‘I was dismissed unfairly on hearsay evidence.’

‘We were glad to provide it,’ said Leeming. ‘It came from a trusted source.’

‘Let’s move on,’ said Tallis, asserting his authority. ‘The mistakes of the past can stay there. I want Kee to explain exactly what happened from the moment that he was hired by Mr Tunnadine.’

Alban Kee had his story ready and he told it without digression. Putting their dislike of the man aside, they listened intently. Kee’s account was reasonably accurate until he reached the moment when he and Tunnadine came to the place appointed for the exchange of money and hostages. The private detective claimed that he’d been hiding in the ditch when the fatal shot had been fired. He would never confess to his former colleagues that he’d been knocked unconscious because of his incompetence. Colbeck was interested in the report he gave to the local constabulary.

‘With whom did you deal at Crewe police station?’

‘Sergeant Dean,’ said Kee, ‘and he responded promptly. His men asked questions at the railway station but nobody could remember the four people described to them. The sergeant also sent constables to nearby stables. One of them recalled hiring a trap and a horse to a man he said had the bearing of a soldier. The animals and the vehicle were returned at the time promised. Where the man who’d hired them went, nobody knows but I’d wager anything you choose that he and the hostages travelled by train.’

‘That’s a fair supposition,’ said Colbeck. ‘Thank you,
Kee. Your report was admirably concise and lucid.’ He turned to Tallis. ‘We must go to Crewe at once.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ said the superintendent.

‘There’s no need for that, sir. Your place is here. Apart from anything else, there’s the possibility that the kidnappers will try to extort money from Sir Marcus for a third time. They’re brazen enough to do it. You need to be here to advise him.’

‘Well, yes,’ conceded Tallis, ‘there’s some truth in that.’

‘This is the hub of the investigation. Remain here in order to control it. The sergeant and I will make our way to Crewe to see if we can pick up any clues.’

‘Take me with you,’ said Kee.

‘That wouldn’t be appropriate.’

‘I can’t think of anyone who’d be more appropriate in the hunt for the killer, Inspector. I was there when it happened. I have a right to assist you. It’s the least I can do for Mr Tunnadine.’

‘You’ve already done enough by bringing his body back to London and giving us the information we required,’ said Tallis. ‘Colbeck is right. Your involvement in this case is over. I bid you good day.’

‘But I might be useful,’ stressed Kee.

‘We exhausted your usefulness to this department years ago.’

‘I deserve a chance to prove myself, Superintendent.’

‘You had that chance when Mr Tunnadine hired you,’ Colbeck pointed out, ‘and you failed. There’s nothing more to be said.’

Kee continued to protest but his entreaties were in vain. Tallis ordered him to leave. Leeming got up to show him
out then closed the door firmly behind him. The prospect of leaving London sparked off his usual reluctance.

‘What do we do when we reach Crewe?’ he asked.

‘We find out where the four of them went and go in pursuit,’ said Colbeck.

‘But they could have gone hundreds of miles away by now.’

‘Then that’s where we’ll hunt them down. Gather your things together now, Sergeant. When I’ve dispatched an important letter, it will be time to leave.’

‘What’s this about an important letter?’ said Tallis.

‘I think that Lucinda Graham should be made aware of Mr Tunnadine’s death,’ said Colbeck. ‘Any prosecution of him is impossible now, of course, but it will make her sleep more soundly if she knows that he is no longer a threat to her.’