Blood on the Line (2 page)

While Oxley was in a state of euphoria after his escape, she remained anxious and preoccupied. She took out a handkerchief and blew her nose. Looking up at him, her eyes were moist.

‘Was it like this for you, Jerry?’ she asked, nervously.

‘What are you talking about?’

‘The first time you killed someone. Did you have this terrible feeling in the pit of your stomach? Did your hands shake? Were you haunted by remorse?’

‘Not in the slightest,’ he said, coldly.

‘You must have had some regrets.’

‘I put them out of my mind.’

‘I can’t do that somehow. I keep seeing his face at the moment I actually shot him.’ She shook her head. ‘I just can’t believe I did that.’

‘Would you rather have seen me put on remand?’

‘No, no – I’d have hated that.’

‘Then you did the right thing.’

‘Did you feel that
you
did the right thing when you killed a man for the first time?’

‘Of course – he was foolish enough to chase me when I robbed his jewellery shop. It was the right thing to kill him and the right thing to kill her as well.’

She was shocked. ‘You killed a
woman
?’

‘She was going to bear witness against me.’

‘When was this – and how did you do it?’

‘That doesn’t matter,’ he said, dismissively. ‘It was a long time ago and I’ve put it all behind me. That’s what you must do. All I can tell you is that I felt proud.’

‘Proud?’ she echoed. ‘How can you be proud of taking a life?’

‘It showed I had the courage to do so. Most people don’t have that courage. They never know that sense of power you get. That’s what I had, Irene, and – when you get over the initial shock – you’ll enjoy remembering that same thrill as well.’

She was unconvinced. ‘I doubt that, Jerry.’

‘There’s nothing quite like it.’

They had been together almost a year now and it had been a very fruitful partnership. Her air of innocence and wholesomeness belied the fact that she was an accomplished thief and had long since abandoned any claim to respectability. Oxley had used her time and again to distract people while he stole things from their premises. As the more experienced criminal, he was able to teach her the tricks of the trade. Drawn ever closer to him, Irene became so besotted that she did not realise that Oxley was manipulating her emotions. She was utterly devoted to him. When his luck finally ran out and he was captured, all that she could think about was setting him free. Her audacious plan had worked. It had involved killing one man and helping to hurl a second one to his death, but her lover was back with her again. Irene just wished that
she could relish his company instead of being assailed by regrets over what she’d done.

Taking her hands again, he looked deep into her eyes.

‘Are you happy, Irene?’

‘Of course I’m happy,’ she said, forcing a smile.

‘You don’t have to do this, you know. You’re under no compulsion. If you’d rather go your own way, we can part here and now. You’re not at my beck and call.’

‘But I
want
to be, Jerry.’

‘I sense that you’re getting cold feet.’

‘That’s not true,’ she asserted, sitting up straight. ‘I was a little troubled about it, that’s all. It’s past now. I feel much better, honestly. The only thing I want is to be with you.’

‘Then we have something in common,’ he said, leaning forward to whisper in her ear, ‘because the only thing I want is to be with you. Let’s find somewhere to spend the night, then I can tell you why.’

‘I thought we were going to Manchester.’

‘That can wait until tomorrow. Given what we did today, I think we’re entitled to celebrate.’

‘Yes, we are!’

‘Are you ready to be my wife for another night?’

Irene laughed. ‘I’m ready tonight and
every
night.’

They got up from their table and headed for the door. As they came out of the pub, they were elated. With Irene on his arm, Oxley strode purposefully along, distributing smiles to everyone he passed and making the most of his freedom. He then pulled Irene gently into an alleyway so that he could confide something to her.

‘Remember this, my love,’ he told her. ‘You didn’t shoot a human being on that train this morning.’

‘But I did, Jerry,’ she said, earnestly. ‘You saw me.’

‘All you killed was a policeman.’

‘So?’

Oxley beamed. ‘They don’t count.’

As soon as they arrived in the town, they hired a cab to take them to Garrick Street, home of the Wolverhampton Borough Police Force. Roland Riggs, the duty sergeant, was a big, beetle-browed man with an instinctive dislike of anyone who tried to take over an investigation he felt should be carried out by his own men. Colbeck and Leeming were given a frosty welcome. Accustomed to such treatment, they asserted their authority and drew all the relevant information out of Riggs. They learnt the names of the two murdered policemen and heard how the both of them had been hit by a train coming in the opposite direction. What Riggs could not explain was how two of his best officers had been unable to stop the prisoner from escaping.

‘Jeremy Oxley didn’t look like a dangerous man,’ he argued.

‘I
knew
it was him,’ said Colbeck.

‘The inspector has had a brush with Oxley before,’ explained Leeming. ‘That’s why he was so eager to take on the case.’

‘By rights, it falls within our jurisdiction,’ insisted Riggs. ‘Bob Hungerford and Arthur Wakeley were good friends of mine. It’s the reason I volunteered to tell their wives what had happened. You can imagine how I felt doing that.’

‘You have my sympathy, Sergeant,’ said Colbeck. ‘It must have been a harrowing assignment. The only consolation is that they heard the appalling news from an experienced officer who knew how to soften their grief. They’re not the kind of tidings you want a young and unschooled policeman blurting out on the doorstep.’

Riggs was solemn. ‘I’d agree with you there.’

‘Where was the prisoner being taken?’ wondered Leeming.

‘It was only as far as Birmingham. We had information that a man fitting his description had robbed a pawnshop there at gunpoint. The way that Oxley resisted arrest was a confession in itself. Our colleagues in Birmingham were delighted to hear that we had him in custody.’

‘They must have been surprised to hear of his escape.’

Riggs rubbed his chin. ‘I’d still like to know how the bugger managed that.’

‘I think there’s only one logical explanation,’ said Colbeck. ‘He must have had an accomplice. I feel sure that you’d never have let him leave here until he’d been thoroughly searched. He would not have been carrying a concealed weapon.’

‘We know our job, Inspector.’

‘Then another person was involved.’

‘That’s an obvious assumption,’ said Riggs, gruffly, ‘yet the only passenger who got into the same compartment was a young woman. A number of witnesses recalled her, jumping on the train at the very last moment.’

‘There’s your accomplice,’ concluded Colbeck.

Riggs was dubious. ‘Could someone like that shoot one policeman and help to overpower another? I think not, Inspector.’

‘Then you don’t know Jerry Oxley. He has a strange power over women and can get them to do almost anything for him. Believe me, I’ve had dealings with this fellow. His accomplice then was the woman with whom he’d been living. The likelihood is that the one in question this time is his latest mistress.’

‘So he’s
corrupted
her,’ said Leeming with disapproval.

‘Oh, I suspect that she was not entirely without corruption beforehand, Victor. How else could she meet him in the first place without frequenting the sorts of places he tends to visit? All that he did was to draw her deeper into the criminal fraternity.’

‘Where could she have got hold of a gun?’

‘She and Oxley would travel with a weapon all the time.’

‘He was carrying a pistol when we arrested him,’ noted Riggs.

‘Then his accomplice could have bought a second one. It’s not difficult if you have enough money, and they’d just committed a robbery in Birmingham, remember. No,’
Colbeck went on, ‘I don’t think we should waste time speculating on how she acquired the weapon. The first thing we must do is to unmask the second accomplice.’

Riggs blinked. ‘There were
two
of them?’

‘Yes, Sergeant, and I’m afraid to tell you that one of them wears a police uniform. Oxley’s mistress had help from one of your men.’

‘That’s a disgraceful allegation!’ shouted Riggs, banging his desk. ‘I can vouch for every one of my constables. None of them would dream of being party to a plot to murder two of their fellow officers.’

‘I’m sure that’s true,’ said Colbeck, ‘but, then, the man I’m after would have had no idea that such dread consequences would ensue. It probably never occurred to him that he was aiding and abetting the escape of a desperate criminal.’

Riggs folded his arms. ‘Explain yourself, Inspector.’

‘Very few people must have known when Oxley was being transferred from here to Birmingham. Is that agreed?’

‘Yes – only a handful of us had the details.’

‘I need the name of every man who knew the exact train on which the prisoner would be taken this morning. You, presumably, are one of them.’

‘Are you accusing
me
?’ howled Riggs, reddening.

‘Of course not,’ said Colbeck with a soothing smile. ‘You are evidently far too sensible to let such vital information slip. It must have been someone else. How many people knew?’

‘And where can we get in touch with them?’ added Leeming.

‘Let me see now,’ said Riggs, thinking hard and using his fingers to count. ‘Including me, there’d only be four of us – but I have complete faith in the other three. They’re all decent, reliable, upright men who’d never dare to be involved in anything like this.’

‘Would you care to put money on that?’ said Leeming.

‘I’m not a gambling man, Sergeant.’

‘It’s just as well because you’d certainly lose.’

Riggs fell back on pomposity. ‘My men are above suspicion.’

Colbeck was impassive. ‘Give us their names.’

Though she was pleased to see her father, Madeleine did find him a distraction while she was trying to paint. He kept coming up behind her to look at her latest railway scene and to offer unwanted advice. It was Colbeck who’d discovered her talent as an artist and encouraged her to develop it to the point where she was able to sell her work. There were other female artists in London but none specialised in pictures of locomotives in the way that Madeleine did. Landscapes and seascapes had no appeal for her and she lacked the eye for figurative painting, but there were few people who could bring a train so vividly to life on a canvas in the way that she did. It was a gift.

‘I’m surprised that he hasn’t been in touch with me,’ said Andrews, looking over her shoulder. He nudged her elbow. ‘You’ve got the wrong colour on that carriage, Maddy.’

‘I haven’t finished painting it yet.’

‘I thought the inspector would be banging on my door by now.’

‘Why on earth should he do that, Father?’ she asked. ‘In the first place, Robert may not even be responsible for the investigation. And even if he is, how could he possibly know that you drove the train on which murder was committed?’

He gave a grudging nod. ‘There is that, I suppose.’

‘You’ll just have to wait.’

‘Well, it won’t be for long,’ he said, ‘because I’m certain that he’ll be in charge of the case. The LNWR would be mad not to ask for him. It’s only a matter of time before he discovers that I was on the footplate this morning. That will bring him running.’

‘But you didn’t see anything of interest.’

‘Yes, I did. I saw those two policemen with their prisoner.’

‘Can you describe him?’

‘Well, he wasn’t young but, then again, you couldn’t call him an old man. As for the villain’s face, I must have been thirty-odd yards away, Maddy, so I can’t really help you.’

‘Then you won’t be able to help Robert either.’

Andrews was deflated, fearing that his offer of assistance might be turned down by Colbeck. Slumping into his chair, he racked his brains for any tiny details that he might be able to pass on in the hope of ingratiating himself with the Railway Detective. When none came to mind, he was tempted to invent some. Madeleine, meanwhile, had resumed work at her easel. He looked across at her.

‘Have you set a date yet, Maddy?’

‘You know that we haven’t,’ she replied.

‘Then it’s high time that you did.’

‘There’s no real urgency.’

‘There may not be for you,’ he complained, ‘but what about me? How can I retire when I still have you to support? I told Dirk Sowerby about it this morning. He refused to believe that I’d finally turn my back on the railway but I can’t wait to do it.’

‘You could retire tomorrow, if you wished.’

‘Not while I’ve got a daughter to feed and clothe.’

‘I don’t need you to support me anymore, Father,’ she said. ‘Now that I can sell my work, I have a fair amount of money coming in. You can’t use me as an excuse.’

It was true. Madeleine’s income – albeit irregular – had enabled them to buy all kinds of additional items for their little house in Camden. It had also transformed her wardrobe. When she and Colbeck went out together, she always dressed well and did not look out of place on his arm. It would be a wrench to leave the house in which she was born and brought up, but she was confident that her father could cope now that he’d finally got over the death of his wife. How he would fill his day during his retirement was another matter. Madeleine did not want him spending too much time at the marital home. She and Colbeck would value their privacy.

‘There’s lots of things I can do when I leave the LNWR,’ he said, giving his imagination free rein. ‘I could take an interest in gardening, learn to paint just like you, travel the country by train, get married again, have a stall in the
market, write my life story, go to church more often or decorate the house. My real ambition, of course, is to work side by side with my son-in-law.’

‘You’re too old to join the police force, Father,’ she pointed out.

‘We’d have an unofficial arrangement. Whenever he had a tricky case, he’d tell me the full details and I’d advise him what to do. I think I’d make a wonderful detective, Maddy. Why don’t you mention that to the inspector? He might be grateful for my help.’

Madeleine suppressed a grin. ‘Then again, he might not.’

‘But my instincts are sharp.’

‘Robert is well aware of your instincts, Father,’ she said, turning to offer a gentle smile. ‘If he felt he could make use of them, I’m sure that he would. You’ll just have to wait. In the meantime, I think that you should just let him get on with his job.’

Two of the policemen who’d been aware of the exact train on which the prisoner would be travelling were on duty together. Colbeck and Leeming met them on their beat and interviewed them. Like Riggs, they were not receptive to the idea of detectives from London taking over the search for the killers of their former colleagues. When they realised why they were being questioned, they became indignant at the suggestion that they might unwittingly have given away the information that told Oxley’s accomplice when and where to strike. Their language became ripe. Roused by their aggressive attitude, Leeming had to control an urge
to hit one of the men. Colbeck calmed all three of them down before apologising to the policemen. It was clear to him, he told them, that they were in no way implicated. After ridding themselves of some more bad language, they stalked off to continue their beat.

‘That leaves only one man,’ noted Leeming.

‘Yes,’ said Colbeck, ‘Constable Toby Marner.’

‘I hope he’s a little more helpful than those two.’

‘Nobody likes to be accused of a crime, Victor, even if it’s an unintentional one. Their intemperate reaction was forgivable.’

‘I’d have forgiven them with a punch on the nose.’

‘Save your strength for the real villain – Jerry Oxley. The one thing we can guarantee is that he’ll put up a fight.’

They went to the address they’d been given and knocked on the door of a shabby house in one of the rougher districts of the town. The woman who answered the door was Toby Marner’s landlady. She told them that they might find him at the Waterloo, a nearby public house. Colbeck asked her some questions about her lodger and was told that he’d been a good tenant.

When they located the seedy pub, they had no difficulty in picking out the man they were after. Sitting alone in a corner, the tall, rangy Marner was wearing his uniform and hat but he was not the image of sobriety expected of a law enforcement officer. His eyes were glazed, his cheeks red and he was quaffing a pint of beer as if his life depended on it. The detectives joined him and introduced themselves. It took Marner a few moments to understand what they were saying.

‘What do you want with me?’ he asked, slurring his words.

‘We need your assistance,’ said Colbeck. ‘According to Sergeant Riggs, you were told on which train the prisoner would be travelling this morning. Is that true?’

Marner was defensive. ‘I wasn’t the only one.’

‘We’ve spoken to the others. We’re satisfied that none of them passed on the information to anyone else.’

‘Neither did I.’

‘Are you sure?’ pressed Leeming.

‘I’m very sure.’

‘Well,
somebody
let the cat out of the bag.’

Marner tensed. ‘Are you calling me a liar?’

‘We just want to solve this mystery,’ said Colbeck, adopting a quieter tone. ‘As you’re well aware, two of your fellow policemen were murdered this morning on a train. You must have known them well.’

‘I did, Inspector.’ There was a sob in his voice. ‘Bob Hungerford was my brother-in-law. We joined the police force together.’

‘Then you have a special reason to want his killers arrested.’

‘Yes, I do.’

‘Is there any chance that you might accidentally have divulged the details of Oxley’s transfer to anyone?’

‘None at all,’ said Marner, emphatically.

‘Not even to your landlady, for instance?’

‘I told nobody.’

‘What about other policemen?’

Marner became truculent. ‘I’ve given you my answer,
so you can leave me alone. Go back to London and let us deal with this. Arthur Wakeley and Bob Hungerford were Wolverhampton lads through and through. This is our case.’