Not for the first time, Caleb Andrews reflected that it had been so different in his day. When his wife had been awaiting the birth of their only child, the care she received was based solely on what he could afford and he’d earned a low wage at the time. Madeleine’s situation was infinitely better. Married to a detective inspector who had independent means as well, she lived in a fine house and had the best medical attention. Though he was pleased for his daughter, he wished that his wife had been able to enjoy similar treatment and comfort. Andrews had been convinced that he was about to become the father of a son. When Madeleine had come into the world, however, he was thrilled and soon found that there were special joys in raising a daughter. The roles were eventually reversed. At the untimely death of his wife, Andrews had been so heartbroken that he’d been unable to cope and it was Madeleine who then became like a parent to him. He never forgot the way that she’d carried him through a difficult time and wondered if any son could have done that so well and so uncomplainingly.
‘How are you feeling, Maddy?’ he asked.
‘Much the same.’
‘He’s happy with the way that everything is going.’
In fact, he’d said a great deal more but it was not the kind of information that she wished to pass on to her father. While she confided everything in Colbeck, she felt too embarrassed to discuss certain details with her father and, for his part, Andrews was too embarrassed to ask for them. When he called in to see her that morning, she was reclining in bed in a dressing gown. He felt uneasy.
‘You must tell me if I’m in the way, Maddy.’
She laughed. ‘Don’t be silly.’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘I’m always pleased to see you, Father.’
‘But the time will soon come when …’ He let his words hang in the air and she nodded. Andrews glanced around. ‘Where’s Robert?’
‘He’s at work.’
He sat up. ‘Your husband should be here, looking after you.’
‘Where were you when I was born?’
‘I was working.’ She gave a knowing smile. ‘Don’t blame me, Maddy. I had no choice. I just couldn’t take time off. Robert is more senior than I was at the time. He could take leave whenever he wants.’
‘The trouble is that he never actually wants it.’
‘You and the baby should come first.’
‘Robert appreciates that. He’s promised to be back in London well in time.’
Andrews stiffened. ‘Back from where?’
‘He’s had to go to Dorset to lead an investigation.’
‘That’s dreadful, Maddy!’ he exclaimed. ‘He doesn’t have time to go gallivanting around the countryside. His place is here beside you.’
‘He’s not exactly gallivanting, Father. He’s gone to solve the murder of a railway policeman. Surely, you’d approve of that? Robert was outraged when they tried to send someone instead of him. He told me so in his letter.’
‘How long does he think it will take him?’
‘He and Victor Leeming will do everything to make it a short visit.’
‘What happens if the case drags on?’
‘I have faith in Robert.’
‘Some of his cases have taken weeks, Maddy.’
‘This is not one of them.’
She spoke with a breezy confidence that she didn’t really possess. Every morning she awoke, she felt that the day might at last have arrived. It was only when the doctor called to examine her that she was reassured that the birth was not, after all, imminent. However, the uncertainty remained. Madeleine would have loved to have her husband close but she knew that he had a missionary zeal for his work and admired him for it. She just hoped that his latest investigation could be terminated quickly.
‘Dorset,’ said Andrews with a contemptuous sniff. ‘That must mean the LSWR. I’ve never heard a good word about them. Why can’t they look after their policemen?’
‘Don’t be so critical,’ she told him. ‘Just because you were an engine driver for a different company all those years, it doesn’t mean that you have to attack every one of its rivals.’
‘Facts are facts.’
‘It’s so unfair.’
‘I worked for the very best railway company, Maddy. I take pride in that.’
‘That’s understandable. As for Robert, he makes no distinction between different companies. If one of them sends for him, he feels that he has to go.’
‘And is that more important than being here for the birth of his child?’
‘Robert will be here,’ she said, firmly. ‘He promised.’
But the doubts were already starting to swirl inside her mind.
Set in heathland, West Moors was only a couple of miles away from Wimborne. It was a scattered community of less than a hundred souls, dispersed among cottages that were, in some cases, little better than hovels. The carriage got them to the site quickly. Feltham had put his vehicle at Colbeck’s disposal and accompanied him. The inspector was not happy to have someone keeping such a close eye on him but he tolerated the situation. Dr Keddle went with them because he knew where the body had been found. Alighting from the carriage, they were in an isolated spot beside the railway line. The doctor indicated the exact place where the corpse had been when he came to examine it. Colbeck studied the scene with great care. Keddle looked on with interest but Feltham was impatient.
‘There’s nothing to see here,’ he said.
‘Yes, there is,’ argued Colbeck. ‘We’re looking into the mind of a killer. He or she chose this specific point on the line. Why?’ He looked down the track in one direction and saw a shed. ‘What’s that?’
‘It’s used for storage, I should imagine.’
Colbeck looked in the opposite direction. Less than two hundred yards away was the crossing-keeper’s lodge. It was one of many he’d noticed on the train journey there and it looked identical to many of the others.
‘I’ll need to speak to the crossing-keeper,’ he decided.
‘Why?’
‘He was the person closest to the scene when the crime was committed. After that, I’ll have a word with some of the people living in the vicinity.’
‘That could take ages,’ protested Feltham.
‘Knocking on doors is an essential part of my trade, sir.’
‘Well, I’m not traipsing around after you.’
‘I thought you wished to be involved at every stage.’
‘All I insist is that I’m there when something important is going to happen. I’ve no time for the tedium of talking to the local bumpkins.’
‘Something important already has happened,’ Colbeck pointed out.
‘Has it?’ Feltham looked around. ‘I didn’t notice it.’
‘Neither did I,’ added Keddle.
‘Are you playing tricks with us, Inspector?’
‘No, sir,’ replied the other. ‘I simply meant that, in coming here, we’ve made a significant discovery.’
Feltham laughed harshly. ‘All that we’ve discovered,’ he said, ‘is that it’s cold and miserable out here. It’s such a bare and forbidding place.’
Colbeck snapped his fingers. ‘That’s the discovery,’ he explained. ‘Nobody in their right minds would come out to such a spot on a chilly night unless they had a very good reason, and that reason, I suggest, is the obvious one.’
‘It’s not obvious to me,’ admitted Keddle.
‘Two people came for an assignation, Doctor.’
‘What – on a deserted railway line?’
‘It’s not entirely deserted,’ said Colbeck. ‘The crossing-keeper’s lodge is within easy walking distance and that shed is even closer. If we take a closer look at it, we may well find that it was the place for the rendezvous.’ He extended an arm. ‘Shall we go, gentlemen?’
He set off at a steady pace. Eager to keep up with him, Keddle waddled as fast as he could. Puffing noisily behind them, Feltham kept tripping over tufts of grass or scuffing his shoes. At one point, he stepped on some animal excrement and swore under his breath. By the time they reached the shed, he was spitting with fury. Detective work was rapidly losing its appeal for him. Colbeck tried the door of the shed but found it locked. It took him less than a minute to find the key. It had been hidden at the rear of the shed.
‘How on earth did you know that it was there?’ asked Keddle. ‘I’d never have dreamt of looking behind it.’
‘My guess was that the shed would be full of tools for maintenance of the track. A lot of people would need to use them, if only infrequently, and they wouldn’t all have wanted to carry a key around with them. So,’ he opened his palm to display the key, ‘they keep it hidden here. It was in the most ingenious place, I must admit.’
‘Well done, Inspector!’
‘Open the door,’ said Feltham, irritably.
Colbeck handed him the key. ‘You can have the honour, sir.’
Taking it from him, Feltham inserted it in the lock and turned it. When he pulled the door open, he goggled at what he saw. Picks, shovels and other tools hung from nails in the walls so that the floor space could be taken up by an old mattress and a couple of blankets. There was an oil lamp on the little table.
‘This is where they were going to meet,’ suggested Colbeck, ‘only a vengeful man found out about the arrangement and got here ahead of Bedloe. At least, that’s one explanation. There is, of course, another one.’
‘I don’t see it,’ said Feltham, testily.
‘Then you’ll never make a detective,’ teased Keddle.
‘Do you know what the devil he’s talking about, Oliver?’
‘I think I do. The inspector is saying that it might not have been a man. The killer could have been the very woman that Bedloe intended to … entertain in here.’
‘Either that,’ said Colbeck, ‘or it could have been a discarded lover who knew she’d been supplanted. You know what they say about a woman scorned. And such a person would know about this place from her previous encounters here. She could have lurked in readiness last night. So you see, Mr Feltham, we mustn’t assume that we’re looking for a male killer.’ He took the key from him and locked the door. ‘I’ll just put this back in its hiding place, then we can introduce ourselves to the crossing-keeper.’
‘I’ve no time to exchange tittle-tattle with him,’ said Feltham.
‘Then you might as well return to Wimborne with the doctor.’
‘Oh, I’m staying with you,’ Keddle put in. ‘I’ll need no introduction to Tullidge and his wife because they’re patients of mine. As it happens, I’ve got a good reason to drop in on them.’ He put a hand on Feltham’s shoulder. ‘Leave us to it, Ambrose. We’ll find someone with a trap to take us back to town.’
Colbeck replaced the key then all three of them set off. Feltham cleaned the mess off his shoe by rubbing it in a clump of grass. He grumbled all the way back to the carriage then took his leave. They waved him off.
‘For all his bluster,’ said Keddle, ‘Ambrose Feltham is a decent man. His bark is far worse than his bite. This murder has really upset him. It’s almost as if he takes it personally. That’s why he sent for you.’
‘I’m grateful to him. It’s an interesting case.’
‘And do you really think it was a crime of passion?’
‘Oh, it’s too soon to make a firm judgement yet,’ said Colbeck, warily. ‘But you didn’t have to stay with me. You could have returned with Mr Feltham.’
‘I’m interested to see you in action. Besides, I really would like a word with Michael and Becky Tullidge. They suffered the kind of tragedy from which it’s very difficult to recover.’
‘Oh?’
‘As a result, the husband took to drink. I didn’t want to say that in front of Ambrose or he’d demand that Tullidge was sacked. He’s never drunk on duty, I’m sure of that, but there’s only one place you’ll find him on a Saturday night and that’s quaffing beer at the local tavern.’ He gave a sympathetic smile. ‘If the murder had occurred right under his nose, he wouldn’t have seen or heard a thing. Tullidge would have been dead to the world.’
‘You mentioned a tragedy.’
‘It was very sad. They’d been so keen to have a baby.’
‘What happened?’
‘It was stillborn,’ said Keddle, sadly, ‘and that was not the end of it. Let me just say that complications set in that made it impossible for her ever to conceive again. That kind of blow can be crippling.’ He pursed his lips and shook his head. ‘Becky Tullidge was a healthy young woman who’d have made a good mother. Nature can be so cruel at times.’
Colbeck thought about Madeleine and his heart missed a beat.
Victor Leeming had not been idle. After being deserted by Feltham, he asked Richard Satchwell to take him to the pub where John Bedloe had been a regular customer. The sergeant was soon sipping his first pint at the Mermaid Tavern but Satchwell politely refused the offer of a drink.
‘We’re not likely to see any mermaids around here,’ said Leeming.
‘The sea is not that far away, Sergeant. From time to time, I take my family to Weymouth.’
‘How many children have you got?’
‘Two – both of them boys.’
‘I’ve got two boys as well,’ said Leeming, proudly. ‘They can be real devils if you don’t keep an eye on them but, then, I was the same at their age.’
The pub was buzzing with speculation about the murder. Theories were being advanced on all sides and the sergeant thought that some of them were worth noting. What he didn’t hear was anyone speaking well of Bedloe. The consensus of opinion was that the town was better off without the railway policeman.
Satchwell felt obliged to speak up for him. ‘John Bedloe was not the villain you all seem to think,’ he declared, raising his voice. ‘He was a hard worker and he knew how to protect railway property.’
‘’Tis the reason we ’ated the bugger so much,’ said a swarthy, middle-aged man, producing a rumble of agreement from his friends. ‘We ’ad rich pickin’s till Bedloe come along and spoilt our fun.’
‘Long before he turned up, I caught you pilfering.’
‘Aye, but ye ’ad the sense to look t’other way, Dick.’
‘I did nothing of the kind, Jed Baber. I kicked your bony arse.’
‘I didn’t mind that,’ said the other, airily. ‘Bedloe was diff’rent. When ’e got ’is bleedin’ ’ands on me, I ended up in gaol.’
‘It’s the best place for you.’
But the man didn’t hear him. He was already involved in another lively discussion about the murder victim. Leeming kept one ear cocked to pick up the banter around him. He was learning more about John Bedloe all the time.
‘Shouldn’t you be at work?’ he asked Satchwell.
‘Looking after you is work, Sergeant.’
‘Won’t the stationmaster be missing you?’
‘I’m taking my orders from Mr Feltham.’
‘He looks as if he enjoys giving them,’ said Leeming. ‘Our superintendent is like that. He has to keep reminding you that he’s in charge.’ He took a long sip of his beer. ‘This is strong stuff,’ he went on. ‘I like it.’
‘I’m not allowed to drink on duty.’
‘Neither am I.’
They shared a laugh. Leeming was slowly warming to him. When he’d first met the detectives, Satchwell had been rather spiky. Like so many of the railway policemen they’d met in the course of their work, he resented their interference in a crime he felt he was best placed to solve. The fact that Satchwell was a family man with two sons, however, had softened the sergeant’s antipathy towards him.
‘What did you do before you came to work here?’ asked Leeming.
‘I was doing the same job at Poole. There were four of us there as well as two clerks and six porters. As the newcomer, I got to do the work nobody else wanted.’
‘Is that why you moved here?’
‘It was one of the reasons. The main one was that my wife’s family live in Wimborne. She’d always wanted to come home.’
‘Do you like being a railway policeman?’
‘I don’t like the long hours,’ said Satchwell, ‘and the pay could certainly be better but the work suits me. No two days are the same. I look after an allocated section of line. I’m there to prevent pilferage and vandalism, report defects in the track, clear obstructions, remove trespassers, supervise the points and give hand signals to drivers to indicate that the line is clear. If there’s a crash, of course, I’m duty-bound to lend a hand.’
‘You’ve had to shoulder a lot of responsibilities.’
‘I don’t mind that. I like a job where something happens all the time.’
‘Murder, for instance?’
‘That’s different. When I started here, the last thing I ever expected was that a colleague of mine would be killed. As policemen, we can never be popular but that doesn’t mean we become targets for murder. What about you, Sergeant?’ he asked. ‘Do you like being a detective?’
‘No,’ replied Leeming. ‘Most of the time, I don’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘Like you, I work long hours and deserve a lot more than the money I earn. I have to travel all over the country and beyond it. We even had to follow a suspect to New York on one occasion. Going everywhere by train is bad enough, but if you want to scare yourself to death, try sailing across the Atlantic in a storm.’
Satchwell was envious. ‘It sounds far more exciting than what I do.’
‘It’s also a lot more dangerous. I’ve had to fight my way out of trouble dozens of times. I’ve had broken bones, stab wounds, dislocated fingers and I’ve lost count of the times I’ve been knocked out. I don’t call any of that exciting. No,’ he went on, ‘all in all, I suppose that I hate the job.’
‘Then why do you keep doing it?’
‘There’s an easy answer to that – Inspector Colbeck.’
‘Does he really deserve his reputation?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Leeming with a fond smile. ‘There’s nobody quite like him. Whenever we take on a new case, I’m completely bewildered but he always manages to see things that nobody else would. Watching him is an education.’ He helped himself to another mouthful of beer. ‘That’s why I’m still a detective.’
As they were approaching the lodge, the door opened and Michael Tullidge came trudging out. He was wearing a crumpled uniform and hat. He didn’t seem to notice that he had visitors and simply went about his work, closing the gates on either side of the line to block access when the next train steamed through. Colbeck noticed the man’s sagging shoulders and the lugubrious expression on his face. When he was hailed by the doctor, Tullidge blinked in surprise and turned towards them.
‘Oh,’ he apologised, ‘I didn’t see you there, Dr Keddle.’
‘We’d like a word with you,’ said the other.
After introducing the inspector, the doctor let him take over.
‘You can guess why I’m here,’ said Colbeck.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Someone was murdered within sight of your lodge.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Did you see or hear anything untoward during the night?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Are you quite sure?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Have you seen any unusual activity here in the last few days?’
‘No, sir.’
‘You must know who John Bedloe was.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Did he ever come near your lodge?’
‘No, sir.’
‘So you’ve never seen him on this stretch of the line.’
‘No, sir – never.’
There was a bovine simplicity about Tullidge. Though he was a muscular man with wide shoulders, he appeared to have no life in him. Grief had etched deep lines into his face, adding years to his actual age. Knowing about his tragedy, Colbeck felt a surge of compassion for him.
‘Do many people come here?’ asked Colbeck.
‘Only if they wants to cross the line, sir.’
‘What about your neighbours’ children?’ said Keddle.
‘Oh, they’re always playing about. They can be a nuisance sometimes.’
‘In what way, exactly?’
‘All sorts of ways, Doctor,’ replied Tullidge. ‘Some of them likes to put coins on the line so that the train runs over them. Others try to bounce a ball off a passing carriage. That’s just fun. The real nuisances are them as likes to climb over the gate and charge across the line at the last possible moment. Sooner or later, one of them will trip up on the line and be sliced to death by the train.’
‘I’d like to meet some of these children,’ said Colbeck.
‘They’re easy to find, sir.’
‘And I’d like to speak to your wife, if I may.’
Tullidge became defensive. ‘There’s nothing Becky can tell you, sir.’
‘I’d like to meet her, nevertheless.’
‘So would I,’ said Keddle. ‘It’s well over nine months since she last came to my surgery. How is she?’
‘Becky’s fine,’ said Tullidge, watchfully.
‘Is she at home?’
‘Yes, Doctor.’
‘Presumably,’ said Colbeck, ‘you’ll have to stay out here until the train has passed.’ The crossing-keeper nodded. ‘Then we’ll pay her a call.’
Before the husband could object, Colbeck and the doctor strolled towards the lodge. As they did so, they heard the distant sound of an approaching train, on its way from Wimborne to Ringwood. There was no need to knock on the door of the house. Rebecca Tullidge had been peering anxiously at them through the window. The moment they reached it, the door opened.
Keddle introduced his companion and asked if they could step inside to speak to her. Frightened and flustered, she let them in and followed them into a neat, well-kept living room with a collection of small china ornaments on the mantelpiece. When she tried to speak, the train shot past and her voice was lost in the cacophony. Colbeck could see how tense she was. Her pretty features were distorted by a deep frown and darting eyes. Her trim figure reminded him of Madeleine. The women were roughly the same age but Rebecca looked much older.
As soon as the train had passed, she was ready with her apology.
‘I’m sorry, Inspector,’ she said, ‘but there’s nothing I can tell you.’
‘With respect,’ he told her, ‘you don’t know that. Without realising it, you may have seen something in the last few days that could furnish me with valuable clues. Let’s start with last night.’
‘I saw nothing. As soon as Michael came home, we went straight to bed.’
‘Where had he been?’
‘He’d been to … see some friends.’
A glance from the doctor told Colbeck that the friends had been fellow revellers in the local tavern. Evidently, Rebecca had been left at home alone. Colbeck suspected that she was accustomed to loneliness. There was an air of neglect about her and an abiding sense of resignation. He asked her several questions but she fended off each one. Realising that he was getting nothing of use from her, he let himself out so that Keddle could have a private word with his patient. Having reopened the gates, Tullidge was talking to a carrier who’d stopped to ask directions. When he’d sent the man on his way, the crossing-keeper turned to Colbeck.
‘What did my wife tell you?’
‘Nothing at all, really.’
‘I could have warned you that would happen.’
‘I just hoped that she might have … picked up gossip about Bedloe.’
‘Becky doesn’t go far from here, sir,’ he explained. ‘She’s not one to listen to tittle-tattle. We prefers our own company.’
‘I gathered that.’
‘We likes living at the lodge.’
‘I’m not surprised. It’s a nice house. Your wife keeps it spick and span.’
‘Becky’s got standards.’
Colbeck pointed down the line. ‘Do you have a key to that shed?’
‘No, sir. Why should I?’
‘Who uses it?’
‘Them as comes to make repairs and that.’
‘Have you seen anyone using it recently?’
‘No, sir.’
‘But you must know who they are.’
‘It’s not always the same men.’
Colbeck was confused. Ordinarily, he could tell if someone was lying to him but not in this case. Michael Tullidge was impassive and spoke in a dull undertone. His eyes gave nothing away. Colbeck could not work out if he was being deceived or if the crossing-keeper had lapsed into a state of torpor that allowed him to do little more than work at a repetitive job in a bleak outpost on the line. After failing to draw him out, Colbeck gave up. He was pleased to see Keddle emerging from the lodge.
‘I’m going to call on some of the neighbours,’ he said, ‘but you’re not obliged to stay with me, Doctor. I’m sure you’ll find transport back to Wimborne somehow.’
‘I’m staying,’ insisted Keddle. ‘Things are starting to get interesting.’
‘Very well – I’ll be glad of your company.’
‘Do you want to speak to anyone in particular?’
‘Yes,’ said Colbeck. ‘I’d like to talk to some of those naughty children we heard about. They can often see things that their parents miss.’
When they walked away, Colbeck could feel Tullidge’s eyes watching them intently. He turned to Keddle.
‘How did you get on with your patient?’
‘Poor woman is no better, really. There’s a profound sadness in her that she can’t seem to shake off. Living with that husband hardly helps the situation.’
‘He’s so dour and uncommunicative.’
‘Tullidge was never what you might call a sparkling conversationalist. When you look at him, walking through life as if in a bad dream, it’s hard to believe that he persuaded two attractive young women to marry him.’
Colbeck was astonished. ‘Two?’ he echoed.
‘The first wife died of consumption. He was devastated. Becky had been a close friend of the wife. After her death, she used to run errands for him. The next thing I knew, they were walking out together. If you ask me,’ he went on, ‘she married him because she felt sorry for him.’
‘Oh, I think she’s too loyal to admit that. Becky went into the marriage with the kind of hopes that all young women have but they never came to fruition, alas.’ He looked shrewdly at Colbeck. ‘You must have had to impart a lot of bad news in your job, Inspector.’
‘It’s the thing I hate most.’
‘Understandably.’
‘Passing on the news that a loved one has been brutally murdered is a harrowing experience. Few people can cope with sudden loss.’
‘That’s what it was like for me with Becky and her husband. Not that it involved murder, of course,’ said Keddle, ‘but there was a profound loss. In effect, I was pronouncing a death sentence on their hopes of having a family. She wept for hours and he turned into the shambling wreck that you saw today.’
Colbeck pondered. ‘I’m not certain that he is a shambling wreck,’ he said at length. ‘He’s hiding something. I’d very much like to know what it is.’
After leaving the Mermaid Tavern on his own, Victor Leeming elected to make a short tour of the town so that he could familiarise himself with its geography. It was an interesting walk. Notwithstanding the changes that the railway had brought to Wimborne, it was still essentially a rural town. Horse-drawn vehicles predominated and, while the sergeant was surprised when a dozen sheep were herded along a narrow passageway, the inhabitants accepted it as if it were a daily event. After the hectic pace of the capital, he found Wimborne quaint and restful. Even the pungent country smells did not affront him. Though he could not understand why, five minutes inside the minster gave him something close to inspiration.
Feltham had been right. Murder had defaced the town. It was up to the detectives to restore it to normality by solving a shocking crime. Leeming was ready for the task. He decided to return to the King’s Head in case Colbeck had arrived there but it was not the inspector who greeted him. It was Bertram Maycock who stepped towards him as soon as he entered the building. At the policeman’s elbow was a gaunt, wild-eyed man in the uniform of a railway employee.
‘I’ve brought someone to meet ye,’ said Maycock.
But his companion could not wait for an introduction. Pushing Maycock aside, he lunged forward to grab Leeming impulsively by the arm.
‘My name is Harry Wills,’ he gasped. ‘I’m John Bedloe’s cousin.’