Blood on the Line (3 page)

He was slurring his words even more now and almost keeled over at one point. When Marner reached for his tankard, Colbeck moved it out of the way. The policeman was outraged.

‘Give me my beer.’

‘I think you’ve had enough already,’ said Colbeck. ‘You can’t hold your beer because you’re not a drinking man.’

‘Who can afford to be on police pay?’ moaned Leeming.

‘Your landlady said that you very rarely go to a pub. That’s why she was so surprised when she saw you heading in this direction. Do you know what that tells me, Constable Marner? It tells me that you’re a man with a need to drown his sorrows.’

‘You’re right,’ said Marner. ‘I’m mourning the death of two good friends. Is there anything wrong in that?’

‘No,’ replied Colbeck, fixing him with a piercing stare. ‘I’d expect it – especially if you are somehow connected with those deaths. And I’m inclined to think that you are.’

‘That’s a filthy lie!’

‘You’re the one who’s lying and you know it.’

‘I want my beer back.’

‘It’s no good trying to block out the truth,’ said Colbeck, sternly. ‘It will always come out in the end. Do you know what I believe we should do? Instead of talking to you here, I think we should have this conversation at
Constable Hungerford’s house. Your sister will be present then.’ He leant in close. ‘You’d never dare to tell lies in front of her, would you?’ Marner swallowed hard. ‘You wouldn’t be cruel enough to add to her grief by trying to deceive us.’ He stood up and gestured towards the door. ‘Shall we go?’

Marner remained in his seat, staring anxiously ahead of him as he thought about what might lay ahead. He chewed his lip and wrung his hands. They could see the terror in his eyes. When Leeming took him by the elbow, Marner let out a yelp and burst into tears.

‘Don’t take me to my sister,’ he begged. ‘Please don’t make me go there. After what I did, I just can’t face Mary. I’d die of shame.’

‘And what exactly did you do?’ asked Leeming.

Colbeck resumed his seat. ‘Let’s give him time to clear his mind, Victor,’ he advised, ‘then he’ll tell us the whole story. That’s right, isn’t it, Constable Marner?’

‘Yes, Inspector,’ murmured the other.

‘I fancy that you’re in possession of information that will help in the search for those who murdered your colleagues. To hold it back would be a crime in itself.’

‘I know.’

‘Then you should get it off your chest.’

Marner needed a couple of minutes to compose his thoughts and to confront the horror of what had occurred. Colbeck let him have another sip of beer. Clearing his throat, Marner was about to confess when he started to weep again. Colbeck put a consoling hand on his shoulder and prompted him.

‘You didn’t think you were doing anything wrong, did you?’

‘No, Inspector,’ replied Marner.

‘Was any money involved?’

‘He offered me five pounds.’

‘Are you talking about Oxley?’

‘Yes,’ said Marner. ‘At first I refused, but five pounds is a lot of money to a man like me.’

‘And me,’ Leeming interjected. ‘What did you do to earn it?’

‘It seemed like a simple favour. All that I had to do was to tell the prisoner’s wife what train he’d be on and she’d give me five pounds. Oxley said she’d be there to wave him off.’

‘Instead of which,’ said Colbeck, ‘she caught the same train and helped him to escape.’

‘I wasn’t to know that,’ bleated Marner. ‘His wife was so pleased when I spoke to her. I felt sorry for her. I could see that she was carrying her husband’s child.’

‘She played on your emotions, Constable. To begin with, I doubt very much if she was his wife. I’m certain they cohabit but theirs is not a union blessed in the sight of God. As for being pregnant, that was another lie. What woman in that condition can run to catch a train then help to commit a murder?’

‘You were tricked,’ said Leeming with disgust. ‘You betrayed your friends. Because you took those five pounds, two policemen are going to their grave.’

Marner was in despair. ‘You think I don’t realise that, Sergeant? Ever since I heard the news, I’ve been in torment.
What I did was terrible. If I had a gun, I swear to God that I’d have used it on myself by now.’ He put his head in his hands. ‘I feel like a murderer.’

‘Stop thinking about yourself,’ said Colbeck, ‘and try to help us instead. You met this so-called wife and had the opportunity to take her measure. We need you to remember every single thing about her that you can. Each detail is important.’ Marner looked up at him through bleary eyes. ‘What was your first impression of her?’

‘She was a … very appealing young lady.’

‘At what age would you put her?’

‘I think she was not much more than twenty,’ said Marner.

‘What about her build, height and colouring?’

‘She was slim, of medium height and dark-haired.’

‘Can you recall any significant feature about her?’

‘Yes,’ replied Marner, thinking about his encounter. ‘I’ll wager that she came from Manchester. She tried to hide her accent but I could hear it nevertheless. I lived in the city for a couple of years and you get to know the sound of a Manchester voice. That’s where Mrs Oxley – or whatever her real name is – hailed from. I’d stake every penny I have on it.’

To avoid being seen together, they travelled north to Manchester next morning in separate railway carriages. It gave each of them time to reflect on what had happened. For his part, Oxley was still excited. Twenty-four hours earlier, he’d been in custody and destined for certain imprisonment or – if his criminal record was unveiled – even a death sentence. Only a daring plan had rescued him. The fact that two policemen had died in the process did not disturb him in the slightest. They were expendable in his view. What stuck in his mind was the extraordinary cunning and audacity shown by Irene. It had drawn him closer than ever to her. None of his other mistresses – and there had been several over the years – would have had the nerve to devise and carry through such a plan. Irene Adnam was indeed exceptional. Oxley resolved that she would continue to pose as his wife for a long while yet.

Ensconced in the corner of another carriage, Irene ignored the lascivious glances she was attracting from the elderly man opposite her and tried to confront the enormity of what she had done. She had killed one man and helped to throw another to a hideous death in the tunnel. Had he known the truth about her, the passenger would not be running such covetous eyes over her. Irene was still shaken. A night in Oxley’s arms had stilled her fears but they’d returned now that she was alone. Thieving was a way of life for her. It left her conscience untroubled. Murder, however, was a very different matter. Impelled to shoot one man out of love for another, she was unable to dismiss it from her mind. What if her victim had been married and had children? What kind of misery had she inflicted on them? The same could be asked of the policeman she’d struck with her pistol until he lost consciousness. His family would be suffering dreadfully. Friends of both men would be bereft. Such thoughts made her feel almost dizzy with remorse.

Irene tried to tell herself that it had all been a means to an end. She was infatuated with Oxley. The idea of his being locked away for several years was unbearable. Whatever extreme steps it took, he had to be saved from imprisonment. He was amazed at her bravery and overcome with gratitude. In the course of their frantic lovemaking, he’d even talked of marriage for the first time. If she did become his wife in reality as well as in name, she would have paid a high price for it, but she convinced herself that it would have been worthwhile. Two dead Wolverhampton policemen would fade into the past; Jeremy Oxley was her future.

As the train chugged into Manchester station, she got ready to leave. By the time she alighted onto the platform, Oxley was well ahead of her. He bought a newspaper from the bookstall then went out through the exit. Irene followed him. By prior arrangement, they were well clear of the station before they met up.

‘What did you buy?’ she asked.

‘A copy of
The Times
,’ he said, opening the newspaper. ‘It’s reached Manchester already. I wanted to see what they had to say about us.’ He spotted a headline. ‘Here we are – P
OLICEMEN
M
URDERED
D
URING
E
SCAPE
B
ID
. We’re famous at last, Irene. I shall enjoy reading this.’ His laughter died instantly and his smile became a grimace. ‘I don’t like this,’ he admitted.

She was worried. ‘What is it, Jerry?’

‘We have a problem. According to this report, the detective in charge of the case is Inspector Colbeck of Scotland Yard. He and I have crossed swords before, though he wasn’t in the police force at the time. We have to be very careful, Irene.’

‘Why is that?’

‘Colbeck has a score to settle with me. He’s very determined. Once he picks up our scent, he’ll stay on our tail until he catches up with us. This is bad news, Irene,’ he said, folding up the newspaper. ‘The last person in the world I want after me is Robert Colbeck.’

After spending the night in Wolverhampton, the two detectives began the day by walking to the railway station. The town was still in a state of shock after the turn of
events. People were grim, silent and fearful. They moved about as if in a daze. Posters had already been put up at the station, offering a reward for information leading to the arrest of Jeremy Oxley. A brief description was given of him. Colbeck and Leeming interviewed the clerk in the booking office. He remembered the young woman who’d arrived late for a train the previous morning and said that he’d issued her with a single ticket to Birmingham. Since he saw so many passengers in the course of a day, he could give only the sketchiest details about her. Like all the employees at the station, he was very apprehensive. Murder on the LNWR was a very bad advertisement for the company. It would inevitably deter some passengers from travelling by rail.

‘I hope that you catch him soon, Inspector,’ said the clerk.

‘We’ll do our best,’ promised Colbeck.

‘Until he’s under lock and key, nobody will feel safe when they travel on the railway.’

‘I
never
feel safe on a train,’ said Leeming under his breath.

Hiring a cab, the detectives were driven to the tunnel where the murder victims had been tossed onto the line. They climbed a fence and walked across the track. A railway policeman emerged from the tunnel and ordered them to leave at once. His manner became more respectful when he heard that he was talking to detectives from Scotland Yard. His job was to guard that end of the tunnel to prevent those of ghoulish disposition from seeking out the exact point at which the policemen had been mangled
by an oncoming train. The other end of the tunnel was also under supervision.

Lighting a lamp, the man used it to guide his way into the gloom of the tunnel. Colbeck and Leeming walked in single file behind him, their footsteps echoing in the void. When they heard a distant train approaching, they swiftly flattened themselves against the dank wall. The noise got closer and closer, then there was an explosion of sound as the locomotive plunged into the tunnel. The train was only feet away when it shot past, deafening them momentarily and creating a gust of wind that scooped up the dust from the ground. Colbeck and the policeman took it in their stride but Leeming was scared.

‘That was too close for comfort,’ he complained.

‘You’d never make a railwayman, Victor,’ said Colbeck.

‘It’s dangerous being in here.’

‘Yes, it is.’ Colbeck brushed dust from his sleeves. ‘My coat will get filthy if that happens again.’

Their guide led them eventually to the spot where the corpses had been found. He held up the lantern so that they could see that there was still blood on the line. The bodies had been sliced apart by a speeding train. Bob Hungerford, alive when hurled out of the compartment, had died under the wheels of a locomotive. Anxious to get away from the place, Leeming kept glancing up and down the tunnel, wondering from which direction a train would come next. Colbeck, meanwhile, crouched beside the track and ran a hand across it. He did not envy Sergeant Riggs the task of breaking the bad news to the two wives. Reporting a death of any kind to family
members was a dismal undertaking and Colbeck had done it many times. Having to pass on details of a horrific murder made it far more disturbing for all concerned. The visit to the tunnel served to reinforce his vow to catch the killers.

‘Right,’ said Colbeck, standing up. ‘There’s nothing more we can do here. We have to get to Birmingham.’

‘Why?’ asked Leeming.

‘I want to look at the compartment in which the crime took place.’

‘What can that tell us, Inspector?’

‘I don’t know until we get there.’

They retraced their steps and were grateful that no other trains powered their way through the tunnel. When they got back to their cab, Colbeck asked the driver to take them to the nearest railway station. At Bescot Junction, they caught a local train to Birmingham and got out at New Street. On their last visit to the city, they had arrested a silversmith and his female accomplice, both of whom had later been hanged for their part in a gruesome murder. The place also held happier memories for Colbeck. It was in the wake of the arrest in the Jewellery Quarter that he had proposed to Madeleine and sealed their betrothal by buying her an engagement ring.

There was no occasion to venture into the city this time. What they wanted was the carriage that had been detached from the train driven by Caleb Andrews a day earlier and shunted into a siding. It was guarded by a railway policeman who had less respect for London detectives than the man who’d taken them into the tunnel. Surly and uncooperative,
he had to be put firmly in his place by Colbeck. Still glaring at them mutinously, he pointed out the relevant compartment. Colbeck climbed up into it with ease then offered a hand to pull Leeming in after him.

‘There we are, Victor,’ he said, pointing to a bloodstained coat. ‘There’s evidence here, after all. This must have been discarded by Oxley before he fled.’ He picked the coat up by the collar and looked at the name inside it. ‘This was made by a reputable tailor and you can see its quality. Oxley makes a point of dressing well.’

Leeming looked at the garment. ‘That coat gives me a good idea of his size. He’s about my height but somewhat slimmer.’

‘He couldn’t be seen wearing this when he left the train. That means his accomplice probably brought another one for him to wear. She’s obviously a thoughtful lady.’

‘She’s thoughtful and she’s murderous,’ said Leeming as he studied the bloodstains on the seat.

Putting the coat down, Colbeck sat on the other side of the compartment. ‘She must have been here when they set off,’ he ventured. ‘Oxley and the two policemen were opposite. Even if she had no experience of firing a gun, she could hardly have missed from such close range. But I suspect that most of this blood was shed by Constable Hungerford. My guess is that she hit him with the butt of the pistol. He must have been knocked out before they could heave him off the train.’

‘We’re dealing with a very desperate woman, sir.’

‘Yet one who must have looked unthreatening at the time. She caught the policeman completely off guard.
Had their suspicions been aroused by her appearance, they might still be alive now.’

Colbeck went through an elaborate mime, shooting someone opposite then getting up and pretending to take part in a struggle with an invisible assailant. He then opened the door and dragged a body across to it. Satisfied that he had reconstructed the crime with some accuracy, he shut the door again.

‘What do we do now, Inspector?’ asked Leeming.

‘We go our separate ways, Victor.’

‘Oh?’

‘You can return to London to report to the superintendent. Rehearse what you’re going to say beforehand. That way, he won’t unsettle you so much.’

Leeming rolled his eyes. ‘Mr Tallis was born to unsettle me.’

‘Console yourself with the thought that you can see your wife and family again this evening. I know how much you hate to spend a night away from Estelle and the children.’

‘I miss them, Inspector. Wait until you get married. You’ll begin to understand then.’

Colbeck smiled. ‘I already do, I assure you.’

‘Where will you be?’

‘I’ll be searching for Oxley’s accomplice.’

‘But you have no idea where to start.’

‘Yes, I do,’ said Colbeck. ‘You heard what Constable Marner told us. She’s a Manchester girl.’

‘It’s a big city, sir. You could spend a lifetime hunting for her there. And that’s assuming that she’s actually in Manchester.’

‘It doesn’t matter if she is or if she isn’t, Victor.’

Leeming was baffled. ‘I don’t follow.’

‘If she’s working with Jerry Oxley, the chances are that she’s no novice. He’d always choose someone with experience.’

‘So?’

‘She’ll have a criminal record,’ said Colbeck. ‘The police up there will know of her even if they’ve never managed to arrest the woman. I want to put a name to her face, then we can start looking for her in earnest.
She’s
the person who’ll lead us to Oxley,’ he added, holding up the coat once more. ‘Find her and we’ll find the man who used to wear this.’

Jeremy Oxley had learnt to travel light. When he’d committed a crime, he immediately moved away from the area and went to ground for a while before selecting his next target. In the course of his travels, he would either stay in hotels under an assumed name or in the homes of criminal associates. Since he was an expert at his trade, he always had plenty of money to buy whatever he needed and to indulge the latest women in his life. Irene had lasted much longer than any of her predecessors. She had never stayed at hotels of such quality before but quickly adapted to her good fortune. Oxley was impressed by the fact that she was the least acquisitive of his mistresses. While others had demanded jewellery and other gifts, Irene was content simply to be with him and to take part in his exploits. The thrill of acting as his accessory was enough for her.

After almost a year of uninterrupted success, their luck
had finally run out in Wolverhampton and Oxley had been arrested. His faith in Irene had been justified. Taking risks and displaying careful forethought, she’d rescued him on a train and earned his profound admiration. What pleased him was that she was no longer agonising over the murder of two policemen. She had not mentioned them all morning.

‘Tell me about this Inspector Colbeck,’ she said.

‘If you read the newspapers, you wouldn’t need to ask me that. Colbeck has built up a reputation for solving crimes on the railways. He never fails,’ warned Oxley. ‘At least, he doesn’t seem to have done so thus far. His nickname is the Railway Detective.’

‘What sort of man is he?’

‘I never actually met him. He used to be a barrister.’

‘They make lots of money, don’t they?’

‘The best ones certainly do.’

‘Why did he give up his job to become a policeman?’

Oxley smirked. ‘I like to think that I might have something to do with that,’ he bragged. ‘Colbeck is prepared to accept much lower pay for the sheer pleasure of catching people like me.’