The Excursion Train

'That's what fired Nathan up. He was very protective towards Emily. He went charging around the town in search of Joe but he'd had the sense to make himself scarce. If Nathan had caught him there and then,' said Butterkiss, flicking the reins to get a faster pace out of the horse, 'he'd have torn him apart. I've never seen him so angry.'

'Was he carrying a weapon of any kind?'

'A meat cleaver.'

Travelling with George Butterkiss had its definite compensations. Annoying as his manner might be, he was a fount of information about Ashford and its inhabitants and, since the murder case had been the only major crime in the area during his time as a policeman, he had immersed himself in its details. Victor Leeming overcame his dislike of the man and let him talk at will. Long before they reached Lenham, he had acquired a much clearer understanding of what had brought him and Colbeck to Kent.

'Is this it, Mr Butterkiss?' he asked.

'Yes, Sergeant. The very spot.'

'Where exactly was the body lying when discovered?'

'Here,' said the policeman, dropping obligingly to the ground and adopting what he believed to be the appropriate position. 'This is where the torso was, anyway,' he added. 'Some of the limbs were scattered about. They never found the other bit.'

'What other bit?'

Butterkiss got to his feet. 'Joe Dykes was castrated.'

It was the first time that Leeming had heard that particular detail and it shook him. They were in a clearing in the woods near Lenham, a quiet, private, shaded place that would have beckoned lovers rather than a killer and his victim. Birds were singing, insects were buzzing, trees and bushes were in full leaf. To commit a murder in such a tranquil place was like an act of desecration.

'Who found the body?'

'A lad from a nearby farm, taking a short-cut home from the fair.'

'I'll need to speak to him.'

'He was the one who spotted Nathan close to here.'

'Let's talk to the landlord of that pub first,' said Leeming. 'That was where Dykes was drinking before he came out to meet his death.'

'Will this go into your report, Sergeant?'

'What?'

'The way I was able to demonstrate where the corpse lay,' said Butterkiss with a willing smile. 'I'd appreciate a mention, sir. It will help me to get on as a policeman. A lot of people in Ashford still treat me as if I was still a tailor. But I'm not – I'm one of you now.'

Leeming choked back a comment.

Since there were so few customers that afternoon, Adam Hawkshaw elected to close the butcher's shop early. After bringing in everything that had been on display on the table outside, he took off his apron and hung it up. Then he opened the door at the rear of the shop and went into the room. Winifred Hawkshaw was seated beside Emily with a comforting arm around the girl. Both of them looked up. After a glance from her mother, Emily went off upstairs. Winifred stood up to confront her stepson.

'I told you to knock before you came in.'

'Why?' he asked, insolently. 'It's my house as well.'

'You moved out, Adam.'

'I still own a share of this place now that my father's dead. He always said that he'd leave it to me.'

'He changed his mind.'

'You made him change it, you mean.'

'I don't want another row with you,' she said, wearily. 'Not now, please. You'll be able to see the will in due course.' She noticed that he had no apron on. 'Have you shut up shop already?'

Adam was surly. 'No point in staying open,' he said. 'The only customer I had this afternoon was a woman who didn't buy anything. Came to complain about the beef we sold her. And you know why.'

'Yes.' Winifred bit her lip. 'We can't get the best meat any more. Mr Hockaday refused to supply us when your father got arrested.'

'So did Bybrook Farm. We have to pay a higher price now for meat that's only half as good. It's killing our trade.' He heard footsteps over his head and looked up. 'How is she now?'

'Much the same.'

'Has she started to talk again yet?'

'No, Adam,' she replied, sorrowfully. 'Emily has hardly spoken more than a few words to me since this all began. She spends most of her time up there in her room, frightened to come out.'

'She never was one for saying much.'

'Emily needs time to recover – just like the rest of us. We could all do with a period of peace and quiet.'

'How can we get that when some Inspector from London turns up to cause trouble?' he snarled. 'You were wrong to talk to him like that.'

'Why?'

'Policemen are all the same, even fancy ones like that. You never know what they really want.'

'I know what Inspector Colbeck is after.'

'What?'

'He wants to find out who killed the public hangman.'

'So do I,' said Adam, eyes glinting, 'because I'd like to shake his hand. Guttridge being murdered was the one good thing to come out of all this. I hope he died in torment.'

'That's a vile thing to say!' she chided.

'He killed my father.'

'I lost a husband that day, Adam,' she told him, 'but I don't want vengeance against those involved. I just want the stain to be wiped away from our name so that we can hold up our heads in this town again.'

'We may not be staying long enough for that.'

'We have to, Adam. We can't crawl away in disgrace.'

'The shop is the only thing that keeps us here,' he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder, 'and most people walk straight past it. I'm not a butcher any more. I'm Nathan Hawkshaw's son – a killer's whelp.'

It was remarkable how much information they had garnered between them in the course of one day. When the two detectives met over a meal at the Saracen's Head that evening, Robert Colbeck and Victor Leeming compared notes and discussed what their next move ought to be. Though no firm conclusions could yet be reached, the Inspector felt that the visit to Ashford had already proved worthwhile.

'He's here, Victor,' he announced. 'I feel it.'

'Who is?'

'The killer.'

'Which one, sir?'

'I beg your pardon?'

'The man who murdered Joseph Dykes or the one who finished off Jacob Guttridge in that excursion train?'

'The second of the two. That's what brought us here, after all. Until we've solved that particular crime, Mr Tallis will hound us from morn till night – and he's quite right to do so.'

'That's the only advantage of being here,' said Leeming, rubbing a buttock as he felt another twinge. 'We're out of the Superintendent's earshot. We can breathe freely.'

'Not with that smell from the river.'

'Going back to Nathan Hawkshaw for a minute.'

'Yes?'

'Before we came here, you had a few doubts about his guilt.'

'More than a few, Victor.'

'And now?'

'Those doubts remain,' said Colbeck, spearing a piece of sausage with his fork. 'I spent the afternoon talking to people in the town who knew the butcher well – his friends, his doctor, even the priest at St Mary's Church. They all agreed that it was so out of character for Hawkshaw to commit murder that they couldn't believe he was culpable.'

'I've come round to the opposite view, sir.'

'Why?'

'According to George Butterkiss, there was another side to the butcher. He liked an argument for its own sake. When he used to be a tailor – Butterkiss, that is, not Hawkshaw – he made a suit for him and got a mouthful of abuse for his pains. It was as if Hawkshaw was finding fault on purpose so that he could have a good quarrel with the tailor.'

'Did he buy the suit in the end?'

'Only when Butterkiss had made a few slight changes.'

'Maybe there were some things wrong with it.'

'I don't think so,' said Leeming, munching his food. 'Butterkiss reckons that he only started the argument so that he could get something off the price. The tailor was browbeaten into taking less for his work. That's criminal.'

'It's business, Victor.'

'Well, it sums up Hawkshaw for me. He was no saint.'

'Nobody claims that he was,' said Colbeck, 'and I know that he could be argumentative. Gregory Newman told me that Hawkshaw and his son were always gnawing at some bone of contention. It's the reason that Adam Hawkshaw moved out of the house. Nothing you've said so far inclines me to believe that Hawkshaw was a killer.'