The Excursion Train

'Have you seen this?' she asked.

'I read it on the way back from the shop, Maddy. When I saw that Inspector Colbeck was on the front page again, I knew you'd want to see it for yourself.'

'A prison chaplain has been murdered.'

'Yes.'

'What kind of monster could want to kill a priest?'

'Oh, I can think of one or two priests I'd like to have met in a dark alley,' said Andrews with a grim chuckle.

'Father!' she said, reproachfully.

'I'm only being honest, Maddy. When I was a boy, there was a Canon Howells at St Saviour's who could make a sermon last a whole afternoon, and he'd give you such a clout if you dozed off in the middle. I should know. I had a clip around my ear from him more than once.'

'This is not something to joke about.'

'It's no joke. I'm serious. Canon Howells was a holy terror and his deacon, Father Morris, was even worse.' He swallowed the last of his porridge. 'But I don't think you have to look very far to find the man who killed that Reverend Jones.'

'What do you mean?'

'It was obviously someone who'd been in Maidstone prison.'

'That's not what Robert thinks,' said Madeleine, pointing to the article on the front page. 'He's certain that the murderer was the same man who killed the public hangman in that excursion train.'

'Yes, a former prisoner with a grudge.'

'Robert is the detective. You keep to driving trains.'

'I'm entitled to my opinion, aren't I?' he asked, combatively.

'You'd give it in any case,' she said, fondly, 'whether you're entitled to or not. You've got an opinion on everything, Father. Nobody can silence Caleb Andrews – even when he's wrong.'

'I'm not wrong, Maddy.'

'You don't know all the facts of the case.'

'I know enough to make a comment.'

'I'd sooner trust Robert's judgement.'

'Well, he does have an eye for picking things out,' he said, wryly, 'I have to admit that. After all, he picked you out, didn't he?'

'Please don't start all that again,' she warned. 'You should be off.'

'Let me finish this cup of tea first.'

'Which train are you driving today?'

'London to Birmingham.'

'You must know that route by heart.'

'I could drive it with my eyes closed,' he boasted, draining his cup and getting up from the table. 'Thanks for the breakfast, Maddy.'

'You need a good meal inside you at the start of the day.'

'You sound like your mother.'

'What time will I expect you?'

'Not too late.'

'Will you be going for a drink first?'

'Probably,' he replied, taking his hat from the peg behind the front door. 'I'll call in for a beer or two and tell them all what I think about this latest murder. They listen to me.'

'Do you give them any choice?'

'I've got this instinct, Maddy. Whenever there's a serious crime, I always have this strange feeling about who committed it. Look at this case of the dead chaplain.'

'It's shocking.'

'The person who done him in just has to be someone who was locked up in that prison and took against the Reverend Jones. It was the same with that hangman,' he went on, putting on his hat and opening the front door. 'All prisoners hate Jack Ketch because he could be coming for them with his noose one day.'

'Yes,' she said, immersed in the paper again.

'That's enough to make anyone want revenge.'

'Maybe.'

'I know that I would if I was put behind bars.'

'Of course.'

'Goodbye, Maddy. I'm off.'

'Goodbye.'

'Don't I get my kiss?' he whined.

But she did not even hear his complaint. Madeleine had just noticed a small item at the bottom of the page. Linked to the main story, it reminded her poignantly of the last time that she had seen Robert Colbeck. An idea suddenly flashed into her mind. Caleb Andrews had to manage without his farewell kiss for once.

As soon as the shop opened, Adam Hawkshaw brought some meat out and started to hack it expertly into pieces before setting them out on the table. Other butchers were also getting ready for customers in Middle Row but all they had in response to their greeting was a curt nod of acknowledgement. The first person to appear in the passage was Inspector Colbeck. He strolled up to Adam Hawkshaw.

'Good morning,' he said, politely.

'I've nothing to say to you.'

'Are you always so rude to your customers?'

'Customers?'

'Yes,' said Colbeck. 'I didn't come to buy meat but I am shopping for information and I'm not leaving until I get it. If you insist on refusing to speak to me, of course, I may have to arrest you.'

'Why?' rejoined the other, testily. 'I done nothing wrong.'

'Obstructing a police officer in the exercise of his duties is a crime, Mr Hawkshaw. In other words, a decision confronts you.'

'Eh?'

'We can either have this conversation here and now or we'll have it when you're in custody. It's your choice.'

'I got to work in this shop.'

'Then we'll sort this out right away, shall we?' said Colbeck, briskly. 'Where were you the night before last?'

'That's my business,' retorted Hawkshaw.

'It also happens to be my business.'

'Why?'

'I need to establish your whereabouts during that evening.'

'I was in my room,' said the other, evasively. 'Satisfied now?'

'Only if we have a witness who can verify that. Do we?' Hawkshaw shook his head. 'I thought not.'

'I was on my own.'

'Gregory Newman told me that you rented a room near the Corn Exchange. There must have been someone else in the house at the time. Your landlord, for instance?'

'I can't remember.'

'I'll ask him if he remembers.'

'He wouldn't know,' said Hawkshaw. 'I come and go as I please.'

'I've just been talking to the stationmaster at Ashford station. He recalls a young man of your build and colouring, who took a train to Paddock Wood on the evening in question.'

'It must have been someone else, Inspector.'

'Are you quite certain of that?'

Hawkshaw met his gaze. 'I was alone in my room all evening.'

'Studying the Bible, I daresay.'

'What?'

'No,' said Colbeck on reflection, glancing at the board beside him. 'I don't think you have much time for reading – or for writing either. That's evident. I doubt if you'd even know where to find St Paul's Epistle to the Romans, would you?' Hawkshaw looked mystified. 'There you are,' Colbeck went on, 'that wasn't too difficult was it? I'll have some more questions for you in time but I'll not hold you up any longer. I need to speak to your stepmother now.'

'She's not in,' claimed the butcher.

'Then I wonder whose face I saw in the bedroom window when I crossed the high street just now. Is it possible that Mrs Hawkshaw has a twin sister living over the shop?' Hawkshaw glowered at him. 'Excuse me while I speak to someone who's a little more forthcoming.'

Meat cleaver in his hand, Hawkshaw moved across to block his way but the determination in Colbeck's eye made him change his mind. He stood aside and the detective went into the shop before tapping on the door at the rear. It was not long before he and Winifred Hawkshaw were sitting down together in the parlour. He held his top hat in his lap. She was watchful.

'I finally had a conversation with your stepson,' he said.

'Oh?'

'He seems to be having a problem with his memory.'

'Does he, Inspector?'

'Yes, Mrs Hawkshaw. He tells me that he spent the night before last alone in his room yet a witness places him – or someone very much like him – at the railway station that evening. Have you any idea where he might have been going?'

'Adam was where he said he was.'

'How can you be so sure?'

'Because we brought him up to be honest,' said Winifred, stoutly. 'I know you think he might have had something to do with the murder of the prison chaplain but you're wrong. Adam is like his father – he's been falsely accused.'