The Railway Viaduct

'He would have been back at Lime Street in due course. Guards work long hours. I know their shift patterns. All you had to do was to look at a copy of Bradshaw's Guide and you could have worked out when that particular train would return here. We need every pair of eyes we can call on, Inspector. The guard must be questioned.'

'If he'd had anything to report, he'd have come forward.'

'He does have something to report,' said Colbeck. 'He may not have witnessed the crime being committed but he would have seen the passengers boarding the train, perhaps even noticed who got into the carriage next to his van. His evidence could be vital. I find it strange that you did not realise that.'

'I had other things to do, Inspector Colbeck,' bleated the other, caught on the raw. 'I had to take statements from the witnesses then arrange for the transfer of the body. Do not worry,' he said, huffily, 'I'll meet that very train tomorrow and interview the guard in person.'

'Sergeant Leeming will already have done so.'

'Will I?' gulped Leeming.

'Yes, Victor. You'll catch an early train to Manchester so that you can speak to the staff at the station in case any of them remember who got into that last carriage. Then you must talk to the guard who was on that train today.'

'What then?'

'Travel back here on the same train, of course,' said Colbeck, 'making sure that you sit in the last carriage. You'll get some idea of how fast you go over the Sankey Viaduct and how difficult it would have been to hurl a dead body into the canal.'

Leeming goggled. 'I hope you're not expecting me to throw someone out of the carriage, sir.'

'Simply use your imagination.'

'What about me?' asked Heyford. 'Is there anything I can do?'

'Several things.'

'Such as?'

'First of all, you can recommend a hotel nearby so that Sergeant Leeming can book some rooms there. Second, you can conduct me to the mortuary and, after that, you can point me in the direction of the local newspapers.'

'Newspapers?'

'Yes,' said Colbeck, tiring of his pedestrian slowness. 'Papers that contain news. People have a habit of reading them. We need to reach as many of them as we can with a description of the victim.'

Heyford was scornful. 'How can you describe a faceless man?'

'By concentrating on his other features – age, height, build, hair colour and so on. His clothing will give us some idea of his social class. In short, we can provide enough details for anyone who knows him to be able to identify the man. Don't you agree?'

'Yes, Inspector.' There was a grudging respect. 'I suppose I do.'

'Have you reached any conclusion yourself?' asked Leeming.

'Only the obvious one, Sergeant – it was murder for gain. The victim was killed so that he could be robbed.'

'Oh, I suspect that there was much more to it than that,' said Colbeck. 'A lot of calculation went into this murder. Nobody would take so much trouble simply to get his hands on the contents of another man's wallet. Always reject the obvious, Inspector Heyford. It has a nasty tendency to mislead.'

'Yes, sir,' grunted the other.

Colbeck stood up. 'Let's get started, shall we? Suggest a hotel then lead me to the mortuary. The sooner we get that description in the newspapers, the better. With luck, he may read it.'

'Who?'

'The other witness. I discount the two ladies and the boy. They'll have been too shocked to give a coherent account. But there was a man on that bank as well. He's the person who interests me.'

Ambrose Hooper put the finishing touches to his work then stood back to admire it. He was in his studio, a place of amiable chaos that contained several paintings that had been started then abandoned, and dozens of pencil drawings that had never progressed beyond the stage of a rough sketch. Artist's materials lay everywhere. Light was fading so it was impossible for him to work on but he did not, in any case, need to do so. What he had achieved already had a sense of completeness to it. The sketch he had made of the Sankey Viaduct was now a vivid watercolour that would serve as model for the much bigger work he intended to paint.

It was all there – viaduct, canal, train, sailing barge, lush green fields, cows and, in the foreground, two women and a small boy. What brought the whole scene together, giving it life and definition, was the central figure of the man who was tumbling helplessly through the air towards the water, a bizarre link between viaduct and canal. Hooper was thrilled. Instead of producing yet another landscape, he had created a unique historical document. It would be his masterpiece.

CHAPTER THREE

Victor Leeming was a walking paradox. The more things he found to dislike about his job, the more attached he became to it. He hated working late hours, looking at mutilated corpses, appearing in court to give evidence, facing the wrath of Superintendent Tallis, having to arrest women, being forced to write endless reports and travelling, whenever he ventured outside London, by rail instead of road. Most of all, he hated being separated for a night from his wife, Estelle, and their children. Notwithstanding all that, he loved being a detective and having the privilege of working alongside the famous Robert Colbeck. Slightly older than the inspector, he had none of the latter's acuity or grasp of detail. What Leeming could offer were tenacity, commitment and an unflinching readiness to face danger.

He slept fitfully that night. The bed was soft and the sheets were clean but he was never happy when Estelle was not beside him. Her love could sustain him through anything. It blinded her to the patent ugliness of her husband. His broken nose and jagged features would have tempted few women. His squint would have repelled most wives. Estelle adored him for his character rather than his appearance, and, as he had discovered long ago, the most hideous man could look handsome in the dark. Night was the time for confidences, for catching up on domestic events, for making plans, for reaching decisions and for sharing those marital intimacies that never seemed to dull with the passage of time. Leeming missed her painfully. Instead of waking up in his wife's arms, he had to go on another train journey. It was unjust.

Over an early breakfast at the hotel the next morning, he had difficulty in staying fully awake. Leeming's yawns punctuated the conversation. Colbeck was sympathetic.

'How much sleep did you get last night, Victor?' he said.

'Not enough.'

'I gathered that.' Colbeck ate the last of his toast. 'Make sure that you don't doze off on the train. I need you to remain alert. When you get to Lime Street, buy yourself a newspaper.'

'Why?'

'Because it will contain a description of the man we need to identify. Memorise it so that you can pass it on to the various people you question in Manchester.'

'Wouldn't it be easier simply to show them the newspaper?'

'No. You must master all the facts. I'm not having you thrusting a newspaper article under their noses. It's important to look everyone in the eye when you talk to them.'

'If I can keep mine open,' said Leeming, wearily. He drained his teacup in a gulp. 'Is it true that the man's shoes were missing?'

'His shoes and his jacket.'

'I can imagine someone stealing the jacket. It would have his wallet and other things of value in it. Why take his shoes as well?'

'They were probably of high quality. The rest of his clothing certainly was, Victor. It is no working man we seek. The murder victim dressed well and had a comfortable income.'

'How much is comfortable, Inspector?'

'More than we get paid.'

Leeming gave a hollow laugh. He finished his breakfast then checked the time. He had to be on his way. Colbeck accompanied him out of the hotel dining room and into a lobby that was decorated with unsightly potted plants. When someone opened the front door, the noise of heavy traffic burst in. Liverpool was palpably alive and busy. Leeming had no enthusiasm for stepping out into the swirling maelstrom but he steeled himself to do so. After an exchange of farewells with Colbeck, he strode off in the direction of Lime Street.