The Stationmaster's farewell

It was depressing.

After a series of stops along the way, the train eventually reached its final destination and groaned to a halt in Plymouth station. Telling herself that she had to make the best of her new situation, she gathered up her belongings and stepped on to the station with a sense of purpose. Then she saw police uniforms converging on her.

Questioning Bagsy Browne was like trying to hold a bar of wet soap in hands already covered in oil. He was slippery and adroit. Colbeck had never met anyone so skilled in the art of evasion and barefaced dishonesty. Leeming had the urge to knock some truth out of Browne and regretted that raw violence was not a permissible means of interrogation. Steel had crossed swords with the man on many previous occasions and had never got the better of him. Every time he asked a question, it was hit back hard at him like a cricket ball that was impossible to catch. All that he got for his trouble were burning palms and mounting frustration. In the end, he let Colbeck do all the talking and simply watched from the boundary.

‘Let’s turn to the murder of Joel Heygate,’ said Colbeck.

Browne sniggered. ‘I was in favour of it.’

‘Did it give you any satisfaction?’

‘I enjoyed reading the details of it.’

‘Yet you told us earlier that you never read the newspapers.’

‘I made an exception for Heygate. I loathed the man.’

‘Why is that?’

‘We had a disagreement at the station.’

‘You were roaring drunk, from what I’ve heard.’

‘A man is entitled to his pleasures, Inspector. What are yours?’

‘My chief pleasure,’ said Colbeck, easily, ‘is catching malefactors and making them pay the full price for their crimes. In the case of murder that invariably means a walk to the gallows.’ He stared deep into Browne’s eyes. ‘Do you fear that walk?’

‘No,’ replied Browne, cheekily. ‘Why should I?’

‘It’s a walk you’re destined to make,’ said Leeming.

‘You can’t hang me for bashing a peeler on the head. Nor for drawing a little blood from a detective’s arm. I know the law, Sergeant. Rescuing a friend from a police cell is naughty but it won’t put my head in a noose.’

‘You killed the stationmaster.’

Browne was offended. ‘Who told you that?’

‘All the evidence picks out you as the culprit,’ said Colbeck, ‘and your subsequent crimes identify you as a dangerous and aggressive man.’

‘I didn’t kill Heygate!’ shouted Browne, squirming on the chair. ‘I’d like to have done, I’ll admit that. There’s lots of other people I’d like to have wiped off the face of this earth as well. But wanting to do something and doing it are two separate things. In the case of Heygate, someone got there before me.’

‘What were you doing on the night of November 4th?’

‘Mind your own bleeding business!’

‘We believe that you met and killed Joel Heygate.’

‘That’s a lie!’ howled Browne.

‘Then tell us what you were doing at that time.’

‘It’s private.’

‘You don’t have privacy any more,’ interjected Steel.

‘Look, I never went near Heygate, I swear it.’

‘You vowed to get even with him some day.’

‘And I would’ve done, if I’d had the chance. I detested him.’

‘In other words,’ said Colbeck, ‘you admit you’re capable of murder.’

‘Every man is capable of murder, Inspector, and most women. Steal a baby off a parent and you’ll see what I mean.’

‘Take your mind back to November 4th.’

‘Why? That’s history now. It’s so much piss down the sewer.’

‘You laid in wait to ambush the stationmaster.’

‘No!’ exclaimed Browne.

‘You battered him to death with a blunt instrument, then — with or without the aid of an accomplice — you carried his body to the cathedral precinct and concealed it beneath the bonfire.’ Browne bellowed a protest, fiercely indignant at the charges levelled against him. ‘Why don’t you break the habit of a wasted lifetime and tell the truth for once? You killed Joel Heygate and you can’t deny it.’

Colbeck’s accusation had Browne seething with denial and ready to express it in the most forceful way. Sticking his head down, he suddenly dived off his chair and tried to smash the inspector’s nose. Because of his sharp reflexes, Colbeck moved his head out of the way just in time but he was knocked from his chair and fell to the ground. Leeming, meanwhile, grappled with the prisoner and subdued him with some heavy punches to the body and head. Dumping him back in his chair, he stood behind Browne and held him firmly by the shoulders. Resuming his own chair, Colbeck spoke with equanimity.

‘That’s one more charge to add to the list, Mr Browne,’ he said, ‘but it pales beside the main one.’ He narrowed his lids. ‘Why did you kill Mr Heygate?’

‘I didn’t.’

‘We don’t believe you.’

‘Then here’s something you can believe.’

With a surge of anger, Browne tried to spit in his face but Colbeck dodged the phlegm by shifting his head smartly to the side. The inspector remained cool.

‘Let’s start all over again, shall we?’ he suggested.

It had been a day of mixed emotions for Dorcas Hope. Pounced on by Woodford, she’d felt a sensation of naked fear that was alleviated by Colbeck’s intervention. Leeming had soothed her, then she’d experienced alarm and excitement when, with her nose pressed to the window of the refreshment room, she’d seen the detectives confront an armed man on the platform and send him haring off along the railway track. On hearing that Joel Heygate’s killer had been caught, she was overcome with joy and relief at the turn of events. Every time Woodford popped his head into the room, however, Dorcas felt a lurching unease, but he never actually spoke to her or repeated his earlier threat. He merely regarded her with malevolence.

What helped her to withstand the new stationmaster’s mute hostility was the reassuring friendship of Timothy Vesey. He was kind and supportive and she found his slight stutter endearing. It only seemed to affect two letters of the alphabet.

‘You’ve worked very well t-t-t-today, Miss Hope.’

‘Thank you, Mr Vesey.’

‘I daresay you’re still worried about Mrs R-R-R-Rossiter.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I think about her a lot.’

‘I can never be as efficient as her in this r-r-r-refreshment r-r-r-room. You’ll have t-t-t-to make allowances for me.’

‘There’s no need for me to do that. You’re so experienced.’

‘I hoped I’d r-r-r-retired from this job.’

‘It was very good of you to take over from Mrs Rossiter.’

‘How is she?’ he asked. ‘Have you heard any news?’

‘No, Mr Vesey, I haven’t.’

‘I had a friend who went into the asylum. It was years before they let him out.’

‘What was wrong with him?’

‘He kept seeing strange visions all the t-t-t-time.’

‘That’s not what Mrs Rossiter does,’ said Dorcas. ‘Father says that she was shocked by Mr Heygate’s death