Josie’s mind was racing. They had no reason to lie to her. The man she had been mourning had set off to commit murder for their mutual benefit. The thought that he had already caused the deaths of several other people turned him into a complete monster and she quailed as she recalled the intimacies they had shared in the wake of the train disaster. Josie had coupled with the Devil himself. She felt ashamed and corrupted. The sight of Chiffney, carved to pieces on a railway line, no longer enraged her. In the light of his crime, it was a fitting end. She elected to forget Chiffney altogether. He belonged to her past. All she worried about now was saving her own skin.
‘It’s not very much,’ she said, ingratiatingly, ‘but I’ll tell you all I know.’
Victor Leeming was in good spirits. Now that the investigation was nearing its end, his chances of being at home for his wife’s birthday had improved. Despatched to the Navy Office by Colbeck, he had gathered the information they needed and could now return. Before he did so, however, there were still gifts to be bought for Sunday and he might never have such a good opportunity again. It would not take long. If he were caught attending to family business while still on duty, Leeming knew that Superintendent Tallis would suspend him instantly. Colbeck would take a more tolerant view. He realised how much the sergeant loved his wife.
Leeming consulted a list he drew from his pocket. It had been compiled from records at the Navy Office. Somewhere on the list, he believed, was the name of the man who had hired Dick Chiffney to orchestrate a train crash. The consequences had been horrendous. The sergeant had visited the scene with Colbeck. Both men had been shocked by the scale of the disaster. Leeming remembered the sight of the wreckage, the smell from the bonfires and the groans of agony from the remaining victims. Suddenly, the purchase of his wife’s birthday presents no longer seemed important. It was put aside until after the arrest of the man who had conceived the tragedy. His capture was paramount.
Leeming hurried away. The investigation took precedence. He and Colbeck had to return to Brighton. Besides, the town did not merely harbour a wanted man. It had shops.
Until he woke up the next morning, Ezra Follis had not realised he had so many friends. Cards, flowers and gifts of all kinds had flooded in from the most unlikely sources and there was an endless queue of people waiting to see him. Since he was still weak, he only agreed to see selected visitors and limited their time at the bedside. The bishop, the dean and the churchwardens were the first to be allowed in. Of the others, only Ellen Ashmore, Amy Walcott and a handful of close friends were permitted a few minutes each.
By late morning, Robert Colbeck arrived and he was conducted straight to the patient. Follis was pleased to see him.
‘There’s a rumour that you caught the man who shot me,’ he said, hopefully. ‘Is that true, Inspector?’
‘In a manner of speaking,’ replied Colbeck. ‘Sergeant Leeming and I accosted him at the railway station but he tried to run away. In doing so, he managed to get himself run over by an incoming train.’
Follis shuddered. ‘What a gruesome death!’
‘I shouldn’t waste too much sympathy on him, sir. He was the person responsible for the train crash. He levered a section of line away so that the Brighton Express would be derailed. That’s why this hospital is filled to capacity.’
‘Who was the villain, Inspector?’
‘His name was Dick Chiffney.’
‘I’ve never heard of him,’ said Follis, mystified. ‘Why should he want to harm so many people in that crash then try to shoot me?’
‘The two events are complementary,’ explained Colbeck. ‘They were both intended to bring about your death. When the first failed to do so, a more direct approach was taken.’
‘This is all about me?’ gasped Follis, shaken to the core. ‘Was it because of me that people were killed and maimed in that disaster? I find that horrifying. In effect, all that suffering was my fault.’
‘No, sir – you were a victim of the crash.’
‘But it might never have taken place had I not been aboard that train. Are you certain about this, Inspector?’ Colbeck nodded. ‘Then I’ll have it on my conscience for the rest of my life. I’m beginning to wish that I’d never survived that crash.’
‘It’s only because you did,’ said Colbeck, ‘that we’re able to get to the truth. Had you perished, we’d never have connected you with the people who committed the crime. The Brighton Express was not chosen lightly, Mr Follis. In the mind of the man who was behind the disaster, it had a great significance. That’s what made us believe that an individual passenger was the target.’
Colbeck told him about the evidence that led them to think that Horace Bardwell or Giles Thornhill might be that individual passenger, recounting how both Matthew Shanklin and Heinrich Freytag had been subsequently arrested. Follis was only half-listening. He was still trying to grapple with the fact that he had indirectly brought about so many deaths and injuries. He was eaten up with guilt.
‘We need your help, sir,’ said Colbeck.
‘Haven’t I done enough damage already?’ moaned Follis.
‘Chiffney was hired to kill you. Now that he’s dead, we must find his paymaster. That’s where you can be of assistance.’
‘I fail to see how, Inspector.’
‘Do you know of anyone – anyone at all – who had made threats against you or is nursing a deep hatred of you?’
‘Yes,’ said Follis, ‘I could give you several names. The first one is my bishop. He’s threatened many times to have me ousted from the rectory and must loathe the very sight of me.’
‘I’m being serious, sir.’
‘Then the simple answer is that I’ve offended a lot of people in the course of my ministry but I don’t think that any of them would go to such lengths to wreak their revenge.’
‘We have one important clue,’ said Colbeck. ‘We’re fairly certain that the man in question has a naval background. Can you think of any sailor who might hold a grudge against you?’
‘No,’ said Follis, eyelids flickering rapidly, ‘I can’t.’
Colbeck knew that he was lying.
Ellen Ashmore had been crying. Though she had wiped away the tears and done her best to appear composed, Victor Leeming could tell that the housekeeper had been weeping. When he had introduced himself, she let him into the rectory and they went into the drawing room.
‘Mr Follis won’t be out of hospital for days,’ she said. ‘I saw him earlier and he’s very poorly.’
‘It’s you that I came to see, Mrs Ashmore.’
‘Oh?’
‘I want to ask you a few questions,’ said Leeming. ‘Shall we sit down?’ When they had settled down opposite each other, he tried to reassure her. ‘There’s no need to look so anxious.
You’re not in any kind of trouble.’
‘I’m not worried about myself, Sergeant,’ she said. ‘The only person I’m thinking about at the moment is the rector.’
‘That’s only right, Mrs Ashmore. You’ve been his housekeeper for some time now, I hear.’
‘I’ve been here for years.’
‘And is Mr Follis a good employer?’
‘It’s a pleasure to work for him,’ she said, brightening for an instant. ‘Mr Follis is a wonderful man.’
‘Not everyone shares your high opinion, I’m afraid,’ observed Leeming. ‘Someone was hired to kill him. As it happens, that person later lost his life. But the man who hired him is still at liberty and still poses a threat to the rector.’