‘Three, sir.’
‘Of the people who wrote, this anonymous author was the only one who charged the colonel with having improper conduct with his housekeeper.’ He smiled at Hepworth. ‘Wasn’t that the very claim you made in our hearing, Sergeant?’ He pushed the inkwell in front of him. ‘Write something for us, please.’
‘You can’t make me do this,’ said Hepworth, defiantly.
‘It’s true – we can’t force you. But, then, we don’t need to.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘We simply have to speak to your employers,’ said Colbeck. ‘You no doubt send in regular reports so there’ll be plenty of examples of your handwriting. When you are sentenced in court, the judge will take into consideration the fact that you refused to cooperate once your subterfuge had been exposed.’
‘You didn’t even have the courage to deliver the letters yourself,’ said Leeming with derision. ‘You implicated your own child.’
‘Ginny offered,’ said Hepworth, reeling back in horror at his unintended confession. ‘Look,’ he went on with a nervous laugh, ‘why don’t I buy you a drink and we can forget all about this? The colonel is dead. Nothing that anyone wrote about him can hurt him now.’
‘It can hurt his children,’ Colbeck pointed out. ‘It can disgust his friends, Superintendent Tallis among them. Let’s have the truth, Sergeant Hepworth, or it will be the worse for you. You’ve more or less admitted that you wrote those three letters, didn’t you? That’s what you can write on the paper.’ He put a sheet in front of him. ‘If we have a confession, it will save a great deal of time in court and spare you from further humiliation.’ He held out the pen. ‘Take it. Write something that you’re actually brave enough to sign.’
Hepworth was in a panic. ‘Don’t take me to court,’ he begged. ‘I’ve got a wife and children to support. Ginny can’t find work and, if you’ve met Sam, you’ll have seen that he’s something of a halfwit. Yes, I confess that I did dash off a few lines to the colonel but only because I was still angry at him. We all write things on impulse that we regret afterwards.’
‘Not three times in a row,’ said Leeming.
‘I’m a policeman – one of your own.’
‘You’d never get into the Metropolitan Police Force.’
‘I’ve got a position here,’ said Hepworth. ‘I’m respected.’
‘Not by me, Sergeant.’
‘Nor by me,’ said Colbeck. ‘Someone who sends poison-pen letters to a bereaved husband doesn’t deserve respect. You’re a disgrace to that uniform.’
‘I’m sorry,’ bleated Hepworth. ‘I didn’t mean to do it.’
‘Think of the searing pain your letters gave to the colonel.’
‘It was wrong of me, Inspector. I feel so guilty about it.’
‘I haven’t seen any signs of guilt.’
‘Give me a chance, I implore you.’
‘You’ll have a lot to do to redeem yourself.’
‘I’ll do anything you say,’ promised Hepworth, ‘only please don’t ruin me. I couldn’t bear it if you sent me to prison.’
‘Your brother’s a warder there, isn’t he?’ said Leeming, enjoying the man’s discomfort. ‘You’ll be able to see him more often.’
‘Think of my wife – think of my children.’
‘You should have done that, Sergeant.’
‘I never imagined anyone would find out,’ howled Hepworth with his head in his hands. ‘I thought it was safe.’
Having got him thoroughly rattled, Colbeck turned to the subject he really wanted to discuss. He stood up and pointed.
‘What were you doing on the day Miriam Tarleton was killed?’ he demanded. ‘Where were you at the time of the murder?’
Hepworth raised his head in alarm and started to gibber.
Sunday afternoon tea with her aunt and uncle was always a pleasant occasion for Madeleine Andrews, even more so when her father was there. He often spent the Sabbath at work but not this time. He’d been able to put on his suit, attend church with her and forget all about driving a locomotive. Andrews enjoyed changing out of his working clothes and shedding the abiding smell of the railway. As he and Madeleine strolled back home through Camden, there was a spring in his step and his hat was set at a rakish angle. He was reminded of many long-lost Sunday afternoons when his wife had been on his arm. Nostalgia swelled up inside him.
‘I wish your mother was here,’ he said, involuntarily.
‘So do I, Father.’
‘Your aunt looks so much like her.’
‘She ought to,’ said Madeleine. ‘They were sisters.’
He chuckled. ‘I’ll let you into a secret,’ he confided. ‘She never liked me when I was courting your mother. She thought I was too forward. But I won her over in the end. I charmed her, Maddy.’
‘I’m not sure that I believe that.’
‘I could do it in those days. I was young once, you know. I wasn’t always so crotchety.’
‘I know that, Father.’
He tipped his hat to a passing woman. ‘She’d have been so proud of you,’ he went on. ‘Your mother, I mean. Who’d have thought that we had a budding artist in the family? The only thing I could ever draw was a fire. You’ve got a talent.’
‘Only because Robert encouraged me to develop it,’ she said.
‘Your mother would have been impressed by that as well. We both thought you’d marry a railwayman like me, but you’ve done so much better for yourself with Inspector Colbeck. He’s a proper gentleman.’
‘I’d be happy with Robert whatever he did. He enjoys his work but the person he envies is you.’
‘Me?’ he asked with a laugh.
‘Part of him had always wanted to be an engine driver.’
‘Then he can thank the Lord above he never became one. He’d have had to put up with hard work, long hours and being out in all weathers. I’m not sure that he’d be able to stand it.’
‘He stands it already,’ she pointed out. ‘He works hard, has long hours and is out in wind, rain, fog, snow and ice. I know there are accidents on the railway, but Robert faces far greater danger when he comes up against desperate criminals. So does Sergeant Leeming, for that matter – he’s been badly beaten more than once.’
‘He lived to tell the tale,’ said Andrews with feeling. ‘When I was attacked, I very nearly died. I was in a coma for a long time.’
‘You don’t need to tell me that. I was sitting beside you.’
‘My suffering was your gain, Maddy.’
‘I wouldn’t put it that way.’
‘I would,’ he said. ‘If the train hadn’t been robbed that day, and if I hadn’t been knocked unconscious, you might never have met Inspector Colbeck. Something good came out of it all.’
‘The best thing was that you survived, Father.’
‘Well, someone has to give you away at the wedding.’
She laughed. ‘You sound as if you want to get rid of me.’
‘To be honest, I do,’ he said, cheerily. ‘You obviously didn’t see the way that Mrs Hodgkin was smiling at me in church this morning. She’s been widowed for three years now. I knew her husband when he worked for the LNWR. He was always boasting what a wonderful cook his wife was. And she’s still a fine-looking woman.’
Madeleine didn’t know if he was serious or merely joking. She was also uncertain about her own feelings on the subject. Her father had been so distraught at the death of his wife that Madeleine never thought he’d recover. It had never occurred to her that he might one day think of a second marriage. Yet he’d raised the possibility a number of times recently and she found it oddly worrying. It was almost as if she wasn’t ready to part with him to another woman. Madeleine had looked after him for so long now, she had become possessive. She tried to fight against such emotions. Since she would be starting a new life when she married, there was no reason why her father shouldn’t be allowed to do the same. In fact, on reflection, she felt that it might be a good thing for him. Because he wouldn’t be an easy man to live with, she knew that the secret lay in choosing an understanding wife.