Steel shrugged an apology. ‘I do so willingly.’
‘Tell me about Bernard Browne.’
‘He prefers to be called Bagsy.’
‘I never use nicknames, Superintendent. They smack of juvenility. I want to know what’s happened to this fiend from the time of his arrest until now.’
Schooling himself to be patient, Steel gave him an abbreviated account of the arrest and detention of Browne. He stressed Colbeck’s bravery in tackling the man and was complimentary about the way that the inspector had questioned the prisoner. When the superintendent talked about the parallel arrest of Adeline Goss, the bishop responded with his pulpit voice.
‘Prostitution is a sign of moral turpitude,’ he said, solemnly. ‘Every brothel should be closed and their occupants driven out of the city.’
‘One has to face reality, Bishop. Where there’s a demand, there will always be a supply. It’s not called the oldest profession for nothing.’
‘Are you actually condoning this foul trade?’
‘No,’ said Steel, ‘but I accept that it’s a fact of life. I have great sympathy for the poor women forced to sell their bodies in order to survive. Adeline Goss is a good example. She was corrupted almost from birth. Instead of being condemned, such unfortunates ought to be helped and reformed.’
‘Don’t preach to me, Superintendent,’ said the bishop. ‘Let me come to the reason that brought me here. I was hoping to confront Inspector Colbeck and ask why he still has reservations about the glaringly obvious guilt of Browne.’
‘Only the inspector can tell you that.’
‘You don’t share his doubts, I hope?’
‘I certainly don’t, Bishop. I want to see Bagsy Browne hanged. Justice will be done and this city will be cleansed of one of its most notorious criminals.’
‘Have you any idea why Colbeck thinks the fellow innocent?’
‘He’s relying on his instinct.’
‘Well, I rely on mine and it’s infallible. That man is the personification of evil. Nothing will ever convince me that Browne is not the killer. He deliberately dumped the corpse outside the cathedral as a crude parody of a sacrificial lamb. In short,’ said the bishop, angrily, ‘he mocked both me and the Church that I am appointed to represent. He deserves to die in agony.’
Colbeck arrived at the address he’d been given. It had taken him to a backstreet in Totnes where rows of anonymous terraced houses stretched for a hundred yards. It was an area of blatant deprivation. Many of the properties were in need of repair and there was accumulated filth on the pavements. Ragged children played games, a man sold salt and vinegar from the back of a rickety cart and mangy dogs scoured every corner in search of food. It was the sort of place in which Bagsy Browne would have moved without exciting any interest. Colbeck, on the other hand, aroused curiosity on all sides. Because people of his impeccable appearance were simply never seen there, he collected hostile glances, muttered comments and jeers from the children.
The front door was opened by a slatternly woman in her fifties, with a sagging bosom and unkempt hair. When she’d overcome her surprise, she straightened her shoulders, pushed strands of hair back from her forehead and offered him a calculating smile.
‘Can we be of service to you, sir?’ she asked.
‘I’m looking for a young lady named Christina Goss.’
‘Christina will be happy to oblige you, sir — at a price.’
‘I’m not here to transact any business with her,’ said Colbeck. ‘I’m Inspector Colbeck and I’m a detective involved in a murder investigation. I believe that Miss Goss may be able to give me some valuable evidence.’
The woman was indignant. ‘This is a law-abiding house, sir,’ she said. ‘My girls have nothing to do with a murder. We may be poor but we have our standards.’ She tried to close the door. ‘You’ve come to the wrong place.’
He put his foot in the door. ‘Are you going to let me in,’ he asked, ‘or must I arrest you for running a disorderly house?’ Her ire subsided immediately. ‘Miss Goss is in no way involved in the crime but she may know someone who allegedly is. All I wish to do is to have a brief conversation with her.’
After glaring at him for several seconds, she reluctantly opened the door.
‘You’d better come in.’
Colbeck was admitted and taken up to a room at the back of the house.
Christina Goss was barely twenty, a shapely young woman with a striking prettiness and a clear resemblance to her mother. At the prospect of company, she flashed a smile but it froze on her lips when she was told who her visitor was and why he’d come to see her. She sat down sullenly on the bed. Left alone with her, Colbeck removed his hat and perched on a chair.
‘Do you remember a man named Bagsy Browne?’ he asked.
‘I never ask them their names.’
‘Oh, I think you know this man’s name and I fancy you’ll recall the night that he spent with you. Mr Browne was very generous to you, wasn’t he? How many of your clients give you that amount of money?’
Her manner softened. ‘Why are you asking about Bagsy?’
‘He’s sent you a message from prison.’
Victor Leeming took them to the Acland Tavern and arranged rooms for them. When they’d settled in, Madeleine and her father joined the sergeant for a discussion about the case. Careful not to give too much detail away, he told them enough for them to understand the references to an owl and a canary.
‘That young waitress seemed like a nice girl,’ said Andrews.
‘It’s very hard work in that refreshment room,’ said Leeming. ‘I should know. I took over her job while Miss Hope was being interviewed by the inspector.’
Madeleine grinned. ‘You were a waitress?’
‘It’s not what I expected to do when I became a detective.’
‘It gives you another string to your bow, Sergeant,’ teased Andrews. ‘When you retire from Scotland Yard, you can work in a restaurant. Not that I’d recommend retirement,’ he added. ‘It brings hidden dangers with it.’
‘The sergeant doesn’t want to hear about your private life, Father,’ said Madeleine.
‘Perhaps not,’ agreed Leeming, ‘but I would like your opinion on something else, Mr Andrews. What’s your view of the atmospheric railway?’
Andrews snorted. ‘It was a disaster!’
‘The inspector thinks it was a clever idea.’
‘That’s all it was, Sergeant — an idea. It should never have been put into practice. It cost a lot of money and ended in failure.’
‘Don’t listen to my father,’ said Madeleine, good-humouredly. ‘He doesn’t approve of anything that wasn’t used on the LNWR.’
‘It’s the finest railway company in the world.’
‘Mr Brunel would disagree.’
‘Brunel is an idiot. He lost a small fortune on the experiment of the atmospheric railway. That’s no way to power a train.’
‘All the same,’ said Leeming, ‘I’d love to have seen how it was done.’
‘Then you should have been here when it was tried on the line between Exeter and Newton Abbot. It was abandoned after less than a year.’ He cackled in triumph. ‘It ran out of air!’
‘Let’s come back to the case,’ said Madeleine, anxious to steer her father away from his ritual sneering at Brunel. ‘Miss Hope told us that she was a good friend of the stationmaster.’
‘That’s correct,’ said Leeming. ‘In some ways, she was his best friend. He trusted her far more than anyone else.’
‘Then his death must have been an appalling blow to her.’
‘It was, Miss Andrews. Luckily, she’s been strong enough to cope with it. She’s controlled her grief and got on with her job. The same can’t be said of Mrs Rossiter, I’m afraid.’
‘Who is she?’
‘She was the manageress of the refreshment room,’ said Leeming, ‘but not any more. They had to cart her off to the Devon County Asylum.’
It was only a stroll along the corridors of the institution but it seemed to do Agnes Rossiter some good. Canon Smalley accompanied her, pointing out some of the paintings on the way. When he took her into one of the workrooms, she saw dozens of women seated at tables as they sewed garments. None of them looked up at the visitors. Smalley escorted her back to her room.