A Misguided Mistake

Chapter Twelve

"I'm sorry, sir, to put the sorry task of identifying him to you. What sort of a man was he?"

"A poor excuse for one." John muttered. "A taste for drink and trouble making. I only saw the man in passing, but I knew of his reputation well enough. Where was he found?"

"He was found collapsed in a doorway of a home near the edge of the city. He was taken to hospital, where he died in the early hours of this morning."

"When was he found?"

"The morning of the twenty-seventh, at dawn. They think he had a fall, or engaged in a fight, something of that nature. A drinking habit perhaps contributed to his death."

Cold crept through him, every drop of blood in his veins replaced with ice. His mind raced, trying to recall those few, panicked moments. Had the man fallen then, or had a punch been thrown? His mind was clouded with panic, and he could not recall the precise series of events.

"I saw this man," John said eventually "at Outwood station on Thursday evening. I was there on business."

"You saw him?" Mason echoed, taking a notebook from his pocket. "What time was this, sir?"

"Around midnight. He was on the platform. Drunk, and aggressive with it. Starting fights with decent folk, making a show of himself."

"Did you speak to him?" Mason asked. "You knew him by sight, and he surely knew you in turn; you must have engaged him in some conversation."

"Aye, I did. I have not seen him often, but I know his face - and his reputation, as I said. I sent him on his way, with the threat of summoning the proper authorities."

"Where did he go?"

"I do not know; away, that is all. I saw that he left the station, and to my knowledge had sustained no physical harm while there."

"Might I take a statement from you, sir?" Mason asked. "You know there will have to be an inquest into the sudden death."

"The case is a simple one; a drunkard whose body could take no more. I saw the man myself. He could barely stand."

"Who else bore witness on the platform? Who were these folk harassed by the deceased? We will need to speak to them."

His throat tightened; there was indeed another witness to this, one who (if anyone had seen her, which they surely had) would have stuck out like a sore thumb on that platform so late at night. Any lie would be easily discovered later, and that would lead to infinitely more questions about why a magistrate would fail to tell the truth when under question by the police.

And so, John did what he believed to be right; he told the truth.

"Miss Margaret Hale of Crampton was present. The man spoke to her in a way that was not appropriate, so I removed him from the station. He was a danger to himself, as well as those unfortunate to come into contact with him.."

"A young lady at the station late at night? Were you accompanying her?"

There was a question, an implication, to the man's voice that John did not appreciate.

"No. I believe she was seeing a family acquaintance onto the train. Her mother has just passed, you see. A sorry business indeed."

"I'm sorry to hear it. I fear my visit today will not be a welcome one."

"Visit?" John asked.

"I must ask her these questions too. I am sure you understand."

"Of course. But I would greatly appreciate it if you gave the family time to grieve."