Peril on the Royal Train (13 page)

‘Thank ye. I’m glad ye came.’

They stood in silence for a full minute, basking in the unspoken affection between them. Though neither understood it, they each felt a commitment to the other that excluded everything else. Bella tried to control her hair with a hand.

‘It’s windy up heer,’ she said.

‘I like it that way.’

‘Aye, it makes you feel guid.’

He wanted to tell her that it was she who made
him
feel good but he lacked the confidence to say so. Instead, he settled for gazing at her with a blank smile.

‘What happened to that thing ye showed me?’ she wondered.

‘Do ye mean the handbill?’

‘Aye, I do.’

‘I gi’ my evidence to a p’liceman.’

She was thrilled. ‘So ye’ll get the money?’

‘I hope so, Bella.’

‘Just think what ye could do with it!’

‘It’s no’ mine yet,’ he said.

‘But it’ll come one day, won’t it?’

Farr was cautious. ‘It may or it may not.’

‘You don’t sound as if ye expect to get it,’ she said, face falling.

‘Ye never know.’

‘What do ye have to do?’

The question was like a pinprick and it made him wince. It was the most worrying aspect of the situation. Even if his evidence led to the arrest of the wanted men, there’d be no prospect of any reward until they’d been tried and convicted. Farr would have to appear in court and the very thought made him shudder. As a key witness, he’d be questioned closely. He wasn’t at all sure that he could survive the ordeal. McTurk, by contrast, would be very accustomed to judicial procedure. He’d have appeared in court as a witness many times. What was to stop him pretending that Farr’s evidence was really his own and reaping the benefit accordingly? It was the kind of deception of which he’d looked capable. Farr felt the gnawing sensation in his brain once more. Standing beside Bella, he vowed that he wouldn’t let anyone deprive them of their future together. When he made his decision, he blurted it out.

‘I’ve to go to Glasgow,’ he said.

When he walked into Nairn Craig’s office, Colbeck was immediately reminded of Edward Tallis. The office was the same size as that of the superintendent and the furniture was practically identical. Most telling of all was the box of cigars on the desk. The only thing missing was the hectoring voice of Tallis himself.

‘I gather that you and Inspector Rae have been busy,’ said Craig.

‘Yes,’ replied Colbeck. ‘We spoke to Mr Weir of the NBR.’

‘I’m surprised that you could get a word in edgeways. Weir likes the sound of his own voice. His idea of conversation is an extended monologue.’

‘Oh, to be fair, he did hear us out.’

‘How did he respond?’

Colbeck gave him an attenuated account of the interview with the other general manager. Craig was simultaneously amused and annoyed, diverted by a description of the way that Weir had lost his temper and infuriated that the man had issued a robust denial of any involvement in the crime by NBR employees.

‘While we were trying to repair the track,’ he complained, ‘the NBR was taking business away from us. They
must
have blood on their hands.’

‘Inspector Rae and Superintendent McTurk support that view.’

‘Do you still think that this fellow, Paterson, is a more likely culprit?’

‘Why else would he give up his job in the quarry on the eve of the crash?’

‘I wish I knew, Inspector.’

‘Not that we must place too much emphasis on Paterson,’ said Colbeck. ‘Other possibilities must be looked into. It could be the work of some other disgruntled former employee of yours or it might even be someone with a rooted objection to railways. That’s what prompted a train robbery we once investigated. The man behind it had an obsessive dislike of the whole system. Rightly or wrongly, he blamed the railway for the death of his wife.’

‘This whole business is so maddening,’ said Craig. ‘We have too many potential suspects. Before we know it, there’ll be other names to add to the list.’ He picked up a sheet of paper and offered it to his visitor. ‘We must include the author of this charming little billet-doux.’

Colbeck took the letter. It was unsigned. Written in bold capitals, it ordered the company to cease running trains on a Sunday. The crash had been designed as a warning. If the Caledonian persisted in polluting the Sabbath, worse was to come.

‘It’s not the only anonymous threat we’ve had,’ said Craig. ‘Some have been so vile that I tore them up and threw them away.’

‘That’s a pity,’ said Colbeck. ‘They might have been useful evidence.’

‘They were the work of cranks, Inspector.’

‘How do you know?’

‘They were couched in language so wild and extreme.’

‘And what about this?’ asked Colbeck, holding up the letter. ‘Do you consider this to be the work of cranks?’

‘No – it smacks of misguided sabbatarians.’

‘Have they given you much trouble in the past?’

‘They’ve caused us a lot of inconvenience, principally at stations like Glasgow and Edinburgh. At first it was limited to demonstrations – dozens of people waving banners in the faces of our passengers every Sunday. More recently, however, it’s taken a rather disturbing turn.’

‘Oh?’

‘Someone has climbed inside the sheds and daubed the engines with slogans. They’re a devil to clean off. We have nightwatchmen on duty but it nevertheless goes on. These people are fanatics, Inspector.’

‘Have none of them ever been caught?’

‘Not as yet – that’s why they’re getting bolder.’

‘Are they bold enough to cause a train crash?’

Craig shivered. ‘I’ve a horrible feeling they soon will be.’

Ian Dalton was astonished at what he saw. After luncheon at the home of Tam and Flora Howie, he was taken to a shed at the bottom of the garden. It was protected by two large padlocks. When Howie used keys to open them, he flung open the door and let his visitor view the display. It was not the many tins of white paint that made Dalton gasp in surprise. It was the collection of items stolen from railway premises. Station signs, fire buckets, shovels, baskets, posters and dozens of other things were there in abundance. There was even a porter’s trolley. Howie and his wife were clearly accomplished thieves.

‘Where did you get it all?’ asked Dalton, examining a trunk.

‘We picked it up wherever we found it,’ said Howie. ‘I used the trolley to purloin that trunk. Flora distracted the porter while I did so.’

‘That’s my role,’ she said. ‘I take the attention away from Tam. It always works.’ She patted the trunk. ‘Whoever owned this would have complained bitterly about its loss and the porter would have taken the blame for the disappearance of the trolley. You’ve no idea how easy it is to steal things in a crowd.’

Dalton gave a half-laugh. ‘I don’t know what to say,’ he told them. ‘I suppose that I ought to condemn theft as a crime but your activities have been in a good cause. That excuses it, in my opinion.’

‘You’re not disgusted, then?’ asked Howie.

‘On the contrary, I’m full of admiration.’

‘We have a small museum here.’

‘It doesn’t just irritate the railway companies,’ said Flora. ‘It spreads confusion. When there are no signs there, passengers don’t know which way to go. Instead of taking them, Howie has tried a new trick now. He changes them over to cause even more chaos.’

Dalton surveyed the collection and let out a whistle of amazement.

‘It must have taken you ages to accumulate all this,’ he said.

‘We’ve been at it for months.’

‘When do you do it?’

‘Most of the time, it’s in broad daylight. Well,’ she said, spreading her arms, ‘do Tam and I
look
like a pair of unscrupulous thieves?’

‘No, you look exactly what you are – decent, honest, law-abiding citizens who wouldn’t dream of committing a crime.’

‘It’s not a crime to defend the Sabbath,’ asserted Howie.

‘Quite so – the end more than justifies the means.’

‘We decided that a long time ago, Ian.’

‘So it seems. I’m sorry I’ve been so tardy in reaching the same conclusion.’

Howie put a warning finger to his lips. ‘The rest of the congregation must never know, mind you.’

‘Oh, no – they’d never believe what I’m seeing.’

‘Gregor Hines would have a heart attack if he were here,’ said Flora.

‘I disagree,’ said her husband. ‘He’s made of sterner stuff than that. Gregor would run to the nearest police station and betray us. We’d be drummed out of the kirk even though we’re fighting on its behalf. He’s an old fox, cunning enough to suspect that I might have been leaving messages in white paint on locomotives. That, I fancy, might just be acceptable to him, but not
this
,’ he added with an expansive wave of the arm. ‘He’d see our booty as the fruit of unpardonable criminality.’

‘I see it as a lesson in how to strike effectively,’ said Dalton.

‘We’re glad that you approve, Ian.’

‘It’s quite remarkable. Both of you have shown such bravery.’

‘It’s not bravery,’ said Flora. ‘It’s a simple case of belief. Tam and I are guided from above. I’m sure it’s the main reason we’ve never been caught. God has pointed the way and we’ve taken it.’

‘The question is this,’ said Howie, gazing into Dalton’s eyes. ‘Have we scared you off or are you ready to assist us?’

‘I can’t wait to start,’ declared the other. ‘Just tell me what to do.’

‘Come back tonight, Ian. We’ll see if you have any artistic gifts. When it’s dark enough, we’ll slip into an engine shed and leave a few messages in white paint. That’s as good a starting place as any.’

Dalton laughed. ‘This is so exciting – we’re on a mission!’

Leeming took an age to find the right place. Language was the problem. Unable to translate the thick Glaswegian accents of the people whose advice he sought, he didn’t know where to go. He learnt that there was more than one Marigold Street in the city and several pubs called The Stag. When he finally stumbled on the place he was after, he collapsed into a chair and ordered a pint of beer and a meat pie. Sustenance came before detection. Besides, he decided, he wanted to settle in before he began asking questions. That had been his mistake at the pub near the railway station. He’d shown his hand too early and disclosed his identity. He wouldn’t mention that he was a detective this time. His enquiries needed to be more casual.

As he ate his pie and washed it down with sips of beer, he thought about Margaret Paterson. Compassion welled up in him. When she’d offered him her body, she’d done so with the clumsiness and diffidence of someone who’d never done such a thing before. She’d been reacting to force of circumstance. What had driven her to live in the Gorbals was her husband’s addiction to gambling. Leeming was sitting in the very place where, reportedly, Paterson had lost a lot of money. Yet the visitor could see no sign of any card games or other form of gambling. It looked like any other pub, a large room furnished with tables and chairs at which patrons could sit. Several were simply doing what Leeming himself was doing, eating, drinking and minding their own business. Others were engaged in lively discussions. Nobody gave him a second glance.

When he finished his meal and emptied his tankard, he drifted across to the bar. He was in luck. Instead of having to interpret what he felt was an alien tongue, he could talk in his own language. The landlord hailed from Devon and his voice had a pleasing West Country burr. It enabled Leeming to open the conversation.

‘You sound as if you’re a long way from home,’ he said.

‘I am,’ returned the other. ‘I married a girl from Dundee. We decided to move there but we only got as far as Glasgow. What about you, sir?’

‘Oh, I’m just a visitor. But you must like it here.’

‘It’s a big city. It’s got everything we want.’

The landlord was a short, barrel-chested man in his forties. Though he was smiling benignly, he was already harbouring suspicions about Leeming.

‘Where are you from?’ he asked.

‘I live in London.’

‘What brings you here?’

‘I’ve always wanted to come to Scotland,’ lied Leeming, ‘and take the opportunity of looking up a few old friends. In fact, that’s why I popped in here. I was told that one of them used to come here quite often.’

‘Oh – and who might that be, sir?’

‘Lackey Paterson.’

The landlord pursed his lips. ‘I’ve never heard of him.’

‘But he came here regularly.’

‘So do lots of other people. There’ll be a hundred or more in here this evening. I can’t keep track of all their names. We had a Will Paterson but we’ve not seen him for months. What does this other man look like?’

As he tried to describe him, Leeming realised that he was giving himself away, claiming to be a friend of someone whom he’d never met and was therefore unable to describe in convincing detail. He clutched at a defining characteristic.

‘Lackey was very fond of a game of cards,’ he said.

‘Is that so?’ replied the landlord, now on the defensive.

‘He came here to play. You must have a room set aside for that.’

‘You’re mistaken, sir. I don’t allow gambling in here. It leads to fights.’

‘I’m certain that this was the place.’ Leeming looked upwards. ‘Do you have any accommodation here?’

‘Were you looking for somewhere to stay?’

‘I was just wondering if, by chance, Lackey Paterson had taken a room.’

‘Don’t you have an address for him, sir? It seems very strange that you’d come such a long distance to see someone you didn’t know how to find.’

‘I’ve been to his address,’ explained Leeming, ‘but it seems that he’s left his wife. It was she who gave me the name of this place.’

‘Well, he’s not here,’ said the landlord, bluntly. ‘I can’t help you.’

Leeming knew that the man was holding something back and he cursed himself for being caught out so easily. Since he could get nothing out of the landlord, he decided that the sensible thing to do was to beat a retreat and keep an eye on the place from a safe distance. If Lackey Paterson was not already there, he might come later. It was a possibility in which it was worth investing time.