The Affinity Bridge (36 page)

Newbury rolled up into a sitting position. He realised immediately that his attempts at subtlety had been wasted; the noise he’d made leaping across the gap had been enough to startle the man in the policeman’s uniform a few carriages ahead. He had not, however, made any move to try to flee, as Newbury had anticipated he might; instead he had turned to face the Crown investigator, a look of grim resignation on his face, as if ready to take him on if Newbury decided to come any closer. As far as Newbury saw it, however, he had no choice but to continue. He wasn’t about to be intimidated, and whilst he’d had his absolute fill of combat during the course of the last couple of days, he would do what was necessary to bring the man to justice.

Newbury found his footing and this time didn’t stop to ponder the jump. He ran at the end of the carriage, diving over the gap and throwing himself, spread-eagled, onto the roof of the next one in the long train. This time he was prepared for the impact and recovered much faster from the landing, although he felt the wounds in his arms open up again as he grasped for a handhold, warm blood weeping down the length of his forearms. They burned angrily, and Newbury felt like he’d forgotten what it was like to live without pain. He looked up, making sure that the glowing policeman hadn’t jumped across from the next carriage to meet him. Thankfully, the man had chosen to wait it out on the other roof. He was hovering near the lip of the carriage, his fists ready, his stance set firm. He looked like a prize-fighter, silhouetted against the morning sun. There was no way Newbury would be able to make the jump across to tackle him. If he flung himself over as he had with the other carriages he’d run the risk of colliding with the man, knocking them both to the ground and their deaths. It was simply too treacherous, and he needed to come up with an alternative course of action as quickly as he could. He edged over to the end of his carriage to stand opposite the counterfeit policeman, swaying slightly with the movement of the train. The gap between them opened and closed as the train bounced over the cobbles, bringing them dangerously close together and then pulling them apart again with every bump and twist of the road.

Their eyes met. The man scowled angrily, his expression filled with fury and ire. It was clear to Newbury that he was the sort of man who made his living from violence; his face was a patchwork of scars and old wounds, and his nose had been broken on numerous occasions. He was unshaven, and underneath the shimmering blue powder he had painted over his exposed skin, his neck was covered in a string of dark, illegible tattoos.

Newbury shouted to him over the noise of the churning engine. “Look here. There’s no way we’re both getting down from here alive, unless we choose to do it together. I can help. They’ll go easy on you if you cooperate.”

The other man grunted. “You mean they’ll give me a shorter rope to dangle from?” He shook his head. “Not me. I ain’t going willingly to no noose.” His accent was clipped with the sounds of the East End, his voice a gruff bark.

Newbury nodded. “So be it.” He glanced from side to side, looking for anything he could use as a weapon. There was nothing obvious to hand. He shifted slightly as the train rocked forward. The movement brought the two carriages momentarily closer together, and the man took the opportunity to swing out, catching Newbury off guard with a hard fist in his gut. Newbury toppled backwards, clutching at his waist. He used his feet to shuffle back from the edge whilst he regained his composure, keeping his eye on his adversary. The glowing policeman eyed him with a wry smile. Newbury clambered to his feet. He edged closer to the gap once again, his arms drawn up in front of him in readiness. He wasn’t sure how much power he’d be able to muster in his damaged shoulder, but he flexed his neck muscles in anticipation^ and, when the opportunity arose, dashed forward and took a swing at the other man. At that moment, however, the carriage veered suddenly to the right and the gap between the two men widened dramatically as the engine turned a corner up ahead and sent the train of carriages careening out in a wide arc behind it. Too late to stop his momentum, Newbury toppled into the gap, falling between the two carriages. He lashed out, scrabbling desperately to find purchase on anything that would prevent him from falling to the ground. In his panic he managed to grab the ledge that ran around the roof of the other carriage, his body slamming hard into the rear end of the carriage itself. He held on tentatively by his fingertips, thrashing his feet around beneath him in an attempt to find something firm that could take his weight.

The face of the glowing policeman appeared over the lip of the carriage roof, leering down at him. The man was laughing at his apparent stroke of good fortune. It was almost a comical sight, this human face shining blue in the early morning sunshine. If Newbury hadn’t been hanging precariously by his fingertips he would have laughed out loud.

The policeman approached the edge of the roof and stamped his boot down hard on Newbury’s left hand, crushing his fingertips painfully against the metal rim. He ground his foot, trying to force Newbury to let go. Newbury could feel the skin shredding from his knuckles underneath the man’s roughly shod boot. He cried out in pain, barely managing to keep a hold on the roof. His eyes filled with involuntary tears of pain. The man lifted his foot away for a second, giving the slightest of reprieves, but then smashed it down again heavily, using his heel to force Newbury’s fingers away from the edge.

Newbury, blinded by panic, swung out from the end of the carriage, clutching the roof with only one hand. Below, the road was a blur of dark stones that sped past as the train gathered speed and momentum. If he fell, his life was forfeit. Determined to hang on for all he was worth, Newbury tried again to swing his legs onto some footing. This time he connected with the iron buffers and managed to get his feet up onto one of them, sighing with relief as he secured himself against the end of the carriage. He was far from safe, but neither was he about to tumble to a miserable death. The other man, not seeing that Newbury had managed to get himself into a position with more leverage, prepared to stomp down on Newbury’s other hand. Newbury waited until the man lifted his foot and then swept out with his free hand, grasping him by his ankle and pulling sharply forward, toppling the man onto his back so that he splayed out on the carriage roof with a considerable bang. Newbury used the opportunity to pull himself up to safety as the glowing policeman, dazed from the fall, rolled to one side and scrambled to the other end of the roof in an effort to buy himself time to recover. A moment later he clambered back to his feet, shaking his head.

Warily, the two men faced each other. The glowing policeman was clearly the bigger of the two, his strength probably far exceeding the academic’s, but Newbury didn’t have time to ponder the odds. He charged forward, catching the other man off guard and driving his fist up and under his chin. It connected with a
crack
and the man staggered back, disoriented. Newbury continued his assault, punching the criminal as hard as he could in the kidneys, trying to bring him to his knees. Unfortunately, the second of these blows had quite the opposite effect as was intended. Losing his footing, the glowing policeman skidded backwards on the bitumen roof, his feet giving way beneath him as he misjudged the camber and overbalanced. Wheeling his arms like a flapping bird, he fell over the side of the carriage, hurtling towards the cobbles below. Newbury dashed forward, reaching out to try to catch hold of the falling man, but his fingers only managed to graze the collar of the stolen police uniform before the man was gone. There was a sickening crunch as he hit the ground below.

Newbury sucked in his breath and leaned over the side of the train as they hurtled away, straining to see what had become of the glowing policeman. He had to avert his eyes from the scene almost immediately. The man had landed awkwardly on the back of his head, splitting it open on the cobbles like a cracked egg. His body was a twisted pile of torso and limbs, the neck obviously broken, and oily blood seeped from the head wound to stain the stones underneath.

Collapsing back onto the roof, Newbury cursed himself yet again for letting a vital clue slip out of his reach. He felt no remorse for the death of the man who had posed as the glowing policeman; as far as Newbury was concerned the villain deserved everything he got. Nevertheless, lying there bleeding and shivering on the top of a speeding train, Newbury couldn’t help but feel frustration that the whole affair had resulted in nothing, except perhaps the death of a killer who could otherwise have provided evidence against Chapman and Villiers before he went to the gallows. He had to hope that the evidence he had already collected would be enough to condemn the two industrialists in court.

Mustering what remained of his strength, Newbury crawled to the far edge of the carriage and shouted down to the driver and guard, both of whom sat in a small cabin atop the main housing of the engine itself.

“Driver! Time you stopped this bloody train to let me down, isn’t it?”

The man looked up at the battered and bruised face of Newbury, leaning down over the top of the carriage. He stuttered, unsure how to respond. The guard reached for his truncheon.

Newbury sighed. “Let me down and I’ll show you my papers, man! I’m working on behalf of the Crown.”

This was clearly enough for the driver, who applied the brakes and slowly brought the train to a stop, to much shouting and consternation from the passengers. Newbury lowered himself carefully over the edge of the carriage roof, clambering down onto the engine casing and using the fireman’s steps to lower himself to the street below. The driver looked him up and down, mystified that a man claiming to work for the Crown should be found in such a diabolical state, crawling around on top of the nine-twenty to Marylebone. The guard climbed down from the cab and walked around the front of the train, his truncheon in hand. He came to stand before Newbury. “Papers, you say?”

Newbury fished his papers out from his inside jacket pocket and waved them at the portly fellow, whose eyes widened at the sight of the Royal seal. He glanced up at the driver, nodding slowly.

Newbury outlined the situation. “Now, look here. I have to get back to my associates. You need to alert the police as quickly as you can. There’s a dead man in the street back there, dressed as a police constable. His face is painted up to look blue. Tell the Bobbies that Sir Charles Bainbridge of Scotland Yard wants the body taken to the morgue immediately. Can you do that?”

The man nodded, clearly unsure how to react.

Newbury, shaking his head, had little choice but to rely on the man. “This is a matter of state importance. Now, go to it!”

The guard glanced back at the driver, and then the carriages full of passengers. He shrugged. Then he ran off in the direction of the dead man. The driver cranked a lever on the front of the engine, allowing steam to hiss noisily from a vent in the roof, and then the train rumbled slowly away, gathering speed and momentum as it did.

Newbury took one last look at the passengers, many of whom were leaning out of their windows heckling him as the train pulled away. Then turned and searched out a passing cab, leaping aboard and directing the driver to make haste in the direction of Veronica’s apartment, where he hoped to find both Bainbridge and Veronica herself awaiting him.

_{Chapter Twenty-Five}

The door was still hanging loose on its hinges when Newbury ducked into Veronica’s apartment a short while later. He winced as he made his way along the hallway, heading towards the sound of voices that were coming from one of the reception rooms at the back of the house. He could hear Bainbridge fussing over Veronica from within.

“Really, Miss Hobbes. I do suggest we call a doctor.” Veronica’s response was terse. “Sir Charles, I will not be fussed over unnecessarily. I assure you I am quite well.”

Bainbridge sighed extravagantly. “Very well. As you wish.” Newbury could imagine him rolling his eyes. The conversation lapsed into silence.