The Strangers on the Trains ( Part 11)

She stood silently in the hall way for at least ten minutes until she was confident they had gone. Then moved slowly along the corridor and opened the door to the kitchen. It was a mess.

Whoever it was had opened every drawer and cupboard in a frenzy. It looked like they were searching for something.

Scratched into the work surface with a kitchen knife were the letters SOS. The same letters were also on one of the kitchen cupboards in some kind of red liquid. She had no idea what they meant. She almost jumped out of her skin when the front doorbell rang.

Two uniformed Policemen arrived. Spent five minutes looking around the flat and were now standing with Emily in the kitchen. They looked as though they couldn’t be bothered with all the paperwork.

“Anything missing love?”

The middle aged policeman had a notebook in his hand. Emily was surprised; she didn’t think they used them anymore.

“No, I don’t think so. They just seem to have made a bit of a mess, that’s all.”

“Kids, probably. They’ve forced the back door; you can see where they’ve used a screwdriver against the lock. Best get them changed, just in case. I know it’s a posh area now, real expensive, but at the end of the day it’s still East London.”

Emily nodded then pointed at the work surface.

“What about the letters SOS?”

“Could be a calling card of a local gang. Some gangs like to leave a mark. It’s a territory thing.”

He gave her the number of a local twenty four hour locksmith and left. She called the number and within an hour he’d arrived and fitted new locks and deadbolts to the front and back doors.
It was after midnight before she finally got to bed. She checked all doors twice. She only managed a couple of hours sleep and at six o’clock she decided to get up and get into work early. By seven thirty she was sitting at her desk with a cup of coffee.

Her mind was racing. What was going on here? Both her predecessors were dead. Her flat had been broken into. Coincidence? She wasn’t sure.

She had an hour before her meeting with Paul. She was desperate for some news from Fat Tony. But realised it was far too early. She kept thinking about the letters SOS. What did it mean? Everyone knows that it’s a call for help, as in Save Our Souls, but perhaps it has another meaning or was it just as the policeman said, a local gang’s calling card?

She made her way up the stairs, past security and into Paul’s office. Julie looked up at her.

“Go through, he’s waiting for you.”

“Thank you.”

Emily couldn’t help thinking that although she was good at her job, Julie really was a miserable old cow. Paul was sitting on one of the leather sofas drinking coffee. He smiled at her as she entered the room.

“Emily, nice to see you, prompt as always. Help yourself to Coffee.”

“Thanks Paul.”

She poured herself a cup and sat down opposite Paul.

“So Emily, what have you got for me?”

She put down her cup and sat back in her chair.

“Well, let’s start with Tony Palmer.”

Paul laughed.”

“Fat Tony? He’s a marmite character; you either love him or hate him. So what one is it for you?”

“I wasn’t sure at first, but now I think he’s brilliant.”

“We go back a long way. He’s been very valuable to me over the years, whenever I need to outsource something, he’s the man.”

Paul got up and refilled his cup.

“So, week one. What progress?”

Emily chose her words carefully. She didn’t want to tell Paul everything. Not just yet, there were still too many questions unanswered. She told him about Eddie Hargreaves suicide, his paranoia about the bogus Policeman, the Donkey Jacket and the small shoebox.

“Good work Emily. I like the explanation of the black jackets; it means it’s not so much a uniform as more just a convenient form of clothing. I wouldn’t read too much into Eddie Hargreaves suicide. People do strange things after a trauma and let’s face it; it doesn’t get much more traumatic than a train crash.”

“What do you think about the box the man was carrying?”

“Could be anything really. It could be important or could just be where he kept his lunch. But that’s the sort of thing I want you to find out. You’ve done well in your first week Emily, at this rate you’ll have this thing sorted in no time.”

Emily noted Paul’s tone of voice. It had a “times up” feel about it. She stood up to leave.

“Thanks Paul. There is just one more thing though.”

Paul smiled at her.

“The Columbo moment.”

Emily looked confused.

“Sorry, I don’t follow.”

“Probably before your time. There was this American Detective series on the television called Columbo. He used to interview people about a murder or something then get up to leave. But he would always ask one more question just as he was about to walk out the door. He would always say “just one more thing”.

Emily grinned.

“I vaguely remember my parents watching that.”

“So go on then, what’s the question?”

“Potters Bar train crash, May 2002. Official cause was point’s failure. But the maintenance company, Jarrods, were adamant that the signals had only recently been checked. They said there was a hint of sabotage. Yet two years later they do a complete U turn and pay out over three million pounds in compensation, why would they do that?”

She wanted to see a reaction in Paul’s face. There was none.

“Sounds like a political move Emily. Sometimes these things can drag on for years. It makes the Government look bad if it’s not sorted out, public opinion turns against them and they worry about the vote. So they do a deal to make it go away. Jarrods stumped up three million quid but were maybe given another contract by another Government department to compensate them. That’s the way it works sometimes. I wouldn’t read too much into it.”

“Thanks Paul. That makes sense.”

She turned and walked out of his office and made her way back to her room.

At ten thirty her phone rang. It was Fat Tony.

“About time too, any news?”

“Blimey, what do you want, blood?”

“Certainly not yours, it’s probably contaminated!”

“That was a bit below the belt Doctor Watson. Actually I have got some news.”

“Go on.”

“Stephen Palmer died in 2008 in Perth Australia. Rented a boat for the day and never returned it. His body was found two days later, washed ashore two miles up the coast. He’d had a history of mental illness since 2005. He left the service in 2006 and had himself committed, quite voluntarily, at Newlands Hospital in Surrey. He stayed there for six months. Then went to Australia to live. He was single and from what I can gather he never had a girlfriend. He was thirty six when he died.”

“Okay, anything else?”

“I’ve just left Newlands Hospital and spoken to the Doctor that treated him. He said that he was suffering from severe paranoia; he was convinced that people were following him and wanted to kill him. The main reason why he had himself committed was for safety. He thought he would be safe locked away. Even in his room he would sleep under the bed just in case someone came in to get him during the night. But he was always crying out for help.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“He would cut himself and then write things on the walls of his room in blood.”

“What sort of things?”

“The same thing over and over again. Three letters SOS.”