The Strangers on the Trains ( Part 5)

The fat man slurped his coffee and some of it dribbled down his shirt. His tie was loose, and the top button of his shirt was undone. There was an obvious reason for this. The shirt was too small for him and the button would be impossible to do up. He was mid-fifties, grey hair that badly needed a cut. His eyebrows were far too long and there was hair growing out of his nose and ears. But he was clean shaven. He’d shaved earlier that day. That was obvious because he still had two small pieces of toilet paper on his chin that had blood marks on them. Emily had never seen such a scruffy man in all her thirty two years.

“You’re my leg man?”

“At your service madam.”

Emily couldn’t help herself.

“God help me.”

The fat man laughed.

“Don’t let this immaculate exterior fool you darling, I’m the best at what I do.”

“And what is it EXACTLY that you do, Mister Palmer?”

“Tony, please, only my bank manager calls me Mister Palmer and that’s when he’s telling me off about my overdraft.”

He laughed again.

Emily couldn’t believe that someone as sophisticated as Paul Dickson – Smith would employ anyone as gross as Tony Palmer. It was time to find out what he knew.

“So, Tony, how long have you known Paul?”

“I’ve worked with him off and on for more than twenty years. I’m freelance, hired help you might say. Paul wants something done, he calls me and I get it done.”

Emily didn’t know whether to believe him or not. Twenty years was a long time. Paul would only use the best, she was sure of that. Which meant, that if he was telling the truth and had been used for more than twenty years, he must be very good indeed.

“So what has he told you about the work you’ll be doing for me?”

“Nothing. He said you wanted a leg man and that’s me. Not a tits and arse man, that’s my brother Stan.”

Again he roared with laughter at his own little joke.

Emily ignored him.

“Okay, I’ll bring you up to speed. I’m investigating.”

Tony interrupted her.

“Enough. Listen, I don’t need or want to know what you’re investigating. Just tell me what you want me to do.”

“But don’t you want to know why?”

“Look darling, the reason that me and Mister Dickson – Smith have got on so well over the years is that I NEVER ask why. Why, gets you into trouble. Why, gets you thinking. Why gets you involved and I have a rule about my work. I never get involved that’s why I sleep so well at night. Well, apart from the snoring but that doesn’t bother me, just bothers Misses Palmer.”

More laughter. Still Emily ignored him.

“But that’s going to make it difficult to let you know what I want you to do.”

“Try me. Just give me a piece of paper with the details on and what you need. Go on try it.”

Emily sighed. He was beginning to get on her nerves. She typed a few lines on her laptop and printed it off. Then handed it to him. He started to read it.

“Barnes Train Crash 1955. Edward Hargreaves aged forty was a survivor. A man rescued him from the wreckage. We need to know more about this man.”

Emily looked at the fat man and smiled. Time to get her own back.

“Okay Sherlock, how you going to start with that then.”

Tony read it again. Heaved his bulk out of the chair and walked across to the coffee machine and re-filled his cup. He sat back down heavily in his chair. Emily thought it was going to break.

“Well?”

Tony stroked his chin and thought for a moment.

“Edward Hargreaves was forty at the time of the crash in 1955. So he was born in 1915. Unlikely to be still alive, but if he is, he’s almost one hundred and probably won’t be all the ticket. So, if he’s dead there will be a death certificate and on that will be the people who registered the death, normally next of kin. I can get his death certificate and the details on it in under an hour. Now, people who were born at that time left school at fourteen and started work. They grew up quickly and were normally married early and had children when they were in their early twenties. So let’s assume old Eddie was normal. Let’s say he had his first child at twenty one. That would mean he or she was born in 1936 making them seventy six. They are likely to be alive and I would interview them. Something as dramatic as a train crash and poor daddy being rescued would be a lively family topic. Especially the man that saved his life. He would have become a legend in the Hargreaves household. Old Eddie would have talked about it often, not just to his kids but his grand kids as well. Every time there was a family gathering he would have gone on and on about it, probably bored them stiff in the end. So I’ll interview his son or daughter and the grand kids.”

Fat Tony leaned forward in his chair and lifted one of his huge arse cheeks and passed wind very noisily. He then sat back. Emily couldn’t believe what she’d just witnessed. He continued.

“Now then, If he never married and had no family. I’ll find out where he lived or spent his final days. I’ll talk to neighbours, friends, old work colleagues, people he drank with in his local pub. In fact anyone that knew old Eddie Hargreaves. So far so good, Doctor Watson.”

Emily nodded.

“But how are you going to get all this information out of these people, why should they be bothered to talk to you?”

Tony burped and gave his crotch a scratch.

“That’s easy. Everyone likes to be on the tele. I’ll tell them I’m from the BBC and we’re doing a programme called “Unsung Heroes of the Past”. My mate Terry will come along with a camera on his shoulder and I’ll have some BBC identification. They’ll be queuing up to talk to me. I’ll find out who the hero was, did he have a name, did he speak to Eddie and if he did what did he say. I’ll find out what he looked like, any distinguishing marks or tattoos, what clothes he was wearing, what station he got on at and what he was carrying. How’s that for a plan and all from two lines of information that you wrote on a piece of paper.”

As much as Emily tried hard to find fault with it, she couldn’t. Fat Tony was everything that she hated in men. He was overweight, scruffy, bad mannered, foul mouthed, and worst of all he called her darling. But somewhere deep inside her, she was beginning to warm to him.

“Not bad, not bad at all. Now bugger off and get on with it. Come back to me by the end of the week or sooner if you can.”

She gave him her mobile number. He stood up and went to walk out the door. She called out to him.

“Just one thing before you go.”

“Yes darling, what’s that then?”

“Everytime you call me Doctor Watson, I’ll call you Fat Tony. Okay.”

He laughed at her.

“Fine by me love, everyone calls me Fat Tony, it’s even on my business card!”

He left. She could still hear him laughing as he walked down the corridor to the lift. The trouble was it was infectious. She was laughing too.