The Strangers on the Trains ( Part 8)

Wednesday.

Emily was up, out and at her desk before eight o’clock. She was looking forward to the day. She’d had a restless night and was eager to put down on paper some new theories about the men with the beards. She was going to listen to the tape about Eddie Hargreaves with Fat Tony and at the end of the day she would be having a glass of red with Pauline.

The coffee was ready by eight thirty and she sat down at her laptop and began to write. At the top of the page she wrote.

Theory 3.
Maybe the black jacket isn’t a uniform. Maybe it has a practical use because of its big outside pockets. They are large enough to carry or conceal a small package or box. The earring may just be worn so that they are easily recognisable to others in the same group. Maybe the men with beards are just couriers who transport the boxes by train. Maybe they are met at their destination by someone else who then takes the box further on its route.

She read it back. Too many “maybes”. It didn’t really make much sense. But then again nothing did.

So many questions. Her head was starting to hurt. She sat back in her chair and closed her eyes.

“Morning sweetheart, catching up on that beauty sleep are we?”

Fat Tony was standing at the door. In a strange way, for all of his flaws, she was glad to see him. But was reluctant to show it.

“Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in.”

“Don’t be like that treacle, I come bearing gifts.”

He threw a sandwich wrapped in cling film across the desk.

“Found it on the train back from Cheltenham last night. Thought you might be hungry."

Emily ignored the so called “gift” and was eager to get started.

“So, come on then, let’s listen to the tape!”

Tony pulled out a Dictaphone from his pocket and put it down on the desk. He walked over to the coffee pot and poured himself a cup. Picked up the sandwich, unwrapped it and started to eat it.

“Hate seeing anything going to waste. Want the other half?”

“You are joking?”

“Please yourself Doctor Watson.”

Tony finished the first half in seconds and was now cramming the second half into his mouth. He leaned over and pressed play on the machine. There was a crackling noise for a few seconds then voices. The first voice was from Tony.

“So you don’t believe it was suicide?”

“Suicide my arse. Eddie was a straight bloke, nothing depressed about him. We had a beer together the night before he died. Nothing wrong with him. I think it was those men pretending to be Policeman. It was them that done him in.”

“But the inquest said he was depressed after the crash. Maybe he was?”

“Bollocks, total bollocks. I worked with him every day. Like a father he was to me. But he was worried about the men. Always on about them, said they scared him a bit by asking all the questions about the man who rescued him. Said they were a bit too pushy.”

“Did he say he was scared? Seems to me like they were just doing their job.”

“Bollocks, the other Policemen, the real ones, didn’t even know who they were. Scared Eddie it did.”

“Scared him enough to take his own life perhaps?”

“Bollocks. He was just cautious that’s all. I drank with him every day. After the crash he was convinced that something wasn’t right. Thought he was being followed, thought there was something wrong with the whole thing.”

“In what way?”

“Dunno, never said. Just that he didn’t think everything was as it looked.”

Tony leaned over and turned off the tape.

“Very fond of the word bollocks was old Mister Stokes. Sorry if that offends you princess.”

Emily just smiled.

“Let me tell you something Fat Tony. My dad was a builder. The word bollocks was as common in our house as the word, hello. So no, it doesn’t offend me. Secondly, I’m no princess, the more you get to know me the clearer that will become. Okay?”

“Oh dear, looks like I’ve struck a nerve there. No offence.”

“None taken. Anything else worth listening to?”

”Not unless you want to hear about how Cheltenham are shit at football and how old Mister Stokes has a remedy for curing that situation.”

“I’ll pass on that, thank you.”

“Glad you said that, cos he bored me to death for half an hour after the bit I just played you.”

There was a few moments silence before Emily spoke.

“Anyway, good work Mister Palmer; I have something else for you.”

She handed him a piece of paper. He looked at it, and then read it aloud.

“Potters Bar train crash, May 2002. Official cause was point’s failure. Find the driver of the train, find out everything he knows. Also the maintenance company that were supposed to keep the points clear. They say they did, the inquest says they didn’t. There was a hint of sabotage. ”

Fat Tony stood up.

“Okay, should have this by Friday at the latest.”

“Too long. I have a meeting with Paul at eight thirty on Friday so I need it by Thursday night. You say you’re the best. Now fuck off and prove it.”

Fat Tony laughed.

“When I said princess earlier, I may have been wrong. Maybe I should have just said BITCH.”

Tony was still laughing as he walked out the door and along the corridor to the lifts.

The rest of Emily’s day was taken up with reading everything she could about the Potters Bar crash and the inquests surrounding it. No mention anywhere of the men with beards. Nothing in any of the witness statements that was out of the ordinary. Maybe this was an accident after all. She looked at her watch. It was six o’clock. Another day gone. Pauline was standing at the door.

“Pauline, you are a sight for sore eyes. Ready?”

“Looking forward to it dear.”

Emily grabbed her coat and the two of them made their way out of the building. Pauline led the way. After twisting and turning down a few small side streets, they entered The Canton Arms. It was a small but very cosy pub. What many would call a local’s local. Low lighting, wood panelling on the walls and a thick patterned red carpet. Pauline was first to the bar.

“My treat Emily, what would you like?”

“Glass of red please.”

“Lovely,let’s get a bottle.”

Pauline picked up a wine list and chose an expensive bottle of red Sancerre. Emily was impressed.

“You know your wine Pauline. Great choice. Haven’t had red Sancerre for ages.”

“It’s my way of saying, welcome to the firm.”

Pauline started to giggle like a school girl and Emily couldn’t help but join in.

They sat at a small table in a quiet corner of the pub. Pauline poured out two glasses and for a few moments they just sat back, relaxed and enjoyed the wine. Pauline broke the silence.

“So Emily, tell me all about yourself.”

“Not much to tell really. I was brought up in Kent. Great parents. Left school and went to University to study Criminal psychology. Got my degree then stayed on to get my Masters. Then got a job with the Ministry of Defence, was there for six years and then last week was transferred to here. That’s it. That’s me in just a few seconds. Now what about you?”

“Well if yours was short. Mine’s even shorter. Left school and got a job as a filing clerk. Got married to Bert. No children. Got a job with the service in 1996 and have been here ever since. Not very exciting I’m afraid.”

“You mentioned the other day the Bert had passed away. Was that recent?”

“No dear, that was a good few years ago now. Still miss him of course, but as they say, time is a great healer.”

Emily wished she hadn’t brought it up. Pauline was obviously still upset. She changed the subject quickly.

“Oh, I found out about Nicola Hammond. It was a terrible accident. Some cowboy builders were supposed to re-wire the flat but didn’t do it properly. The meter over heated or something and caught the place alight. Looks like someone will go to prison for it.”

“Poor girl. You’d have liked her. Great sense of humour. Always laughing.”

“Yes, that’s what Paul said.”

“I don’t know much about Mister Dickson-Smith, just seen him in the corridor a few times. Always says hello. Is he okay to work for?”

“I think so Pauline. He seems like a straight forward and honest man.”

“When you spoke about Nicola to him, did he mention Stephen Palmer to you? He was here before Nicola.”

“No, he never. I’ve seen his name on some of the files I’m working on. Did you know him as well?”

Pauline’s face changed.

“Oh no dear, strange man he was. Kept himself to himself did that one. Very odd what happened to him.”

Emily leaned forward. She was intrigued.

“What happened to him?”

Pauline looked from side to side as though she didn’t want anyone to hear her.

“Went nuts, he did. Completely off his rocker. Had some kind of breakdown. Used to talk to himself a lot. Then one day he just didn’t turn up for work anymore. He had himself committed. About a year later we found out he’d eventually emigrated to Australia.”

“Oh well, probably for the best. Terrible thing mental illness. The change of surroundings would help him, I’m sure.”

“Oh no dear, he’s dead now. Took himself off in a boat one day and never came back. Body was found days later. As I said he was a strange man.”

Emily poured herself another glass.

“Your hand’s shaking dear, are you cold?”