Read Murder At Deviation Junction Online
Authors: Andrew Martin
After
an interval of silence, Bowman continued, 'The money meant we could make the
down payment on the new house in Lumley Road.'
Another
pause.
'It
is not near the railway line.'
I scrambled
to my feet. The floor was too cold to sit on.
'I
walked for hours about Saltburn when Small David had left the hotel,' Bowman
was saying.
'Conscience,'
I said.
'I
was on the lookout for a pub.'
'They
don't run to 'em there,' I broke in. 'The place is built on temperance lines.'
'I
suspected some such infernal lunacy. I went back to the hotel and drank off
half a bottle of whisky while staring out to sea.'
'You
weren't to know they meant to harm Peters.'
'If
you want to tell a man he's come into money,' said Bowman, 'then you don't need
a fellow the size of Small David to do it.'
A
long beat of silence.
'Peters
was delayed setting off for Stone Farm that morning,' Bowman went on. 'He'd
been buying film in Saltburn. He rode on the same 'up' train as Small David,
who began talking to him; told him there was something of interest in the woods
beyond the station. Small David went for the camera. Well, that camera was
everything to Peters, so he fought back.'
Silence
for a space, before Bowman added, 'He was killed as a consequence. Strangled,
if you ask me; and then strung up to cover the traces. A clever notion, you'd
have to agree. Small David's quite cute, you know. For example, he gave over
the money to me right in front of the steward of the bar, making a big show of
what he was about, and of course I was lost from then on: aider and abettor,
accessory after the fact, accomplice - every damn bad thing beginning with A.
If they were discovered, I was discovered.'
The
rest of the tale came to me quickly across the few feet of darkness that
separated us.
'Falconer's
body was recovered from lineside - it ended in a blast furnace somehow,' said
Bowman. 'Lee was done a little while later.'
Not many
days after
that,
the Scot had pitched up outside the offices of
The
Railway Rover
and taken Bowman to the Highland cottage, our late prison.
Marriott had taken the place not so much to avoid the police as to avoid
questions.
It seemed he had the idea that, while the Middlesbrough railway
police were not pursuing the matter, the town police might well do.
In
the cottage, Small David had put the frighteners on Bowman, so as to make him
see the sense of walking carefully. He had then been permitted to return to
Wimbledon and Fleet Street, and to the pubs of both districts.
The
two Marriotts stayed mainly in the Highland cottage; Small David came and went.
He kept a place in Middlesbrough, where he was known in all the low places.
Marriott had opened a banking account in Helmsdale, and Small David would
accompany him there once a month so that he could receive the money directly it
was withdrawn. He had already received most of Marriott's fortune for his part
in the killing of Lee, for that had been dangerous work.
The
first special edition on the North Eastern Railway having been abandoned, it
had been Bowman's suggestion that
The Railway Rover
try again. Like
Marriott, he had a kink that made him always return to the matter of the
murder. He had been through Stone Farm on the train many times before the
occasion of our meeting, horribly fascinated by the place, but never having the
brass neck to get down and look about.
'That
was all terrible enough,' said Bowman from his own part of the darkness, 'but
it wasn't until I met you that matters began to really disintegrate.'
'Don't
mention it, mate,' I said, moving towards the strip of light at the bottom of
the door.
I
took a flying kick at the door; then another.
Nothing
happened, and the first inklings of a thirst were on me. I was hungry too, but
that did not signify.
How
long could a man survive without water?
'Small
David would happily have shot you in your own house, your place of work,
anywhere' said Bowman. 'He's very free and easy like that, you know. It was Marriott
that wanted you brought up here.'
A
beat of silence as I sized up the door.
'He
did it to save you from Small David.'
'Well,
he has a funny way of saving people,' I said, and I ran at the door again.
'I suppose
he thinks he's given us a sporting chance,' said Bowman.
'The
only thing for it,' I said, 'is to dig underneath.'
'To
think that we're here just because a man opened a window,' said Bowman.
I
moved towards the line of white light, and began feeling about for any loose
stone that might serve as a tool. Bowman gave a hand. There was no loose stone,
but I found the edge of the giant flagstone placed at the foot of the door. Its
edge was about level with the edge of the door, and I began trying to work away
the earth around it, but as this was frozen solid, it was no easy job. I could
only chip away with my finger ends. There wasn't room for Bowman to help, so he
sat back against the wall.
The
stone was fast; I was scraping away only a few crumbs of mud at a time; and
even if I got it out, I'd only have six inches of daylight under the door. A
crawling space would need to be three times that.
Bowman's
voice came out of the darkness.
'I
could use a drink, you know.'
I
worked on.
'Not
that
sort of drink,' Bowman ran on. 'If we get out of this fix, I mean to
stop that lark for good and all.'
I
would have to stop digging shortly; it was agony to touch the cold stone, and
when I pressed my fingers to my cheek they trailed the fast-drying wetness of
blood.
Bowman
was saying, 'I think I'll go back to writing "Whiffs", if anybody
will have it. Simple facts, simply put over. I enjoyed that.'
I
pulled at the stone.
'"How
does an engine re-water?'"
I
pulled again at the stone and it gave slightly.
'"The
secret of a travelling lavatory.'"
I
could prise it up a little way now ... But I must have a rest.
'"Why
do locomotives have two whistles?'"
I
rolled away from the doorway.
'Any
joy?' said Bowman.
'I'll
go at it again in a minute,' I said, breathing hard and flexing my hands.
'Want
me to try?'
I
shook my head, not realising that he couldn't see me. It came to me then that
Bowman must be in a double darkness, having lost his specs.
'It'll
be Christmas soon,' he said.
'Six
days,' I said.
'Jesus
was born in a manger,' said Bowman. 'Did you ever hear of anybody dying in
one?'
'I
expect there've been plenty,' I said. Then: 'I've no bloody gloves.'
'Here,'
said Bowman, 'take mine. I'm holding them out before me just now.'
I
found his hands, and I found his gloves.
I
went back to the scraping and chipping around the stone with a will.
'It's
coming up,' I said, after a few more minutes.
I
pulled at the stone and it rose up. I could feel the size of it: about two foot
by two foot. I worked it away from the door and felt the space I'd created: an
area of cold snow and cold air. I'd done nothing but create a draught. I
pressed down, and for the first time felt it was all up with me, for there was
another wide, smooth stone underneath, and no room for further digging. I
rolled away from the door again.
'I've
a powerful thirst,' said Bowman.
I put
my hand in my pocket, and there was the orange I'd bought outside King's Cross.
It had been through a lot. I took off the gloves, and peeled it with numb
fingers, and it seemed to give a little warmth as well as the promise of food
and drink. As I peeled it, two drops of its juice landed on the palm of my hand
and, when licked, they weren't there, which seemed a disaster.
'I
have an orange here,' I said into the darkness. 'There are ten segments - five
apiece.'
I
reached out once again, meeting Bowman's hand.
'That's
kind of you, Jim,' he said.
'I'll
tell you what - it's a good job there weren't eleven,' I said.
The
orange gave the most beautiful drink ever supplied to anyone; but it was a
small drink.
'I've
given up with the door for now,' I said presently. 'Let's have another listening
go.'
'Just
as you like,' said Bowman.
I
could half-see him moving about four feet away - his body made a deeper
darkness. There came no sounds. After what might have been half an hour, might
have been three hours, I divided up the orange peel and gave half to Bowman.
After
another unknown time, Bowman said, 'It was pretty foolish of you to follow me
up from London, you know.'
'I
was bored in my work.'
Silence.
'You
acted your part well,' I said. 'I kept thinking you might be a bit - fly, but I
remembered that at Stone Farm you'd volunteered a good deal of information -
told me that Peters had had his camera stolen, and so on.'
'I
told you only what I thought you'd eventually discover for yourself.'
'Yes,
I thought that later,' I said.
'I
wouldn't say you'd been quite as stupid as me over the whole business,' said
Bowman.
'Thanks
for saying so, mate,' I said.
Silence
again.
'I
flattered the stationmaster at Stone Farm - the man Crystal. I thought: if I keep
in with him, he'll tell me how the investigation proceeds . . . How's your
wife?' Bowman added, suddenly. 'How do you get along with her, I mean?'
'Well,
she's my lifeblood, mate.'
'A
notch above you socially?'
'Aspires
to be,' I said.'. .. and is in fact.'
'That
supper on the train,' he said after a while, 'it was good; cheap, too.'
Another
long silence, and he said through chattering teeth,
'Marriott
thought he
was a cut above. It's all nonsense about the sudden loss of temper if you ask
me. Marriott felt he had the right to crown the man.'
'But
they were both toffs really,' I said.
'Well,
it's all relative,' said Bowman, who after a space added, 'It's all
r-r-r-relatives,' but he could hardly get the words out for shivering.
Silence
again. My hands and feet hurt with an almost burning pain. I tried to tell
myself that it was only cold; that we were indoors after all, but it bothered
me that I could not stop my arms from shaking. A man ought to be able to
command his own arms. I thought again of little Harry, in the middle of the
dusty road on a day of heat. I loved the boy, and I nodded to myself at the
thought.
I
found, a few minutes later, that I was still nodding. The cold was making an
imbecile of me. This was the worst way of killing: to lock a man in a room
without food or water. It was the method a weak man would choose. I might have
dreamt, then. At any rate, I saw in my mind's eye a dark herd of deer coming
down a dark hillside. The antlers made them like a moving forest, and the
notion slowly struck me that they were coming towards me.
'We
would like our property back,' said the leader, and he spoke to me as the
governor of the house with the antlers on the walls.
'But
you already have them,' I said, and I pulled up sharp at the knowledge that I
had spoken the words out loud. My legs were quaking now, along with my arms. My
whole body was going away from me. I wanted to stand, to test my limbs in that
position, but I couldn't be
bothered
to stand, couldn't be bothered to
live.