A Third Class Murder: a cozy 1930s mystery set in an English village

by Hugh Morrison

  ‘Why not?’ queried Symes.

  ‘Well…people might think…’

  ‘Might think what?’

  ‘Never mind.’

  ‘Right,’ said Symes, shaking his head as if to rid his brain of Davis’ interruption, ‘as I was saying, we’ll put something in the local rag about the new road, and watch if the till doesn’t start ringing soon. Take a letter please, Ruth.’

  Miss Frobisher sighed, put down her nail file and picked up her shorthand pad.

  The constable emerged from the little ticket office at Lower Addenham station where he had been speaking on the telephone. He approached Shaw, who was standing in the station forecourt.

  ‘The Inspector’s on his way sir. If you wouldn’t mind waiting for a bit, he says he’d like to talk to you about what you found.’

  ‘Very well,’ replied the clergyman. ‘I shall wait here at the station for him.’

  The policeman went over to join his colleague on the little station driveway where they were keeping back a small group of mackintosh-clad reporters hoping for an exclusive on the murder. Shaw noticed they looked extremely bored, probably from the lack of newsworthy activity.

  Shaw walked into the station and sat down on one of the dark green benches in the ticket hall. He filled a pipe and lit it, while Fraser snuggled down under the bench with a contented sigh. Shaw puffed on his pipe, enjoying the aroma and looking at the brightly coloured posters on the walls advertising excursions to holiday resorts and historic cities; Lowestoft, York, Durham. His eye then caught the timetable and he noticed the section marked ‘connections to London mainline trains via Great Netley.’

  Something stirred in Shaw’s memory. London mainline trains, he read again. Something about yesterday’s events; what was it? He decided the best way to jog his memory might be simply to think about something else.

  He noticed Watkins, the guard, idling on the platform by the little shuttle train which was presumably waiting to depart on its next journey. He was talking to a squat man with a soot stained face, small round spectacles and soiled clothing, which was black except for a bright red neckerchief around his neck. Shaw recognised him as the train driver, having noticed him waiting along with the other witnesses to be interviewed by the police at Great Netley the previous day. Watkins noticed Shaw and walked over.

  ‘Morning, vicar,’ he said, touching the peak of his cap. ‘Terrible old do yesterday, weren’t it?’

  ‘Indeed,’ replied Shaw, standing up and walking towards Watkins, with Fraser trotting behind on his lead.

  ‘I was just saying that to Perce here,’ continued Watkins. Terrible old do, wasn’t it, Perce?’

  ‘You was, Bill,’ replied the driver. ‘Never seen the like of it. A murder round here, well it’s shocking. And not much shocks me vicar, I’m from the big city originally, you see.’

  ‘London?’ asked Shaw.

  ‘No, Yarmouth,’ replied the driver with a chuckle. ‘Get all sorts happening there,’ said the driver. ‘But you don’t expect anything like that here.’ He shook his head in disbelief.

  ‘By the way vicar,’ he added, ‘I don’t believe we’ve met. Percy Ambler.’ He quickly inspected his right hand, wiped it deftly on his trousers and offered it to Shaw.

  ‘How do you do,’ said Shaw, ignoring the sensation of a grimy residue on his fingers.

  ‘Catching the next train are you, sir?’ asked Watkins. ‘They’ve given us a new carriage, same as the old one, but they’ve kept the other at the sidings up at Netley as they’re still poking around on it.’

  ‘No,’ replied Shaw. ‘I’m waiting to see the Inspector who is investigating the case.’

  ‘Ah,’ replied Percy. ‘Well if you’ll excuse me sir, I’ve got to be getting up steam for the next run, so I’ll leave you two be.’

  ‘Righto Perce,’ said Watkins. ‘I’ll be in the guard’s van getting a brew on. They’ve got a fancy new electric stove in that new carriage, and I’ve got to work out how to use it.’ He walked off down the platform.

  Shaw was suddenly inspired to ask something. ‘I wonder if, Mr Ambler, you might allow me to have a quick look at the cab. Engines have always been of interest to me.’

  Ambler beamed. ‘Certainly vicar, step right up. She’s a beautiful old girl, this one,’ he said, patting the side of the engine. ‘The Holmes J83,’ he added. ‘But we likes to call her Nelly. Don’t ask me why.’

  Shaw tied Fraser’s lead to a post on the platform, and climbed into the little cab with its smell of coal dust, oil and hot metal. There were two forward facing windows, rather like portholes, one on the left and one on the right, through which Shaw could see the single track stretching out ahead to Great Netley.

  Another black-clad man was inside, much younger than Ambler. ‘This here’s our fireman, George. George, the vicar’s come to have a look around.’

  ‘Oh right sir,’ said the stoker, and held out his hand to Shaw. ‘George Webb, pleased to meet yer.’

  The two men shook hands and once again Shaw had the sensation of an oily residue on his palms.

  ‘It may seem a strange question, Mr Ambler,’ said Shaw cautiously, ‘but did you at any time see a woman climb off the train yesterday?’

  Ambler and Webb exchanged smiles. ‘Ah,’ said the driver, ‘you mean the vanishing lady. Bill told me all about that. Said she looked like a film star. Personally I think he imagined it. Been cooped up in that guard’s van of his too long, he has.’

  ‘I fear he did not imagine it,’ said Shaw. ‘I also saw a woman get on the train, though I did not see her face.’

  ‘I’m only joking, vicar,’ said Ambler, his eyes glinting from behind the small round lenses of his spectacles. ‘If Bill says he saw her, then he saw her. What I don’t understand is how she got off the train.’

  A thought struck Shaw. ‘Could she perhaps have concealed herself in some way on the train?’

  ‘Not likely,’ said Ambler. ‘There’s only the space under the seats, and that would be obvious to anyone. There’s nowhere else to hide in those carriages.’

  ‘Perhaps she jumped off?’ enquired Shaw.

  ‘Not likely neither,’ continued the driver. ‘Anyone jumping off this train when she’s rattling along would likely break their neck, especially a slip of a girl like Bill said he saw.’

  Webb interjected. ‘The only time she might have got off was when we stopped for the signal and you said that lad jumped off.’

  ‘I’ve thought of that,’ said Ambler. ‘The police took a statement from me yesterday but they didn’t seem that interested. Last night I was thinking over what happened a bit more. The only person I saw jump off the train was that lad that Bill saw. If a woman had jumped off we’d have noticed that, I reckon.’

  ‘Yes, I noticed the man running away,’ said Shaw. ‘Presumably if anyone else had done so, at least one of you or the guard would have seen him or her.’

  ‘Well in all honesty I didn’t see this fellow nor anyone else,’ said Webb. ‘Most of the time I was stoking the boiler making sure we had enough steam. I heard Perce here shout out though.’

  ‘I saw him alright, even if you didn’t,’ said Ambler. ‘I had my hand on the regulator and I looked out to see a young chap dash across the field.’

  ‘Forgive my ignorance,’ said Shaw. ‘But what is the regulator?’

  ‘That’s this ‘ere,’ said Ambler, patting a large red lever on the right side of the cab. ‘In layman’s terms, this controls the speed of the train, like the what do you call it, the accelerator, on a motor car,’ he added. ‘I was looking out of my window, waiting for the signal to change then I heard a door slam somewhere behind, and I sees that young chap racing off.’

  ‘Which is your window?’ asked Shaw.

  ‘This one on the right,’ said Ambler. ‘So I heard a shout, turns round to look behind and there he is, running off back the way we come.’

  ‘And you didn’t think to give chase?’ enquired Shaw.

  ‘Chas
e the blighter? Not likely. Not worth me risking my neck over a tuppenny fare. I didn’t know he’d killed someone.’

  ‘If I’d seen him on my side I’d’ve whacked the bugger with my shovel,’ said Webb. ‘’scuse my French, vicar,’ he added apologetically.

  Shaw smiled. ‘A rather unreasonable use of force to detain a fare-dodger, I would have thought.’

  ‘How’s that, vicar?’ asked Webb.

  ‘At the time nobody knew a murder had been committed on the train.’

  ‘Ah right, I see,’ said Webb. ‘And of course we don’t know whoever that was that ran off was the killer anyway.’

  ‘Come off it George, who else would it be?’ said Ambler. ‘No, once they catch whoever that chap was, that’s your killer right there.’

  ‘I certainly hope so,’ replied Shaw.

  ‘Well if you don’t mind, vicar,’ said Ambler, consulting the fob watch chained to his waistcoat. ‘We’re off in a few minutes, so we’d best get organised.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Shaw, ‘Thank you so much for showing me the cab. A boyhood ambition realised. Oh, there is one more thing that interests me.’

  ‘Yes, vicar?’ asked Ambler. ‘I’m always glad to help a railway enthusiast.’

  ‘Who controls the signal on the line from here to Great Netley?’

  ‘Well now,’ said Ambler hesitantly. ‘There’s only the one signal, before the main line junction, so that would be controlled from the box at Great Netley.’

  ‘Visiting a signal box has always been an ambition of mine also,’ said Shaw.

  ‘Why don’t you have a look one day?’ replied Ambler. Old Bert Fox works that box. He’s a pal of mine, tell him I sent you, he’ll be happy to show you around.’

  Shaw thanked the men and stepped down from the cab. He turned to face the bulky form of Inspector Ludd.

  ‘Thinking of a career change, Mr Shaw?’ said the Inspector laconically.

  ‘Good morning, Inspector. The driver and fireman were kind enough to show me the cab while I was waiting here for you.’

  ‘I’m not much keen on trains myself,’ replied Ludd. ‘Waste of time hanging around for them. Give me a fast motor-car any day. That’s the future, you mark my words.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ replied Shaw with an indulgent smile. ‘Tell me, how is Mr Goggins?’

  ‘We’ve let him go,’ said Ludd.

  ‘Is he no longer a suspect?’

  Shaw untied Fraser from his post, allowing the little dog to jump up into his arms. He patted him briefly then placed him gently on the platform.

  ‘I haven’t ruled anything or anyone out yet,’ said Ludd. ‘But we got the police doctor to look him over and I doubt he’s capable of climbing a long flight of stairs, let alone clambering all over a moving train.’

  ‘That is most interesting, Inspector,’ said Shaw. ‘May I also enquire, as to the release of Mr Cokeley’s body? As his parish priest it will fall to me to officiate at his funeral, and I am anxious to begin arrangements.’

  Ludd nodded and looked around the platform briefly. ‘I’ve had confirmation from the police doctor that Cokeley died from the wound to his heart. We’ll need Mrs Cokeley to come in and formally identify the body and then once the coroner’s made a decision, we’ll be releasing his body.’

  ‘Thank you for letting me know,’ said Shaw. ‘I shall visit Mrs Cokeley today to inform her.’

  Shaw noticed that Ludd was holding the sack which he had found by the railway track. ‘Would you mind stepping inside?’ asked the Inspector. ‘A few too many prying eyes out here.’

  Shaw saw the Inspector look disdainfully at the small knot of reporters who, realising a senior officer of some sort had arrived, had begun watching the two men on the platform. There was a flash of light and a loud ‘pop’ as one of the cameramen took a photograph of them from the station forecourt.

  Shaw and Ludd went into the little station office, which was being used as a temporary operations room by the constables searching the track. The room smelled of coal dust and floor polish, and there was a constant round of ‘excuse me’s’ and ‘mind your backs’ as policemen and station staff negotiated the narrow space.

  Ludd spread the contents of the sack out on a battered wooden desk.

  ‘Where exactly did you find this, sir?’ he asked.

  Fraser barked and Shaw quietened him while putting him under the desk.

  ‘To be exact, Inspector,’ replied Shaw, ‘my dog found it. It was by the side of the railway tracks where the train stopped yesterday.’

  ‘I see,’ said Ludd, fingering his moustache. ‘And what were you doing there, may I ask?’

  ‘Going for a walk. It is a frequent route of ours.’

  ‘Ours?’

  ‘Fraser and myself.’ Shaw pointed to the dog.

  ‘Right. And is this the sack you said you saw the man threw into the undergrowth yesterday?’

  ‘I believe it could be. Although I am not sure whether he threw it deliberately or dropped it accidentally. The fact that he paused for a moment in his flight suggests the latter.’

  ‘It would seem that way,’ said Ludd. ‘We can’t tell much from this lot,’ he said, indicating the sack’s contents of blonde wig, dress and high heeled shoes, and a diaphanous pink scarf. ‘Dress has the label of an Ipswich department store in it. Probably sold thousands of them. Was this what you saw the woman on the platform wearing?’

  ‘From the brief glimpse I had of the woman, I would say yes. Have you any idea what it all means?’ asked Shaw.

  ‘At this stage all I can say is that this goes some way to explaining what happened to the mystery blonde woman. This rather indicates there never was one.’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t quite follow you, Inspector.’

  ‘It sounds a bit of an odd question, I know, but are you sure the woman you saw on the platform was a woman?’

  Shaw hesitated. ‘If I understand you correctly, Inspector, you are suggesting that it could have been a man dressed as a woman.’

  Ludd sighed. ‘I think I must be getting like my sergeant, McPherson. He’s prone to flights of fancy like this. It was a stupid idea.’

  ‘No, Inspector,’ replied Shaw. ‘I think you may have a point. I did not see the face of the…person…on the platform. Though I did notice something else.’

  ‘Yes?’ enquired Ludd with renewed interest.

  ‘I did notice,’ continued Shaw, ‘that the man running away from the train was of a small and slight build. With sufficient disguise, such a man could pass more easily as a woman than someone of, say, your height and build, for example’.

  Ludd reddened. ‘If you carry on like this, Mr Shaw, I may have to suggest you join my squad as a paid employee.’

  Shaw smiled. ‘There is one more thing, Inspector. Near to where Fraser found the sack, I noticed there were tracks in the grass and what looked like the tracks of a bicycle in the road. It may be of no relevance.’

  ‘Or it may be extremely relevant. Thanks Mr Shaw, you’ve been very helpful, although I’m sure my lads will have noticed all that already.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Shaw.

  ‘But just in case they haven’t perhaps we could drive up there in my car and have a look?’

  ‘I will be happy to show you, Inspector, but perhaps it may be more beneficial to talk not to me at this juncture, but to the only other person, alive, that is, we know of who saw the mystery blonde’.

  ‘That was the guard chap,’ said Ludd. ‘Good thinking. If I’m not mistaken I noticed him outside.’

  Ludd looked through the sash window onto to the platform. There was a loud hiss of steam as the little shuttle train prepared to leave. He turned to a police constable next to him who was sipping tea from a tin mug.

  ‘Get the guard off that train and in here quick smart.’

  A few moments later, Watkins was standing in the little office with his railwayman’s cap in his hands.

  ‘I can’t stop long sir,’ he said, anxiously, ‘
we’re off in five minutes.’

  ‘Never mind about your timetable, Mr Watkins,’ said Ludd impatiently. ‘This won’t take long. Now, you said yesterday the only other person you let into Cokeley’s compartment was a beautiful blonde woman.’

  ‘That’s right sir, like a film star, she was.’

  ‘What colour were her eyes?’ said Ludd suddenly.

  ‘Her…eyes sir? I, well, I don’t know sir. She had on them glasses, like the girls in the magazines wear. Sun glasses, I think they calls them, sort of dark, like.’

  ‘I see,’ said Ludd. ‘And did you notice what colour her lipstick was?’

  Watkins paused. ‘Well…tell the truth, I didn’t see her face much at all. She had a sort of scarf on as covered most of it.’

  ‘Like this, was it?’ Ludd took out the scarf from the sack on the table.

  Watkins’ eyes brightened. ‘That’s the very same sir. Why, has that woman been found?’

  Ludd pursed his lips. ‘I have a feeling that we’re not going to find her, Mr Watkins.’

  He turned to the porter and ticket clerk who were bustling around a corner of the small office. ‘Either of you two see a woman yesterday see a woman come through here wearing a scarf like this?’

  The two men looked at each other then at Ludd. The clerk spoke first.

  ‘I do recall a woman with that sort of scarf on, sir.’

  The porter then piped up. ‘So do I. Punched her ticket for the train yesterday. I remember it because she had it covering most of her face.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said the ticket clerk, ‘and she had on those glasses like the blind people wear. So’s you couldn’t see her eyes.’

  Ludd sighed and turned to Shaw. ‘So we’re looking for a woman who has disappeared and whose face nobody actually saw. Mr Shaw, I’m beginning to think my theory might not be so fanciful after all’.

  Chapter Eight

  T he black Morris Six squad car slid noiselessly to a stop at the end of the squalid little cobbled thoroughfare known as Railway Cuttings, Midchester. A police van blocked off the other end of the road, which was still quiet at this hour of the morning.