Blood on the Shrine

by Chris O'Donoghue

  -0-

  ‘Blimey! Did you see that?’ Baker dropped the corner of the sacking covering the window.

  ‘I told you not to look out the front!’ Helen snapped.

  ‘But it was the police – I swear it! Going like the clappers!’

  ‘That’s good then, ain’t it,’ Atkins said. ‘Means it’s just as we thought. Told you they wouldn’t think we’d stay so close to where we did the blag.’

  ‘Well done you for finding this place, Tommy,’ Helen said, smiling.

  ‘Can we go and look at the loot now?’ Sammy asked.

  Helen’s smile turned to a frown. ‘I told you. Not until dark. That’s only one police car, there could be more to follow.’

  -0-

  Keeping to the lanes and heading east for a couple of miles they reached the outskirts of Blackboys. Dickens slowed the car. Rounding a bend they could see a roadblock ahead, with two police cars blocking the way. ‘Mein Gott!’ Wolfgang exclaimed. ‘What do we do now?’

  ‘Leave it to me, shipmate. They won’t be expecting us to arrive in this. You keep quiet. Just let me do the talking.’ He drove up to the roadblock and wound the window down a crack; the rain was still falling heavily. A uniformed policeman wearing a helmet with a cape over his shoulders approached the car. He bent and peered through the crack. ‘Any sign of the lorry, officer?’ Dickens asked, no trace of Irish accent in his clipped tones.

  ‘Nothing so far, Sir.’

  ‘Hopefully they’re still in the area. Keep your eyes peeled. Can you let us through? We’ve got to get back to HQ.’

  ‘Of course, Sir.’ The policeman signalled to his colleague, who reversed one police car out of the way, then waved them through.

  ‘Phew! That was close.’

  Wolfgang grinned. ‘Well done. You would have taken me in too, with that accent!’

  Chapter 23

  The Bank of England £5 note was issued in 1793 to replace gold coin during the French Revolutionary Wars and remained in circulation essentially unchanged until 21 February 1957

  ‘There’s nothing else here,’ Parker said, poking half-heartedly with the stick. ‘Might as well go back to the car.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we have a look around outside, Sir?’

  ‘What, and get soaked?’

  ‘But Russell said…’

  ‘Forget what Russell said. He’s in the dry – and that’s where we should be. We can get uniform to do it when we get back.’ With that, he turned up the collar of his raincoat and set off. They retraced their steps and found their way back to the lane. When they arrived, Parker stood and looked around, baffled. ‘What the…?’ he exclaimed, realising the car was no longer there. ‘The bastards! They’ve nicked it!’

  ‘Russell is going to be furious.’

  ‘Never mind Russell. We need to get back pronto and report that the car has been stolen.’

  They arrived at the railway line, dripping wet; DC Barrow miserable and resigned, DI Parker soaked and fuming. When they reached the carriage Parker told Russell, through gritted teeth, what had happened. Russell managed to supress a smile but could not resist saying: ‘Last year, Ludwig Müller stole a police car from under your nose and now his brother’s done the same.’ Parker did not respond but the thunderous look on his face said it all. Russell just had to add: ‘I wonder why they’ve picked on you?’

  Parker looked fit to explode but managed to keep a lid on it. ‘Anyway, you’d better tell the local force to look out for a stolen police car,’ he said grudgingly.

  ‘Will do.’ Turning to the uniformed constable Russell said: ‘Beaumont, can you go to the car and ring mid-Sussex headquarters?’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘And you two, take off your wet coats and sit down. We’ve got to plan what to do.’

  -0-

  The rain continued to fall relentlessly. At the back of the farmhouse a cast-iron downpipe had come adrift from its bracket and had swung sideways. So, instead of the water going into a drain, it was discharging the contents of the gutter down through the coal chute and into the cellar. If the hatch at the top had remained in place it would have flowed harmlessly across the yard, but after Weeks’s efforts the water was now forming a pool around his body. The door at the top of the steps opened, the light from the candles in the kitchen too weak to penetrate beyond the first couple of steps

  ‘Weeks?’ Bates called out. ‘There’s some grub for you here.’ Receiving no reply he turned back to the kitchen. ‘He’s not answering. Shall I go down?’

  ‘Nah,’ Atkins replied. ‘He’s probably ’avin’ a kip.’ With that, Bates put the plate and mug on the broad top step and closed the door. Weeks lay, oblivious to the rising water. When the ladder had broken and he had banged his head he hadn’t fallen flat out but was slumped against the back of the chute in a sitting position. Even so, the water was creeping up round his thighs, pieces of wood and sack were starting to float around the floor. And still the rain fell.

  -0-

  ‘It’s getting dark. Can we go and get the mailbags now?’ Sammy asked, hopefully.

  Helen lifted the corner of the makeshift curtain and looked out. Because of the rain the light had left the sky early. Nothing was visible but the silvery stair rods falling from the sky. ‘Okay. But be careful and be quiet. And keep your gloves on!’

  Donning coats and hats the men made their way silently out through the back door and across the yard. Once the doors to the barn were open, they dropped the tailgate of the Bedford, Sammy climbed up inside and started handing the mailbags down to the others. Soon they were all heaped up in the kitchen. Wet coats and dripping hats were discarded and just as they were about to start undoing the string round the top of the bags Helen said loudly: ‘No! Stop! We need to have a system or we’re going to get in a muddle.’ The men stood back. ‘Right, that’s better. Now, open them carefully; we’ve got plenty of time. If they’ve got money in, put them over there.’ She pointed to the corner of the room by the threadbare sofa. ‘Any of the others, put over there by the table. Now you can start opening them – but don’t take any cash out until they’re sorted.’

  Her commanding voice had a calming effect and they all set to carefully, opening the bags, without disturbing the contents and putting them in their respective piles. After a while, the sacks containing just mail formed a large heap, while there were only about 10 containing cash.

  ‘Why don’t we look through the letters?’ Bates asked. ‘There may be cash or postal orders in them.’

  ‘No!’ Helen said emphatically. ‘We leave them alone. It’s too risky – too easy to trace. Let’s concentrate on the cash.’ The table in the kitchen was cleared of plates and cups and gradually became covered with stacks of bank notes. Drawing the chairs, and box, up to the table the five of them sat and patiently counted the money. It was surprisingly quiet, just the sound of rain falling out side and the rustle of paper. The cash was sorted into 10-shilling and one pound notes, plus a further pile of white fivers. It took some time, with Helen jotting down the amounts on a notepad. Eventually, it was all counted and she added up the total. ‘Not bad for a morning’s work,’ she said, sitting back and smiling.

  ‘How much?’ Baker asked, eagerly.

  ‘I make it £58,275.’

  Sammy whistled. ‘Wow! So how much is that each?’

  Helen jotted down some more figures. ‘That’s 10 grand each, after expenses of course.’

  Bates furrowed his brow, then broke the silence. ‘What expenses?’

  ‘Well…’ she said, ‘there’s my contact at the station who gave us the gen on the train, his mate at Brighton, who sorted out the carriage, then various other odds and ends. Don’t worry, it’s all accounted for.’

  ‘What about him, down there?’ Baker pointed to the cellar door.

  ‘Him? Weeks? He gets nothing of course.’

  ‘Apart from his just desserts,’ Atkins chortled.

  ‘Quite. We need to decide what to do with him. H
e knows us all, plus he knows where I live, or rather, where I used to live…’

  ‘What do you mean, “where you used to live”?’ Baker asked.

  ‘You don’t think I’m going back there, do you? It was all very nice but I only rented it. I’m going somewhere different.’

  ‘Oh, yeah? Where are you off to then?’ Sammy asked, his eyes sliding around nervously.

  Helen chuckled. ‘I don’t think I’m going to say. The less you know about what we all do from now on, the better it will be for all of us. It’s been great fun, but I think this is where we go our separate ways; where our friendship ends.’ And, before anyone could protest, she said, ‘Right, let’s sort the money out and put it into individual bags and label them so we know whose is whose. We don’t want to get it muddled up with the other bags. Then it’s time we had a party to celebrate. And don’t worry about overdoing it, we’re not going anywhere until nightfall tomorrow.’

  After they had divided the cash, they put the bags in the corner, away from those containing letters. Then the bottles were opened. The evening went from civilised toasts to hearty congratulations to raucous singing and joke telling. It was the early hours of the morning before, bleary eyed, they started setting off for bed. No one had noticed that although Helen had kept her glass topped up, the level had hardly gone down. She had joined in the laughter and frivolity with as much gusto as the rest of them but remained stone-cold sober. Atkins was the last of the men downstairs. ‘Thanks very much for all the help you’ve given me. I couldn’t have done it without you.’ She reached forward and pecked him on the cheek.’

  He looked a little bashful. ‘Are you sure this is where it ends, where we say goodbye?’ he asked.

  ‘Afraid so, Tommy. You don’t need me. If you want to do another job I’m certain that you’re quite capable of doing it on your own. Anyway, you get off to bed. I’ll have a tidy up down here before I turn in.’

  ‘Okay. Night, Helen.’

  ‘Night, Tommy. Pleasant dreams.’ She waited until she was sure that he and the others were settled; the only sound, Bates’s stentorian snoring. Then, making as little noise as possible, she went out of the door and spent a few minutes in the barn. Once back in the kitchen she began working on the mailbags.

  -0-

  Weeks woke in darkness, panicking. He had the mother of all headaches; he was sitting in water, soaked from the waist down and had no idea where he was. Gingerly he stood and edged blindly along the wall. As his feet moved through the water, pieces of floating debris threatened to topple him, but he managed to keep his balance. Then he bumped into something fixed and solid – a step. Leaning forward and balancing with his hands he ascended the stone staircase until he came to the top, broad step, where he touched a plate. Feeling along its surface his hand touched something soft. He picked it up. Bread. He realised how hungry he was and in a few bites it was gone. Feeling round again his hand came to a cold cylinder. It was a mug. He lifted it to his lips and tasted tepid tea. Even so, he drank it down, still with no idea where he was. His headache seemed to become worse after his exertions. He put his hands either side of his head and groaned. The pain became overwhelming and he slumped on to the step, unconscious. He knocked the tin plate and it clattered down the stone staircase.

  Helen heard the noise, alarmed that someone was coming downstairs. Then she realised it had come from the cellar. Cautiously, she unlocked the door and opened it. The sight of Weeks lying in a crumpled, sodden heap, with a trickle of blood on his neck, made her heart freeze. She crouched down and put the back of her hand to his cheek. Warm, thank God. Putting her hand round the back of his head she could feel an egg-shaped lump through the thick hair. Gently she shook his shoulder. He groaned. She shook him a little more forcefully. He blinked and struggled to sit up.

  ‘Where am I?’ His slowly eyes focused and Helen’s face swam into view. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Don’t you know?’

  ‘No. Why, should I?’

  ‘And you’ve no idea where you are?’ He shook his head. The effort seemed to be too much, he slowly toppled over and his eyes closed. Helen got to her feet and fetched a dry blanket, returned and draped it over the sleeping figure. Her smile was one of relief. It looked like they wouldn’t have to silence him after all.

  -0-

  Dickens turned right on to the Lewes road and they drove south. Within half an hour they were approaching the outskirts of the town and the rain was easing. ‘There’s a bit of waste ground between the railway tracks and the river. We’ll dump the car there and make our way to the station. It’s not far. D’you think you’ll be able to make it?’ He glanced at his companion.

  Wolfgang gave a wan smile. ‘I should think so, although I wish I hadn’t left my stick behind.’

  ‘Don’t worry, my friend, I’ll give you a hand.’

  Just as Dickens had said, they reached a patch of scrubby land, covered with straggly grass, spindly trees and untidy bushes. He drove the car in as far as he could then switched off the engine and they got out. For good measure he locked the door and threw the key into the nearby water. ‘But won’t they be looking for us in the railway station?’

  Dickens chuckled. ‘Judging by how inefficient they’ve been so far, I doubt they will yet. However, I have a plan that should fool them. When we get there, you wait outside while I get the tickets.’ The rain had now stopped and after a short while they had reached the station and climbed the steps of the footbridge. ‘You stay here and I’ll come and get you.’ Holding his head high and squaring his shoulders Dickens marched up to the ticket office, passing a uniformed policeman who didn’t appear to give him a second glance. He bought two tickets for Brighton and went back to join Wolfgang.

  ‘Right,’ he said, ‘this could be tricky. There’s a bobby standing by the ticket office. He doesn’t seem to be looking out for anyone but we need to be careful.’ They stood for a while, watching until the PC walked across to the vacant ticket window and started chatting to the clerk. ‘Come on. Now!’ He gripped the little German’s elbow and steered him to platform four. They descended the steps and waited until the train came in.

  There was only a handful of passengers and they paid the couple no heed. Once on the train they sat quietly as it pulled out of the station. ‘But why are we going to Brighton?’ Wolfgang asked eventually.

  ‘We’re not,’ Dickens whispered. ‘That’s part of my plan. When the police enquire at the ticket office they’ll think Brighton is where we’ve gone. But we’re going to get off at Falmer and double back.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’

  In only a few minutes the train pulled into Falmer station and they left the train and crossed the footbridge to platform two. Soon another pulled in, they found empty seats and, within 15 minutes, the train was pulling into Newhaven station. Luck was with them as the ticket collector was absent so they walked out of the station unchallenged. Crossing the bridge over the river, it was only a short walk before they were back at the yard. ‘There we are shipmate. Told you my little ruse would work. Now all we need to do is lie low for a few days, then we can resume our quest to spring your brother.’

  -0-

  The detectives sat in the carriage discussing what they planned to do, until it became too dark to make out each other’s faces clearly. Because of the rain, night had come early and it was decided there was little point in continuing the search. Scant progress would be made until daylight and besides, the railwaymen were keen to move the train so that normal services could be resumed. Lewis and his team had dusted the van for prints and looked around for clues but were doubtful if they would come up with anything. The robbers had been too careful. ‘So, tomorrow,’ Russell said, ‘we start at the crack of dawn.’ Parker groaned. ‘Oh come on, it’s not been a bad day for you. Oh, apart from losing your car.’

  ‘All right, all right. You’ve had your fun. What do you want me to do?’

  ‘To start, I think you and Barrow and a couple of the local PCs s
hould go house to house around Framfield; knock on a few doors and find out if anyone has seen anything. The roadblocks are in place and the local force is checking the railway stations in the area. I’m going to get the police up at Victoria station to haul this Simon H fellow in for questioning. If nothing else we can get him for aiding and abetting and, you never know, he might be able to help us track down the villains. I think that’s about covered everything for now. I suppose you’d like a lift back to Collinghurst? I’m afraid you’ll have to share the car with my mutt…’

  -0-

  Despite Dickens’s confidence to the contrary the policeman at Lewes station had spotted him. When he spoke to the clerk he found that the Irishman had bought two singles to Brighton. He telephoned ahead to warn the police to keep an eye on the passengers leaving the train on platform eight. It wasn’t long before he received a call saying that there had been no sign of the fugitives. Then he struck lucky. He rang the stationmaster at Falmer who informed him that two figures had alighted from the Brighton train, crossed over the bridge and caught a train in the opposite direction. The policeman speculated that they had gone all the way to Newhaven and, sure enough, when he telephoned it was confirmed. The ticket clerk he spoke to said he’d had to leave his box briefly but, as he came back, he saw two small figures – one scruffy, the other limping - go through the barrier and disappear into the night. The PC called Collinghurst police station and passed the information on.

  -0-

  Russell was glad to see the back of Parker and Barrow when they arrived at the station. The conversation had been stilted but the atmosphere had been thick with the fumes from the full-strength cigarettes that Parker insisted on smoking. However, as Russell walked through the foyer, Wickstead called him over. ‘I’ve had a message from a particularly diligent officer,’ he chuckled. ‘He should go far.’ He then went on to report what he had been told.