Blood on the Shrine

by Chris O'Donoghue

  He looked up, his eyes slightly unfocused. ‘Have you come to take me away?’

  ‘Yes, lad, that’s right.’

  Weeks smiled dreamily. ‘The nice lady said someone would come for me. Is she still here?’

  Parker frowned. ‘Lady? What lady? They were all men here, weren’t they?’

  ‘I didn’t see any men – just the lady. She had glasses and nice eyes.’

  ‘Helen McDermott, Sir,’ Barrow said. ‘Russell told us she was involved with the gang.’

  ‘Did he?’ Parker thought for a moment. ‘Oh, yes. I do recall something about that now. Anyway,’ he was all business-like, ‘let’s get this chap out of here and off to hospital. Better let Russell know he’s okay.’

  -0-

  Russell received the news with relief although he was concerned about Weeks’s mental state. He rang the hospital his DC had been taken to and was reassured that the amnesia was probably only temporary, caused by the bump on the head. Apart from that he appeared to be fine. Russell promised to visit as soon as he was able. Meanwhile, he had Wolfgang and Dickens in custody but was going to let them stew while he went over to Uckfield to see Atkins and his cronies.

  When he arrived he found that Bates and Sammy were in separate cells but was told, that for some reason of his own, Parker had decided to have both Atkins and Baker together in the interview room. Russell opened the door. ‘Can I have a word?’

  Parker stubbed out his cigarette and got laboriously to his feet. ‘Just keep an eye on them,’ he said to his DC, ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’ Closing the door behind him, he said, ‘What is it, Russell? Can’t you see I’m in the middle of an interview?’

  ‘That’s what I want to speak to you about.’

  ‘Oh, yes?’

  It’s not usual to interrogate two prisoners at the same time…’

  ‘Are you questioning my methods?’

  ‘I suppose I am.’

  ‘Well don’t!’ Parker said crossly. ‘I know what I’m doing.’

  ‘Okay. Well do you mind if I sit in? It is my case, after all.’

  Before answering Parker took a battered packet of Capstan Full Strength out of his pocket, withdrew a crumpled cigarette and lit it. Blowing smoke towards the ceiling, he sighed. ‘I suppose not. Just don’t interfere. It might have started out as your case but as I’m sure you’ve got your hands full with those other two over at Collinghurst I’m actually helping you out.’ Russell raised his eyebrows but didn’t reply. Parker spoke again. ‘Come on then. You’ll have to stand, as it’s a bit cramped. I’d be grateful if you’d keep your mouth shut and let me do the talking.’ Refusing to rise to the bait, Russell just nodded.

  ‘Right. Can you explain what you’re doing with a van-load of mailbags?’ Atkins and Baker sat without speaking, their arms folded across their chests. ‘Okay, tell me what you were doing at the farmhouse?’ Again, silence. There was a knock at the door. ‘What is it?’ Parker asked tetchily.

  A PC poked his head round the door. ‘Can I speak to you for a moment, Inspector?’

  Parker looked round. ‘Is it important?’

  ‘Could be, Sir.’

  ‘All these interruptions. We’re never going to get anywhere. Do you want to find out what this man wants, Russell?’

  ‘Of course. Leave it to me.’ He walked out and joined the PC in the corridor and leaned against the wall. ‘What is it lad?’

  ‘We’ve just been looking through those mailbags we took out of the van and we’ve found something rather strange.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘We haven’t found any money yet.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘So far they really are just mail bags, filled with letters and parcels.’

  ‘That’s definitely a bit strange.’

  ‘What’s even stranger is that four of the bags have labels with names on them; Tommy, Butcher, Laurie and Sammy.’

  ‘And no cash?’

  ‘Not a penny.’

  ‘Then where is the money?’ Russell looked thoughtful. Then a slow smile spread across his face. ‘Helen…’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘I think I know where the money has gone. Now for some fun.’ He stood upright and reached for the door handle.

  ‘Before you go in, Sir. There’s just one other thing.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘You know that Elsdale, the man who fell on the wooden spike, didn’t make it, Sir?’

  ‘Yes, that was sad. I only met him briefly but he seemed quite a nice chap. What of it?’

  ‘I don’t think they know – in there.’

  ‘Oh. That’s interesting. Thanks for telling me.’

  Back in the interview room Parker had still made no progress, the two felons continuing to refuse to speak. ‘What did the constable want?’ Parker asked.

  ‘Oh, he told me a couple of interesting things. Do you mind if I say something to the prisoners?’

  Parker slumped back in his chair. ‘Feel free. I’m not getting anywhere with them.’

  ‘Right, thanks.’ Russell addressed Atkins: ‘It seems the bird has flown – with the loot.’

  Atkins scowled. ‘Bird? Loot? Dunno what yer talkin’ about.’

  I haven’t got the exact figure but the raid on the train should have netted you over fifty thousand pounds.’

  ‘Still don’t know what yer on about.’

  ‘I think you do. We’ve looked through the mailbags and the trouble is, the money’s not there anymore.’

  Baker sat up abruptly. ‘What?’

  ‘Shut up!’ Atkins growled.

  ‘But…’

  ‘I said keep it shut!’

  ‘Not much of a robbery when someone else goes off with the cash,’ Russell continued.

  ‘What are you on about?’

  ‘Yes, what are you driving at?’ Parker added.

  Sonny smiled. ‘It seems that four of the bags had name tags on them, two of them yours.’ He pointed to Atkins and Baker. ‘But they contained nothing but letters.’

  ‘Whaaat!’ Atkins said, jumping to his feet.

  ‘Sit down!’ Parker commanded. Barrow got up and pushed Atkins back in his seat.

  Parker turned to Russell: ‘Come on then, tell us what happened to it.’

  Russell walked over and leaned forward, resting his knuckles on the table. He looked straight at Atkins. ‘All along we thought this was your job. You were the brains behind it. But that’s not the case, is it?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’ Atkins folded his arms again.

  ‘I think you do… Yes, you were heavily involved in the organisation. It was you who brought the gang together. Yes, it was you who found the farmhouse hideaway and, I suspect, you who supplied the sawn-off shotguns we found.’ Atkins stuck his jaw out belligerently but said nothing. ‘But someone else was the main boss. And she’s got all the money.’

  ‘Why, the dirty, double-crossing, b.…,’ Baker began.

  Atkins silenced him. ‘I said shut it!’

  Parker was watching with interest but hadn’t spoken so Russell walked round the table then went on: ‘I’ve got another bit of information you might be interested in.’ Atkins showed no response, but Russell continued: ‘Yes, it’s a rather sad piece of information. Your friend, Dave…’ Atkins looked up then. ‘…Dave Elsdale. Well I’m afraid he didn’t make it.’

  Now Atkins reacted. ‘What? Waddyer mean, didn’t make it?’

  ‘He seemed to be recovering but two days ago, he died.’

  ‘What!’ He leaped out of his chair, knocking it to the ground and put his hands round Baker’s throat. ‘You bastard! You killed him!’ Choking, Baker tried to prise his hands off but Atkins clung on tightly all the time yelling: ‘Bastard! Bastard!’ It took the combined efforts of Barrow and Russell to pull him away and force him back in his chair where, to prevent further attacks they linked his arms behind him with handcuffs.

  Baker sat, massaging his throat. ‘I didn’t mean to k
ill him, he just fell,’ he said miserably.

  ‘You pushed him. Helen told me.’

  ‘But not hard.’

  ‘It don’t matter. He was my best mate. An’ now he’s dead. I’ll get you for this!’

  He tried to stand but Russell roughly pushed him back down. ‘So, not only have you lost your best mate, but you’ve also lost all your money. Now, are you going to start talking?’

  The revelations had opened the floodgates and both men started freely answering the questions put to them. When Baker told them about the Triumph sports car that Helen had gone off in Russell left the room, saying: ‘It’s probably too late but I’ll get the description circulated and tell them to look out for it at the ports.’

  -0-

  As they approached the ferry terminal at Dover, Helen turned to the man in the driving seat. ‘Do you know, Simon, I’m really going to enjoy spending all that lovely money with you.’ She snuggled up to his shoulder. ‘Where shall we go? Monte Carlo?’

  He put his arm round her shoulder, steering with one hand. ‘Anywhere you like, my darling. The world is your oyster.’

  A worried look crossed her face. ‘You don’t think I made that phone call too soon, do you?’

  Simon laughed. ‘No. The speed they work at it’ll take them ages to find out where you left that copper. When they do, he won’t be able to tell them anything anyway.’

  ‘But what about Tommy and the others?’

  ‘Oh, they’ll be well away by the time the police get to the farmhouse. I’ll tell you what. They’re going to be furious when they find out you switched the mailbags!’

  She was quiet for a while. ‘There’s something I didn’t tell you.’

  The tone of her voice made him wary. ‘What haven’t you told me?’

  ‘I, um, arranged it so they’d be delayed in leaving.’

  ‘Ha! What did you do?’

  ‘I let the tyre down.’

  ‘Is that all? That wouldn’t take long to sort out.’

  ‘I let the spare down, too.’

  He laughed. ‘I’d love to have seen their faces when they discovered that.’

  ‘But maybe they didn’t get away before the police turned up.’

  ‘They’re bound to have done.’

  ‘But what if they didn’t?’

  ‘So what? You don’t feel sorry for them, do you?’

  ‘No, of course not. But what if they tell the police about me going away with you?’

  ‘I think that’s highly unlikely. Stop worrying.’

  They had now reached the customs control booth. Simon handed over their passports. The uniformed man peered in through the car window and examined him and Helen carefully. Despite her normally calm demeanour, she could feel panic rising. After what seemed an age the man nodded and handed the passports back. Simon drove on. She could feel sweat trickling down between her shoulder blades. ‘Are you all right, darling?’ he asked.

  ‘I think so. I don’t know what came over me. I was convinced he was going to stop us.’

  ‘You’re worrying too much. As I said, Mr Plod will take forever to work out what really happened. And by then we’ll be miles away.’ They joined the queue of vehicles waiting to board. The ferry was festooned with lights, lit up like a Christmas tree in the dark. It wasn’t long before they were driving up the ramp and into the hold. Soon they were on their way across the Channel, to a new life.

  -0-

  ‘Tell me Johnny, how’re you feeling?’ Russell was sitting at Weeks’s bedside in the hospital. He was leaning forward, a look of concern on his face. A brown-paper bag of grapes – unopened – sat on the side cabinet.

  Weeks had a bandage circling his head; his unshaven face was pale, but his eyes were clear. ‘Not too bad, thank you. Are you a doctor? I don’t remember seeing you before.’ His brow was furrowed with puzzlement.

  Russell chuckled. No, I’m not a doctor. Are you sure you don’t know me?’

  Weeks stared at the other man. ‘Mmm. You do look familiar – I think.’

  ‘I reckon you need a bit more rest. Then I’m sure you’ll remember.’

  ‘Yes, you’re probably right. I do feel a bit sleepy.’

  ‘I’ll leave you in peace then, but I’ll come back tomorrow.’

  ‘That’ll be nice.’ With that Weeks closed his eyes, lay back on the pillow and turned his head away.

  Russell quietly got up and left the room. Outside, in the corridor, he found a doctor. ‘Excuse me, Can I ask you about Johnny Weeks?’ He pointed back toward the room.

  ‘Are you a relative?’

  ‘No, I’m DI Russell, his boss.’

  ‘Ah, I see. What did you want to know?’

  ‘He didn’t recognise me. Is that normal?’

  ‘He has had a nasty bump on the head. But you shouldn’t worry, people suffering from amnesia can take a while before they start returning to normal. But nine times out of ten they regain complete recall.’

  ‘Then I shouldn’t worry?’

  ‘No. I’m sure he’ll be fine. Come back tomorrow and maybe he’ll realise who you are.’

  Postscript

  ‘I’ve just heard from a customs officer at Dover, Sonny. A Triumph TR2 in British Racing Green drove on to the Boulogne ferry half an hour ago.’ Wickstead said.

  ‘Who was in it? Russell asked.

  ‘A man and a woman.’

  ‘I don’t suppose he remembers their names?’

  ‘Sorry Sonny, he doesn’t.’

  ‘Then it might not be them, damn!’ He paused. ‘Wait a minute though. Get on to the ferry company. They’re bound to have a record of the tickets.’

  A few minutes later Wickstead called him over. ‘The booking clerk at the ferry company has just been in touch. The tickets were in the names of Helen McDermott and Simon Hargreaves.’

  ‘Bingo!’

  ‘But the ferry’s gone now.’

  ‘Yes, but it hasn’t arrived yet. Get me Inspecteur Bruissement’s number in Boulogne.’

  -0-

  After a smooth crossing, when they had enjoyed a meal in the first-class restaurant, Helen and Simon made their way down to the car deck. Arms round each other, they were blissfully happy. Once back in the TR they joined the queue of cars, disembarking from the ferry. As they drove down the ramp they were waved over to one side by a Gendarme. ‘Anything the matter?’ Simon asked.

  There was a tap on the passenger window. Helen wound it down. A smiling face with a luxuriant moustache peered in. ‘Mademoiselle McDermott, I presume?’

  THE END

  BLOOD ON THE TIDE

  by Chris O’Donoghue

  When a gruesomely mutilated body trussed up in a distinctive fashion washes up on a lonely stretch of the south coast in the 1950s, DI Sonny Russell is soon struggling to unravel an intriguingly knotty puzzle. And as more bodies, similarly tortured, appear he begins to realise that, for some at least, the war is far from over. A trail of intrigue leads him to Europe where he befriends a French detective and together they set out to track down the villains.

  Blood on the Tide is a story of the sea and boats, murder and Nazis that begins in a sleepy coastal backwater and takes the reader through post-war France and Germany.

  Chris O’Donoghue trained in industrial ceramics at Bournemouth Art College and worked at Poole Pottery and Cranbrook Pottery in Kent before setting up on his own in Rye. He later specialised in model making and sculpture. When much of the kind of work he did began to be made in the Far East, Chris, having always loved the outdoors, decided on a change of direction and started gardening. His design ability led him to create three medal-winning gardens at the Chelsea Flower Show. A lifetime’s passion for the sea, crime novels, the simple pleasures of the Fifties and railways – he is well known on the model railway scene – led him to combine all three in this, his first published book.

  www.chrisodonoghue.co.uk

  The first DI Sonny Russell mystery

  BLOOD ON THE TIDE


  is available from Amazon or direct from the Author

  A third DI Sonny Russell mystery,

  BLOOD ON THE STRAND

  will be published soon