Murder Aboard the Flying Scotsman

by Lee Strauss

  “What about Mr. Doring?”

  “He’s taken sick leave, though I’m not certain Scotch counts as a medicinal concoction.”

  Ginger sympathised. “Some people can’t cope with the sight of blood and gore. And this death was particularly gruesome.”

  “Indeed. Though I can’t help but wonder if Mr. Doring’s poor disposition is perhaps due to a guilty conscience.”

  The next day Ginger and Basil drove to the scene of the crime. Two officers were posted at the sidelined carriages. Basil showed his police identification.

  “We’re going to have a walk along the tracks,” he said.

  Ginger, bundled in her fur-trimmed wool coat and matching hat, braced against the chilly breeze. At least the sun poked out from behind the clouds every so often for a flash of warmth. She led Boss along on his leash.

  After a half-hour walk, they had found nothing but bits of litter tucked in along the tracks and a stray cat meowing at being disturbed.

  “If our Mrs. Simms tossed her cane out of the window,” Ginger said, as she scoured the ground, “she would’ve done it closer to London than York. She went missing whilst we were dining.”

  “I thought of that too,” Basil said. “Sullivan’s got the railway police on the lookout.”

  With no luck at the crime scene, they headed back to Doncaster. When they reached the road near the railway exchange where the bag swap occurred, Basil pulled over, parked, and a new search for evidence began. Ginger was afraid they were going to, once again, end up with nothing, when Boss started to sniff the dirt with urgency.

  “What is it, Bossy?”

  Boss whined then sat back on his haunches. He wasn’t about to move until Ginger discovered what he’d found. She bent down and saw this spot was a mite darker than the rest. “Basil, I think we have blood.”

  Basil knelt, carefully gathered a small patch of stained gravel, and put it in an evidence bag. “I’ll get Dr. Chapman to confirm whether it matches our victim’s. I’m surprised the officers who patrolled this area didn’t see it.”

  “The weather was nasty. It wouldn’t have stood out like it does now that the ground has dried. Besides, it was Boss’s discovery. We wouldn’t have seen it otherwise.”

  “It’s a wonder the blood didn’t wash away.”

  “Perhaps there was more that did.” Ginger climbed the steps to the podium. “There are a couple of spots on the wood here too, where the bag would’ve been hanging.”

  “Strange, that,” Basil said. “I would think the post bags would have been sealed in case of bad weather or other eventualities.”

  “Yes, and Dr. Chapman said that Mr. Wright had been killed before his head was removed, and therefore, there wasn’t a lot of blood.”

  Basil gave her a look of interest. “The killer’s blood, then?”

  “Perhaps he cut himself on something.” Ginger searched for a nail or protruding object that might’ve caused the injury but found nothing.

  “I’ll have to get samples from Mr. Pierce and Miss Dansby,” Basil said.

  Ginger sighed. “I suppose you must.”

  “It might not be a match, which would be evidence in their favour.”

  “One can only hope.” Ginger said. But if the sample didn’t belong to one of them, whose blood was it?”

  Further investigation found nothing and a repeat of their performance along the tracks in York garnered the same.

  “We still don’t know how Mrs. Simms—whoever she, or he, might be—vanished into thin air,” Ginger said. “I can only conclude that the person we met was in disguise, which would explain the cane tip. But where did the rest of the costume go? And who was wearing it?”

  “This is a bizarre case, indeed,” Basil said with a shake of his head.

  “Do you think Mr. Wright’s lawyer might’ve shown up with the safe key?” Ginger asked.

  “Let’s go to the police station and find out.”

  Chapter 27

  Constable Mulgrew confirmed that the Wright family solicitor was on his way and if they left soon, Ginger and Basil would likely arrive just as he did.

  Basil was getting his bearings in York, and the drive to Mr. Wright’s house was easy to navigate. He reached for Ginger’s hand and kissed it.

  “I like us working together like this,” he said.

  “You just like keeping an eye on me,” Ginger teased. “Admit it.”

  “Well, that part is true.”

  Basil had confessed his concern and worry about Ginger and the dangerous situations her private detective work got her into. He wished she would stop. He didn’t mind that she worked. She had her dress shop to keep her occupied. The problem was his new wife was too intelligent—and too experienced—to be satisfied with a more traditional role.

  He knew this about her when he let himself fall in love. He knew this about her when he asked her to marry him. He knew he’d signed up for a lifetime of concern for his curious and courageous wife.

  It was unconventional for an officer of the law to consult his wife, but Ginger, before they were married, had proved to be invaluable. Her intuition, her eye for detail, indeed, all the covert skills she’d acquired through her mysterious work in the Great War had proved beneficial. She had a natural way with people—they put down their guard and opened up rather than clamming up like they did when he did the interviews on his own.

  Ginger squeezed his hand back. “I like keeping an eye on you too.”

  “Then it’s a beneficial situation for both of us.”

  Constable Mulgrew’s prediction was correct. Just as they pulled up, the solicitor arrived in a flashy motorcar—pale green with gold-plated chrome.

  Basil whistled his approval. “That Morris Oxford is a beaut. This bloke doesn’t work for nothing that’s for sure.”

  As they all approached the front entrance, Basil made introductions. “I’m Chief Inspector Reed of Scotland Yard. I’m in charge of this case. This is my associate, Lady Gold.”

  Basil grinned in Ginger’s direction, and she held on to a smile that threatened to break out.

  “I’m Mr. Briggs. Mr. Oscar Wright’s solicitor.” The man was angular with deep-set hooded eyes, one of which held tightly to a monocle. “I understand you wish to get into my client’s safe.”

  “That is correct,” Basil said.

  The door was answered by Ronald Wright himself. A cigarette hung from the corner of his mouth, and Ginger wondered if he would let the long ash fall to the parquet flooring.

  “Jolly good,” he said. “I’m dying to get to the bottom of this.”

  A standing ashtray inside the study received the ashes just in time. With another billow of smoke, Mr. Wright said, “There’s an inquest, of course. Just got a telephone call. Tomorrow, two o’clock.”

  Ginger made a mental note. Their honeymoon would be postponed for a few more days yet.

  “Shall we get to it?” Mr. Briggs said.

  Ronald Wright made a show of opening the wardrobe doors and revealing the safe. Mr. Briggs removed a key from his pocket and put it in the lock. It felt as if everyone was holding their breath as the solicitor turned the key.

  Click.

  “I’ll remove the items,” Mr. Briggs said, “and lay them on the table. I’ll be itemising them for the record.

  “Oh Lord,” he said when he looked inside. Mr. Briggs’ eyes widened, and his monocle dropped from its position and dangled from the string around his neck.

  Ronald Wright wasn’t patient enough to wait for his solicitor to remove whatever was inside. He elbowed his way in, nearly knocking Ginger over. His mouth gaped.

  Basil, huffing with impatience, stepped in front of the safe, allowing Ginger room to peer inside.

  “Oh mercy,” she said. Along with a few legal papers were several bars of gold.

  Chapter 28

  “Well, I’ll be damned!” Ronald said. “He always told me the company profits had to go back into the company. I’ve lived beneath my peers whil
st Father was sitting on twenty bars of gold?”

  “It’s quite likely these are stolen, Mr. Wright,” Basil said, staring hard at the man. “Are you certain you knew nothing about them?”

  “I swear on my mother’s grave. Father never talked about his past. Water under the bridge, he’d say.”

  Basil faced the solicitor. “What about you , Mr. Briggs? We you aware of the contents of Mr. Wright’s safe.”

  “Certainly not. In fact, he was very tight-lipped, which I found rather annoying, to be honest. His instructions were very clear that no one was to open the safe except with his consent and in his presence. Of course, now that he has passed away, his verbal request is no longer binding.”

  Ginger stared at Ronald.

  “Don’t look at me,” he said, flashing his palms. “Father confided in me least of all. Lord knows where he’s hidden his copy of the key. I certainly don’t.”

  Ginger mused: Does the son of the dead man protest too much?

  Standing on the tips of her glossy red, gold-embossed, Russian-influenced shoes by Gronberg, Ginger stared over Mr. Briggs’ slumped shoulders. “Are those official change of name papers?”

  Basil nudged his way in and picked the documents up. “It appears that Oscar Wright was born with the name Simon Fowler.”

  “That’s odd,” Ginger said. “Why would he change his name?”

  Basil turned to the son who looked sincerely baffled. “Let me see those!”

  Basil handed the document to the solicitor who gave them to Ronald. The younger man shook his head. “I had no idea, and I’ve got no idea as to why.”

  “I think I have,” Basil said. His eyes darted to the gold bars. “Simon Fowler was part of the group involved in The Great Gold Robbery of 1855.”

  “That robbery, again?” Ginger mused aloud.

  Ronald Wright sniggered, his eyes bright with hilarity. “Are you serious, old chap? My father, a train robber? Had I known that I might’ve actually respected the man!”

  “Crime is not to be respected,” Basil said.

  Ronald had the sense to look sheepish. “Well, no, I just meant he had gumption, that’s all.”

  “Mr. Briggs,” Basil said. “Kindly lock the items in the safe and then give me the key. Mr. Wright, the police shall stay on site until the contents can be collected. Please don’t leave town.”

  Once they were in the motorcar and driving back to the police station, Ginger said, “Mr. Ronald Wright’s shock seemed sincere. It amazes me the kind of secrets that are kept in families.”

  “Indeed.” Basil adjusted the rearview mirror. A horse and carriage pulled in behind him. “It brings up the question: does this gold have something to do with Wright’s demise?”

  Basil and Ginger had returned to the police station hoping to interview Miss Dansby, Pierce and Burgess again. Basil excused himself briefly to make enquiries and when he returned he said, “Apparently our suspects have called on their solicitors and refuse to see us.”

  Ginger pouted in that way that made Basil’s pulse beat a little faster. If it weren’t for this blasted case—

  “What about Mr. Burgess?”

  Basil removed his trilby and returned it, forcing himself to get his mind back on task. “I think he wants to make a deal.”

  “Hopefully that desire shall make him eager to talk,” Ginger said.

  As they waited for the interview to be arranged, Inspector Sullivan called out. “Chief Inspector! I’ve got news on your cane.”

  “What is it?” Basil asked.

  “The railway police found a black cane discarded by the tracks near Huntingdon. It’s on its way to the lab here in York. I’ll let you know once the fingerprinting has been done.” Sullivan grinned like the cat who had eaten the canary. “I’ve got more good news. Burgess has agreed to see you.”

  Mr. Burgess’ Adam's apple appeared to climb and descend an invisible ladder. Ginger thought he looked like a guilty man. She also knew from experience that looks could be deceiving.

  Basil seemed to notice the man’s nerves too. “Do you need a glass of water?” he asked.

  Mr. Burgess cleared his throat. “If you don’t mind.”

  Basil nodded to the officer standing guard by the door. He returned shortly with a cup of water and gave it to the suspect.

  “You know you have a right to have a solicitor present,” Basil said.

  “I can’t afford no solicitor,” Burgess spat, disregarding the admonition.

  Basil flipped to a new page in his notebook. “The courts shall assign you one.”

  Burgess shook his head belligerently. “I was framed. No solicitor can prove that. I need the likes of you to help me.”

  “What makes you believe you were framed, Mr. Burgess?” Ginger asked.

  “Ain’t it obvious? I’m sitting here, ain’t I? I didn’t kill no one.”

  Unflustered by Mr. Burgess’ outburst, Ginger continued, “But you conspired to steal the Pennington jewels.”

  Burgess shrugged. “Sure, I’ll put my hand up to that one, but it ain’t no murder. Those posh nobs have enough money, it wasn’t like they’d miss a beat in their good life, once a day of bemoaning their bad fortune had passed.” He made a face. “There’s some who need it more.”

  “Like you?”

  Mr. Burgess shrugged again. “I’d like to retire.”

  “We’re gathering evidence that could convict you of murder,” Basil said. Ginger knew it was a bluff—they had nothing close to it—but Mr. Burgess didn’t know that.

  “Like I said, I’m being framed.”

  “By whom?” Basil asked.

  Mr. Burgess laughed dryly. “Some old biddy, that’s who. Shows up at my door one day, says she has an offer I can’t refuse.”

  Ginger leaned in. “A Mrs. Simms?”

  “That’s right. Completely batty if you ask me.”

  Basil shared a quick look with Ginger before saying, “She came to your house?”

  “That’s right.”

  “How did she know where you live?” Ginger asked

  “She knew a lot of stuff about us that she shouldn’t know.”

  Basil scribbled something down, then asked, “Is she blackmailing you?”

  “Well, sort of.”

  Tapping the tip of his pencil on the table, Basil said, “It’s rather hard to be sort of blackmailed, Mr. Burgess. Either you are or your aren’t.”

  Mr. Burgess patted his forehead with a well-used handkerchief. “It’s like this. She comes to my door, asks to speak privately. Says she knew my father. Has something on him and thinks she can implicate me. She even asked if I had his blood in me. I asked her what she meant by that. Course I have my own dad’s blood in me. I ain’t adopted.”

  “Who’s your father?” Basil asked.

  “James Burgess. He was a railway guard, like me.”

  The name sounded familiar. Basil frowned as he tried to recollect why.

  “Ha! You’re trying to remember, aren’t you? My dad was tried for train robbery,” Burgess offered.

  Basil’s eyes widened as the facts clicked in. “The Great Gold Robbery?”

  Basil gave Ginger a meaningful glance. This is the robbery Mrs. Simms’ had referred to on the Flying Scotsman, he thought.

  “That’s right,” Mr. Burgess said glibly. “He served his time. Got quite a beating whilst in prison. Couldn’t work when they let him out. Me and my brother got saddled with taking care of him and my mother.

  “Why would the railway give you a job?” Ginger asked.

  “Why not? It weren’t me that robbed the train in ’55. I was just a little ’un. But come to think of it, I think good ol’ Dad did grease some palms to get me in if you know what I mean.”

  “So, Mrs. Simms appeared out of the blue and offered you a chance to steal the Pennington jewels,” Basil stated.

  “That’s right.”

  Basil grinned as if he were impressed. “The Great Train Robbery of ’24?”

  “Co
uld’ve been, I suppose,” Mr. Burgess returned smugly. “Would’ve made the papers anyway.”

  Basil continued to press. “You would’ve liked that.”

  “Sure, but it ain’t like my name would’ve been in them. We weren’t supposed to get caught. We met at Pierce’s place at least a dozen times to go through every detail.”

  “Why did you get caught, Mr. Burgess?” Ginger asked.

  “You know why? That damn head.”

  Ginger seemed unperturbed by the swearing. Basil knew she’d heard far worse in the war. “And you didn’t kill Mr. Wright.”

  “I did not. I was on the train.”

  “Mr. Wright was killed the night before.”

  “Oh, well.”

  Basil leaned back and looked Mr. Burgess in the eye. “Where were you two nights ago from dusk to dawn?”

  Mr. Burgess laughed. “Sleeping like honest folk do.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Ginger asked.

  “I wasn’t in no shed chopping off a man’s head.”

  Basil narrowed his gaze. “Who said Mr. Wright was killed in a shed.”

  “Just a guess, sir,” Mr. Burgess said quickly. “Just a guess.”

  Chapter 29

  Ginger and Basil returned to their hotel room to prepare for the inquest. Boss lay on the bed as Basil waited on the pincushion chair. Ginger sat at the dressing table mirror applying her makeup. “The train robbery of 1855,” she began as she added dusky shadow to her eyelid, “was before my time, of course, but I’d heard about it, naturally. There are plenty of train robberies in America as well.” Ginger’s mind flashed to her childhood home in Boston. “Father shipped steel via the railways and was a victim once himself.”

  “Mrs. Simms brought up the train robbery of ’55 when she first entered our compartment,” Basil said. “I’m beginning to think that wasn’t happenstance.”

  “I agree, darling,” Ginger said. “She was playing with us. It was her first move.”

  “And now we find that the victim was one of the robbers,” Basil said.