by Adam Carter
“I like a good gamble.”
“Then buy a racehorse. Invest in something like that and you might lose all your money, but you might make a fortune.”
“I don’t know …”
“Thought you said you liked a good gamble?”
His face broke into another annoying grin. “So I did. I like you, sir. You have a mind for this sort of thing. A racehorse, yeah. That’d be a good thing to start with.”
“Tickets, please.”
Grumbling, I found out my train pass. Why ticket inspectors have to come around during the rush hour I’ll never know. I showed the fellow my pass even as I watched the lad opposite me fumbling in his pockets for a ticket I knew he didn’t have. The inspector waited patiently, holding on in the gentle sway of the train.
“This service is appalling,” I told the inspector while he waited. “I’m late for work now.”
“It’d be ironic,” the inspector said, “if I was late for work because of the trains.”
The youth had found his ticket by that point, and it seemed he had bought one after all. He dropped it as he went to hand it over, but I caught it. Taking a quick glance to make sure it was in date, I saw he had indeed bought a single to London. So he had been telling the truth about not knowing where he was going afterwards. Still wasn’t going to a job though.
As the inspector vanished, I said to the youth, “You should think more about where you are, instead of where you’d like to be.”
“Probably. Say, you’ve been real helpful to me, Mr. A true gentleman.”
I pretended to read the paper again.
The train pulled into Lewisham soon after. I was continuing to Waterloo East, but thankfully the youth had decided to get off already. I remember thinking that was weird, since he’d bought a ticket for London and we hadn’t got that far yet. He said something about it being a pleasure meeting me; then he excused his way to the door and got off the train.
I didn’t give the young fool another thought.
The Detective
“So he went to buy a racehorse?” I asked.
His story finished, Holding had gone back to being evasive. Telling the story had helped him blow off some steam, but once he was done he had fallen back into being angry that I was keeping him from getting to work.
“I don’t know where he went,” Holding said. “All I know is he got off at Lewisham. See? I told you I didn’t know anything useful.”
“Everything is useful, Mr Holding.”
“Fine. Can I go to work now?”
“Not yet. I think it’s best we listen to all the other stories first.”
A cloud passed across his face, but there must have been some ingrained respect for the law in the man because he did not put up any further fight. Indeed, he simply slumped into his chair in the waiting room and, for want of a better word, sulked.
“Did he tell you his name?” I asked.
“I didn’t ask.”
“Tell me something about his rucksack.”
“What about it?”
“What do you think it contained?”
“How should I know?”
“Well, how was he holding it?”
“How was he holding it?”
“You said you had your briefcase on your lap, and he had his rucksack on his. How were you holding your briefcase?”
He paused. “Well, I wasn’t, as such. I just sort of sat it there.”
“You didn’t put it on the floor?”
“Floors are dirty. Besides, I like to keep it handy in case I need to open it. For my paper or if I want to go over any work.”
“So your briefcase was sitting there, fairly loose.”
“I guess.”
“And the rucksack? Was he holding it loosely? Did you get the impression he didn’t put it on the floor because the floor was dirty?”
Holding grumped. “His bag was dirtier.” He paused. “He always kept at least one hand on it. Come to think of it, he usually had them both on it. He had one of the straps wrapped around his wrist, actually.”
“So if someone made a grab for it, they wouldn’t get away with it so easily.”
“I suppose.”
“Do you value your work, Mr Holding?”
He seemed incredulous that I might suggest otherwise. “What kind of a question is that?”
“A simple one. You said you sometimes catch up on work, so you must have some work papers in your briefcase. So, do you value your work?”
“Yes.”
“And if your briefcase was stolen?”
“I’d lose the work inside, yes.”
“So, if the youth was holding onto his bag more tightly than you were your briefcase, that would indicate he valued the contents of his rucksack more than you valued the contents of your briefcase?”
Holding hesitated.
“It’s a fair assessment,” I said, informing him it had not really been a question. “And what did the young man value?”
Holding snorted. “Money.”
“So, what do you suppose was in his rucksack that he valued so highly?”
Holding’s eyes widened. “He went on about winning the lottery. You think he had money in the bag?”
“He also told you he was a gambler. Large lottery wins don’t pay out enough in cash to fill a rucksack, but perhaps gambling does.”
“That would have to have been a big win.”
“Which indicates it was an illegal game, if so much money was handed him in cash.”
“Is that why you’re after him?” Holding asked. “Because he’s an illegal gambler?”
“No. Because he’s a murderer.”
Silence fell upon the waiting room, which was precisely as I had intended. Suddenly this all became more serious to them, and even Holding stopped grumbling so much about being kept from his work.
“Perhaps we should continue,” I suggested. “You mentioned a teacher?”
“Yes, he said something weird about a teacher. His correction officer?”
I assumed he meant probation officer, although why he thought a probation officer would insist on correcting the young man’s grammar was not relevant to my investigation. “I think perhaps it was not his teacher,” I said, “just a teacher he happened to meet not long before he got on that train.” I turned to another of the four I had pulled off the train. “Perhaps you could enlighten us as to the next part of the mystery, Miss Robinson?”
Holding looked to the woman sitting next to him. She was short, pretty, aged somewhere in her thirties, and dressed smartly enough, but was not suited for the office as was Holding. She also looked uncomfortable, for which, after hearing Mr Holding’s testimony, I could hardly have blamed her.
“All right,” she said, “but I don’t think I know even as much as Mr Holding here.”
I forced a smile in order to reassure her. “Just tell us what you know, Miss Robinson, and let me be the judge of that.”
The Teacher’s Story
The train was late, but that was all right because I was running late as well so I’d already missed the one I was going for. I was standing down near the ticket office, waiting for the display screen to cycle back to the first page so I could see when the next train was going to come in. Why they have to show you all those other screens is beyond me. It was while I was standing there that someone walked into me. I stumbled, but caught myself.
“Sorry,” the man said. He was a few years younger than me, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. He looked a little frazzled, but I couldn’t picture why. It was as though he was moving away from something rather than towards anything. He was also in a hurry, but he took the time to apologise, which was kind of him. Most people running for a train just barrel through and swear abuse at you for having been in their way. Come to think of it, he didn’t even look up to the screen to see when the next train was.
“It’s all right,” I said. “I’m used to people not looking where they’re going.”
“I said
I was sorry. Are you sure you’re all right?”
The question threw me, and any anger I might have still had for him dissipated. “Yeah, I’m fine. But I meant at school I get people haring down corridors all the time.”
He looked me up and down strangely. “School? But you must be early twenties.”
I laughed. Thirty-three was more like it, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. Extending my hand, I said, “Sue.”
Something in his eyes told me he didn’t quite want to accept the hand, but I could see he wanted nothing more than to do so. After a moment he surrendered and shook. “Gary.”
I remembered some baby name polls someone had released recently. “Not a common name any more.”
“Well I wasn’t born yesterday.”
It was a good answer, and as I glanced back to the screen it was to see all the trains were now marked as ‘delayed’. “You want to grab a coffee, Gary?”
“I probably shouldn’t.”
“Married?”
“Who?”
“Uh, you?”
He pulled a face, as though it was something he had never even considered. “All right. Coffee. But I’m buying.”
I wasn’t going to argue with that. Thankfully most of the crowd waiting for the trains were still heading up to the platform, so we were able to find a seat in the coffee shop by the ticket office. Gary bought me a coffee and one of those weird caramel biscuits they sell. We didn’t talk about anything really, just stuff. I told him I was a teacher, he told me he was a student. I asked him what he was studying, but he was very vague.
“So, what do you teach?” he asked.
“English.”
“I know English.”
“Surprising what you can still learn. You headed to university?”
“Hmm?”
“The train.”
“Oh, the train. No. I have … I’m not sure where I’m going actually.”
I noticed the rucksack he’d placed against his chair leg. “Not running away I take it?”
“Sort of,” he said, sipping his coffee. “Just needed to put some distance between me and my uncle.”
“Family problems?”
“Not now.” He laughed. I smiled along with him, but I didn’t know why.
“You don’t give much away, do you, Gary?”
“Nope. Me and my uncle, we’re close, you know? Dad doesn’t like him, but that’s only because he’s been inside.”
“Ah. But now you’re running away from your uncle?”
“Yep. He had a good idea, but then he always has good ideas. It’s just I’ve never listened to them before.”
“You need any help with anything? I mean, you want me to call the police or something?”
He looked at me strangely.
“Because your uncle’s after you?” I said.
“Oh, that. Nah, he wouldn’t hurt me. We’re family.” He did not sound at all convinced.
“Well, just so long as you’re all right then.”
“I’m good.”
“Good.” I tried to work out what he was talking about, but he still didn’t seem to want to reveal much. Which was strange, because I could see in his eyes the burning desire to tell someone a secret. I could certainly have been a good sounding-board for him. “Tell you what,” I said, “I’m on my way to work right now, but what are you up to later?”
“Depends where I’m going.”
“Friday.”
“Friday what?”
“I’m free.”
He still didn’t seem to understand what I was saying, but then he suddenly got it. “Oh, Friday. Yeah, I might be free Friday.”
“Depends where you’re going,” I guessed.
“Sure. But I could come back.”
“Back from running away?”
He looked confused, which only made him more endearing.
“Look,” I said, taking up a free newspaper and a pen. “Here’s my number. Give me a call or don’t. Just make up your mind first whether you’re running or hiding or whatever.”
“I …” He looked down at the newspaper and I could see something weird in his eyes. Then he tore off the section with my number and shoved it into his jeans. “Sure I’ll call, Sue. Can’t run forever, can I?”
“Depends if you’re actually running in the first place. You sure you don’t want me to call the police?”
“Nah. Here.” He leaned down, unzipped his backpack and …
Anyway, by this time we’d finished our coffees and the trains were starting to run again, so we headed up to the platform together. At the ticket barrier someone shoved in front of me, and this guy didn’t even have the decency to apologise. To make matters worse he was wearing a uniform and I’m pretty sure he actually worked for the train company. Then my ticket didn’t go through the machine for some reason and I had to show it to the attendant. By the time I was through the barrier, Gary had disappeared in the crowd. I got to the platform and couldn’t see him anywhere, but a train was just pulling in so I jumped on board.
He was a good-looking guy, but as I looked for and entirely failed to find a seat, I thought about how he had pretty much turned me down. And I couldn’t help but feel what a jerk he was.
The Detective
“So you met a murderer and ten minutes later gave him your phone number?”
“Well at the time I didn’t know he was a murderer.”
I could not make any comment as to how good a teacher Susan Robinson was, but as a woman she certainly had a long way to go. I’m sure if I had made any such comment to Miss Robinson she would have given me a retort about it being a modern world where women were free to do as they pleased. Looking into her eyes, I could even see the words forming.
“You were lucky,” I told her.
“Who did he kill?”
“It’s probably best if I don’t prejudice you with information you don’t know. He didn’t give you his phone number then?”
“No,” Robinson said. “Oh God, that’s a point. He has my phone number.”
“Has he tried to contact you?”
“No. I’m going to have to get a new number aren’t I?”
“That depends on how many random strangers you intend giving your new number to.”
She did not look at all pleased by my comment, but that was good since it had been designed to rattle her.
“It’s interesting he mentioned his uncle,” I said, pressing on before she could say anything. “I wouldn’t have thought that was information he would be throwing around.”
“Is that the person he killed?”
“No. No, his uncle is very much alive.”
“But if you know who his uncle is, surely you must know who Gary is.”
“Yes. I know who Gary is.”
“But I thought …?”
“That I didn’t know anything before stepping into this waiting room? Believe me, I know more about this man than the four of you combined. But there was a part of your story you glossed over.”
“Was there?”
“He reached into his backpack and …? What?”
“Oh.” Robinson shrugged. “Nothing. I just meant he picked it up because we were leaving.”
“So if I was to ask you to turn out your pockets I wouldn’t find any jewellery?”
“None that I hadn’t brought out with me, no.”
“Only Mr Holding’s testimony indicated Gary had met a teacher on the platform and had given her something. Something pretty, was it not, Mr Holding?”
Mr Holding nodded, saying nothing.
“Miss Robinson?” I asked.
“All right,” she said. “So he gave me a trinket. It was a bit strange. He just unzipped his bag, reached in and brought out a brooch. Made me wonder what else he had in that bag of his.”
“May I see the brooch?”
She produced the piece of jewellery without comment and handed it over. I made a point of examining it very slowly, although I already knew precisely f
rom where it had come.
“Gary’s uncle,” I said, “reported several items missing, along with a substantial amount of cash. This brooch is one of those items. But, then, I suspect you already know that, Miss Robinson. Otherwise you wouldn’t have been trying to hide it from me.”
“I just wanted to keep it,” she grumbled. “It’s a nice piece, and it looks expensive.”
“Oh, it is.”
“So Gary robbed his uncle and ran away?” she asked.
I smiled as I slipped the brooch into my shirt pocket. The expression told her I had no intention of answering any of her questions. “Did Gary give you any indication of which stop he was getting off at?”
“No. But he got off at Lewisham.”
“So Mr Holding says, yes.”
Holding stiffened at this. “He did get off at Lewisham.”
“I didn’t mean to call your word into question,” I told him. “No, I’m just trying to piece together his movements. We know that once he left Miss Robinson he boarded the train. And, since you both got on at the same stop, we also know he went straight from Miss Robinson to Mr Holding. It’s what happened to him after he left Mr Holding that interests me now. Because I don’t believe he got off at Lewisham.” I held up a hand to forestall any further argument from Holding. “Again, I insist I am not questioning your word. But we must remember that here we are dealing with a diabolically clever young man. He’s already committed robbery and murder and now he’s talking to people as he makes his getaway. That’s a ridiculous thing to do, would you not say?” There were nods all around. “So, as a gambler, I suggest he began employing some gambler’s strategies.”
“Like what?” Robinson asked.
“Making sure the other players thought one thing, when in fact quite the opposite was true.”
After a moment’s pause, Robinson said, “I don’t follow.”
“Then we come to our third witness,” I said, casting my eyes upon the girl who had until that moment been sitting very quietly indeed. She was only fifteen years old, but carried her own rucksack which I knew was not filled with school books. She had already told me her name was Karen Ashcroft, and I had been eager to hear her side of things ever since I had gathered everyone together. “Miss Ashcroft?” I asked.