Scott Johnson, Boot and Shoe Maker. Scott was in the doorway on one side, his son, William, was on the other. They wore the leather aprons they worked in. In between stood a fellow wearing a brown suit and a bowler, and sucking on a long clay pipe. They were all three watching me, and Scott Johnson was nodding in my direction while saying something to the smoking fellow, as if he'd just pointed me out.
They watched me cross the dusty road, and my feet and their heads were the only things moving in Thorpe-on-Ouse. And there was no noise but for the unseen river and the twisting sound of one bird singing.
In the pub, I said to Bill Dixon, who kept the Fortune.
'Any idea about the new hand at Johnson's?' 'What new hand?' he said. 'There was a fellow in the doorway with 'em just now.' 'He'd be having a pair of boots made.' 'Why would he be staring out into the street? It just looked rum, that's all.' 'If he was in the doorway, he'd be staring out or staring in,' said Bill Dixon. 'He'd have to be doing one or t'other, do you take my meaning?' He went off upstairs and I was quite alone in the pub, trying to picture the Police Gazette face of the man who'd be waiting for me the following day in the Big Coach. After dinner – corned beef, fried potatoes and a pot of tea -1 had a bit of a kip on the sofa, and when I woke up it was four o'clock and the wife was standing over me with a telegraph form. The Chief had got my report; he wanted me in the next morning at six once again.
PART THREE
The Big Coach
Chapter Ten
Chief Inspector Saul Weatherill was sitting back in his chair, scratching his scraps of hair and yawning, and the more he scratched the more he yawned. 'But was any offence committed other than by yourself?' he said, at last. I thought for a moment. The gaslight shone blue and white – the colours of coldness – and steam rolled from our mouths. The chief sat in his overcoat, as before, and (also as before) looked as though he wouldn't be stopping. 'Well this, sir,' I said, indicating my eye, although there was hardly anything left to see. 'The one I've called the Blocker belted me, as I said.' Weatherill had turned up late, and it was now 6.35 a.m.; the fish train was in, having arrived early, and we could hear the crashing all along Platform Three. 'So what's going off tonight?' he said, over the racket. 'As I said in the report, sir, I can only make a hazard as to that.' 'Where exactly did you say that in the report?' he said. 'At the end, sir.' He nodded thoughtfully, looking at the two pages of the report, which lay folded on his desk. Next to these was a small envelope. He slid it over to me, and there was a goods yard pass, made out in the name of Gordon Higgins. I'd set out in my report my reasons for requiring it, but still the chief said, 'Why do you want it, again?' I thought: wake up, can't you? 'I want it because I've told 'em I've got it. It's just my way of getting a leg in.' I looked down again at the goods yard pass. 'Why Gordon Higgins?' I asked. 'Why not?' said the Chief. 'You wanted a made-up name, and they don't come much more made up than that… Reckon it could be another railway job?' he asked, leaning forward, suddenly keen. 'I reckon it is, sir.' 'If it's not, of course, we father it on to Tower Street.' A great roaring from Platform Three checked us for a moment, then silence – the fish train had gone, leaving only the sound of the Chief breathing through his 'tache. Presently, he stood up. 'You'll go along to meet this new fellow, and see what's what.' 'Any idea who it might turn out to be, sir?' 'Have I any idea?' he said, quite amazed to be asked. 'Me?' He fished a stack of newspapers out of his desk. 'A few of the local lot have picked out Shillito,' he said, pitching across to me a heap of newspapers tied up in brown paper. They were all Police Gazettes. 'Commit the faces to memory, and you might find you recognise one tonight. Chuck 'em away when you've done. We have more than enough copies of each edition. Remember,' he added, walking towards the door, 'keep your mouth shut as far as possible and your eyes and your ears open.' I could have done with some advice of a more specific nature. 'If my lot do nothing more than make a plan this evening, then that's conspiracy, isn't it?' 'It is,' he said, nodding, 'and it will be open to us to indict them for that.' 'And will we?' 'Reckon we'll get 'em for the act, eh?' he said. 'That generally goes better in court.' It was the answer I deserved. I had been trying to bring the matter to an early end, and had been doing so out of funk, but the chief didn't seem to have noticed. He didn't seem to have noticed anything, really. Only now he was giving me a good, hard look up and down. 'It really is a shocking suit,' he said, from by the door. I put the glass-less spectacles on. 'And they set it off to a tee,' he added. 'They make you look like a fellow whose woodcut was circulated to us just before Christmas: Herman van… summat or other. He'd come over by steamer from Rotterdam.' 'Oh yes, sir?' I said. 'Fellow was a sodomite,' said the Chief, scratching his wisps of hair. 'Still is probably, because we never caught him… I'd bring you into the hotel for bacon and eggs, lad, only it wouldn't do for us to be seen in company.' 'Not to worry sir,' I said, 'there's plenty of dining rooms along the river'll see me right.' He was about to make his breakaway, so I said: 'I wanted to ask you about the Camerons, sir – the pair that were done in by the goods yard.' He looked at me without any trace of expression. 'That's Tower Street,' he said at length. 'Do you want it to be Tower Street, sir?' He looked at me steadily for a while, and for a moment I thought his temper would give way. But he just gave a sigh, walked around to the mantelpiece and lit a cigar. Leaning on the mantelshelf he began smoking, still looking at me directly and saying: 'Do you realise how much work we have on here?'
'No,' I said.
'Make believe for a minute that our job is just the policing of this railway station. Now, there are fourteen platforms and it is the biggest railway station in the country. It is also the busiest. Besides the engines of the North Eastern, it receives those of six other companies, and if our duties as an office were just confined to crimes committed within the station we would be over our ears in work…'
Ash was falling from the cigar on to the Chief's open coat, on to the suit beneath. He paid it no mind. The suit wasn't up to much, but he wore gentleman's boots. He turned at the mantelpiece – a giant of a man really, and case hardened.
'… The next thing to imagine,' the Chief continued, 'is that we are responsible solely for the railway matters carried on within York as a city. York is the administrative centre of the Company, it's also the geographical centre; the Company is the biggest employer of its men by far, and the city has its racecourse, its market, and is a holiday ground in its own right. Shall I name you one thing in York that's not to do with the railways?'
'Go on then,' I said.
'Go on then?' he said. ''Go on then, sir', you mean.'
'Go on then, sir.'
'Well I can't,' he said quietly, 'which just proves my point.'
'What about York Minster, sir?' I said, but he ignored me, saying: 'York alone would stretch us to the very limit and beyond, but it's not just the station, and it's not just York. You see, lad, in theory we cover about a third of the Company territory but in practice, should any affair begin on our part or finish up in it, then that's very likely to be ours as well. The fact is, we look to the whole of the North Eastern railway for our work, and this is the biggest railway in the country in geographical extent and it's the biggest carrier of goods and people…' He pitched his cigar into the cold grate, and began moving his arms. '… Berwick to the north, Hull to the fucking east, Carlisle to the west, Sheffield to the south. Five thousand route miles of track, seventeen docks; sixty-eight million passengers carried in the last year alone…' 'There's one more thing I think we should be looking into,' I said. 'Oh, for crying out loud,' said the Chief. 'Richard Mariner. He was night porter at the Station Hotel here, and he committed suicide.' 'How do you know about that?' he said sharply. 'It was on the front page of the Yorkshire Evening Press, sir. He was a railway employee – so was one of the Cameron brothers and I'm wondering whether what happened to them was to do with the matter that I'm investigating.' 'But we don't know what you're investigating,' said the Chief. 'That's why you're bloody investigating it.' 'The Camerons were shot near the goods yard…' 'Outside it,' he said, 'and don't you forget.' 'Two bits of business in the file that you gave me were carried on in the goods yard. Richard Mariner worked at the hotel, where another of the jobs was done.' The Chief said nothing. 'Can I go to the hotel, and ask questions about Mariner?' 'I'll do it,' he said, very quickly and surprisingly as he adjusted his coat. He was striding towards the outer door of the Police Office now. 'Come on,' he said, 'time you were out of here – bring those papers.' On Platform Four, I was saying good morning to the Chief under the
