Murder At Deviation Junction

    After an interval of silence, Bowman continued, 'The money meant we could make the down payment on the new house in Lumley Road.'

    Another pause.

    'It is not near the railway line.'

    I scrambled to my feet. The floor was too cold to sit on.

    'I walked for hours about Saltburn when Small David had left the hotel,' Bowman was saying.

    'Conscience,' I said.

    'I was on the lookout for a pub.'

    'They don't run to 'em there,' I broke in. 'The place is built on temperance lines.'

    'I suspected some such infernal lunacy. I went back to the hotel and drank off half a bottle of whisky while staring out to sea.'

    'You weren't to know they meant to harm Peters.'

    'If you want to tell a man he's come into money,' said Bowman, 'then you don't need a fellow the size of Small David to do it.'

    A long beat of silence.

    'Peters was delayed setting off for Stone Farm that morning,' Bowman went on. 'He'd been buying film in Saltburn. He rode on the same 'up' train as Small David, who began talking to him; told him there was something of interest in the woods beyond the station. Small David went for the camera. Well, that camera was everything to Peters, so he fought back.'

    Silence for a space, before Bowman added, 'He was killed as a consequence. Strangled, if you ask me; and then strung up to cover the traces. A clever notion, you'd have to agree. Small David's quite cute, you know. For example, he gave over the money to me right in front of the steward of the bar, making a big show of what he was about, and of course I was lost from then on: aider and abettor, accessory after the fact, accomplice - every damn bad thing beginning with A. If they were discovered, I was discovered.'

    The rest of the tale came to me quickly across the few feet of darkness that separated us.

    'Falconer's body was recovered from lineside - it ended in a blast furnace somehow,' said Bowman. 'Lee was done a little while later.'

    Not many days after that, the Scot had pitched up outside the offices of The Railway Rover and taken Bowman to the Highland cottage, our late prison. Marriott had taken the place not so much to avoid the police as to avoid questions. It seemed he had the idea that, while the Middlesbrough railway police were not pursuing the matter, the town police might well do.

    In the cottage, Small David had put the frighteners on Bowman, so as to make him see the sense of walking carefully. He had then been permitted to return to Wimbledon and Fleet Street, and to the pubs of both districts.

    The two Marriotts stayed mainly in the Highland cottage; Small David came and went. He kept a place in Middlesbrough, where he was known in all the low places. Marriott had opened a banking account in Helmsdale, and Small David would accompany him there once a month so that he could receive the money directly it was withdrawn. He had already received most of Marriott's fortune for his part in the killing of Lee, for that had been dangerous work.

    The first special edition on the North Eastern Railway having been abandoned, it had been Bowman's suggestion that The Railway Rover try again. Like Marriott, he had a kink that made him always return to the matter of the murder. He had been through Stone Farm on the train many times before the occasion of our meeting, horribly fascinated by the place, but never having the brass neck to get down and look about.

    'That was all terrible enough,' said Bowman from his own part of the darkness, 'but it wasn't until I met you that matters began to really disintegrate.'

    'Don't mention it, mate,' I said, moving towards the strip of light at the bottom of the door.

    I took a flying kick at the door; then another.

    Nothing happened, and the first inklings of a thirst were on me. I was hungry too, but that did not signify.

    How long could a man survive without water?

Chapter Twenty-nine

    'Small David would happily have shot you in your own house, your place of work, anywhere' said Bowman. 'He's very free and easy like that, you know. It was Marriott that wanted you brought up here.'

    A beat of silence as I sized up the door.

    'He did it to save you from Small David.'

    'Well, he has a funny way of saving people,' I said, and I ran at the door again.

    'I suppose he thinks he's given us a sporting chance,' said Bowman.

    'The only thing for it,' I said, 'is to dig underneath.'

    'To think that we're here just because a man opened a window,' said Bowman.

    I moved towards the line of white light, and began feeling about for any loose stone that might serve as a tool. Bowman gave a hand. There was no loose stone, but I found the edge of the giant flagstone placed at the foot of the door. Its edge was about level with the edge of the door, and I began trying to work away the earth around it, but as this was frozen solid, it was no easy job. I could only chip away with my finger ends. There wasn't room for Bowman to help, so he sat back against the wall.

    The stone was fast; I was scraping away only a few crumbs of mud at a time; and even if I got it out, I'd only have six inches of daylight under the door. A crawling space would need to be three times that.

    Bowman's voice came out of the darkness.

    'I could use a drink, you know.'

    I worked on.

    'Not that sort of drink,' Bowman ran on. 'If we get out of this fix, I mean to stop that lark for good and all.'

    I would have to stop digging shortly; it was agony to touch the cold stone, and when I pressed my fingers to my cheek they trailed the fast-drying wetness of blood.

    Bowman was saying, 'I think I'll go back to writing "Whiffs", if anybody will have it. Simple facts, simply put over. I enjoyed that.'

    I pulled at the stone.

    '"How does an engine re-water?'"

    I pulled again at the stone and it gave slightly.

    '"The secret of a travelling lavatory.'"

    I could prise it up a little way now ... But I must have a rest.

    '"Why do locomotives have two whistles?'"

    I rolled away from the doorway.

    'Any joy?' said Bowman.

    'I'll go at it again in a minute,' I said, breathing hard and flexing my hands.

    'Want me to try?'

    I shook my head, not realising that he couldn't see me. It came to me then that Bowman must be in a double darkness, having lost his specs.

    'It'll be Christmas soon,' he said.

    'Six days,' I said.

    'Jesus was born in a manger,' said Bowman. 'Did you ever hear of anybody dying in one?'

    'I expect there've been plenty,' I said. Then: 'I've no bloody gloves.'

    'Here,' said Bowman, 'take mine. I'm holding them out before me just now.'

    I found his hands, and I found his gloves.

    I went back to the scraping and chipping around the stone with a will.

    'It's coming up,' I said, after a few more minutes.

    I pulled at the stone and it rose up. I could feel the size of it: about two foot by two foot. I worked it away from the door and felt the space I'd created: an area of cold snow and cold air. I'd done nothing but create a draught. I pressed down, and for the first time felt it was all up with me, for there was another wide, smooth stone underneath, and no room for further digging. I rolled away from the door again.