Blood on the Shrine Read online

  ‘No!’ Weeks had little trouble feigning surprise.

  ‘Told him it couldn’t be. If it was the law they would ’ave ’ad ’im for jaywalking!’ Atkins guffawed. Weeks quickly joined in the laughter. Almost instantly, Atkins was suddenly serious. He leaned forward. ‘We need to get a lorry.’

  ‘Why, are we doing the job soon?’

  ‘That’s right.’ He tapped the side of his nose in a familiar gesture. ‘Yeah, I reckon we’re good and ready.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Now I thought I knew where to get one, but the bloke who was getting it for me ’as let me down.’

  ‘Oh, that’s a nuisance.’

  ‘It’s more than that – it’s a bugger. I won’t be forgetting that in an ’urry. An’ I don’t just mean ’e’ll be off me Christmas card list, neither, if you get me drift.’ Again the tap on the nose.

  ‘So, have you got another plan?’ Weeks asked innocently.

  A grin spread across Atkins’s face. Butcher Bates, who had remained impassive during the exchange, smiled too, his piggy eyes all but disappearing in the soft folds of his fleshy face. ‘It’s about time you proved that you’re genuinely part of the gang.’ Atkins prodded Weeks’s chest with his finger. ‘You’re gonna find a lorry.’ He sat back in his seat, picked up his glass and took a large swig. He put the glass down and belched. ‘Ooh, pardon!’ he said, with mock politeness.

  Weeks, momentarily stunned, said: ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes, you. Didn’t you say you drove one in the Army?’

  Weeks was surprised he’d remembered. ‘Yes, but…’

  ‘No buts, mate. Would’ve thought you still ’ad some contacts.’

  Weeks thought fast. ‘We-ell, I might have…’

  ‘Good. Then you get it sorted. If you don’t, we’ll just ’ave to look for one ourselves - and for another driver. Get my drift? I ain’t got room for no baggage. An’ I tend to dispose of me bags when they’re no use to me any more…’ Atkins’s smile didn’t reach his eyes this time.

  -0-

  The heat from the coal stove was warming the room nicely and Russell was happily dozing in his armchair, the little terrier lying across his lap. Rubenstein’s version of the Chopin preludes was playing quietly on the radiogram. Suddenly the peace was interrupted by a loud knocking on the front door. Immediately Aggie pricked up her ears then leapt to the floor, letting out a single bark. ‘Quiet!’ Russell commanded, rising stiffly from his chair and walking across the room. He opened the door to find Weeks, who appeared even more dishevelled than usual, a look of panic on his face. Russell stood back and held the door open. ‘Come in, lad. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

  ‘You’ll never believe it, Sir…’

  ‘Try me. Oh, and sit down. I’ll get you a drink. Looks like you need one.’ He went to the cupboard and took out a bottle of Jameson Irish Whiskey and two glasses. Pouring a generous measure into each, he passed one to the DC who drank half of his in one gulp. His face turned puce and he had a coughing fit.

  ‘Calm down, lad. You’ve obviously had a shock.’

  Eventually Weeks stopped coughing and as the whiskey worked its magic he seemed calmer. The dog jumped on to his lap and settled down. That seemed to help. ‘You can say that again, Sir. Not only did Baker think that he’d seen you but Atkins has asked me to find a lorry!’ He went on to explain what had passed between them in the pub.

  Russell sat quietly for a few moments, sipping at his drink. ‘Mmm. I can see why you were surprised. Why did he think you’d be able to get hold of one?’

  ‘Some time ago I’d told him that I’d driven a three-tonner when I did my National Service and he assumed I’d still know people in the Army.’ Weeks drained his glass.

  ‘And don’t you?’

  ‘No. All the fellas I was in with have gone on to do other things. I don’t know anyone who stayed on as a regular.’

  ‘But you do know someone in the Army now.’ Russell smiled and got up to refill their glasses.

  ‘I do?’

  ‘I’m surprised you don’t remember. I thought you were the one with the photographic memory – never forget a thing.’ Russell sat down again.

  Week hit his forehead with the heel of his hand. ‘Of course! Must’ve been the shock that made me forget. Captain Valiant.’

  The previous year, Captain Valiant, of the local bomb disposal unit, had become embroiled in the case involving the two Germans and the grisly murders. It turned out that his number two, Private Rankin, had been even more heavily involved and subsequently had served a term in prison.

  ‘He owes us quite a big favour.’ Russell said. ‘I would imagine he can find a lorry for you. We’ll pay him a visit tomorrow.’ He stifled a yawn. ‘Unless you’d like another…’ He held up his empty glass.’

  Weeks looked sheepish. ‘Sorry, Sir’ I’ve disturbed your evening.’

  ‘That’s all right lad. I’m just feeling a bit weary. Come and get me in the morning.’

  -0-

  Weeks drove the Wolseley up to the barrier in front of the barracks. A uniformed soldier, holding a Lee-Enfield rifle loosely across his body, strolled up to the car. Weeks wound the window down and the soldier bent down towards the opening. Russell leaned across, holding out his warrant card. ‘We’re here to see Captain Valiant.’

  ‘Is he expecting you, Sir?’

  ‘No, but I’m sure he’ll see us.’

  ‘I’ll just have to check. Won’t be a moment.’ He stood up and walked across to a small guardhouse. The policemen could see him making a telephone call. In a couple of minutes, the soldier came out and walked across to the red and white striped barrier, pushed down on the weighted end and waved them through. They motored along the Tarmac roadway between the neat barracks and Weeks brought the car to a halt outside the last building. Walking up to the door Russell knocked on the plain wood panelling.

  ‘Enter,’ a voice called from inside. Russell turned the handle and they walked in. ‘How nice see you both.’ Valiant stood up from behind his desk and held out his hand. ‘Please, sit down.’ Although in his late 30s Valiant had the build of an athlete and looked younger. He’d been a bomb disposal officer for some time and was reckoned to be one of the best. He had an easy manner and liked things ship-shape, as his almost bare desk showed, the few objects neatly lined up.

  The two policemen sat opposite him. ‘I understand that Rankin is back with you,’ Russell said.

  ‘That’s correct.’ Valiant looked serious. ‘It took a lot of string-pulling, I can assure you.’

  ‘He was charged with aiding and abetting, wasn’t he?’

  ‘Yes. Luckily the CO spoke up for him in court – talked about his good character and how he was an invaluable asset when dealing with UXBs. That got his sentence reduced to 18 months. He was released after nine for good behaviour. Not surprising really. He said that prison wasn’t so much different from the Army – just without the uniform.’

  ‘And is he a reformed character?’ Russell asked.

  Valiant guffawed. ‘I should say so! That brush with death, when he went into the harbour at Nottery Quay with Ludwig Müller, scared the living daylights out of him. He always was good at his job, but now he’s excellent.’ The Captain sat back and smiled. ‘Anyway, enough banter, what can I do for you? I’m rather intrigued as I can’t think of any reason for you to be here.’

  Now Russell smiled. ‘We’ve come to ask a favour of you.’

  ‘Ask away. I’m sure I owe you one or two.’

  ‘We need a lorry, preferably unmarked.’

  Valiant looked surprised. ‘Something wrong with the Wolseley?’ he asked.

  ‘No, it’s just fine. This is a little delicate. The purpose we need it for is not strictly legal.’ Weeks looked quizzically at his boss. Russell looked back then nodded. ‘In fact, it’s not legal at all.’

  ‘I’m even more intrigued now.’ Valiant leaned forward, an eager look on his face.

  ‘I trust I can rely
on your discretion?’

  ‘Absolutely. What is said in here, stays in here.’ He got up, walked to the door and turned the key on the lock. ‘Just in the unlikely event that someone walks in unannounced,’ he said, as he made his way back to his seat.

  ‘Right, I won’t give you all the details – it’s as well that you don’t know everything. Suffice to say that Weeks here,’ he nodded towards the DC, ‘has been asked to acquire a three-tonner for a certain job.’

  ‘And this job is, how shall I say, not within the law?’

  ‘Quite.

  ‘Hmm.’ Valiant was momentarily lost in thought. ‘After a few moments he spoke again. ‘Getting a lorry won’t be a problem, but explaining its disappearance may well be.’

  ‘Oh, you’ll get it back,’ Weeks said.

  ‘That’s as maybe, but if it’s going to be used for some sort of nefarious purpose, I can’t just lend it to you, can I?’

  ‘I suppose not.’

  ‘What if it appeared to have been stolen?’ Russell asked.

  ‘Yes, I suppose that’s a possibility,’ Valiant said slowly.

  ‘Look, if all goes to plan, the lorry will come back unscathed after a few days. Could you cover for that long?’

  ‘For a few days, yes, but any longer… I don’t know.’

  ‘But are you willing to take the risk?’

  Valiant pause again, and then appeared to make up his mind. ‘Yes of course. I’m sure I can trust you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Russell said, rising from his chair. ‘We’ll be in touch.’

  -0-

  ‘So, matey, ’ave you sorted out a lorry?’ Atkins and Weeks were alone in their usual corner in the Queen’s Head. It was quiet, just how Atkins liked it. The early evening drinkers consisted of a pair of old chaps playing dominos and a travelling salesman sitting on a stool at the bar, looking miserable. Business must be bad.

  ‘I have,’ Weeks said, lifting his glass to his lips.

  Atkins slapped him on the back, just as the DC was taking a drink. He sprayed beer across the table, making Atkins roar with laughter. The two old codgers barely glanced up, more intent on their game. The salesman didn’t even react, just stared into the middle distance, his hands cupping his glass.

  ‘Well done! I knew you wouldn’t let me down. Now I can tell you a bit more about the job.’ He took a neatly folded piece of paper out of his inside jacket pocket and opened it on the table, smoothing out the creases. It was similar to the map that he had given to Baker, just as carefully drawn but without the cross marking the farmhouse. ‘Right, this is the plan. You drive the lorry to Uckfield and park up here, in Hempstead Lane.’ He pointed to the location. Then, just before the 10.15 train from Uckfield to Buxted is due, you open the gate and park the lorry on the level crossing.’ A horrified expression crossed Weeks’s face. Atkins patted him on the arm. ‘Don’t worry, the train ain’t movin’ very fast by then, just a walking pace, an’ anyhow, you’re gonna stop it.’

  ‘B-but how?’ Weeks stammered.

  ‘You’re gonna run down the track, wavin’ a lantern. I’ll make sure you have one.’

  Weeks relaxed enough to say: ‘Like in The Railway Children?’

  Atkins frowned. ‘You what?’

  ‘It’s a book by Edith Nesbit.’ Atkins looked blank. ‘She’s buried at the churchyard in St Mary in the Marsh, the other side of Compass Point.’

  ‘Nah, still don’t get it.’

  Weeks was getting quite excited. It was one of his favourite childhood reads. ‘There’s a landslip in a cutting and the children run up the track and stop the train…’

  Atkins shook his head sadly. ‘Don’t mean a thing to me. You know your trouble? You read too much.’ He sighed. ‘Anyway, that’s what you do.’

  ‘O-kay,’ Weeks said slowly. ‘What then?’

  ‘The rest of us will be ’iding along the side of the track, an’ we come out as soon as the train ’as stopped. Two of us deal with the driver an’ the fireman, another sorts out the guard. The two crewmen from the engine are asked politely…’ He chuckled. ‘…They’re asked politely to make their way to the guards van, where we lock the three of them up. Then Sammy – ’e’s not called Screwdriver for nuffink – picks the lock on the wagon holding the money.’ He paused and took a drink from his glass. ‘Meanwhile, you go back to the lorry and move it off the crossing and wait for us to load it up. Then you drive it to our hideout.’

  ‘Which is where?’ Weeks asked.

  ‘Now, now. You don’t think I’m gonna tell you that, do you?’ Atkins raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips.

  Weeks shook his head. ‘No, I guess not.’

  Atkins punched him on the arm. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll find out soon enough.’

  ‘When are you going to do the job?’

  Atkins frowned. Don’t you mean when are we going to do the job?’

  ‘Sorry, yes, that’s what I meant,’ Weeks said quickly.

  ‘Hmm. You’re part of this now, and don’t you forget it.’

  ‘No, of course not, I just wasn’t thinking.’

  ‘Not like you. It’s seems you’re always thinking!’

  Weeks responded with a weak smile. ‘When is this going to happen?’

  ‘Next Tuesday.’ Atkins said smugly.

  ‘What?! So soon?’

  ‘Is it a problem? You said you could get a lorry.’

  ‘Er, yeah. Yes I did.’

  ‘And can you get it for Tuesday?’

  Weeks quickly recovered. ‘Yes of course I can. No problem.’

  ‘That’s all right then. Now. This is our last meeting before the job. I’m off to get things sorted out down there.’ He pointed vaguely at the map. ‘There’s still quite a few loose ends to tidy up.’

  ‘How will I know if the job is definitely on?’

  ‘You make sure that you’re in here on Sunday at seven. I’ll ring you – let you know if there are any last minute changes. Oh, and by the way…’ he leaned in conspiratorially. ‘…just before there’ll be a call from another party. You take the message and pass it on to me. Okay?’

  Weeks nodded. ‘There’s only one thing.’

  ‘Yes?’

  You haven’t told me how much I’m getting?’

  Atkins smiled. ‘I wondered when you’d get round to askin’ about that.’

  Weeks felt it was time to be a little bolder. ‘I’m taking quite a risk, running up the track with a hulking great steam train bearing down on me…’

  ‘’Ere, I told you it’ll only be goin’ slow.’

  ‘That’s as maybe. It’s still a risk and I’ve got to supply the lorry.’

  ‘Fair enough. ’Ow does 10 grand sound?’

  Weeks was stunned, but managed to keep his cool. ‘Is that what everyone else is getting?’

  Atkins smiled again. ‘Somethin’ like that.’

  ‘So the total haul is in the region of £50,000?’ Atkins nodded. ‘How can you be certain?’

  The other man’s mood changed. ‘Now look ’ere,’ he growled, ‘you’re bleedin’ lucky to get that. I’ve taken you on face value right from the start. I’ve defended you when the others have started questioning me about using you – an outsider. An’ I’ve never checked up on what you’ve said you’ve done.’

  Weeks held up his hands. ‘Fair enough Tommy, I was only asking.’

  ‘That’s all right then. Jus’ don’t get above yourself. Now, are we going to ’ave another pint or what?’

  Chapter 11

  The previous year

  Poliomyelitis, usually known as polio or infantile paralysis, is an infectious disease caused by the poliovirus. It can result in muscle weakness, most often involving the legs.

  ‘Now I think we’ll just take this off,’ Doctor Baxter said. ‘I presume I have to undo these buckles?’

  ‘Yes, it’s quite simple.’ Wolfgang said. ‘Would you like me to help?’

  ‘No,’ Baxter said sharply. ‘I think it best that you stay lying s
till.’ The doctor fumbled with the straps, eliciting a painful gasp from Wolfgang, which he ignored. ‘There, done. Now let’s see how much movement you have in the leg.’ He bent the withered limb at the knee and Wolfgang cried out. Baxter lowered the leg again. ‘Ah, it seems there is very little natural articulation. I’m not sure if we can easily do anything about that. But let’s not dismiss it just yet. First off we’ll take measurements and do some calculations.’

  He turned to his desk and, opening a drawer, produced a steel tape measure. Turning back to his patient he extended it and measured Wolfgang’s leg from hip to foot. When the cold metal touched his already chilled flesh he flinched. Again the doctor seemed oblivious to his discomfort. After repeating the exercise on the sound leg he went back to the desk and wrote down some figures on a pad.

  ‘I think we may be able to something about the difference in length with surgery.’

  ‘What does that entail?’ Wolfgang asked.

  ‘It is quite simple. Effectively we break the bones then extend them using steel pins.’

  ‘Is it safe?’

  ‘It is at the forefront of this type of procedure but I believe the results have been encouraging. You may get dressed again. Oh, and put your brace back on too.’

  ‘How many such operations have you carried out?’

  ‘Me? Oh, I don’t think that is relevant.’ He waved a hand dismissively. ‘But I know that it has been successful in a number of cases.’ Before Wolfgang could question him further he went on quickly: ‘But you must understand, it will be quite expensive.’

  ‘Money is not a consideration,’ the little man said as he sat up. ‘I would just like to have more mobility.’

  ‘I think we can be sure you will notice a big difference.’

  Wolfgang struggled to get off the couch. ‘When will you be able to do it?’

  Baxter offered no help but sat at his desk writing. ‘Quite soon, I would think,’ he said, without looking up. ‘If you leave your details at reception, I will be in touch when we have a slot.’