Murder on the Cathedral Express (The Ralph Chalmers Mysteries Book 9) Page 12

  A few days later Ralph got a call from Linham. He told him that they had arrested a man at the Mall Galleries who was suspected of having been involved in the deaths of three people and an attempt on the lives of Sir Robin Goodman and Mario Santori. He said that the man had been identified by staff from the Steam Dreams tours company as having worked on the two trains where the judges were poisoned, and as being the man who joined the train at Cambridge. The police had found a packet of cyanide in his pocket. The man had not admitted anything. He was also wanted in France for killing a bank guard and in Czechoslovakia for murdering a witness in a corruption trial. Linham told Ralph that he could now relax, and thanked him for his help. Ralph, for his part, was glad that it was all over. He would ring Katie that evening and tell her the good news. Then he would call Molly Riley and let her know that the murderer was in custody.

  But something still niggled him about Jenchic Dvosnich. Ralph still wondered if he had been instrumental in setting this whole thing up and hiring the man whom the police had now arrested. Linham had said that the man was wanted by the Czech police so there was a definite connection. But if he refused to say anything, and the police had no evidence with which to charge him, they might even have to release him.

  That business in Prague with those thugs that had attacked him and Katie had shaken him up. Perhaps he should forget all about it and just concentrate on his teaching and getting more sailing weekends on Gypsy Lady. That would certainly get Katie’s vote. He switched out the light, punched his pillow and turned over. What he needed most was a good night’s sleep.

  _______________________

  Chapter 10

  “Hey Ralph. It’s Peter. We thought it’s about time you and your good lady had a night out on the town. Our guests, of course.”

  Ralph had just finished writing an outline for the book he had been angsting over for the past few months. He was not yet at the Edvard Munch state of ‘venting the infinite scream passing through nature’ as some had phrased it, but close. Katie had told him to just tell Pradeep that he had other things to do and didn’t have time, but he felt that his pride was at stake. He was not a quitter.

  “That sounds great, Peter. What did you have in mind?”

  “I have it all planned. The tickets are already tucked away in the old sock drawer.”

  “Are you going to tell me what we’re doing, or is it a surprise?” He knew that he was just tired but he couldn’t help feeling annoyed with Peter for just coming straight out with it.

  “It’s a concert at the Albert Hall. The guy who runs the place owes me a few favours. His daughter has just graduated and he’s over the moon. She’s damn good and I recommended that he talk to a pal of mine at the Royal College of Music where I studied. Well she starts there next year. Anyhow, the bottom line is that we have free tickets for ourselves and a couple of friends. And not to put too fine a point on it, old sport, you look like you could use a break.”

  “You’re right. To be frank, I’m a bit frazzled, what with teaching and this book thing I’m working on, not to mention all the drama witnessing those murders, and Katie’s been overdoing it lately too, in my opinion. And before you say it, I know about pots and kettles. But yes, It would be good to get out. Besides, we were just saying the other day that we hadn’t seen you and Marcia for ages. How’s she doing, anyhow? What with her reinvention as a modern day supermodel.”

  “You’re certainly right about pots and kettles, Ralph. I was only saying to Marcia the other evening that you two should get married and sail round the world together. She was all in favour of the marriage idea but perhaps a little less sure about the round the world sailing. She said that if we were stuck out in the ocean together on a thirty something foot yacht for months on end, no doubt one of us would be sailing solo by the end of it. I daren’t ask which one.” Peter laughed at the image he had just painted of marital harmony gone awry.

  “So when’s this concert, Peter? I’ll need to give Katie a ring and double check she’s free.”

  “You don’t think we’d just leave that to chance, do you,? Marcia spoke to her just 10 minutes ago and they’ve already compared notes on which frock to wear. Oh and did I mention? White tie. The chap was so grateful that he’s got us a box.”

  “Dinner jacket okay, Peter? I’m afraid my old tie and tails are a bit snug since I’ve been doing that weight training for the Tin Man.”

  “Just pulling your leg, old chum. Dinner jacket’s fine. I thought we’d go for a bite to eat after the concert at a place I used to frequent when I was a wasted youth. Well, at least when I was a middle-aged music lecturer who thought he was a youth. Anyhow, it’ll be fun.”

  “We’ll look forward to it,” Ralph said when he heard Marcia calling in the background that dinner was ready.

  Earlier in the week Ralph had phoned Katie and told her about the Mall Galleries incident. He had left out the bit about how he had reacted when he recognised the steward from the Canterbury train. The more he thought about it, the more he realised just how crucial his intervention had been. Inspector Linham had asked him to come in and make a formal statement to the effect that he recognised the server at the gallery as the same person he had seen on the steam train when one of the judges had been poisoned. He had told her that he still thought that Jenisis were behind the murders, but she reminded him that he had nothing to back that presumption up other than a hunch. She had also said that even if he was right, what could he do about it without some sort of proof? He had to agree. The ball was now in the police’s court. He was just glad that he was well out of it so he could relax.

  ***

  Peter had organised transport to the concert at the Royal Albert Hall. The South Kensington area is notorious for its lack of parking facilities. Rather than spoiling the start of a night out negotiating traffic and looking for that illusive empty space that might just fit your car: it was easier to simply use a local hire company and travel in style.

  It was a perfect spring evening as they walked across the paved area in front of the hall. The warmer weather had encouraged the birds who were in full song as they chattered and swooped between the tall trees that had just begun to show their leaves. The elliptical shape and design of the Grade I listed building stood out against the pale night sky. Cleverly hidden lighting illuminated the magnificent glass and wrought iron dome. The whole thing was a fitting tribute to the vision of Queen Victoria’s husband, Albert, who wanted a building that offered a focal point for music and the arts.

  Peter was familiar with the grand pipe organ which acted as a backdrop for the performers who had started to take their places on the stage. He had played there a number of times in support of orchestral concerts and choirs. The loggia boxes where they sat commanded a perfect view of the arena where people had begun to take their seats below.

  Ralph had been there many times as a teenager when he and his friends bought cheap tickets to the gallery. As there were no seats there, patrons either promenaded around the area or simply leant over the balustrade to watch the performance. Newcomers soon learned that the cheap seats at the top afforded only a view of the performers in miniature. This was a particular problem for an opera or if you wanted a clear view of a particular person on the stage. On repeat visits the wary made certain to bring opera glasses. Peter’s party scored on both counts. Ralph had bought Katie a pair of gold and enamel Victorian opera glasses which she carried in a small green velvet case and their seats were perfectly situated to encompass the entire panorama of the stage.

  “This is terrific, Peter.” You and Marcia must have known that this is my favourite venue.” She leant over and gave Peter a kiss on the cheek.

  “My pleasure, Ma’am. Only the best for the best. Right, Ralph?”

  “Whole heartedly, Peter.”

  “Can everyone see?” Marcia asked. “I hate it when you’re afraid to lean forward for fear of falling into the crowd.”

  “No worries here,” Katie replied. “These se
ats couldn’t be more perfect.”

  “Look at those chandeliers,” Marcia exclaimed. “Aren’t they magnificent? But I wonder how they manage to change the light bulbs.”

  “A long ladder and a great big skinny bloke with long arms, Dear,” Peter said with a straight face.

  “Just pass me the programme and stop fooling around. The conductor is coming on now. Shush.”

  Vassily Sinaisky, Conductor of the London Philharmonic, walked out onto the stage accompanied by Pavel Kolesnikov, who after accepting the applause of the audience, seated himself at the piano.

  Katie whispered to Ralph. “Do you think he’s related to that Mikhail Kalashnikov, the rifle man?” She could not resist teasing Ralph when he was in what she referred to as his posturing mode. He stared steadfastly ahead. When they had first started going out together an incident like that would have resulted in a row. Now she knew that it was just Ralph being Ralph. Still infuriating, but at least she knew not to take it personally.

  The lights dimmed and the music began. Everyone in the audience, even if they knew it in another context, immediately recognised Rachmaninov’s Piano Concerto number 3. Ralph recalled that it had been used as the theme music in the Oscar winning film, Shine, based on the life of the Australian pianist David Helfgott. The magical beauty, sumptuous harmonies and the dazzling virtuosity of the pianist had the audience mesmerised. The applause that followed showed just how much it had been appreciated.

  At one point Ralph had borrowed Katie’s opera glasses. He was always fascinated by the Conductor’s ability to hold an entire orchestra together and wanted to look more closely at Sinaisky. He likened lecturing to a performance, and he was always ready to learn from the masters.

  During the short interval he thought he recognised Sir Robin Goodman with a party in a box on the other side of the Hall. When he mentioned it to Katie she reminded him that that chapter was meant to be closed now the police had the murderer in custody. Nevertheless, it still played on his mind.

  The crowd were silent as the conductor led the way for the second piece, Rachmaninov’s Symphony number 2. As the pianist started to play, Katie squeezed Ralph’s hand. Nearly everyone knew the familiar strains that David Lean had used to such wonderful effect in the timeless film, Brief Encounter. Katie guessed that Peter and Marcia were having the same thoughts as she noticed that they were also holding hands. The haunting tone of the clarinet held the audience in its spell. Katie could almost hear the memories of all those unrequited romantic encounters and the sadness that they always wrought.

  “That was superb,” said Peter as the applause died down. “Brief Encounter. Who could forget that poignant moment where Celia Johnson said goodbye to Trevor Howard as the train pulled out of the station.”

  “I agree,” said Katie. “But we thought that altering a classical piece to pander to the masses would be the last thing a purist like you would want.”

  “Not a bit of it. All art forms are produced for the masses. In a way it encourages people to take more interest in some of the classical composers. Although Mozart hardly seems to need any help.”

  Peter chatted on about how popular classical music had become, at least for adults, but that his students were happy to listen to the latest pop tunes on their iPods rather than practice.

  “Peter,” Marcia interrupted, “why don’t you pour the champagne? The waiter brought it in while you were talking. We thought it would be nicer to have it brought in rather than pushing our way through to some ghastly crowded bar.”

  Ralph was still a bit distracted. He was almost certain he had seen Mario Santori with Sir Robin in the box opposite.

  “Katie I’d swear it’s Goodman and Santori in that box across there.”

  “Ralph, Marcia’s pouring you some champagne,” Katie said under her breath.

  “His son and Santori’s daughter are engaged to be married. Inspector Linham told me it was being hailed as the society wedding of the year.”

  “What’s that, Ralph?” Peter asked. “Do you know those people over there?” He nodded over in the direction of the other box as he asked.

  “Not exactly. They were both involved in that Turner Prize business where three of the judges have already been murdered. The box is empty now so I expect they’ve gone to the bar.”

  “Have a glass of champagne, Ralph.”

  Ralph glanced back across the hall.

  “Hell no! It’s Leon Riggs! The bugger’s fiddling with a bottle. He’s trying to kill them.”

  “Ralph, calm down, you’re shouting.”

  He was not sure who had said it, but neither did he care. He pushed past Peter and ran down a corridor that led towards the bar. The bell sounded a warning that the concert was about to resume. He apologised as he as he bumped into people as he rushed by. He took the stairs two at a time. The layout was identical so he had no trouble finding the box. As he pulled back the curtain, Leon Riggs, dressed in full Edwardian evening dress, lashed out at him with his walking stick. The blow from the heavy silver hilt caught him by surprise as it struck him on the temple and he fell to the floor. After what seemed like only a few seconds, he was helped to his feet by Sir Robin Goodman and a young man.

  “What on earth’s going on in here? Who are you, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  Ralph was dazed, but he managed to explain to Sir Robin what he had seen. He cautioned them that under no circumstances should anyone touch the drinks which he assured them were probably poisoned.

  “Call this number,” he instructed the younger man as he gave him Inspector Linham’s mobile number. “Tell the Inspector what’s happened and he’ll know what to do. But get the manager to call the Metropolitan police as well.”

  “But who is this man you say wants to poison us?” Asked the woman standing behind Sir Robin that he assumed was his wife.

  “The police will explain everything when they arrive,” Ralph called over his shoulder. “Just don’t touch those drinks,” he added. He knew that he had to catch Leon Riggs. Out in the corridor he met Katie.

  “Ralph what on earth’s going on?”

  “Leon Riggs is the murderer. He just tried to kill two more people.”

  “Have you called the police?”

  “No but I’ve told them to,” he said pointing back to the box. “I’ve got to get Riggs.”

  She could see Ralph was determined. She had seen him like this before and it was best to not get in his way.

  “He’ll be at the hospital,” Katie said.

  “Why?”

  “Because he knows he’ll be caught sooner or later. He’ll want to see his son before he’s arrested.” She had no evidence that this was what Riggs would do, her instinct had taken over. She gave Ralph a quick hug.

  “Be careful, Ralph. You know he’s crazy. He might do anything.”

  Ralph gave her arm a squeeze before he ran down the stairs. He wanted to get away before the police arrived and tried to prevent him from going after Riggs.

  He pushed at the metal bar on the emergency exit at the foot of the stairs. It opened with a bang and he was outside in the cool night air. Now he had time to think.

  He knew the area well. He ran down the steps into Prince Consort Road and saw a taxi waiting at the traffic lights. He ran across the road as cars honked and shouted at him. “Atkinson Morley Hospital, Tooting. It’s part of St. Georges Hospital.”

  “I know where it is, sir, but you’d be better off going to St Thomas’s over on the Embankment if you want to get that head of yours looked at.”

  Ralph had completely forgot about his own injury. He instinctively put his hand up to his head. It felt wet and he knew that it was blood.

  “No, I’m all right. But I need to get to St Georges urgently.”

  “You’re the guvnor. St Georges it is. But you better get that gash looked at.”

  He jumped in, slammed the door behind him and sank back in to the seat. He realised that he felt a bit groggy. Fortunately he always carrie
d an extra handkerchief in his trouser pocket and he used it now to stem the blood that was trickling down into his eye. He saw the cabbie take discreet looks in his rear-view mirror to check if he’d picked up some crazy person. Some 20 minutes later the taxi pulled up outside the Atkinson Morley Outpatients’ entrance.

  Ralph handed two twenty pound notes to the cabbie and told him to keep the change. He turned and made his way through the automatic doors. The place was deserted. A somewhat surprised receptionist looked up.

  “I’ve come to see Mr James Riggs. He’s a patient here.”

  She looked at her screen. He’s in Ward ‘D’, intensive care. Are you a family member?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well he already has someone with him. His father just came in. So I’m afraid -----“

  Ralph was not going to be stopped now. He ran down the corridor looking for a sign for Ward D. He knew that hospital security would be alerted, so he avoided the lift and ran up the stone stairs to the second floor. He glanced around. At the side was a door to Ward ‘D’. A nurse framed in the green glow from her computer screen glanced up as he burst in.

  He saw Leon Riggs emerge from a door along the corridor. In a few quick steps Riggs was upon him, and with a flourish he withdrew what Ralph recognised as a sword from his ebony walking stick. Before Ralph could step out of the way he found himself pinned against the reception desk, the point of the sword just touching his chest.

  “Professor Chalmers, I believe. But you’re too late.”

  Ralph realised that he was dealing with a mad man.

  “No, Riggs. You’ve failed. The police will be here any minute. Riggs stepped back and held the sword poised ready to lunge. It was a classic move that Ralph had learned in practice at Cambridge. He could hear the droning voice of the fencing instructor: