Murder on the Cathedral Express (The Ralph Chalmers Mysteries Book 9) Page 5

  “The Sole for me,” said Katie.

  “I’ll join you,” said Cynthia. “I expect they collected it when we stopped at Dover.”

  “Scallops for us,” said Marcia.

  “The chicken looks good,” said Lance. Ralph also settled for chicken. He knew from past experience that scallops would wipe him out for a week and Dover Sole left him still hungry.

  The steward was obviously having a bad day. He grumpily sorted out a mix-up over their orders, plonked the vegetables down and hurried away.

  “No tip for that bugger,” Peter muttered.

  “Poor boy,” Marcia said sympathetically. He’s probably worried about getting back to Dover or wherever he lives. What with all this bad weather. Maybe he’s a student.”

  “Then he must be an independently wealthy one,” Peter replied. “Besides, he looks too old. Mid to late twenties, at least. Anyhow, what have we got for puds?”

  “We ladies are having ice cream. We’ll leave the Christmas pudding and custard to you men,” said Marcia.

  “That sounds good to me. Just like my school days,” said Peter, brandishing his spoon and laughing.

  They had just finished their coffee and the table had been cleared when the train entered a tunnel. The distinctive smell of smoke and sulphur permeated the carriage as the train thundered through the dark. Suddenly the lights went out. As they waited for them to come back on, they heard a piercing scream. Ralph guessed it had come from the next carriage. He leapt to his feet and as he groped his way towards the door between the carriages, he bumped into Allan.

  “What the hell’s going on? I thought I heard a scream,” Ralph shouted to his friend as they stood in the gap between the carriages and rocked and swayed with the motion of the train to maintain their balance.

  “One of the journalists has been taken ill. It looks like a heart attack. The guard’s on his way.”

  “I’m qualified in CPR. Let me through,” Ralph said.

  “Best leave it to the guard Ralph. These people know what to do.”

  “Hell, no. It has to be done straight away. See if they have a defibrillator on the train. They must have one.”

  With that he pushed Allan out of the way and made his way to the next carriage. Several people stood around a woman who was slumped across the table. A blue light from an overhead lamp gave the scene a surreal appearance. For a second Ralph thought that this might be part of the Steam Dream experience. A sort of Murder on the Orient Express thing. He snapped out of his momentary lapse.

  Ralph tried not to shout as he said, “Clear a way and get her on the floor. Make some space. Someone give me a hand.”

  “It’s too late I’m afraid. I’ve checked,” said an older man who told everyone to stand back.

  “She could still be revived. Someone’s gone to get the defibrillator,” said Ralph.

  “Believe me, it’s too late. I’m a doctor. The best thing to do is to show some respect and wait until the ambulance people can sort things out when we stop at the next station.”

  Just then the guard appeared and asked everyone to go back to their seats. He explained that the train was stopping at Bromley and everything would be taken care of there. There was a squeal as the driver applied the brakes and the train came to a shuddering halt.

  Two paramedics pushed past and quickly laid the woman on the carriage floor, much against the doctor’s protests. They carried a defibrillator and began CPR. Ralph had read that the conventional wisdom of getting the patient to a hospital for treatment was now being challenged. Timing was vital, and if the medics could get blood flowing to the brain in the first few minutes, the person stood a better chance of survival. In this case it was too late. He heard them speaking with the doctor and they agreed that she must have had a massive heart attack. Everyone looked away as they put her on a stretcher and carried her off the train. Ralph made his way back to his friends and explained what had happened.

  The police came on board and took statements and personal details from everyone in the carriage as the train slowly chugged its way back to Victoria station. As they disembarked the train he heard someone say that the poor woman was a journalist with the Guardian Newspaper and that her name was Jennifer Archer.

  They said their goodbyes. Peter and Marcia were off home to pack for their winter cruise which sailed from Southampton in a day or two. Peter had been invited to play the piano and introduce selections from famous composers for the passengers. Cynthia and Lance were off to Scotland to stay with her parents in Perth. Ralph and Katie looked forward to a quiet Christmas in their cottage on the Devon cliffs. After lots of hugs and handshakes, Ralph and Katie headed for the tube. They were soon back at Katie’s mews house in Chelsea. They sat in her comfortable den and sipped their cocoa and listened to the late news on the radio. Ralph leant over and turned up the volume.

  This evening the famous art critic and columnist for the Guardian Newspaper, Dame Jennie Archer died while returning by train from Canterbury. Her family have been informed. Dame Archer was known for her role in promoting modern art and had recently been one of the prestigious group of jurors who awarded this year’s Turner Prize at the Tate. Tomorrow evening a special programme is being broadcast where Sir Robin Goodman will present a tribute to her work on behalf of art lovers around the world.

  Ralph switched the radio off and sat back.

  “Ralph you do realise that this is the second heart attack death in less than two weeks where you’ve been present. And what’s makes it more bizarre, is that both people were judges at that Turner Prize competition.”

  Ralph closed his eyes and tried to gather his thoughts.

  “I know. It must be some sort of crazy coincidence. But there’s no way that the two events could be connected; and certainly not with me. I’d never laid eyes on either one of them before. Anyone could have been on that Surbiton train when that chap died. And that woman today, well, it must have been a fluke. People have heart attacks all the time.”

  “If Marcia had spoken to that journalist she mentioned we would really be involved,” Katie commented.

  “But she didn’t, and we aren’t involved,” said Ralph. “Don’t turn this into some sort of conspiracy.”

  “I wasn’t and we are both overtired. You always get twitchy when you’re upset. But you did try to save the man on the Surbiton train and the woman journalist.”

  “I must admit it has shaken me. It’s a good job we have a week in Devon to forget all about this and get some peace and quiet. I’m off to bed. You ready?”

  “Yes let’s call it a night. But overall it was a good day, Ralph. The train, the food, the carol concert and being with our friends. You’re a good man, Professor Chalmers.”

  _________________________

  Chapter 5

  It was beautiful crisp winter morning. The sun had just begun to melt the frost on the roofs of the houses. Ralph and Katie had been up since six. They took a taxi from Katie’s mews house at Chelsea to Ralph’s Surbiton apartment where they had a quick breakfast and packed the things they needed for their Christmas in Devon. As Ralph put their bags in the Jag, he remembered that he had not checked his voicemail. One message was from Peter thanking them for the trip to Canterbury and wishing them a safe drive to Devon. A cryptic message from Lance wished them all the best in the New Year. The third one was Inspector Linham asking Ralph to call him urgently. Katie was not well pleased when he told her about the call from Linham.

  “Just let’s go. He doesn’t even know we’re here.”

  “I have to. It’s probably about that business at Surbiton station.”

  “Oh, all right, but if you have to go in then you can drop me in Kingston and I can pick up a few last minute things while you sort it out. But don’t stay talking or it will be too late to get to Devon before it gets dark. You know how dangerous it can be driving at night on those twisty country roads, Ralph. Promise me you’ll be as quick as possible.”

  Ralph detected a slight
tension in the Inspector’s voice when he returned the call. Linham said to come in at ten.

  There were no signs of Christmas in the foyer of the police station other than a miniature tree that someone had made a half-hearted attempt to decorate. The Inspector’s office was like a sauna.

  “Come in, Professor Chalmers. Apologies for the heat, but the radiators here are either on or off. No happy medium I’m afraid, in Her Majesties Police Force.”

  “Sergeant Wilson’s in London talking to the Murder Squad. Well, that’s probably not how they would like to be described. So I’m afraid we’ll have to fend for ourselves today. Would you like some tea? I’ll get the duty officer to fetch some.”

  “No thanks, Inspector. I’m a bit pushed this morning. We’re driving to Devon as soon as I leave here.”

  “Well I’ll come straight to the point, Professor. Don’t want to hold you up any longer than necessary.”

  Inwardly Ralph flinched. He thought he knew where this was going.

  “Not to put too fine a point on it, sir, I’m afraid that you’re in a bit of a difficult position. We believe that Dame Jennie Archer was murdered on the train from Canterbury to Victoria, yesterday.”

  “She had a heart attack. I was there. I tried to save her.” He stopped as the Inspector lifted his hand.

  “Be careful what you say, Professor. Although this is an informal interview, I would be remiss if I didn’t remind you that, like it or not, you’re involved in an ongoing murder enquiry.”

  “But that’s ridiculous. She was already dead when I got there. There was a doctor on board. He can tell you.” He realised that he was sounding like someone in a second rate TV thriller. He decided to take Linham’s advice and listen before he said anything else.

  “You see, Professor Chalmers, although we haven’t yet released this information, we’re almost certain that Dame Archer died from cyanide poisoning, same as Professor Giddings. The two deaths are identical in nearly all respects. And before you say anything, I don’t have to remind you that you were on the scene at the time both deaths occurred; closer than anyone else, according to the police reports. So you can see this puts both of us in a very difficult position.”

  The Inspector sat back and clasped his hands together. Ralph was stunned. It was starting to look and sound like his worst nightmare.

  “Am I being accused of anything?”

  “Not at the moment, Professor, but we do need some explanations. Both victims were important people; that means that the powers that be want some answers, and quick. They are aware that you were on the scene in both instances. They also know that you and I have worked together in the past. The boys from the Met want to take over this case and that will mean that you may have to answer some searching questions. They can be pretty rough, even when they stick to the book.”

  Ralph began to become annoyed. He had done his best to save two peoples’ lives and here he was being treated like a criminal.

  “Look here, Inspector I don’t like this one bit. I had never heard of Professor Giddings or Dame Archer until I tried to save their lives.”

  “Is it possible that someone’s trying to set you up, Professor? Someone who holds a grudge? There have been plenty of people in the past few years whom you’ve helped bring to justice, Could this be their revenge?”

  “I’m sure there could be people who hold a grudge, but if they’re trying to set me up, as you put it, then they’re going about it in a pretty strange way. Why not just come after me directly? They would have plenty of opportunities that are a lot less complicated than this. No, I don’t think that theory holds up, Inspector, with all due respect. I personally think that it’s just some bizarre coincidence.”

  “I tend to agree, sir. But I’m afraid there are others who don’t know you as well as I do. If the case should be taken out of my hands, then I’m afraid you would be a prime suspect.”

  “That’s crazy. Apart from wrecking my career, even if you do find the real culprit, it would be a disaster on all levels.” He was thinking how Rupert Granger and the University would react to all of this.

  “Well, perhaps we should try to think this one through before it goes much further.” The Inspector went to a small white board that was fixed to the office wall and picked up a marker pen. It already had names and places marked on a sort of spider diagram. Ralph recognised the technique. He used the same method to structure his lectures and plan his books. The Inspector continued.

  “We know that both murders occurred on trains, and that Professor Giddings had an unused ticket in his pocket for a trip on the Cathedral Express. How did you get your ticket, Professor?”

  “A friend of mine, well a gym pal actually is a tour guide. He told me that if I could put together a party he could get us a discount. Katie and I roped in a few friends to make up the numbers.”

  “How long ago did you make the arrangements?”

  “It must have been at least a month or so since we fixed it up. No longer. It was early in September.”

  “This friend of yours from the gym, the tour guide, do you have any contact details for him?”

  “I have his email address, but that’s all,” Ralph said.

  Linham nodded.

  “Can you let the duty sergeant have that and his name?”

  “Of course,” Ralph said. “I just want to do what I have to so that Katie and I can get down to Devon and enjoy our holiday in peace.”

  “I understand,” Inspector Linham said. “I’ll do what I can, but as I said, the Met boys are itching to get their hands on this, especially as it’s a high profile case. We’ve already interviewed the journalists who were with Dame Archer and they said their tickets came last week. When we checked with Steam Dreams they said they had no record of who purchased them. All they could tell us was that the tickets were bought with cash at their Guildford office. It would help if we knew who paid for them.”

  “Who bought the ticket that Giddings had?” Ralph asked.

  “Same story, I’m afraid. His mother said the ticket came in the post.”

  “It sounds like someone was eager to get both of them on the Cathedral Express. Then when Giddings failed to use his ticket they must have known his itinerary and followed him to Waterloo Station,” said Ralph.

  “Or got on the train with him and put the cyanide in his coffee there. You told us that he was holding a cup before he collapsed,” said the Inspector. “We’ve checked out everyone who was on the Basingstoke train that night. No connection and no motive. I’m afraid we’ve drawn a blank. But there’s one other thing besides the train, that clearly links the two victims. They were both judges at the recent Turner Prize competition. Maybe someone had a grudge against them following on from their decision on the judging panel; obviously not the winner.” He smiled.

  “Surely not enough to kill them. Allan, the chap who organised our trip tends to follow these things. He told me that the prize was only worth £40,000; hardly worth risking life in prison for.”

  “People have been hung for less, Professor. We think there’s a strong connection. The person who came second was a young chap by the name of James Riggs. The general consensus is that he should have won.”

  Ralph recognised the name Riggs. It was the man Allan had mentioned to him at the gym.

  “Well, what about him, then? He sounds a more likely candidate for your enquiry than me.”

  “Unfortunately he’s in a deep coma at the Atkinson Morley over at St Georges, in Tooting. He might not recover, poor bloke. He was hit by a cab on the night of the prize giving. According to witnesses, he stepped straight off the curb without so much as a glance. So he has what you might call a perfect alibi.”

  “What about his friends?”

  “We’re checking on that. But as you say, the motive is pretty weak. To kill for your friends? Well that only happens with the mafia and some extreme groups. Not much of that around here.”

  “Did this Riggs have a wife or relatives?”
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  “Lived alone. Typical bachelor student as far as we can see. His father is his only relative, mother died years ago. And before you ask, the father had some sort of collapse when he saw the lad in hospital. Not the first, we hear. He was taken to the Priory Clinic over at Wimbledon. It’s that private place where the rich and famous go to sort out their problems. The clinic say that he’ll be going home tomorrow. So he’s off our list.”

  “It seems to hinge around the Cathedral Express,” Ralph interjected.

  “The Steam Dreams people are co-operating with us, as you can imagine. They employ regular staff, and we should have a dossier on all of them inside 24 hours. We’re also interviewing all of them, especially those who were on that Canterbury excursion that you and your friends went on.”

  “Were there any other judges?” Asked Ralph.

  “Two more, and of course the Chairman, Sir Robin Goodman. That’s where I think the pressure on this case is coming from. Every murder case gets priority, but this one seems to have caught the eye of the top brass as well as the media.”

  “If, as you say, someone’s targeting the judges, then they must be at risk; the Chairman as well, I would imagine.”

  “That’s covered. Sir Robin Goodman is off for the holidays to his home in Inverness up in Scotland, and the police there are providing protection until we find the murderer. Of the other two judges, one lives in Rome and the other in New York. We can’t see the killer going that far. He, or she, may now be satisfied. We’ve alerted the others, just in case.”

  “Well I feel a lot better now I know you have other lines of enquiry that don’t just involve me,” Ralph said.

  “We cover all the bases, as our American cousins put it. But I must ask you to stay in touch, Professor. And I apologise for saying this, but don’t leave the country without letting me know.” He smiled.”