When Darkness Falls
Chapter 9
"Six seconds, Sir? I'd have made it in four" Sam announced, "….five at the most" she conceded, slipping her index finger down the side of her cast. "But you've barely mentioned the ledger…..or the mud on the lantern and Teddy's shoes …...and where," she asked, grimacing as her finger didn't quite reach the right spot, "did the money come from, Sir?"
"Perhaps if you'd let me finish, Sam" he interjected, raising an eyebrow.
"Sorry, Sir."
The previous week…
The rest of their journey was relatively incident free, save for when a small hare didn't quite win its battle against the front left tyre. Constable Browne didn't even miss a beat, tapping his finger absently against the steering wheel to a beat only he could hear. No wonder Reid was quick to re-assign this git – he was absolutely ruddy useless.
As they followed the quiet road through the country-side, long forgotten hedges periodically swatting the sides of the car, Foyle reached into his pocket and pulled out the small grey ledger.
His left hand braced the spine while his right thumb held the last page open.
5th MY BIDS WATCHED
5th MAKE TO BLUFF
10th WITH BOTTLES THEY PLACE BETS
10th IN GAMBLING HOUSES CRIB
10th FIRST FALSE ONE OF ACES FIT
"It's obviously some sort of code" he said quietly to Milner who was leaning forward in his seat so that he, too, could see the page. "But...I can't make any sense of it." He scratched his chin in silent contemplation.
"If we assume that the numbers are dates, Sir…." Milner suggested, his eyes squinting.
"Aaahhh", Foyle said and slipped his thumb and forefinger into his pocket and pulled out the copy of the order that Station Officer Patterson had made. "Well done."
After unfolding the paper, he said "The original order was placed on the tenth of October..."
"Hmmm," Milner mumbled, lost in though. "And the fifth, Sir?"
"Not sure. It could be related, Milner" he pondered out loud, running his finger down the centre line of the ledger, "but these phrases…..."
"Place bets? Bids?" Milner read. "Gambling, Sir? Plenty of money to be made at a black jack table."
"You're right, Milner but it's always the house that comes out on top...never the punters."
"Was Roger Carseldine running a gambling house, do you think, Sir?"
"As well as operating his own pub?...he already seemed to be run off his feet when I saw him. Mmmm…..I don't think so." Foyle shook his head.
"No, you're right, Sir" Milner admitted. He sat back in his seat and tapped his finger on the leather beside his thigh. After a quick intake of breath, he said "One of the entries mentions surveillance, Sir."
"It does" Foyle replied, nodding. He stroked the paper next to the word 'watched' and turned his head to look at his sergeant.
"I do know that there's a gambling racket at Brighton that's often being watched, Sir. Plenty of people on their list."
"Might be worth getting in contact with Brighton this afternoon" Foyle suggested. "See who's on that list."
"Yes, Sir."
The car suddenly rocked from side to side as Browne drove them, altogether too quickly, over some deep ruts in the road's surface, a result of the recent heavy rain. Foyle's left temple smacked into the window beside him and he cursed. With his hand gripping the back of the lad's seat, he glared.
"Sorry, Sir" Browne apologised, quickly turning his head. The crimson glow returned.
"We're here, Sir" Milner announced, pointing through the front windscreen. Browne pulled the car to a halt and both policemen got out.
"Stay here" Foyle barked at the lad. "Don't move."
"Yes, Sir" came the sheepish reply. "I won't, Sir."
Foyle ascended the steep stairs that led to the station, Milner close behind. An arriving train, with its thick clouds of steam billowing onto the platform, masked their approach so Patterson literally jumped when he saw them.
"Mr Foyle" he stammered. "Sorry, I wasn't expecting to see you."
He was dishevelled, his uniform wrinkled and seemingly unwashed, his face unshaven.
"Can we, uh, have a word?" Foyle asked, quickly shuffling to one side as a large family bustled their way past them towards the third class car of the waiting train.
"Yes" he said and slowly ambled his way towards the door marked 'Private'.
Patterson's desk was a mess with haphazard piles of papers covering every inch. Groaning, he slipped his fingers under the smallest of the piles and carefully transferred it to the top of a book case. He plopped himself down into the only chair in the room and leaned forward, resting his hands in the now empty space on his desk.
"Sorry" he once again muttered and nodded to his belongings. "Mrs Carseldine normally looks after all of this….What can I do for you, gentlemen?" he asked.
"Mrs Carseldine not, uh, not helping you anymore?"
"She won't be back" Patterson shot back, his shoulders suddenly tensing. "And neither will my wife" he muttered quietly, his breath hitching on the last word.
Milner glanced at his boss, his eyes asking permission to continue. Foyle nodded.
"Do you keep a journal of events, Mr Patterson?" Milner asked, scanning the room. "A list of ins, out, scheduled activities….that sort of thing?"
"Oh" Patterson mumbled and began to sift through the contents of his desk. When that didn't bear fruit he rifled through the drawers by his knee. "Here we are" he declared after a few moments and held up a wide book. "What do you need?"
"What can you tell me about the 5th of October, Mr Patterson?" Milner asked, moving forward. Patterson licked his finger and turned the thin pages until he found that date.
"Uuuhhh, nothing really" he told them, running his finger down the list. "The eight-oh-five was a little late and …..a child lost a suit case."
"Right..." Foyle said and gave Milner a look of resignation. "Mind if we have another look at the rail yards?" He patted his hip pocked, his fingers feeling the key he liberated from Carseldine.
"Not at all" Patterson said, shaking his head.
"What are you hoping to find, Sir?" Milner asked as they made their way down to the gated yards behind the station.
Foyle stroked his temple, the painful bump under his fingers making him groan.
"Not completely sure" Foyle replied and pulled the key out of his pocket.
"Is that Patterson's key, Sir?" Milner asked, stopping as they reached the doors to the warehouse.
"Well, I'm not really sure of that, either. I found it in Roger Carseldine's pocket after he…."
Foyle inserted the key into the padlock and turned. It clicked but nothing happened. "…..died."
"Well, it doesn't seem to be the key to that lock, Sir" Milner stated. "Although that's the same cord that's on Patterson's key."
"Mmmm. It is." Foyle pouted his lips and took the key out of the lock.
Milner strode over to the high fence, the greater than usual physical exertions of the last few days making his limp more pronounced.
"Sir?" he called, bracing himself with one hand tightly gripped onto the fence.
"Hmmm?" Foyle joined him, the key safely back in his pocket.
"That warehouse isn't the only thing that ought to have been locked" Milner said and nodded towards the open gate in the perimeter, the shiny Wolseley beyond the opening.
"Nnnnoooo. It's not." Foyle strode over to the gate, lifting the heavy branch out of his way. He tried to ignore the sight of his new driver sitting in the front seat, his right index finger disappearing into his left nostril.
Finding the unused chain and padlock hanging from a screw in a pole, Foyle inserted his key and turned. The lock clicked instantly, the pin flicking upwards.
"At least we know now how they got into and out of the yard, sir."
"We do," Foyle confirmed, "and we also know that Roger Carseldine played a much greater part than we realised."
"How did Mr Carseldine get his hands on a key that should have been safely locked up in Patterson's cabinet?"
"I'd say," Foyle said, turning back to look at the platform, a puff of steam rising in the distance, "that Mrs Carseldine….liberated it."
Pushing his way through the foliage, and holding the branches back so Milner could follow, Foyle made his way back to the Wolseley and its now clean-nosed driver.
"Let's pay a visit to Colonel Boswick" Foyle announced to Milner as he levered himself back into the front seat.
Browne's head flicked around and he gave Foyle an open-mouthed stare.
"You mean I've got to go back the way we came?" he questioned, his voice pitched high.
"You do" Foyle replied, pointing back over his shoulder.
"Back over the …... bridge?" he asked, swallowing slowly.
"Back over the bridge….quick as you like."
"Yes, Sir" Browne replied, and gripped the wheel so tightly his knuckles turned a pasty white.
As they motored back along the narrow road Milner leaned forward.
"I really don't think that Mr Patterson is involved, Sir"
"No. Neither do I" Foyle said, turning in his seat. "About the only thing he's guilty of is poor judgement in having an affair with Doris Carseldine."
"And not keeping a closer eye on his key cabinet."
"Mmm."
A sea of lavender Asters, gently swaying in the breeze, greeted them as they rolled into the driveway of the Boswick residence. The gardener, his cap pulled down firmly, gave them a fearful look as if to say 'enter at your own risk' then turned and headed along the side path.
"Stay.." Foyle began, turning his head slowly to address his driver but his command was cut short.
"I know, Sir" Browne blurted, shifting his bottom in the seat. "I'll stay here...and not move."
Foyle instantly felt a sharp jolt of guilt as he watched the young lad, even younger than his own son, slink down into the seat and hang his head. Reparations were in order.
"Listen," Foyle began, and rested a hand on the dash. "If you're thirsty….Miss Stewart often kept a flask of water in the boot….it's probably still there. And, if you're exceedingly lucky, she may have left a biscuit or two as well...in the red tin."
The lad's head rose and a smile started to grow.
"Thank you, Sir" he gushed. "I'll have a look."
"Well, just make sure that you….refill it when we get back to the station."
"Certainly, Sir."
Milner gave his boss a sly smile as they made their way up the curving driveway, the gravel crunching under their feet.
"Oh you should be scared, Everett…!" an angry woman's voice yelled, the sound seeming to come from an open window on the first floor although drawn drapes prevented a clear view.
Foyle stopped and put a hand on Milner's shoulder, the gesture telling him to stop, too.
"I know what you've been up to….all of it and I'm not afraid to tell" the woman continued. "I've got nothing left to lose. I know what you've been doing with Doris Carseldine, you swine ….and I know the little deal you made with her, too ….that whore."
"Now, now, Gladys," a man said, his voice quite a bit calmer then the woman's. "We can work this out….there's no need to…..well, just keep your voice down, will you?"
"I shan't….no, I shan't stay quiet" she replied, her voice getting louder. "Roger Carseldine tried to give me money to keep quiet…..a tenth….he offered me a tenth of the profits, Everett – just as much as he promised you. Ha!"
"Then that's a good enough reason to keep your mouth closed, isn't it?" the man asked, the ire in his voice rising.
"No...no, you see, I went to see Doris Carseldine…..I wanted an assurance that I would still be getting my hush money.."
"Oh don't be so...vulgar, Gladys….the poor man's dead."
"I don't care about Roger Carseldine, Everett!" the woman screamed and something large smashed.
"Doris told me that there is no money, Everett …..you stupid ass. None of you are going to get any money...it's all gone!"
Something large fell over, and the yelling continued.
"No, no, no …...Roger promised me. The money's there."
"You really are a gullible man, aren't you, Everett?" The woman screeched. "I gave her a thorough going over. I got the truth out of her."
"You threatened Doris Carseldine?" the man asked.
"Oh …..don't you stand there and pretend to suddenly care about her. She's just a tramp."
There was a pause in the eruptions then the woman added "and I did much more than threaten her." A door slammed and silence fell on the house.
Milner turned a pale face to Foyle. "The tenth isn't a date…." he began in a quiet voice.
"It's a portion.." Foyle completed. "...a portion of the profits." The corner of Foyle's mouth twitched.
They both began to walk briskly up to the front entry.
Somewhere in the distance an engine started and within seconds a car was approaching them, a wide eyed woman at the wheel. Weaving all over the loose gravel drive, causing the small rocks to fly up, she sped past them. Both Foyle and Milner had to turn away and cover their faces with their hands to avoid an injury and, from behind, they heard Browne's startled yelp.
"Constable Browne?" Foyle called as he shook the dust from his coat.
"Yes, Sir?" came the reply, a wobble in his voice.
"Alright?"
"Yes, Sir."
"We won't be long."
A short man in an ill-fitting livery opened the door after just one knock and Foyle suspected that he may have been there for some time waiting for them to arrive.
"My name's Foyle….I'm a policeman."
"Thank you for coming so promptly" the man said as he stepped back from the open door. Before either Foyle or Milner could respond to his words, he added "the Colonel is waiting for you in the sitting room. This way."
The butler took off at a brisk pace, leaving the open door behind him. Foyle jogged up the few stairs ahead of them while Milner quietly closed the door.
"Can I assume that you were a witness to my shameful debacle?" the Colonel asked, after his Butler announced their presence. His back was turned.
"What debacle would that be?" Foyle asked.
The colonel began to laugh and turned around, a whiskey tumbler in his hand, two fingers of amber liquid sloshing around in its base.
"Fair question" the Colonel remarked and threw down a large mouthful. "I do seem to be having quite a few of them lately."
The Butler coughed from the corner, his hand in a fist against his face. "Tea, gentleman?" he asked when at least some of the attention was on him.
"Not for me, no" Foyle replied and Milner shook his head.
"My latest debacle," the Colonel said, gesturing towards a horse-shoe of chairs in the centre of the room, "is to do with my wife..." he stated, taking another swig of whiskey, "….and my mistress."
"Mrs Doris Carseldine" Foyle stated, rather matter-of-factly. He'd been a policeman for many years and nothing much shocked him any more.
"You think me a fool, Mr Foyle?"
Ignoring the man's question, Foyle simply sat back in his chair and hooked one leg over the other.
"Doris and I," the Colonel began, "have been having an affair for almost a year now." The neatly uniformed man took a seat opposite Foyle and leaned his head against the high back. "About two months ago, Doris asked me to get the materials to build a bridge...well, for her brother-in-law, actually. She said I could get away with it if I claimed that it was for an exercise for the Home Guard."
"And you did as she asked?" Foyle questioned, his fingers gliding over the tip of the arm rest.
"Like a fool….yes." He shifted his weight in the chair and crossed his legs. "I tried to put a stop to it later, though, Mr Foyle.."
"You tried to cancel the order...yes I know, but, um….it was too late."
"Well, I cancelled the timber order...that wasn't difficult but the pylons were already on their way.
"And, um, how did Trevor Flaxton find out about the pylons?" Foyle asked.
"Perhaps Doris told him. I'm not sure. I didn't really ask too many questions."
The Colonel leaned his almost empty glass on the chair's armrest and stared up to the ceiling.
"I heard they built the bridge" the Colonel commented, although he wasn't making eye contact with either Foyle or Milner. "Goodness only knows how. They didn't get any timber."
"Doris Carseldine added it to the order for the rail yard" Milner told him.
"Ahhh….she's quite the savvy business woman, you know" the Colonel said to Milner as he finally finished his drink. "And more than a little bit ruthless" he added with a raised finger.
Foyle let the silence descend, swirl a little and calm the flames. Then he went in with the big guns.
"Did you know that Doris Carseldine was also having an affair with Timothy Patterson?"
The Colonel dropped the glass tumbler from his fingers, letting it fall to the floor. It hit once, bounced up, hit the floor again and smashed into hundreds of tiny shards. He dropped his head into his hands and began to sob as his butler dutifully swept up the glass and tipped it all into a small metal bucket.
"I told them," the Colonel said, his voice cracking and breaking like an adolescent boy's, "that I wanted out, that I wanted nothing more to do with their evil scheme but…."
"….Doris Carseldine wouldn't let you walk away?" Foyle asked, fingering the brim of his hat.
"Roger Carseldine offered to pay to keep my silence...so long as I played the game and I am ever so ashamed to admit that I accepted his foul smelling bribe."
"A percentage of what they made when they sold the building materials? Is that what they offered?"
The Colonel nodded and got up from his chair. He paced around the room, taking methodical and evenly measured steps with his hands clasped firmly behind his back.
"Doris threatened to tell my wife if I spoke out….or if I went to the police" he admitted and pressed a hard stare at Foyle.
"But now your wife….she knows?" Foyle asked, his voice softening a little. The man was, after all, a human being and deserved at least a little consideration.
"She knows it all, Mr Foyle….so I've nothing left to lose."
Foyle shook his head, acknowledging both the man's statement and his future predicament.
"Perhaps Sir Walter Scott was right, Mr Foyle" the Colonel said, his back to his visitors, his hand on the highly polished hearth, his head bowed. "Oh, what a tangled web we weave..."
"When first we practise to deceive!" Foyle completed.
