When Darkness Falls
Chapter 3
Sam's breath crystallised in the chilled air and she bounced from one foot to the other.
"Good morning, Sir" she said, her voice shaky.
"Good morning, Sam" Foyle said as he joined her on his front steps. Turning to lock his front door, he asked "Where's your coat?"
"Mrs Broadhurst is mending it, Sir."
"Is that your landlady?" he enquired, following his driver down the stairs and towards the car.
"Mmm hmm." They entered, both doors shutting at almost the exact same moment. "I caught the pocket on a nail, Sir" she explained as she started the engine. Warm air from the car's heater quickly filled the cabin and Sam's voice lost its rattle. "Mrs Broadhurst offered to sew it up for me." Her face gained a smile. "The only problem is, Sir, she's not the fastest seamstress in all the world."
"Well, if it's not finished soon….I'm sure I've got a spare coat somewhere in the house. You can use it….while yours is being repaired….if you like."
"That's very kind of you, Sir." Sam beamed. "Thank you" she added as they pulled away from the side of the road.
"Pleasure" he mumbled.
Milner's house was a little way out of town. A newly married man on a sergeant's wage generally takes what he can get and, for him, that meant a two bedroom flat at the bottom of a hill about three quarters of a mile out of town. As they slowly made their way to his house to collect him, Sam turned to Foyle and smiled.
"You know, I did end up writing to Andrew, Sir" she told him.
"Did you?" He turned and looked out of the window, hoping that she wouldn't see him wince.
"Mmm….I did. Actually, I took your advice, Sir. You were right. My reasoning was a bit selfish and …...he would appreciate a letter….so I wrote one."
"Well," Foyle replied, suddenly feeling hemmed in. "That's not quite what I….I didn't mean that you were being …." He shifted his weight in the seat, making the leather creak.
"Don't worry, I assured him that I was looking after you, Sir" she declared with a cheeky smile, which only increased his unease and he ran a hand along the back of his collar. He swallowed and held his breath, silently grateful that their journey was not a long one.
"You wait in the car, Sam" he finally said, reaching forward to grasp the door's handle as they pulled up outside Milner's front door. "Can't have you getting cold."
"No, Sir. Thank you very much, Sir."
"Good morning, Sam" Milner said as he folded his long body into the back seat of the Wolseley. His long coat, loosely bundled, was tossed onto the far side of the seat and his hat was dropped onto the top.
"Good morning, Milner."
"It's certainly much warmer in here, Sam" he concluded, firmly shutting the door behind him. Looking over the back of Sam's seat he asked "where's your coat, Sam?"
"It's a long story….." she replied, giving Foyle a quick glance as he, too, got into the car.
"Well, if you get cold….you can have mine."
"Thank you" she mumbled, a slight blush rising in her cheeks.
The road was winding and the light rain that they'd had the night before had made the road slippery so the going was slow. To make the best use of his time, Foyle turned himself in his seat and spoke to Milner, both men offering their different theories on how the goods might have been stolen. Although their discourse was at times animated, there was a deeply set and mutually expressed level of respect in their conversation.
"Well, that's odd, Sir" Sam suddenly said, turning her head and having a second look, this time in the car's oval wing mirror.
"What is, Sam?" Foyle asked, stopping mid-sentence and turning to look at his driver.
"It's barely after nine, Sir, and there were two tractors, a forklift and about seven young men all outside the pub" she explained and slowed down to stop against a wide shoulder, the angle of the road giving them an unobstructed view of the scene while not drawing any unwanted attention.
"Mmmm….bit strange…. repairs, maybe?" Foyle suggested, craning his neck to take in the view.
"This area has had quite a few raids, Sir." Milner offered. "The railway yards make the village an unintended target."
"The building doesn't look damaged, Sir" Sam observed, still using the mirror to save her neck.
"No….it doesn't."
"And," Sam added, "I'd say most of those boys are underage, Sir."
"Well, they're not actually drinking, Sam, so there's little anybody can do." He lifted back the sleeve of his coat to expose the face of his watch. "We'd best keep going. We should have been at the rail yards ten minutes ago."
"Oh, yes. Sorry, Sir" Sam replied, throwing her whole shoulder into the strength it took to put the car back into gear. "The roads..." she explained. "...They're slippery and I thought it best to slow down."
"Yes" Foyle affirmed, turning himself back around. "Always best if you get us there in one piece, Sam."
"Don't worry" she told him, straightening her shoulders, "you can depend on me. I won't let you down."
For second time on this journey, he shuddered.
The Station Master, a stout man in his late fifties, led them to a rather non-descript warehouse on the edge of the yard. His name was Timothy Patterson. Foyle had read the file that Reid had been able to get for him from a contact in the War Office. Although he had served in the first war, and had been decorated for bravery, he had fought without restraint to keep his three sons out this one, even writing to the War Office asking for an exemption for one of his sons on the grounds that he had received a scholarship to study law in London. Of course, like so many other similarly worded requests from around the country, it had had absolutely no effect on his sons' call up letters and all three of his boys had been conscripted. One, his youngest, was at this time still classified as missing, and one other was somewhere in France. Goodness only knew where the third was. Although Foyle felt for the man, he tried not to let it affect his judgement. The pain of loss, and the bitterness expressed towards the war had been used by many people in the past to justify sabotage, and Mr Patterson was the perfect candidate.
"It's meant to look just like an ordinary shed, Mr Foyle" Patterson remarked as they approached the wide double doors.
No markings or name plates existed and, as he looked up into the cloudless sky, Foyle could see why.
"As you can imagine, we're a bit of a target here" he told them, and fished around in his pocket. He pulled out a large brass key that was attached to a cord. The dark brown twine looped around the clasp of his braces and was just long enough to allow the wearer to unlock a door at waist height. The large padlock snapped open and the heavy chain that held the doors shut fell to the ground, snaking itself into a pile. "And this" Patterson said, pulling back the first door, "was the sight that greeted me on Monday morning." He threw open the second door to reveal a completely empty space, save for a few tools and a roll of canvas. Their foot steps echoed as they all entered. Foyle turned and gave Sam a signal, a look, a nod that meant 'take a look around'.
"The paperwork's still in my office" the Station Master said, bending to pick up the chain. "I can show you if you like….but we had three sheets of half inch thick steel, all ten by six, twenty feet of copper wiring for the electrics, and rubber …..for the door seals."
"And..." Milner began to ask, looking in one of the corners, "...it's all gone? You haven't been able to find any of it?"
"No...none" Patterson replied, a hint of shame in his voice. "I can't tell you much more than I told your chap that took the call. The place was locked from the moment the materials arrived. There's only one key and I have it" he explained, holding it up. "It was one of the many conditions that the War Office put on me. I wasn't to tell anyone that the stock had even been ordered let alone when it arrived or where it was being stored. They even bring in their own contractors, you see, so no one in the village should have even known it was here."
Foyle nodded and watched as Sam walked out of the building. She quietly slipped through the open door and disappeared around the side.
"And who has access to that key?" Milner asked, pointing to the Station Master's hand.
"Well, just me" he replied. "I keep it tethered here" he told them, pulling on the cord until it was taut, "and when I'm going home, I lock it in the key cabinet in my office." He reached around and pulled one of the wide doors to the centre, indicating that both the inspection and their conversation had come to its end.
"And who," Milner asked as he stepped out of the building, "has access to your office, Mr Patterson?"
"Just me and …..Mrs Carseldine" he said, his head down.
Foyle took a quick step back, allowing the Station Master to swing the second door back into place.
"Ohhhh!" came the surprised expression from behind him. "Oh my!" the woman's voice declared, the sound high in pitch.
Foyle rose up onto his toes and spun around, instantly increasing the distance between himself and whoever it was that he'd bumped into.
"Oh, uh, I am sorry" he stuttered and felt his cheeks flush. "Are you alright?"
"Yes,...yes" the younger woman assured him. She brushed down her jacket with her one free hand.
"I didn't...um" Foyle said, his voice lowering so that only she could hear. He put out his hand, letting his fingers lightly touch her forearm.
"Hurt me?..." she asked, rising to her full height which, even in heels, made her head level with Foyle's shoulder. "No, I'm fine." She offered a quick smile.
"Sure?" he asked, his voice still low. He dropped his hand away from her arm and slipped it smoothly into his pocket.
"Yes."
Patterson came and stood next to Foyle, his eyes fixed on the policeman's face.
"This is Mrs Carseldine" he said. "My secretary."
"I saw the policemen here, Mr Patterson" she offered, shifting her weight from one foot to the other and making her shoes scrape noisily on the concrete below them. "I thought you might need my help." She passed a small dark green folder to Patterson, her fingers spread against the centre fold so that when the Station Master took hold, their fingers brushed.
He swallowed quickly and gave her a tense "thank you." Turning his body side-on, his eyes avoiding her face, he flicked through the pages. His hand shook as he slipped one piece of paper from the pile.
"There's your list, Mr Foyle" Patterson declared, in a voice that was much too loud, and turned his back on Mrs Carseldine. She quietly tutted but remained in the one spot. Foyle couldn't help but notice her stoic effort in keeping her emotions intact.
"Ahh. Thank you" Foyle said. He smiled and held the sheet in both hands. After a moment he asked "mind if I hold onto this for a little while? We'll return it to you as soon as we're finished with it."
"Don't mind" Patterson told them as he gave his head a quick shake. His hand fumbled with the key in his pocket.
Foyle folded the paper into thirds and slipped it into the pocket inside his jacket.
"The, uh...timber" Foyle began and nodded towards the now chained doors.
"What?" Patterson queried, his eyes narrowing. "What timber?"
"The timber that was added to your order" Foyle replied, glancing at the now nervous looking secretary. "It's right down the bottom,….easy to miss,…..written by a different person if I'm not mistaken. I didn't hear you mention it."
"But I didn't….." Patterson mumbled and walked over towards Foyle. "...I didn't order any timber, Mr Foyle."
"Well,…..somebody did" he replied, tapping his jacket pocket.
Patterson pulled over a wooden crate. He turned it, making it stand up on its edge. He laid the file on the make-shift desk and opened it. A sudden gust of wind made him use one hand as a paper weight. With the other he flicked through the contents, a licked finger aiding him.
"Mrs Carseldine…?" he called over his shoulder, his voice harsh. "These two orders are different!" He held up a pale green slip, the morning light making the ink shine. "There's no mention of timber on this one."
Silence was his reply. All three men looked up from their task but Mrs Carseldine was nowhere to be seen.
"Did it arrive, Mr Patterson?" Milner asked.
"Hmmm wha?" Patterson mumbled in reply, his eyes still scanning the area.
"The timber. Did it arrive?"
"I really …...I can't be certain" Patterson told them as he leaned on the crate, his weight making the structure creak. He rapidly shoved the papers back into the cardboard file and slapped the cover down. "Just excuse me, gentleman" he stammered and hurried off back to his office, the file tucked under one arm.
Foyle rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet and gave Milner a sideways glance.
"Mmmm" Milner hummed, watching Patterson as he hurried back towards the station's office. "I wonder if Sam's had more luck, Sir?"
"She generally does" Foyle replied with a smile.
Milner and Foyle walked beside the rail tracks at the siding, Foyle slowing his pace so that Milner could keep up. They followed the perimeter of the yard, keeping the high wire fence to their right.
"I haven't seen any vehicles around, have you, Sir?" Milner asked, suddenly stopping. He turned himself around and gave the yard a quick scan.
"No...I haven't" Foyle replied.
"I wonder why that gate's open, then" Milner said, pointing to the opening in the fence.
The gate, just wide enough for one vehicle to pass through, had been propped open, a small log leaning up against the wire. Foyle strode over to the opening and looked up. An overgrown Buckthorn, its thick branches weighing down the fence, provided enough cover to make the opening almost invisible from both the air and, it appeared, from the Station Master's office. It seemed improbable that a man who put so much care into securing a single key would tolerate such a blatant breach of security. The same thick cover of leaves, slowly making their yearly transition to a rich golden yellow, had shielded the ground from recent rain. Tyre tracks that matched those that Sam had spotted at Flaxton's farm were now visible here. One lot were shallow but a second set were much deeper with clear evidence that the extra weight had caused the wheels to slip in the mud.
"Sir!" Milner suddenly called, pulling Foyle out of his train of thought.
"What is it?"
Milner strode towards an old stump that sat just outside the fence. Its top surface was worn, having clearly been in the weather for many years.
"Look" said Milner. He pushed aside the heavy foliage and stooped to avoid a low branch. He reached for something. Planting his good foot on the slippery ground, he leaned in. Pulling back away he held up his prize. "Sam's cap!" he declared, a frown on his face. "Looks like it was placed there neatly, just for us to find."
Foyle marched over to his sergeant, his brow furrowed. He touched the brim with his index finger and pivoted around.
"Surely if it had fallen...in a struggle.." Milner said, his breath getting caught on the last word, "it would have been on the ground."
"Mmm" Foyle mumbled. "Sam!" he called, the tone of his voice emitting a mixture of frustration and fear.
No answer came. Foyle tensed his jaw and looked around. Please, God, let her be alright, he pleaded, silently directing his anxiety heaven-ward. He knew, all too well, how desperate black marketeers could be, how far they were prepared to stretch what remained of their scruples in order to get just a few extra pounds. A beautiful, fresh faced young woman in uniform would be a prize too tempting to let go of. He cursed under his breath.
"There's footprints here, Sir" Milner said in a voice that Foyle considered to be far too calm. His own heart was racing and he slipped a shaking hand into his pocket. "They look like women's shoes" Milner stated, his attention on the muddy ground below.
"See what you can find" Foyle hurriedly said. Then, spinning around, added "I'm going to go and see Patterson. I have a feeling he isn't telling me the whole story."
"Yes, Sir" Milner replied, and headed off down the narrow laneway, carefully following the shallow footprints.
Foyle walked along the outside of the fence, leaving the rail yards behind, and headed up the rise towards the small station. As he got closer, he could hear raised voices, both a man's and a woman's and by the sound of them, neither was happy. He picked up his pace. At the end of the path was a steep flight of concrete stairs, flanked on both sides by small but overgrown gardens, the overhanging branches masking his approach. He stood two steps from the top, hidden from view, and watched.
"What have you done, Doris?" the man asked, his voice loud.
"I've done what I needed to do, Tim" the lady replied as she walked towards Patterson. She put a hand on his arm and stroked his sleeve tenderly. "The money I've made from this will set us up, my love…..and then we can be together..."
"No, Doris!" the agitated Station master replied and pulled away from her. "You don't understand! We CANNOT BE TOGETHER! I am MARRIED!"
"You don't love her, Tim….not like you love me"
Patterson paced along the small platform, his feet scraping.
"The police….the two that are here" Patterson began to explain, running a palm across his forehead. "They know that something's not right. They'll find out." He stopped his pacing and turned his face to look at Mrs Carseldine.
"They won't find out, Tim" she protested. "There's nothing they can pin on us, my darling..."
"Us?" Patterson shouted, gripping her shoulders firmly in his hands. "There is no 'us', you infuriating woman!"
Foyle had seen, and heard, enough. The evidence against the two of them was more than sufficient to charge them with a whole string of offences and, with Patterson being a public official, they would both be in a serious amount of trouble. He squared his shoulders and planted his foot onto the next step. He took a breath and was about to announce his presence when another set of voices caught his attention.
"Just come over to the car, Sam" Milner suggested, his voice quiet, his tone gentle. "It'll be alright."
"Is he really?" Sam asked, sounding nervous. "Do you think he'll..."
Foyle instantly forgot about the mismatched lovebirds and their illicit affair. They certainly weren't going anywhere, and time was something that he had to spare. He turned and briskly walked back down the stairs, leaving duty behind.
"Sam!" he called when he'd almost reached the car. By now he was travelling at quite a clip and his breathing was rapid.
As she heard her name called, Sam paused and turned, inadvertently showing him the results of her expedition. On seeing the evidence, his heart rate instantly went up. She had two scraped knees, the hem of her skirt was torn, and both of her hands were covered in mud.
"Are you….alright?" he asked, his hands touching her shoulders as he looked into her eyes. "What happened?" Although his question was aimed at Sam, his eyes flicked up to Milner, begging him to respond.
Milner gave a nod, signalling that he understood, but went around and opened Sam's door first.
"Why don't you sit down, Sam?" Milner suggested and put a hand under her elbow.
"I really am fine, Sir" Sam muttered. After finding her seat, she bent and inspected her knees. She licked her finger and, through the now gaping hole in her stocking, she wiped away the dried blood and dirt.
"After I left you, Sir" she said, now busying her fingers with the torn hem of her skirt, "I walked around the back of the building. I thought I might see what was there. It's amazing what people will hide in places that they don't expect people to go to." She placed her cap in her lap and began to wipe her hands on her handkerchief.
"Then what?" Foyle prompted and handed her his own much larger handkerchief.
"Then I heard an engine start, Sir. It sounded like a lorry and I turned to see where it was coming from. That's when I noticed the open gate, Sir."
"Right."
"There were tracks in the mud, Sir" she explained, daintily spitting on the corner of Foyle's handkerchief and scrubbing at the remaining mud. "They looked identical to the ones we saw at Flaxton's farm and…."
"So you went in to investigate?" he asked, his fingers furrowing trails in his forehead. "On your own?…..when nobody knew where you were?"
"I did leave you a clue, Sir" she added, almost in apology. She tapped the crown of her cap.
"Well, I'd hardly call that a clue, Sam…..didn't really, uh, put our minds at ease, did it?"
"But I put it on the outside of the fence so you'd know that that's where I was headed and," she added, seemingly quite chuffed at her own ingenuity, "I faced it in the direction that I was going in...down the road."
"Well that, Miss Stewart, was not one of your best ideas" he cut in. He took a step back and, leaning heavily on the door's frame, drew in a deep breath. "In fact it was quite foolish. You could have been seriously hurt, Sam. I mean..."
"Actually, Sir, I thought that I might be able to get you some pretty valuable evidence.."
"What evidence might that be, Sam?" he asked, his patience almost completely used up.
"I spotted the lorry, the same one we saw at Mr Flaxton's farm. It was being driven by a young lad and he had a passenger. The passenger called him either Eddy or Teddy, Sir...I couldn't be sure."
Foyle gave her a sideways glance and narrowed his eyes.
"Anyway, I snuck around to the back of the lorry to see what they had loaded in the back."
"You what? Sam!" He shoved both of his hands into his pockets, the force almost busting the linings.
Completely ignoring his protests, Sam continued. "I climbed into the back."
"Of a moving vehicle?!" By now he was pacing, his steps swift and his breathing rapid.
"Well, it wasn't moving at the time, Sir…...that happened later."
Foyle stopped and looked up, giving her a wide eyed stare of disbelief.
"It was full of timber, Sir. Long slats of timber." She held up her hands and used her fingers to show the width and depth of the lumber. "It was at least two inches thick, Sir, and each piece was well over six feet long."
"Then what did you do?"
"Well, Sir, that's when the lorry started to move. Quite quickly actually." She folded the now filthy handkerchief and slipped it into the pocket of her shirt. "I had to jump out..."
"You jumped out of a moving vehicle?! What were you thinking, Sam?"
"Well Sir, I was thinking that I either had to jump out or…..allow myself to be kidnapped."
Foyle resumed his pacing. When his back was turned he mumbled a few choice words, none of which he would normally say in front of a lady but…..my God, he was angry. What was Sam thinking? She wasn't thinking much at all, that was certain. She was being bloody irresponsible, putting herself at great risk, giving him and Milner a hell of a fright and for what?...stolen timber?
"Is that how you got the scraped knees?" he asked, forcing down his bile so that his words didn't sound completely heartless.
"Yes" she admitted. "And I tore my skirt. It took me a while to walk back….and then I saw Milner."
"And I was very pleased to see you, Sam" Milner said, reaching in and putting a hand on her shoulder. He gave it a squeeze.
"Yes..." Foyle suddenly remarked. "Yes, I'm pleased Milner saw you, too."
"Doesn't seem like it" she whispered, her head bowed, her hands in her lap.
"Of course I am…..." he mumbled to no one in particular. "Let's get going, shall we?….let's get you home, Sam." He walked around to his side of the car and opened the door. "Oh, that is if….you're feeling up to it, Sam."
"I'm fine, Sir" Sam declared and reached forward to turn the engine over.
The drive home was awkward to say the least. Not one word left Sam's mouth, and Foyle's eyes never left his window. It was the longest fifty minutes of his life.