Chapter Two – Who Are You?

Steve looked up from the file he was studying at his workstation as his superior officer walked through the door. "Sarge, DI Shiner called in earlier. He wanted to let you know he's on his way," he informed.

Dennis nodded, taking off his hat as he walked into the duty room. "When was this?" he asked.

Steve tilted his head to see the clock. "About an hour ago," he answered.

"Then he won't be too far away then," Dennis said, his voice carefully neutral. "Anything reported?"

"No, it's been quiet as a pub when dawn breaks," Alf said as he walked out from the kitchenette with two steaming cups of tea, one for himself and one for Steve.

Dennis narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Where is Bellamy?" he asked.

"Up at Miss Wilcott's. She reported having been burgled sometime during the night," Steve offered by way of explanation for his absence.

Dennis turned to Alf. "Quiet as a pub when dawn breaks," he mumbled sarcastically.

"Oh you know how it is; one or two customers usually left, they need assistance away from the place," Alf quipped.

OOOOOO

"Good grief," Lord Ashfordly muttered as his Estate Manager, Ben Norton, ended his update as of the events taking place the day before.

"I've only been away for a night and then this happens," the lordship added.

"I'm sure the police are doing everything they can to sort it out," Ben returned.

"Well, I certainly hope so," he said dryly. "How would it look? People get crazy ideas, they might think I had something to do with it."

Ben watched the lordship sigh and then sit down in his favorite armchair next to the fire place in the large library. He reached for the newspaper and found a picture of his Estate on the front page with a heavy black single line above. It read 'Mysterious death on the Ashfordly Estate'.

Charles Ashfordly blanched. "I think I need a drink," he said, his voice no more than a whisper.

"Are you sure, sir?" Ben began. "It's not even noon."

His employer gave him a dejected look and opened his mouth to say something when there was a faint knock on the door. The moment later Mrs. Kellet appeared in the doorway.

"I'm sorry to disturb you my lord but there is a reporter in the hall. He insists on having a word with you," she said.

The rather wealthy man nodded at Ben as he got out of the chair. "You get Sergeant Merton here," he ordered.

OOOOOO

"And you have nothing?" DI Shiner questioned as he sat down opposite the Ashfordly sergeant.

"You're correct, I am afraid, sir," Dennis answered sheepishly.

Shiner made a face, one that clearly showed disappointment. "I see," he muttered.

"I've just had a word with Doctor Craven, who performed the post mortem, and according to him our man was strangled on location. He put up a good fight, he has got various cuts and bruises suggesting that he defended himself," Dennis explained.

Shiner sat in silence contemplating the information he was given.

"According to forensics, as well as my officers, arriving on location yesterday, we have another set of footprints but not much more," Dennis added wearily.

"No witnesses?" the DI asked.

Merton shrugged. "None that we know of," he offered.

"And you say he isn't local?" Shiner questioned further.

"Our civilian, Alf Ventress, put out a description of the man in question earlier but so far no one seems to recognize the victim," the sergeant replied. "Before you ask, sir, we have sent the picture to our neighboring stations. I'm still waiting for news."

"Well…," the CID officer began as he leaned forward in the visitor's chair in the sergeant's office, hands clasped together in front of him, "…did he come by train, car or some other form of transportation?"

The former CID officer shook his head, unable to answer the question just yet. "That's our next step in this investigation," he let on.

"My apologies, Dennis, I still expect a higher standard from you I suppose," he said with a faint wry smile. "Despite what happened I know you were a trusted officer."

Dennis mood darkened somewhat but he was determined not to let it show as he straightened in his chair. "Thank you, sir," he said solemnly. "How's it going for DC Bradley?"

"A promising lad I must say," Shiner returned approvingly. "He had some help at the start, you trained him well."

Dennis nodded. "Now, where do you want to take it from here?" he asked curiously, steering the conversation back on track.

"I'll wait for your lads to find out where our John Doe came from and why he was in the area. I'll put some men on fining an identity and also I'll try and see if I can find out anything about the perpetrator," Shiner explained and turned slightly in his seat with a raised eyebrow as there was a knock on the door.

Dennis looked behind Shiner just as Ventress stepped through the door. "I'm sorry to interrupt Sarge but your presence is requested at the Ashfordly Estate," he said.

For a fleeting moment a half-amused smirk crossed Shiner's face before he turned serious. "I see you'll have your hands full," he stated.

Merton pursed his lips into a thin line, eyes hard, irritation clearly written all over his face as he got out of his chair and reached for his hat. "Thanks Ventress," he said in annoyance.

"If you don't mind, Dennis, I'll make myself comfortable behind your desk," Shiner said, causing him to stop mid-step out of his office.

"Not at all, sir," he answered, his voice carefully hiding every emotion swirling beneath the surface of his calm exterior.

OOOOOO

PC Steven Crane killed the engine of his police service motorbike and graciously swung his leg over the saddle and then placed his helmet at the top of the radio receiver. He took a moment to glance around the immediate area before walking up to the platform at the railway station. There where people milling around all over the place despite the rather strange hour. He did a double take at his wristwatch making sure it hadn't stopped at eleven hundred hours and then frowned.

"Constable," Mr. Stevenson, the railway master, said cheerfully as he came walking toward him. "Isn't it fantastic," he added proudly.

Steve gave him a sheepish smile which turned into a look of confusion. "What is?" he asked carefully.

"All these people, he clarified. "Haven't you heard about the rumours of shutting down several stations for the good profit?"

"Yes, now that you mention it," the young constable let on, "but I didn't think Aidensfield had anything to do with that."

"Every station is on the line here lad. However, this will show the department representative that this station is one to count on," Stevenson said.

"Well, I hate to spoil your good mood but I need to have a few words with you. It concerns our murder investigation," Steve informed.

The smile that had seemed glued to the railway masters face vanished and he gently tugged at the constable's arm, indicating for him to follow. "Not so loud constable, please," he admonished in a voice not louder than a whisper. "Come through to my office."

PC Crane frowned but said nothing as he dutifully trailed behind the railway master.

"Murder you say?" Stevenson said alarmed. "Has it got something to do with that first page of this morning's newspaper?"

Steve gave a wry smile. "Yes, the murder at the Ashfordly Estate," he concurred. "Sounds like something taken right out of a book."

"Do you have reason to believe he arrived by train?" Stevenson asked carefully.

"That's what I was hoping you could tell me," the young constable returned. He reached deep into his pocket and retrieved a picture of a lifeless man in his early forties. His face looked peaceful somehow despite that his last minutes in life had been horrendous and he looked younger than his actual age. His brown hair cut in the latest fashion, a bit longer than the station master would have liked. Stevenson harrumphed. "Definitely not a sight for sore eyes," he muttered.

"I do apologise for the picture. Unfortunately that is the only picture of him available at the moment," Steve explained.

"I can't really say I've seen him but then again yesterday was a very busy day," the railway master said.

"Forgive me for being privy, sir, but what was going on yesterday and how come there are so many people here today?" the young police constable asked curiously.

Stevenson broke into a grin. "A number of reasons," he let on cryptically eliciting a frown from the police man. "One of them being that the Pickering station is out of order. Some idiot broke a switch at daybreak two days ago and had it not been for the swift action of the flag master things could have turned nasty. He managed to get out a warning to the arriving freight train but with all its load it couldn't stop and veered off on a side track. The passenger train can come through there but the railway master there, Harrison didn't want all the people milling around on the platform while the work with the freight train was in order."

"Are they still at it?" Steve wondered aloud.

"It's a lot of cargo to shift," Stevenson returned. "Then there is this overly popular thing called a demonstration of good will up in York. I'm not sure what it's all about and somehow I don't think half of the activists knows either. Anyway a lot of them have been coming by train, they don't get off here but they ride the train through here."

"At the same time there's a strike at the bus company…" Stevenson trailed off, letting the sentence hang in the air as he chuckled.

"Well, please give me a ring if you do remember anything more," Steve said kindly. "It's very important that we find out how he arrived here and if you could help with that I would be grateful."

Stevenson reached out with his hand and took the newly taken picture of the dead man from the young police man again, to study it further. He appeared thoughtful for a while but then shook his head. "It might have been him," he began.

Steve felt his hope rising.

"If it was, he sure where in a hurry away from here. He knocked over a trunk and then stumbled over a dog, apologizing profusely," the railway master said, biting his lip, trying to recall something more. Then he shrugged. "I'm sorry that's all I can give you, but it's a big if. Could have been someone else, I'm really not sure."

Steve sighed inwardly in frustration but put on a polite smile as he got the picture back in his hand. "Like I said, do give us a ring if you remember anything more," he said.

OOOOOO

Sgt. Dennis Merton drove up the driveway to the Ashfordly Estate, parked the car just outside the main entrance and killed the engine with an exasperated sigh. The neat park and well-trimmed bushes and trees outside hinted that the owner of the place was a wealthy and proper man. The lordship was a well-respected man in the region. He used to hunt with the Chief Constable and other people in high places. Merton didn't care much for those people, he believed in advancement through proper work and weren't afraid of speaking what was on his mind. Unfortunately he knew that in his position he had to bow for his superiors and if he didn't please his lordship the Chief Constable would no doubt phone him and order him to take care of the problem. As of right know the problem was one nosy reporter standing in the lobby.

"Sgt. Merton," Mrs. Kellet said with a friendly smile as she stepped out on the porch.

Dennis returned the smile as he walked up to her. "Mrs. Kellet," he acknowledged. "I believe I have been summoned."

"Yes," the old maid said with relief. "His lordship is upset about the presence of a reporter and wants you to bring him into custody for trespassing. Also, he wants you to fill him in on the progress of the deceased."

Dennis swallowed. There hadn't been any progress to speak of, they were stuck on square one.

"Let's focus on one thing at the time," he said softly, yet in a commanding tone.

She nodded, understanding his reasoning. "Sounds logical; please come this way," Kellet said, leading him to the library where the lordship waited.

Charles Ashfordly looked up from the whiskey glass he was swirling in his hand as the door opened to reveal the Ashfordly police sergeant. "Finally, Sergeant Merton, what is this mess with the dead man found on my estate?" he demanded.

Dennis ignored the patronizing tone and took two steps inside the room. He made no effort to take off his hat or coat. "I wish I could have had the case cleared up by now and explain it to you but I'm afraid, my lordship, that it's a bit more complicated than that," he reasoned.

Ashfordly raised a questionable eyebrow at the statement. "Complicated? What in heaven's name is so complicated about it?" he asked.

"As of right now we are still investigating the matter. Who the man was, what he came from and what his intentions where by coming here," Merton explained, his voice neutral but the Scottish brogue thicker, indicating subtly that he was as frustrated by the whole thing as his lordship.

"See to it that you find something soon, Merton. I don't fancy reading about murder or mysterious deaths and other conspiracy theories on my land. It's bad publicity," he said dryly.

"I assure you, we are doing everything we can to identify the man and how he ended up here," Dennis replied. "Now, what was it about the reporter?"

"I want you to bring him in, he is trespassing on my land," the lordship said simply.

"I'm sorry I can't do that. But I can give him a warning. As long as he's not a threat to you or cause you or anyone else here any harm, my hands are tied," the sergeant explained patiently.

Ashfordly sighed, his eyes once again on the glass in his hand. "Very well, Merton, just get rid of him and clear up this mess," he said dejectedly.

OOOOOO

To be continued

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