“Friday Fiction” Series: Living on the Third Rail, Chapters Three through Five…
[Note from Steve: Because this is yet another British-style mystery story, the metaphor of the title here refers to London’s Underground aka the Tube. Trains there, unlike NYC’s, actually have four rails with two live ones. The positive third rail is still outside the rails the car wheels ride on and has the higher voltage, which is twice the fourth with negative voltage, nestled between the two regular train ones. Now there’s a factoid that might stump any Jeopardy contestant!]
Living on the Third Rail
Copyright 2021, Steven M. Moore
Chapter Three
Bobby found Elaine’s little motorcar comfortable once he was inside, but getting into the old Morris was difficult, for both his size and bum leg that was always stiff that late in the day.
“I’ll try to remember to bring some axle grease for you next time,” she said with a smile as he made himself more comfortable.
“I’m good. I’ve been in far tighter places before—tanks, overcrowded Humvees and Jeeps, sitting right-side up or upside down, or in a roll downhill. This is heaven in comparison. Nice to have a pretty chauffeur too and not a sweaty colleague driving.”
She was silent until she had to stop for a light. She turned to him, a worried look on her face. “Let’s not ruin dinner by talking about any of that. Please. I hate war, even though I love soldiers. They go through hell. I know that, but I don’t want to talk about it. Okay?”
“Right. But you won’t want to hear about some cases I had with the Met either. Soldiering and policing—that’s me most of my adult life. So we have to talk about you. No rings, so you’re not engaged or married. Any boyfriends?”
“Not currently. And not for a while, in fact. No time for a serious relationship, to put a fine point on it. I’m an ER nurse, remember?” He nodded. “It’s better now. Definitely less hectic than what we experienced during the pandemic. If I’d had that PM as a patient, I might have forgotten the Hippocratic oath.”
“Family?”
“Mum’s in a Bristol nursing home with dementia. Whole place got the virus. She was one of the few who survived. Pops is gone five years now. Not unusual for people our age. Your family?”
“I’m the youngest of three siblings, the baby that arrived by accident. Our parents passed on, seems like years ago. The oldest sibling, my sister, is a barrister. My older brother’s a teacher. They’re both a lot older than I am. We exchange holiday cards, and I received something like a ‘Get well soon’ from my sis when I was in that German hospital recovering. I’m basically on my own.”
“So…are we both stupid to lose ourselves in our work?”
“I suppose. Sad, huh? Aren’t we the glum chums?”
“Here we are. A pint or two will cheer us.”
“And the food?”
“It’s usually great, and there’s lots of it. But if it isn’t tonight, we’ll just have to toss down a few more pints. We can always call a taxi. I’ve left my motor here overnight in the car-park before. Nobody would bother stealing this old thing. Fair warning: I need an early evening. Graveyard shift coming up, so my limit is two. With more and the food, I’d have trouble staying awake.”
He could tell by the way she gripped the wheel and blathered on a bit that she was nervous. His sleuthing skills weren’t quite up to determining why. And he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had dinner with a woman.
***
Elaine dropped him at his boarding house not long after dinner. Mrs. Lawton, the owner, was still awake reading one of her romance novels.
“Saw a lovely young lass drop you off, Mr. Bobby,” she said, sticking her head out the entrance to her sitting room. She winked at him. “You work fast. Who is she?”
“Just a new friend I met. Sorry I’m late.”
The old woman looked back inside, probably at the huge grandfather clock in the back corner of the room. “Not very. Tomorrow I’ll try to remember to give you a key so you can come and go as you please. I never want to stand in the way of young love.”
“Again, she’s just a friend. Good night, Mrs. Lawton. I’ll see you at breakfast.”
“You missed it today.”
“I had a lot to do.”
“No problem. I’ll credit that. I start serving at seven. Last service by nine. Have a good evening.”
Bobby moved up the stairs with a smile on his face. He’d been lucky to find the place. Maybe Mrs. Lawton would mother him too much, but he’d be in no hurry to change lodging until after he was sorted in his new tasks at work. One thing at a time, Bobby, one thing at a time.
But should he follow up with Elaine? She’d seemed to imply she was very busy with no time for relationships. He’d be busy too. If anything happened, it would have to occur with both of them skirting around their stressful work. But other people did that, didn’t they? Time would tell.
He did a bit of a lie-in the next morning, had a leisurely breakfast served by Mrs. Lawton and her son, David, a friendly fellow who reminded Bobby of Aaron Brody, another simple soul. The world needs more like them.
He went to his appointment with Dr. Patel.
The office was located more toward the center of London in a modern skyscraper. Bobby found the suite number in the lobby, 8H. He was impressed when he entered the office. Definitely not NHS! Bobby couldn’t figure out how the Met could afford the doctor’s services. Maybe this is an exceptional exam? How much would the medic charge? Bobby could imagine several monthly wages.
***
“Mr. Sherman. This way please.” An older nurse led him past the receptionist’s desk into a corridor and then on to an exam room. “Please detach your prosthetic. The doctor will be with you in a moment.”
When the doctor entered, he reminded Bobby of some characters in Willy Wonka & the Candy Factory, an Oompa-Loompa-like fellow with a wide grin and sparkling, brown eyes, but he couldn’t remember which version of the movie he was remembering. Bobby regretted making the racial stereotype, especially when the small man turned out to be a serious yet amiable professional.
He examined the prosthetic. “As a child, I read a novel once where the main character had several of these, even some specialty ones with tools. Ever read The Moon is a Harsh Mistress? It’s a sci-fi story by Robert Heinlein. I found the idea of functional prosthetics fascinating, so here I am, ye olde prosthetics expert. I get paid for examining all of you plods, though, prosthetics or not. Just strip to your briefs. I’ll take your prosthetic for a moment to examine it. Be right back.”
When he returned, Patel waved the artificial hand and said, “They did a fine job. Let me check the stump first.” Bobby felt a bit strange as the doctor examined the stump with its multiple contacts. “Yes, I see how they did it. That must have taken some time, but you should have nearly full functionality. Let’s see the leg. Can you stand alone on it?” For another ten minutes, Patel poked and prodded. “You’ll have a great left hook.” He laughed.
“Someone else said that.”
“I’ll write on the form that you’re fit enough to go out and about and nick all the bad people. I’d hate to be a criminal and get in a fight with you. You can dress and go back to the waiting room. The nurse will bring your forms out. Good luck back in the Met, Inspector Sherman.”
“Not quite yet, but by the end of the day, I suppose.”
Chapter Four
“Welcome back to civilization, Guv,” DS Cohen said upon entering Bobby’s new office, his hand extended in greetings. “You might not remember me. I was only a detective constable when you were here as a DS.”
“Take a chair.” When he was seated, Bobby smiled at him. “I do remember you. I just want to meet the whole team one on one, like I said at our team meeting. By the way, first-name basis. I’m Bobby. You’re Chaim?” He nodded. “How’s the nipper?”
He laughed. “Two now, Guv—um, Bobby. A boy and girl. Everyone’s fine, thank you.”
“Your wife’s a pathologist associated with the next station over, right?”
“She works with them usually, correct. I sometimes see her in her official capacity when things get hectic here and old Doc Jepson gets overwhelmed. The Met’s just one big happy family.”
“Except when it isn’t,” Bobby said with a smile. “I have yet to see you in action as a DS.” Chaim frowned. “Don’t worry. We’ll work fine together. I know a lot more about being a DS than being a DI, though, so have patience with me.”
“You worked under DCI Hardcastle. We all respect him, and he’s a great role model.”
“I hope to be the same, and I’ll be as demanding, within reason…and I will not be overbearing. Please let me know about any problems here at work. I’m a good listener. Any questions?”
“Not now. I’ll pipe up when I have them.”
“Good. Could you send in DS Wilson?”
***
By one p.m., Bobby had finished interviewing his new team: two sergeants and four constables making up a team of seven, counting himself. That makeup could change depending on a particular case’s requirements. And, on occasion, some DIs ran two teams or more, taking almost the role of a DCI. For now, Hardcastle was breaking him in with just the one team.
Except for DS Cohen, who had been promoted to Bobby’s old position from another station’s team, the team was Hardcastle’s old one, including himself, the DI now responsible for all of them. He thought it was an awesome responsibility, but a challenge that he gladly accepted.
Because there was no pending case at the moment, he decided to call it a day. It was the perfect time for another pub dinner with Elaine, but he knew she’d be at the ER. A drizzle had started, so he took the Tube to his boarding house. He bought a paper at the exit and used it to cover his head during the two-block walk home.
Mrs. Lawton tut-tutted, took the paper, and gave him a towel. “Find a place in the parlor, Mr. Bobby. I’ll bring you a cuppa.”
Another guest was there. When she lowered her paper, he saw that she was a woman much younger than Mrs. Lawton but older than Bobby. “I’m guessing you’re the new long-time boarder. Mrs. Lawton doesn’t take on many, so that’s always in demand. In fact, sometimes she’s completely full and I have to find somewhere else when I come to London.”
Bobby, who had wanted to introduce himself, finally got a word in. “I’m Bobby Sherman. Until I get sorted here in London, I am indeed a long-term guest.”
He stood and offered his hand. She shook it, barely touching it. Does she think both are prosthetics?
As if she were reading his mind, she said, “I was just admiring your prosthesis. Is that Dr. Patel’s work?”
“US Army surgeon’s. I just came back from Afghanistan by way of Germany.”
“How interesting. My brother was over there. He’s a helicopter mechanic. Non-combatant. Home now. He actually met Prince Harry once.”
“I was probably there after him then, or just didn’t have the opportunity to meet him. I certainly flew in enough choppers.”
“That damn war lasted two decades. It was time we got out. Just not in that way, of course.”
“Do you know Dr. Patel?”
“I sell medical supplies. His office is just one of many on my list to visit. My territory goes all the way to Oxford where I live. It would be more practical to live in London, I suppose, because most of my business is here, but the city’s so damn expensive. I see your tea has arrived. Try the cakes. Mrs. Lawton does them right.”
He thanked Mrs. Lawton who scurried off, sat, and started in. The room was a bit chilly, so the beverage went down well. He finished a cake before continuing the conversation.
“Do you also visit NHS facilities?” he said, thinking of the hospital where Elaine worked.
“NHS buys most everything in bulk and distributes themselves. I service private practices. I understand the Yard even refers coppers to Dr. Patel, though. He’s a bit weird but a very comforting fellow to his patients, I’m sure. Probably charges an arm and a leg, though. Pardon the bad joke.”
Indeed. Why does the Met use him? Why not send coppers to the NHS? Did I get special treatment?
“I saw him for this,” he said, raising his left hand, “referred there by the Met for nearly a routine physical, though. I’d already seen someone at an NHS hospital about a little problem with it.”
“The chap who had my sales route before me explained that he does service members and coppers at reduced rates. Feels it’s his civic duty.”
“Good for him.” And there you have it, Bobby.
Bobby thought maybe there was more to that story, though, but left it at that.
***
While other boarders sat down to enjoy what appeared to be a fine meal—Bobby had only signed up for the breakfast plan and missed the first day because of his visit to NHS—he went two blocks farther down the street to a small Italian restaurant he’d spotted when looking for the boarding house. The owner and his daughter treated him like royalty.
“Not see you before,” Luigi, the owner, said to him as he was finishing up an excellent veal marsala.
“I’m staying at Mrs. Lawton’s boarding house. I figured my dinner hours would be irregular in my new job, so I didn’t sign up for her meal plan.”
“Better for you. You can try all my excellent creations. There are also many other ethnic restaurants around here. No guarantees for their quality, though.” He pointed to Bobby’s mobile on the table. “Just google. You’ll see them.”
Bobby was just getting used to the new moby. He still had some setup to do.
“Thank you.” Bobby held out his hand. “I’m Bobby Sherman, by the way. And you’re Luigi…?”
“Luigi Mancini, like that composer. My beautiful daughter’s name is Carlotta.” He leaned toward Bobby and said in a whisper, “She’s my youngest. Not married, if you’re interested.”
He glanced at Carlotta, who looked to Bobby like how Carmen in the Bizet opera might look. He’d like to see that some day; he figured his CDs didn’t do the opera justice.
She was polishing glasses at the bar, perhaps humming along with the Neapolitan songs playing on the sound system. The old man hardly needed to whisper.
“A lovely woman, but how old is she?”
“Legal age. She just turned eighteen. I need to marry her up to a rich man. My other children already married well.”
Bobby didn’t like that phrase “marry up.” “She’s a bit young for me. I’m sure she’ll find someone.”
“Okay. But keep her in mind. She’s like my wife, so probably a fiery lover.”
In spite of an effort to control it, Bobby blushed. He then nodded. “Okay. I’ll keep her in mind, and tell any of my friends who are looking for a date.”
When he paid to leave, Carlotta was all smiles. Had she put her father up to that little matchmaking exercise?
As he strolled back to the boarding house, he had to chuckle. He wasn’t going to let Luigi’s attempts to find his daughter a rich man to marry stop him from enjoying fine Italian food, but he thought he might try some of those other restaurants before returning.
Chapter Five
“All right, folks, we have our first case,” Bobby announced to his team the next morning after everyone had sorted their coffee, tea, and various snacks. His gaze swept over the expectant faces. The incident room seemed crowded. He was in one corner. “I’m going to let Liz take the lead. She arrived first and already has her tea. I’ll be checking out the biscuits. Liz?”
Bobby watched as she stepped in front of the group, confident in her demeanor. Good!
Other personnel who entered Heatherhill Station that foggy morning showed some curiosity about the meeting where Bobby’s team had crowded into the smallest incident room used for team briefings. The door had been left open to keep the room from becoming stifling with the old radiator and high humidity. He wondered if they were more curious about the new DI, though, namely him. Or why I broke with tradition and am calmly sorting my tea and biscuits instead of assuming the obvious role of leader?
Liz was already at the case board, there because of Bobby’s early warning. Chaim had wheeled it in.
“We have an unidentified stabbing victim found in an alleyway. Female, twenty-five to thirty probably. SOCOs and Doc Jepson are on the scene now with uniformed constables on crowd control.”
“Any chance it’s a domestic dispute?” Chaim said.
“Always that chance,” Bobby said. “Go on, Liz.”
Liz was frowning at the interchange. “Unless there’s some message or a witness’s testimony, there’s no way to tell,” she said. “Let’s not go down that rat hole. Shall I continue?”
Bobby, his mouth now full of biscuit, nodded again, more for Chaim’s benefit. Either nerves or gung-ho for the young man. He assumed the others were adrenalized too and anxious to show the DI their stuff.
“One uniformed constable quoted a shopkeeper as saying that the alleyway was clear last night when he closed his shop. We’ll know the TOD better after the pathologist finishes his work. COD is clear.”
“It’s possible she was killed elsewhere and dumped in the alleyway, in which case we’d not know much about TOD,” Bobby managed to say. “Let’s keep that in mind.”
Liz nodded and then shrugged. I’d better keep quiet, Bobby thought.
She continued. “I was going to say the SOCOs might be able to tell us if the murder was committed in the alleyway. We shouldn’t make into any assumptions until the crime scene is cleared, whether secondary or not.”
Bobby stood but remained where he was. “Thanks, Liz. After the SOCOs and Doc Jepson finish, let’s start canvassing the area. Maybe someone saw or heard something, even if she was dumped there. Chaim, let’s you and I tickle HERCULES a bit with any pics we get of the victim, looking for missing person cases. We need to find out who the victim is ASAP. Let’s all meet back here at half past three.” He didn’t have to remind his team that the first days of a murder case were critical.
They all dispersed except for Chaim and Bobby. Before they returned to the common area and he sat down at Liz’s workstation, he saw Hardcastle watching from his office window. He was smiling.
Yes, Jack, we’re off to a good start. I hope it stays that way.
***
“I have a hit!” Chaim called over to Bobby.
He got up and peered over his sergeant’s shoulder at the computer screen. “No way!”
Chaim had put the picture of the victim’s dead face next to another woman’s, the first on the left with dead eyes staring, the one on the right with a vivacious smile; the right one was from Interpol, complete with BOLO. The victim’s name was Maria Girardi, and she was last living in Italy.
“Our victim died far from home,” Chaim said. “Should we inform Interpol?”
Bobby read a bit more. “Maybe the Polizia di Stato too. A jewelry heist. Maybe she didn’t want to split the jewels with her four accomplices? Did a runner and ended up here dead in an alleyway?”
“Those four would be my first suspects, whoever they are. They could have killed her even if she finally gave them the jewels.”
“Call our people back in. We’ll have to generalize our canvassing to hotels and boarding houses throughout the city now, maybe throughout the UK. Damn! She entered the country somewhere. We’ll need to contact customs too. Trace her steps forward and back.”
Chaim was staring at the Interpol picture. “Pretty girl. Got in with the wrong crowd, I guess.”
“You’re a romantic. How do you know she’s not the leader of that gang and had decided to keep the jewels all along?”
“Her? She looks like an angel!”
Bobby put his hand on his sergeant’s soldier. “Okay, she could have just been used by the gang. One guy goes in with her pretending to look at engagement rings, say. We’ll keep an open mind. We now have name and nationality. I outlined a plan. Let’s get to work on it.”
***
Interpol agent Wolfgang Lange and Bobby stripped off their autopsy suits. The agent was silent and didn’t say anything until they rejoined Liz in the squad car; she’d been in contact with those canvassing. She was also their driver. Bobby took the passenger seat, and Wolfgang sat in the back.
“Damn shame,” said the man from Lyon. “A beautiful woman’s life wasted.”
“We don’t know much about her,” Liz said. “Your people and the Italians weren’t very cooperative. Your turn to share, agent Lange.”
Bobby smiled. Liz could hold her own.
“I apologize. Part of that attitude is due to Brexit. The UK’s no longer in the EU. But the Italians were always stingy about sharing data too. And we were a bit silent because of who she is.”
“We know who she is,” Bobby said. “I don’t understand. Is her family important or something? Old Italian royalty?”
“You’ve put your finger in the sore. She’s not really Italian, although she worked in Italy. She went there when her Swiss family disowned her. She gave them the finger and left. The old man is a rich banker. We understand the stepmother was the one who convinced him to give her the boot. He wanted to keep this whole jewelry heist quiet.”
“To avoid scandal?” Liz said.
“That, and because he thinks she was coerced. We have no evidence for that.”
“Did she run off with the jewels?” Bobby said.
“We don’t know that. Might be the case, though. We need to catch the others and ask them. You folks might want to get MI5 involved.”
“Hell, Hardcastle would love me for doing that,” Bobby said.
“Jack Hardcastle?” Bobby nodded. “Good man, Jack.” Wolfgang thought a moment. “Let’s say that the other thieves are still in the UK. How could we flush them out?”
“They won’t be here if they got the jewels,” Liz said. “If Maria could smuggle them in, they can smuggle them out.”
Bobby nodded again. “There are many ways in and out of merry old England.”
“You’re probably right,” Wolfgang said.
“But let’s suppose they didn’t get the jewels,” Bobby said. “We can flush them out by saying we found them where Maria was staying. What my team is doing is still a good plan.”
“A necessary one,” Liz said, “because we have no idea where she was hiding.”
“They’ll know where, at least the last place, because they found the girl.”
“Back to canvassing lodging places and ports of entry,” Bobby said.
“There’s another possibility. Maria has relatives living here in the UK. An old aunt and uncle live in a castle somewhere. That uncle is her old man’s older brother.”
“Name and place?” Bobby said.
“I need to contact Lyon for that.”
***
Comments are always welcome.
A holiday gift from me to you. The novel Defanging the Red Dragon, A Brookstone-Castilblanco Holiday Adventure is now available as a free PDF download! See the web page “Free Stuff & Contests” for directions on obtaining it. Esther Brookstone, Bastiann van Coevorden, Dao-Ming Chen, and Rolando Castilblanco celebrate the holidays by going after a Chinese spy ring. You can celebrate the holidays with them. Technically the “Esther Brookstone Art Detective” Series, Book Six, this novel also ties in with the “Detectives Chen and Castilblanco” Series, a crossover adventure, if you will. Enjoy the mystery, thirlls, and suspense! And happy holidays!
Around the world and to the stars! In libris libertas!
