On Track for Murder Read online

  Abigail considered Larkin’s possible motives. He had stated that ransom was the purpose of her abduction. If that were the case, he would require communication with Perth to secure the funds. She doubted there would be a telegraph on that remote island outside the bay. Even lighthouse keepers had to wait for boats to provide them with correspondence. Maybe Larkin didn’t actually have a plan and was merely running on instinct? Maybe he was working for someone else?

  Thinking back to her initial conversation with Eugene, she recalled him inadvertently revealing the involvement of someone else. Someone who would pay Thomas and Eugene, whether they succeeded in the abduction or not.

  The chuffing engine note changed as the vessel again slewed to the left. They were turning. Abigail gazed out the window to see the island loom into view. The shoreline looked treacherous. Rock strewn and steep, it seemed as though there would be nowhere to land a boat. As they moved closer the engine slowed to an idle. Abigail saw that they were entering a small bay with a rocky outcrop. Ropes were strung out holding a temporary looking floating jetty. A track led up the hill from the landing and disappeared into the bush.

  The boat lurched as the engine controls clunked, the spinning shafts shuddering before turning in the opposite direction. Reverse was being used to slow them down. Abigail thought hard. Maintaining the illusion of still being bound was probably the best approach to take. If it were found that she was loose they would simply tie her up again.

  Thomas’ yelling preceded the sound of stomping across the deck. They were arriving at the makeshift jetty. A light bump elicited further shouting. The engine finally came to a stop. Almost immediately, a deafening hiss of steam suddenly let off. The activation of the steam safety valve gave Abigail a start. She recalled that good firemen didn’t allow that to happen. It was a waste of steam and thus of fuel. She glanced at the pressure indicator reading into the red. Her Father’s tale of an exploding boiler rushed into her head. Thank God for safety valves.

  Abigail slumped back down to the side of the boat, winding the rope loosely around her hands and around the pipe behind her. Barely had she settled when the door flung open.

  Stanley Larkin stood with his hands on his hips, shaking his head. “Well, Miss Sergeant. It seems both you and I are surrounded by idiots.” He took two paces closer and stared at the instruments. “Can’t even look after a boiler properly. You wouldn’t believe it was their boat. They act like they’ve never sailed before.”

  “Why are we here on this island?” Abigail used her most direct tone.

  “That’s not your problem, Miss Sergeant. Your problem is, who will pay for your release?”

  “I told you, Father is dead. Frances is leaving for New Zealand, and Bertie is going to be sentenced for murder if I don’t get back to stop it.” The long lost tears began to well again.

  “That’s what you tell me. I have no reason to believe you.”

  “But it’s the truth.”

  “We’ll see won’t we. If that is true, then I won’t have any further use for you.” He turned and stared at Abigail in a most frightening manner, his brown eyes bulging and his teeth showing through a forced grimace. “Then I will need to reconsider where my recompense comes from.”

  Abigail felt like leaping up and attacking this beast. It was all she could do to remain calm and keep up the pretence of remaining tethered. From what he was saying, it seemed this island was intended as her home for the near future. Not a great prospect. Being now loose, she could escape as soon as they hit shore, but where would she go? This boat appeared to be the only way on and off the island. She needed a plan. If they left her alone, she may be able to steal the steam boat and escape. If she could figure out how it worked. Whatever she decided, it was clear that, for the moment, she needed to maintain the illusion of remaining restrained.

  Larkin stood still, staring at Abigail. His movements had stilled and his breathing increased. She gasped as he reached down and rubbed himself between the legs.

  “I was hoping for a little fun while we are on this godforsaken rock. Now that you are here, we will be able to become quite well acquainted.” He reached in and stroked Abigail’s cheek. “Now, there’s something for you to look forward to.” His grin widened.

  Abigail stared in disbelief. She had heard of such things happening but had never imagined she would become a victim. The terror in her eyes seemed to spur Larkin on to further enjoyment. He laughed.

  “I won’t allow it.” Abigail said.

  “I don’t believe you have much choice.” Larkin laughed even louder before continuing. “And you will be able to scream as much as you like. It’s quite isolated out here.” He reached down and clasped Abigail’s breast tightly, hurting her more than the pain from the rope tie. She gasped. It seemed to stimulate him, causing him to squeeze even harder.

  Abigail took a deep breath and closed her eyes. The smell of rotting teeth on his breath would hang in her memory forever. How was she to get out of this? He pulled away. Abigail opened her eyes to an awareness of Thomas calling from above. Larkin muttered as he turned, cocking his head to listen.

  He quickly rounded back to Abigail. “This will have to wait.” He leered, shoving his face close to hers. “We will continue our fun later.” Abigail noticed a light dribble form in the corner of his mouth. She shuddered but said nothing.

  As the door slammed shut, Abigail stood and tentatively crossed the room. She leaned in and pressed her ear to the closed portal. A vigorous discussion had commenced. It seemed Eugene had raced ahead to the hideout only to find it destroyed. He had returned with the news, only to be berated by Thomas for telling stories. Larkin had been called to discuss the problem. Within seconds he made the decision to trek up the hill to the hideout and assess the situation. They would leave ‘the goods’ on the boat until they returned.

  Abigail assumed she was included as part of ‘the goods’, but felt there must be more. Being free from her ties she would investigate once the men had gone. It didn’t take long for the trio of felons to disappear into the bush. Abigail wasn’t sure how much time she had. She would need to act quickly.

  Pushing open the door she found herself in a small bunk room. A table sat in the centre. The two bunks were strewn with brown document folders. Alongside were two large canvas bags. She looked inside to see they were stuffed with money. There must be hundreds of pounds. On the floor sat a small wooden box, its lid prised open, the ornate lock smashed. Inside, Abigail saw jewels and several glistening bars that looked like gold. Most likely the proceeds of a number of burglaries and maybe even the odd blackmail attempt.

  A short ladder led to the deck hatch. Slowly, Abigail climbed up and gazed out. She was conscious that from any vantage point up the hill the men could look down upon the vessel. Seeing her wandering about deck would find them racing to return and reaffix her bonds, probably even tighter than before.

  Two stacks of copper pipework and a small boiler sat at the rear of the deck. A pile of bulging sacks lay alongside. Abigail couldn’t place the apparatus directly but wondered if it might be equipment for a liquor distiller. She had heard that covert rum and whisky distilling could net the brewers a tidy profit.

  The route to the wheel-house was fraught with danger. Completely in the open she would be easily seen by anyone watching. She wondered; was there enough time to assess the controls and fathom what to do to get underway, cast off, and escape in the boat? It was doubtful. Before a decision could be made, the sound of returning voices sent her racing back below. As Abigail scurried past the bunks, she noticed the leather satchel had a name embossed on the front. She stopped, pulling it around to read: ‘H. A. ROBINSON’, the name of father’s solicitor. It must have been Thomas and Eugene who ransacked the office. Why would they do that?

  A clomp from outside caught her attention. The men were walking back down the jetty.

  Larkin was in fine voice. “You total idiots. Don’t you know anything?” The boat rocked as the men cl
imbed aboard. “You don’t leave a distillery unattended. Now what am I going to do?”

  Thomas’ comment didn’t help. “Well, we’ve lost everything we built up. It’s worse for us.”

  “It’ll be worse for you if we can’t sort this out.” Larkin began shouting. “Get your junk off to shore and get up steam. We may have to return to Albany but you’d better not have any incriminating evidence on board when we get there.”

  “What about the girl?” Eugene seemed almost concerned.

  “She can’t stay here, now, can she?” Larkin stomped towards the wheel-house. “I’ll talk to Frances. She’ll know what to do.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Abigail clapped her hand across her mouth to stop the gasp becoming audible. What was Frances’ involvement with these men? Why would Frances be aware of Abigail’s kidnapping? Her mind reeled. She slowly sank down on the floor in front of the pipe, but just stared out at the sky beyond the window. Frances?

  A clomp from the other side of the door made Abigail start. The rope had barely pulled tight around her wrist before Eugene strode in. He glanced at Abigail before grabbing the shovel and commencing his stoking. He shovelled with vigour, taking out his frustrations on the coal.

  As the engine sprang into life and the boat lurched sideways away from the dock, Abigail looked up at the frustrated man. “Why is Stanley angry with you?” She put on a forced caring tone.

  “Boiler blew up, didn’t it. Stupid thing was to be replaced anyway but now the shack has gone too.”

  “A boiler? You had an engine in your hideout?”

  “Not an engine. Distillery. We made Rum. Good stuff too. Now we have to start again.”

  “So, Eugene,” Abigail forced a smile before continuing. “What do you think of Frances?”

  “She’s nice enough. A bit crazy in the head when she wants something, and she bosses Tom around some.”

  “And Eugene, what about Stan? What is he doing for Frances?”

  Eugene stopped and stared at Abigail, confusion on his face. “You weren’t supposed to be here. He was … you were … I mean …” His thick eyebrows drew together. “I don’t think I should say any more. I’ll get into trouble.”

  “Don’t worry, Eugene. I won’t tell anybody. Did Frances hire Stan too?”

  “Not for this. Something else. I don’t know.” He swung around and recommenced his shovelling, determinedly looking away from Abigail. The boat rocked wildly, sending Eugene flying. With cheeks glowing red he quickly scrambled to his feet and continued his strenuous task, doing all he could to avoid eye contact with Abigail.

  The pressure gauge climbed as Eugene shovelled madly. As it entered the red zone at the end of the scale, once again the extremely loud hiss of the safety valve cracking open rang out. Shouts from both Thomas and Larkin brought Eugene to his senses. He flung the shovel down and strode out, slamming the door behind him.

  Abigail stared at the gauge as it dropped to where the hissing finally halted. The gentle chuffing of the engine seemed almost silent in comparison. She felt drawn to the gauge. Something inside her held her attention on the circular device. What is it about the pressure gauge?

  The boat pitched madly as they fought back to the bay. The return crossing was much choppier. As they approached the jetty beside the old fisherman’s cottage, Abigail suddenly sat up, a gleam in her eye. She stared at the boiler and then at the gauges. The pressure was still high but sat below the red mark. Sitting on top of the boiler was the safety valve, with its release pipe striking up beside the funnel to the outside. She grinned widely. This could work.

  The three men were on deck, deep in conversation. Now that the yelling had subsided, Abigail had been able to decipher their intent from the snippets of conversation available. What she heard was that Thomas and Eugene were to ‘sort out the stuff in the shed’, while Larkin went in search of a mate who lived up the Kalgan River. He owed Larkin a favour. Abigail was to remain on board until he returned.

  If all three men left, Abigail could affect her escape, but not before putting her plan into action. If they were allowed to return and get away, it was likely they would come after Abigail again. She had to stop them.

  The bump as the boat hit the jetty made something fall to the floor in the next cabin. Abigail sat still, using the time to scan the engine room for anything that would aid her plan. A small section of discarded wire drew her attention, as did the inverted leather bag and empty sacks. This would be tricky but she was sure it would work.

  As soon as the men had left the gently rocking boat she got to work. First was the wire. With some effort she could bend it into shape. Standing on the edge of the coal hopper, she was able to reach up to the safety valve. The wire slipped perfectly between the spring and the tension lever. All she had to do was secure the wire around the base of the valve and the entire piece of equipment would be rendered useless. A quick tidy up of the excess wire, shoving it up behind the waste pipe, saw her leap down and get to work with the sacks. Half filling two sacks with coal, she placed them down in the spot where she had been sitting. Then she removed her tunic and dressed the top sack. Her skirt came off next and was pulled up over the second sack. All that remained was the leather bag. This she filled with a littler more coal and positioned it atop the sacks, with her rather tatty hat deftly positioned at an angle across the bag. The effect was not greatly convincing. She scanned the room and came upon the jackets hung beside the door. These were pulled over and positioned as blankets over the dressed sacks. It was entirely possible that Eugene would have capitulated in the use of the jackets. The effect worked. If her presence was not scrutinised closely, they would assume she was sleeping under the jackets.

  Abigail scooted out onto the deck in her undergarments. It took a little shuffling to let herself down off the deck but within minutes she was racing across the sand towards the cottage. As she passed the small dwelling she could hear breaking glass in the distance. Something to investigate once the steam boat had left dock. She passed the cottage and continued until the trees at the far end of the grassed area enveloped her. A small hill covered in bushes gave her a vantage point from which to oversee the unfolding events. If her abductors came looking, a dash through the bushes would see her able to make it to the next bay. From there a short dirt road ran up to Sterling Terrace and, hopefully, freedom.

  Larkin returned quickly, barking out instructions for them to steam out of the bay and up into a nearby river. Thomas and Eugene burst from the shed, shutting the door and locking it behind them. They swiftly followed Larkin back to the waiting boat. With all three men busying themselves on deck, they cast off. Abigail remained deathly still as the boat powered away, the churning wake slowly diminishing to a drifting white froth. With the vessel only a few hundred yards from the shore, Abigail stared in horror as she saw Eugene disappear below. She drew up her shoulders and prepared to run. To her immense relief the boat continued to speed out into the bay. Her plan must have worked.

  It seemed to take an age before anything happened. When it did, the steam boat was well out into the bay and had turned east towards the harbour mouth. The sound of the explosion rang around the surrounding hillside. Bits of boat flew into the air, arcing through the sky like so many celebratory fireworks.

  A wide grin grew across her face as she witnessed three bodies falling back to the sea. As each in turn began to flay wildly about in the water, she knew her mission was a success. Within minutes another vessel could be seen powering through the water to rescue the guilty crew. Abigail’s job, now, was to inform the authorities of the trio’s criminal activities, before they were rescued and allowed to leave. She strode out of the bushes. How clever she was.

  Climbing down from the squat hill, Abigail drew in a lungful of fresh air. It refreshed her and was welcome relief from the stench of the steam boat interior. Letting out the breath she stopped and sniffed. There was something in the air. A familiar smell which she couldn’t quite place. She sn
iffed again. Yes, that was it. Something was burning. Oddly, it smelled like a large paraffin burner. Surely the explosion out to sea hadn’t started a fire in the bush on land? As she strode along the sand towards the shed, an awful feeling engulfed her. She began to run, faster, until her legs felt like jelly.

  There it was. Abigail’s eyes grew as she took in the boat shed imprisoning Dunning and Sleath. Smoke billowed from small rust holes in the roof. A crash from inside startled her. Her petticoat skirt caught under her feet and she fell to the dirt. Pulling up her underskirt, Abigail rose quickly, crying out in panic. She ran to the entrance. It was locked. Heat radiated from the large wooden door as she rattled in vain. Through the slight gap she could see the glow of flames, reaching for the roof near the middle of the building. Something had to be done.

  A split second was all she needed to determine her next action. Abigail turned and raced around the side of the building. The back door was her only hope. Thick bushes grew close to the rapidly warming shed walls, making the desperate trek difficult. Her legs became scratched and bloodied as she pushed past each obstruction. Heat radiating from the building continued to build. She looked up. Smoke billowed into the darkening sky, growing thicker by the second. A broken tree branch caught in her underskirt, ripping it all the way down the right hand side; she didn’t have time to curse. The corner of the building neared. Pressing past the last of the obstructive bushes, Abigail finally found herself at the rear entrance.

  Although the door was closed, it wasn’t locked. Smoke billowed out as she flung it open, the rush of air providing extra fuel for the flames. Nevertheless, without hesitation, she dove into the interior. Black smoke filled in from the roof to just above head hight. The growing flames gave off enough light for her to assess what was happening. The cart in the centre of the room was ablaze, the centre of the conflagration. Mounds of broken glass from the oil filled bottles surrounded the handcart. The fuel soaked ground rippled with flame. Several ceiling beams had collapsed and now leaned up against the walls, burning madly. The right wall was fully ablaze, the left not far behind. Desperately she ran down the left side, searching for the two men she was certain were there.