On Track for Murder Page 18

  “Well, I never,” said Dunning, standing to greet the transformed Abigail. “Miss Sergeant, you look radiant.”

  Parbery, seeing Abigail glide through, snuck in for comment. “I concur,” he said. “You do indeed look radiant. It will be a lucky man who is seen out with you this evening.” He winked as he turned to leave. “And if this man gives you any trouble, you just come straight to me. I will sort him out.” He left, chuckling as he went.

  Dunning reached up to a nearby shelf and pulled down a fresh new notepad, similar to the sergeant’s. “If we are going to gather information, we will need this,” he said, crossing to Abigail. Reaching behind her, he produced a leather satchel, into which he placed the notepad, several pencils and a looking glass. “Tools of the trade,” he commented.

  “Are we really going to look for evidence to help Bertie?” Abigail began to shuffle eagerly.

  “That is why we are here, is it not?”

  “Oh, Ridley. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

  “First thing’s first,” Dunning said. “Those two ruffians from the boat. They are in custody here. It was they who lit the fire. We shall speak with them and see what they have to say for themselves. I’ll wager it’s a good story. Then we should check the trunk that we removed.”

  “And we need to find out what happened to Larkin as well. He was on the boat when it exploded. I saw him jump off.” Abigail donned the inquisitorial mantle with ease.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Dunning relayed their plans to Sergeant Graves. A small room at the rear of the police station was allocated for the interrogation. Abigail slipped in and sat on a wooden chair under the small window. Dunning followed, perching himself behind the basic pine desk in the centre of the room. Eugene was summarily brought in and positioned opposite.

  Dunning stood to greet him. “Mr Burge … Eugene … please, sit down.” Dunning seemed perfectly at home in this environment. “Now, what can you tell me about your recent activities?”

  Eugene sat and stared at the pair. “You’ll have to ask Tom. He took the instructions.”

  “Dunning scratched his chin as he sat. “Tom?”

  “Thomas … Thomas Hurley.”

  “I see.” Dunning began his note-taking. “So, Thomas and yourself were hired to do a job. From whom did you and Thomas receive the instructions?”

  “He talked to Tom, not me.”

  Dunning looked across at Abigail. A name would be useful.

  Abigail pulled her chair forward and placed her arms on the table. “Do you know who this man was?”

  “No. Tom got the instructions.”

  Abigail tried a different tack. “What did this man get you to do?”

  “The travel trunks. We had to find them.”

  Dunning picked up the thread. “And did you? Find them, I mean.”

  “Oh, yes.” He wasn’t one for holding back information, if he possessed it.

  “And what did you do with the trunks?” Dunning mimicked Abigail, leaning across the table.

  “The shed. We put them in the shed.”

  “So, it was you who stole them from the docks?” Dunning continued writing furiously in the pad.

  “You’ll have to ask Tom that.”

  Abigail pitched in. “But you picked up the trunks from the docks?”

  “Yes.”

  Dunning continued. “And what were you supposed to do with the trunks, Eugene?”

  “Burn them.”

  Abigail frowned. “Burn them? Why?”

  “I don’t know. Ask Tom.”

  Dunning sat back, scribbling more notes. “So, Eugene. What were you doing for Larkin?”

  “Larkin?”

  “Stan.” Abigail cut in.

  “Oh, Stan. He wanted you.” He stared at Abigail. “He found out about our hideout and asked to keep you there. He wanted money for you.”

  Abigail sat back, the information she already possessed still difficult to acknowledge. “So what did he want with Prentice … Prentice Sleath?”

  “Sleath got in the way. That’s what Stan said. He said he thought Sleath was running away with you, but he turned up with an older woman. He wouldn’t cooperate. That’s what Stan said.”

  Abigail leaned forward once again. “Eugene, do you know who the woman was?”

  “No.”

  She quickly changed direction again. “And Stan? What happened to him?”

  “We all jumped before the boat’s boiler exploded. Someone had tampered with it.” He stared at Abigail and cocked his head. His brow furrowed as he recalled her presence. “How did you get off?”

  “That doesn’t matter now. What matters is that we get the truth.”

  “I am telling you the truth.”

  Dunning interrupted. “I’m sure you are, Eugene. Is there anything else you remember?”

  “Well … we had to get the documents from that solicitor's office.”

  Abigail’s ears pricked up. “What documents?”

  “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask Tom.”

  Dunning took over the questioning. “Was it only you and Tom who went to get the documents?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what did you do with them?”

  “They are at our hideout. With the …” He stopped, realising he was going too far.

  Dunning wasn’t about to let up. “With the what, Eugene?”

  “The stuff from the burglaries. The boiler and the pipes and stuff.”

  Dunning glanced at Abigail. The recent robberies seemed like a side issue, but the solicitor's office could be of interest.

  Abigail stood and strolled over to stand beside Eugene. “The documents. Were they on the boat when you held me prisoner?”

  “Yes. We were taking them to our hideout.”

  “Did you read them?” Dunning said.

  “No. I can’t read.”

  Abigail returned to her seat and leaned back. This man had given up all he knew. She looked at Dunning and rolled her eyes. Eugene Burge obviously wasn’t the brains behind the team. Thomas would be much harder to crack. Dunning nodded and strode over to the door. After marching Eugene out and requesting Thomas be brought in, the couple found themselves alone in the room.

  Abigail gazed at Dunning’s notes. “I think Larkin murdered Father, then used the kidnap to divert attention away from himself,” she said.

  “Interesting,” Dunning commented. “But why? Just because he didn’t get a job. His kidnap for money story is more plausible.”

  “Then who do you think is our man?” Abigail held her finger to her cheek.

  “I think it was Prentice Sleath. I think he saw an opportunity to trick Frances out of Albert’s money once the will had gone through. That’s why he wanted to follow her to New Zealand.” Dunning stared up at the ceiling, deep in thought.

  “But what about this business with the travel trunks?”

  “A mere red herring, I think. Another passenger may have valuables that someone wanted to steal. Burning is the usual way to remove any evidence.”

  “So what about the attempt to kill you and Prentice Sleath?” Visions of Sleath squirming in the flames raced through Abigail’s mind. She looked down solemnly.

  “We were getting in the way. If we hadn’t actually been there I don’t think they would have come looking for us.” Dunning shook his head as he spoke. “But, to be honest, I haven’t thought that one through yet.”

  A knock at the door cut short their guesswork. Thomas Hurley was summarily marched in and positioned in the chair. He sat with a look of defiance on his face.

  Dunning began. “Mr Hurley … Thomas … you and Mr Burge have been engaging in some rather dubious activities around Albany. Now, we know about the various robberies around town and the theft of the solicitor's documents. We also know about the theft of the travel trunks—”

  “If you know so much, why are you questioning me?” He spoke in the most smarmy manner.

  Dunning raised his voice. “Mister
Hurley. All I need from you is the name of the person for whom you were working.”

  “Don’t know.”

  Dunning leaned forward. “Oh, come now, Mister Hurley. I believe you do know. I believe you know exactly who it was that was pulling your strings.”

  “No-one was pulling any strings.”

  “Then you were acting on your own behalf? Interesting. That means you know about the murder of Albert Sergeant.”

  “Who? What murder? I know nothing of any murder.”

  “So, what were you doing all this for?” Dunning leaned even further in.

  “We were hired.”

  “By Whom?”

  “By someone in Perth.”

  Dunning stared directly at him. “Who?”

  “Don’t know.”

  Dunning sat back in his seat.

  Abigail took over. “So how did you get your instructions?”

  “No-one instructs me what to do.” He scowled while tightly gripping his hands together.

  “So,” Dunning cut in. “You are prepared to go to trial for the murder are you?”

  “No. I did not murder anyone. I stole some stuff, that is all.”

  Dunning stood. “So, tell us, Thomas Hurley … who hired you?”

  Thomas shuffled in his seat. The threat of a murder trial was having an effect. “I didn’t murder anyone. Neither did Eugene.”

  “That is all very well but you must tell us who hired you.” Dunning stood directly over the confused man.

  Thomas clasped his hands together. “You won’t say who told you?”

  “If it is pertinent to the case I will have to. Otherwise it need not to come to light.”

  “But I am not a snitch.”

  “Who hired you?” Dunning’s hand grasped his shoulder.

  “It was Sleath … Prentice Sleath.”

  Abigail’s mouth dropped open. Dunning grinned smugly at her as he sat back down in his chair.

  After a short silence, Abigail’s eyes shot up.” So, Thomas … how did you get the instructions? The telegraph was down and Prentice Sleath was in Perth.” She cast a smug look at Dunning.

  “It was planned before the telegraph failed. He managed to get a message out when it became operational for a few hours. We didn’t hear again until he arrived in Albany.”

  Abigail’s mind was working overtime. She knew Prentice left Perth with Frances. He couldn’t have murdered Father if he wasn’t there. Maybe there was some other accomplice. The story definitely had holes in it. She gazed at Thomas. What else did he know?

  It was Dunning who broke the silence this time. “Mr Hurley. You say Prentice Sleath hired you. What did he exactly hire you to do?”

  “To take the travel trunk. That was all.”

  “Which travel trunk were you to steal?”

  “One labelled Frances Sergeant. One with a red stripe around the body.”

  “Just that one? Nothing else?”

  “Others were to be taken as well. Any others, it didn’t matter. Just enough to keep suspicion at bay.” Having unloaded his conscience, Thomas sat back and folded his arms. He had given up his biggest secret.

  Abigail was still confused and wasn’t about to give up. “So, Mr Hurley. What about the documents? From the solicitor's office?”

  “Prentice said they were needed. Something about to having to wait.”

  Abigail continued. “And what exact documents were you to take?”

  “Sergeant. Same name as the trunk. Just the file from the cabinet.”

  “And what did you do with it?”

  “We were to hand it over. Then Stan arrived and …” He stopped short.

  “And what?” Abigail sat forward.

  “Well, he stuffed things up a bit. Seems he was searching for Sleath as well as you, missy.”

  Abigail turned to Dunning who was furiously writing everything in the notepad.

  He looked up. “I think that will do for now. We will speak some more with you later,” he said, staring at Thomas before standing and moving to the door. “Take him away,” he called to the waiting constable.

  Alone again, the pair sat with puzzled looks on their faces. Dunning placed the notepad on the table and flicked open to the last page. “So, what do we have so far?”

  “A lot of confusion,” Abigail replied.

  “Yes, it may be confusing right now but I’m sure it will be of use once we fill in the gaps.” Dunning flipped back through his previous notes.

  “Do you really think Sleath killed Father?” Abigail said.

  “I don’t rightly know.” Dunning began chewing his short pencil. “It doesn’t seem possible, does it? If he was out of Perth at the time he couldn’t have directly done it. He may have hired someone else.”

  “Well, he hired Thomas and Eugene here in Albany.”

  “Yes, indeed.” Dunning gazed at the ceiling.

  “Maybe, as you say, he was solely interested in the documents because of Frances’ inheritance, and had nothing to do with the murder.” Abigail’s face went blank. “That means we have nothing to help Bertie.”

  “We will find something.” Dunning paused to read his notes. “Sleath hired Thomas Hurley and Eugene Burge to take the trunks and the documents. He definitely has been hiding things, and for a long time too, it would seem.”

  “I was definitely fooled.” Abigail slowly shook her head. “Although, when I saw him climbing into the buggy with Frances that night, my opinion of him changed.”

  “But you still colluded with him to get you to Albany?”

  Abigail flashed a scowl at Dunning. “It wasn’t collusion. It was necessity. That or allow Larkin to abduct me there in Beverley.”

  Dunning looked sheepish. “I do apologise. When you first told me, I was a little put out. It seemed as though you had left me for him.”

  “Oh, Ridley. I didn’t … I couldn’t … oh, I had only just met you and I really liked you on the train, but you weren’t there and couldn’t help at the time.”

  “I do understand.” He leaned over and placed his hand on hers. “Are you still comfortable with my affections?”

  “Oh, yes. Yes, indeed I am. More than comfortable.” Abigail pulled her other hand across his and grasped him tightly. “Your affections are most welcome.”

  Dunning smiled and squeezed her hand. “I think we make a good team.”

  “So do I,” Abigail replied.

  “I think we make a good couple too.”

  She leaned over and kissed him lightly on the lips. “So do I, Ridley Dunning. So do I.”

  Dunning took a few moments to scan through his notes, then sat up. “I think we should recover the goods from that island. I’ll send a boat out with a couple of constables. In the meantime we should go and see that solicitor, what was his name?”

  “Robinson … Henry Robinson.”

  “Yes, that’s the one. He may have some insight into what was in those documents. And I think we should check on the electric telegraph office as well. It may be working again, in which case we will be able to contact Perth.”

  They agreed the plan and stood to leave.

  “One last thing,” Abigail said. “Would it be possible to go down to the railway station once we have finished with Robinson? I would like to find out if my bags made it down from Beverley.”

  “I wasn’t aware of anyone removing your luggage from the inn and loading it into the train when we eventually left. It would be worth checking, though. The bags may have been forwarded on. If not, we will be returning through Beverley anyway. We will be able to retrieve them at that time.”

  Abigail smiled. “Thank you,” she said. “You are so good to me.”

  “I am so pleased I came on this trip,” replied Dunning.

  The day was warm and the breeze comforting as the couple left the police station, slowly making their way along Sterling Terrace to the solicitor's office in York Street.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Henry Robinson had done a marvellous job o
f restoring his ransacked office. The broken window had been repaired and the flower bed straightened. There remained no evidence of any break-in.

  Even his secretary seemed happier. “Please wait here while I inquire if Mr Robinson is free,” she said, rising from her seat with a smile. She turned and disappeared through the rear door. Within a minute she returned, the solicitor following closely behind.

  Henry Robinson held out his hand. “Miss Sergeant, how delightful to see you again.”

  Allowing him to gently press his lips to her fingers, Abigail replied, “It is a pleasure to speak with you again, sir. Please, allow me to introduce Constable Ridley Dunning.” She flushed, realising that the use of Dunning’s first name was perhaps a little too forward. It didn’t seem to matter.

  “Constable Dunning, welcome,” Robinson said, shaking Dunning’s hand vigourously. “Please, come through to my office. It’s much tidier than the last time you were here, my dear.” He gesticulated for Abigail to lead the way, stepping aside to allow Dunning to follow.

  The plush surroundings were a stark contrast to the police interview rooms. Seated in one of the pair of green high backed leather chairs opposite Robinson’s desk, Abigail could feel herself drooping, the stress of previous events taking its toll. She could easily have drifted off into a dream, but the pressure of the task ahead held her back.

  “I’m afraid,” Robinson said, shuffling himself to achieve maximum comfort. “The electric telegraph has yet to be repaired. They informed me it would be ready today but when I checked this morning it was still broken.”

  Abigail shuffled uncomfortably. “Does that mean no word has been sent regarding Bertie? Will they be progressing with a murder charge against him?”

  “No, no, my dear,” Robinson held up his hand. “Bertrand will remain in police custody until they hear from me. I sent correspondence up to Perth on the train. Receipt of said correspondence was received only this morning. Damned annoying, this telegraph situation.” He shot a look at Abigail. “Oh, I do apologise for my language, miss. It was most remiss of me.”