On Track for Murder Read online

  “We will double check everything here,” replied Dunning, now eager to get down to the waterfront. “There is a trunk that hasn’t been investigated yet.”

  “Right.” Robinson thumbed through his diary. “Tomorrow we will travel up to Perth. Complete everything that needs to be done here. We’ll go up together.” He turned to Dunning. “Are Hurley and Burge to be tried here or in Perth?”

  “Unless we can prove a link to Albert Sergeant’s murder, the case will be heard here. Moving prisoners for no good reason is frowned upon.”

  “Very well.” Robinson gathered up the documents. “Do what you must do here. I will make arrangements for tomorrow.”

  They thanked Robinson for his time and left the small office to wander down York Street to the waterfront.

  As the couple approached the corner of Sterling Terrace, Constable Parbery ran up clutching a note. “Miss Sergeant,” he gasped. “Constable Dunning, we received a message from the harbour master an hour ago. He says that, owing to our interest in the SS Peary, he felt this may be of significance.”

  “What is it?” Dunning took the note. As he read, his mouth began to open.

  Abigail tugged at his arm. “What does it say?”

  “It says,” Dunning said. “That Mrs Frances Sergeant wasn’t on board the SS Peary when it left port.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Abigail’s brow furrowed.

  Constable Parbery had recovered his breath and offered a comment. “The ship’s master felt it worth reporting, as you had shown particular interest in that particular passenger. He sent word to the harbour master who brought the information to us.”

  Abigail gazed sideways at Parbery. “Did he say anything else?”

  “The harbour master says that Mrs Sergeant hasn’t come forward, so wasn’t merely late for the sailing.”

  Dunning folded the note and placed it in his jacket pocket. “May we keep this?” He didn’t wait for a response. “This is interesting. Why would Frances deliberately miss her sailing?”

  Abigail gazed out at the bay. “She was most insistent when we spoke to her. I’m surprised she even got off and risked missing the departure.”

  Parbery coughed before interrupting. “May I be excused? The sergeant wanted me back as quickly as possible.”

  “Certainly,” Dunning replied, only half paying attention. As Parbery turned to go, Dunning shot up a look. “Wait, we will come with you. I need to arrange recovery of more evidence from the fire site?” He grasped Abigail’s hand and set off. The pace quickened as they drew closer to the police station.

  In front of the public desk, a small gathering of policemen were debating a recently surfaced issue.

  Sergeant Graves spoke up as Dunning and Abigail entered. “Constable Dunning. We have a problem which you need to be aware of.”

  Ridley shot a look to Abigail before responding. “A problem?”

  Abigail piped up, eager to prevent any hindrance to their mission. “What problem is that, sergeant?” She noticed Graves holding a rather tatty piece of paper.

  Graves pushed himself free of the other constables and stood in front of Dunning. “Constable Jessop was patrolling along Duke Street when a young lad raced up and handed him this piece of paper. The boy said it was urgent then ran off.”

  Abigail looked confused. “Who was this lad?”

  Graves continued. “Well, Jessop immediately made chase and managed to catch the boy as he headed down towards the docks. We have the lad in the back room now.”

  Dunning stood tall and held out his hand for the paper. “Well, what is it?”

  Graves held the scruffy document up. “The lad said he was given a shilling to deliver it to us. It’s a note. A note from Stanley Larkin.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Abigail had assumed that Larkin drowned after the steam boat boiler exploded. She had witnessed all three men leap to the water but only Thomas and Eugene make it ashore. Now, a young lad delivers a note from Larkin to the police. What was this about?

  Ridley took the note from Graves and scanned it silently.

  Abigail moved to look over Ridley’s shoulder. “What does it say?”

  Ridley took a deep breath and blew out noisily through his pursed lips. “It says … that …” he struggled to speak while attempting to read ahead. “Sorry, you’re not going to like this. It says that Larkin has taken Mrs Frances Sergeant hostage and is demanding a thousand pounds for her safe return.”

  “What?” Abigail took a step back. “He thinks that I have a thousand pounds with which to pay a ransom?”

  “Well, you do … now.”

  “Yes … yes … but …” Abigail struggled with the news. She turned to Dunning. “Why would I pay to get back the woman who walked out on my father? Could we not just ignore it and allow Larkin to have her?”

  Dunning turned to the sergeant and smiled. “I think the law would frown upon such an idea.” He gestured for Abigail to sit. “Don’t forget, she is a prime witness in our murder investigation. Now we know she is still here in Albany, she may be of use.”

  Abigail looked up. “I must apologise for my candour. I do understand that we need her as a witness. I would like nothing more than to see Father’s killer meet the hangman. I suppose if she can be of help finding the real killer it is worth a thousand pounds.”

  “Don’t worry,” Dunning said, pulling up a chair. “We will get Frances back without paying the ransom. Is that not correct, sergeant?” He turned to Graves who nodded ascent. “Now, let’s see what else the note says.” Dunning sat in silence reading the half page of scrawl as best he could. “It’s not easy to read his poor handwriting, but the gist of it is that he is giving us two days to arrange the money. Then he will contact us with further instructions. He says Frances is fine but not happy.”

  “I should think not,” said Abigail, craning her neck to gaze at the note. “What are those marks at the bottom of the page?”

  Dunning scanned down. “I’m not sure. They look like soot smudges. See, this one on the end looks like a finger mark.” Dunning lifted the paper and sniffed the lower edge. “It’s soot all right. Why would Larkin have soot on his fingers?”

  Abigail sat upright. “Coal. He is using an engine. Maybe another steam boat?”

  Dunning looked up at Graves. “Sergeant, do you know of any other small steam vessels operating in the harbour?”

  Graves turned. “Many,” he said. “This is a working port. Quite a few traders bring their produce in by sea. They come from both coastal areas as well as up the rivers.”

  Dunning leaned back. “Damn and blast. I was hoping—”

  “I may be able to help,” Abigail cut across Dunning's cursing.

  “How so?”

  Abigail leaned up to the table. “When I was on the boat, Larkin mentioned a friend with a property a short way up a river … now what was it called?” She gazed at the ceiling. “I think it started with a ‘k’.”

  “Graves spoke up. “The King River?”

  “No, I don’t think so. Something similar, though.”

  “Kalgan?”

  “That’s it. The Kalgan River. He has a friend there with a secluded property. It was where he was heading when I blew up the boat.”

  Dunning looked at Abigail and smiled. “My God, you are amazing. With all that going on you still took time to listen to their plans … and plot to disable their boat.”

  Abigail beamed. She felt empowered by Ridley’s comments. It seemed that he genuinely liked her for who she was. He didn’t care that she wanted to be more than a mere homemaker. He appeared to be genuinely excited by her ambitions.

  Abigail thought about her father’s will. An engineering works. She now owned an engineering works. Her life’s dream of designing new machines and implementing new ideas could become reality. Abigail looked across at Ridley. He was truly handsome. Not only could she realise her dreams for invention, she could do so with a genuine, intelligent man by her side. Her grin w
idened.

  Dunning and Graves stood around a map of the area. Graves pointed out that several properties contained barns and outbuildings that one could hide in. Getting to them would be difficult. A boat was by far the easiest way. He scratched his chin as he ran through each owner in turn, relaying information about their history in the area and their political ideas. Only two were unknown to Graves. One was a recluse who shunned outside involvement, rarely venturing into Albany proper. The other was new in the area and hadn’t made many friends yet. Graves recalled that the man had previously worked on a steamship plying the market between Albany and Sydney. He was fairly sure the man owned a small steam boat.

  Dunning stood and gazed at the maps. “We need the boy in here. Let’s see if he knows anything.” He reached for his pencil.

  Within minutes the cocky lad stood in front of the assembled group. Parbery guarded the door while Abigail moved to stand behind the desk.

  Dunning began. “What is your name, boy?”

  “Smith,” he replied, obnoxiously.

  Dunning rolled his eyes. “Well, Smith, what can you tell us about the man who gave you the note?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Come now, there must be something?”

  “He was big.”

  “Not helpful.” Dunning moved closer, staring down at the boy. “Listen, Smith, there has been a murder and you are now involved in that crime. If you want to avoid the hangman’s noose you will cooperate.”

  “I didn’t do nothing … all I did was bring you the note.” Smith shuffled his feet.

  “Where did you meet this big man?” Dunning’s stare remained.

  “At the docks. He was looking for me. I’m known there for being helpful.”

  “Had you seen him before?”

  “Sure had. He gave me tuppence for helping him. Just yesterday, actually.”

  “What did you help him with?”

  “Loading a steam boat. He was alone and struggling … so I helped him. It’s how I get fed.” The boy gazed up at Dunning, his mouth set tight.

  Sergeant Graves broke in. “So, boy. Where was he going? Whose boat was it?”

  “I don’t know where he was going but I know the boat. It belongs to that new bloke up the Kalgan. He gets me to help him sometimes.”

  Abigail caught Graves’ eye and smiled. She was right. “Boy,” she said. “Have you been to this man’s home?”

  “Yes, I have. He lives alone and needed help unloading. Gave me three shillings for a day’s work. Never had so much money in one day.”

  Graves pointed to the map. “Is this where he lives?”

  “That’s it. Just before that bend.”

  “Can you take us there? If you help us we will free you of any charges.” Graves began rolling up the map.

  “Cost you.” Smith took a step back.

  Graves rounded on him. “You little—”

  “Now, now,” Abigail cut in. “If he needs payment to get us there I am happy to furnish the funds. Sixpence should do it?” she looked at the boy.

  “Sixpence?” He scratched his filthy scalp. “A shilling.”

  Abigail moved out from behind the table to stand tall in front of the lad. “You may visit the magistrate on charges of aiding a murderer, if you wish. Or take sixpence to help the officers. It’s your choice.” She noticed Dunning grinning silently beside her.

  “Okay, miss,” Smith finally answered. “Sixpence it is.”

  “What about nighttime?” Dunning pulled his pencil from his mouth. “Could you navigate the river at night?”

  Smith turned. “Depends. If there’s a moon I can. If it’s too dark it’d be difficult.”

  Dunning turned to Graves. “We should go tonight. At dusk. The sky will be clear and it’s only three days to the full moon. Surprise is key here. Larkin will be expecting us to wait the two days, take our time to formulate a plan. We must catch him off guard.”

  “I agree,” Graves said. He turned to Parbery. “Constable, organise a boat for this evening. And call in as many men as you can. I need half-a-dozen men with arms at least.”

  “Yes, sir,” Parbery replied.

  Abigail turned to Dunning. “Do you think I should see Mr Robinson and withdraw the money … just in case? We could take it with us and only use it if things go wrong.”

  Dunning placed his hand on her shoulder. “My darling, that won’t be necessary … and I’m afraid you will not be coming.”

  “But Ridley, I—”

  “Now, I’ll hear nothing more of it.” He spoke sternly but stroked her shoulder as he continued. “Larkin is armed. I don’t want you getting mixed up in a gunfight if he decides to defend himself. You will be safe at the Chusan Inn. I will get word to you as quickly as possible.”

  Abigail grasped his hands. “But you may get hurt. What happens if you get shot? Larkin is a ruthless man.”

  “I’ll be fine. I’m a trained police constable. We do these things.” Dunning smiled.

  Abigail reluctantly agreed to remain behind. She sighed. A sleepless night lay ahead of her. “How long will this venture take?” she said. “Are you likely return before midnight?”

  Dunning looked to Graves. “I don’t know the waterway. Sergeant?”

  Graves fumbled the rolled map. “It’ll take several hours, not including the time we spend extracting the suspect from the property. I would say it would be well past midnight before we return. It may even take all night.”

  Abigail stared out the window in silence.

  “Constable Dunning,” Graves commented. “You may want to resume wearing your uniform for this. We can’t have you dressed as a civilian and getting mistaken for an accomplice in the dark, now, can we?”

  Abigail spun around. “No Ridley, you must change. I must have you return unharmed. I couldn’t face …” She turned once again to stare out the window.

  “Don’t worry,” Dunning said, pulling Abigail around to face him. “I’ll fetch my uniform. I will return unscathed, my darling. I promise.”

  Abigail forced a smile.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Abigail stood on the balcony gazing out across Sterling Terrace, past the railway line, to the bay beyond. Her eyes sank to the balustrade as the small police vessel slowly disappeared from view. Only the light trail of smoke, slowly dissipating across the harbour, remained as evidence of her gallant hero’s quest. She reflected that Ridley was putting his life at risk because of her; because of the need to free Bertie and bring the true culprit to justice. He was there because he believed in her. He was convinced she was right, despite the opinion of his detective inspector in Perth.

  As she gazed down at the chipped paint of the handrail a vision of Bertie flashed through her mind. He sat in a cell, scared and alone. The tiny window above him grew dark as the sun sank from the sky. Abigail couldn’t hold back the tears. She wept, silently allowing the tears to fall to her hands. With Father gone and Bertie facing the hangman, she had stood to lose everything. Now, thanks to Ridley, her brother would likely be released. What’s more, she was to enjoy the affections of a good strong policeman wishing to court her.

  Father had left a fortune to her in his will, a fortune Abigail had been unaware even existed. Her life was turning for the better. She recalled the engineering works Father had bequeathed to her. Her lifelong ambition was to invent, to be involved at the forefront of innovation, to push the limits of understanding. With such a company under her control she could finally realise her dreams. A smile crept across her face, the creases in her cheeks catching the last of the tears. The salty taste reminded Abigail of her voyage aboard the SS Elderslie. Memories flooded back: The storm, being left alone at Fremantle jetty, Larkin’s perturbing gaze, Constable Dunning, and Frances’ cold reception.

  Abigail’s brow furrowed. Frances? How could such a God-fearing woman behave in such an ungodly manner? What would possess her to treat Father in such a way? Abigail wondered how long Frances had been planing her escape. She
had obviously organised the two petty criminals in Albany long before Abigail and Bertie had arrived in Fremantle.

  Abigail’s eyes grew wider and her breath faltered. A terrible thought rushed at her like the sudden release of steam from a boiler. Could it have been Bertie and Abigail’s imminent arrival that spurred Frances’ actions? Abigail shuddered. If so, that would make her responsible for Frances’ leaving. The idea ran around Abigail’s mind, echoing through every part of her psyche. Could it be so? Could she be responsible? If she hadn’t insisted on following Father to the Swan River Colony, would any of this have happened? Could Father possibly still be alive?

  As the sun sank to the edge of the sky, glowing bright red on the horizon, Abigail looked down at her tear soaked hands. She slowly turned them over, examining them closely. Were these the hands of a killer?

  The events leading up to Father’s departure from England began to materialise in her mind. Frances and Father had married after a short courtship. They had met after Father moved north to the Beyer Peacock works in Manchester. Engineering was in his blood. He was particularly adept at solving steam engine problems and had become highly sought after in the railway engineering business.

  Frances was the daughter of a workshop supervisor. She had seemed well educated and displayed a pious attitude. Father had been deeply lonely after the death of their mother three years earlier. Frances seemed to brighten his demeanour and make him smile, something Abigail hadn’t seen since Mother died.

  Abigail’s brow furrowed deeper. Could it be possible that, even back then, Frances held ulterior motives? Had she coveted Father’s money ever since they met? Although the idea repulsed Abigail, uncovering the truth would be of no consequence if Frances were killed by the madman, Larkin. Their best witness would be gone. Abigail found it hard to care, but Bertie’s freedom was worth the angst.

  Abigail placed her hands back on the balustrade and gazed out into the darkening sky. This was going to be a long night and she felt an urgent need to remain vigilant. Something didn’t feel right.