Cut to the Chase

by Ray Scott

  ‘Looks good,’ McKay commented. ‘Have you ever considered the cloth as a living?’

  ‘No!’ Wallace replied coldly, he thought he looked like a damned fool in a dressing gown.

  ‘Well, consider it now,’ said McKay. ‘These could be our passports out of here.’

  ‘These look like monks cowls,’ Wallace protested. ‘We can’t walk down the streets in these.’

  ‘Why not?’ McKay said. ‘Churchmen do, and if they’re kept here somebody does, besides, it is a Sunday.’

  Wallace considered it for a moment then gave a grudging nod. He had to admit that as a plan it did have possibilities, would the police give a second glance at two churchmen strolling down the street on a Sunday? Would Rivera, Kalim and their men give a second glance? Well, possibly, but if McKay and Wallace walked out dressed normally they definitely would. The gown also felt very warm, it was the first time Wallace had felt really warm for a couple of days.

  ‘Hey, look at this! What have we here?’ McKay held up a bottle, Wallace must have given a double take.

  ‘It’s port!’

  ‘Only for the faithful, of course,’ McKay said cynically. ‘But what the hell is it doing up here?’

  ‘Only the vicar can answer that,’ Wallace said. ‘I reckon we’ve found a secret tippler.’

  ‘Well, it’s our duty to save him from himself, agreed?’ McKay opened the bottle and took a swig. ‘Have you been confirmed?’

  ‘As a drinker, yes I have.’

  ‘Then what the hell are we waiting for? Here, it’s your turn.’

  Later in the day they descended the stairs once more, Wallace peered through a crack in the door and saw the tubby churchman sitting at his desk. Wallace moved his eyes round to the other side of the desk and received a nasty shock, there were two obvious plainclothes policemen sitting on the opposite side of the desk, they had their backs to the door. Wallace withdrew and thumbed excitedly at the aperture. McKay knelt down and tried another crack in the woodwork of the door at knee height. Wallace returned to his own crack and pressed his ear to it.

  ‘…seen anyone out of the ordinary? They were last seen in the vicinity of the church, you say?’

  ‘In the neighbourhood, we are searching around the churchyard area right now, but they were last seen about twelve hours ago now.’

  ‘Who are they?’

  ‘We suspect one of them is a man we are seeking for questioning about a murder in London. We have no idea who the other one is at present.’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry gentlemen, we’ve certainly seen nobody around here.’

  ‘All right, thank you, sir. If you do see anyone, you have my number. We’ll see ourselves out.’

  Wallace heard the creaking of chairs and hastily applied his eye to the crack. But they were heading for the other door; the churchman saw them out and returned to his desk. He sat down and opened one of the drawers. Wallace felt a thrill of fear as he rummaged around and then looked puzzled. He hunted around and looked to be deep in thought; then he rummaged further back and produced another unopened packet of biscuits. He munched one thoughtfully and then replaced the packet in the drawer.

  McKay and Wallace crept back up the stairs, Wallace relieved him self once more and felt much better.

  ‘That was bloody lucky,’ McKay said feelingly. ‘If he’d found all his biscuits missing that could have started alarm bells ringing.’

  ‘Or church bells.’ Wallace said and shook his head. ‘Just as well we never found that second packet.’

  ‘Well we’d better put that bottle back where we found it, he’ll be looking for that next.’

  Wallace nodded, reached for it, had a swig and passed it to McKay. He drank sparingly and then went back to the second storeroom and put the bottle back where he’d found it.

  ‘What about the keys?’

  ‘We’re stuck with them for the present. We’ll drop them back in his drawer on the way out.’

  They crept down about an hour later and the room was empty. They replaced the keys where they had found them, had a last rummage through the drawer. They helped themselves to another biscuit apiece and then inched the office door open. The passageway was clear and in darkness. McKay led the way and they emerged into the churchyard once more. They made their way furtively around the church and in the gathering dusk ran straight into a police constable. McKay was leading and gave a squawk of shock and for once was completely at a loss. He seemed completely paralysed while the constable grasped his arm and hung on.

  Wallace walked in front of the constable and flashed his teeth in a broad grin, there was a light just over the churchyard wall and he was able to see the constable’s face. He hoped the constable could see his and his broad smile. Both McKay and Wallace had the hoods over their heads.

  ‘Good evening, constable,’ Wallace said in what he hoped were reverend like tones and wrung his hands together, as he had seen his local vicar do in his young days when the vicar had called upon his mother. ‘Isn’t it a beautiful evening?’

  The constable released McKay, looked bashful and saluted.

  ‘Sorry sir,’ he said apologetically. ‘We’re looking for two men and when you came out of the dark like that…!’

  ‘Ah yes,’ Wallace nodded. ‘The Dean told us about that, you haven’t caught them yet, I gather?’

  ‘No sir,’ said the policeman. ‘We don’t know if we shall now, not around here anyway. They could be miles away by now.’

  ‘Very likely,’ Wallace agreed and hoped he wasn’t conversant with the rank of the local churchmen. If the man in the office was a bishop, rector or vicar they could be in trouble.

  ‘Well be careful sir, and you sir,’ the constable again saluted Wallace and then saluted McKay, who bowed his head and made some supplicatory gesture. Wallace felt McKay could be overdoing it. ‘Keep away from any dark alleyways.’

  ‘Indeed we shall, come on Brother William,’ Wallace said and rubbed his hands together again. He rested his hand upon Brother William’s shoulder who muttered something to himself, and they walked slowly away from the policeman down the path. When they were out of earshot Wallace was about to make some sarcastic remark to McKay about him jumping like a startled gazelle, but McKay forestalled him.

  ‘Well done!’ he said. ‘I was just speechless when he appeared like that out of the blue.’ Wallace bit back the comment that he was about to launch.

  They made their way into the street and commenced walking along the pavement. It was not long before Wallace began to realise there were deficiencies to the disguise, those who passed them on the way looked at them curiously. What was a convincing mode of dress within the confines of church property was not so commonplace in the main streets of the town. Presumably churchmen, like zoo keepers or hotel door-keepers, divested themselves of their regalia as soon as they left their places of work, and monks pacing the streets of Kidderminster were not a common sight. Walking down the footpath towards and in the town centre dressed like a couple of monks could rebound.

  The same thought must have hit McKay after some small boys on bicycles began catcalling as they sped past, and they then had some comments made after them when they walked past a pub. As they passed it Wallace had been tempted to enter it, they were both ravenous despite the inroads into the churchman’s custard creams, hardly a substantive diet and Wallace was thinking longingly of a sandwich and a beer. But the thought of two devout churchmen in monks’ cowls bellying up to the bar in spit and sawdust surroundings and knocking back pints was, he felt, likely to draw some unwelcome attention.

  ‘We’ll have to get rid of these things,’ announced McKay as they looked over their shoulders and saw four teenage cyclists following. ‘They’ll be pelting us with eggs in a minute.’

  They didn’t, but what they did do was almost as bad. They swept past again catcalling and Wallace heard them shouting ‘There was an old monk of St Pauls…!’

  ‘Why the hell aren’t they in bed at this time?’ he mu
ttered.

  ‘Sign of the times,’ growled McKay.

  They dodged into an alleyway and took off the cowls. They had served them well, but now was the time to bid them a regretful farewell. Wallace felt the cold air of the evening hit him and felt a pang of regret.

  ‘Look, there’s a bus.’

  ‘Where’s the stop?’

  ‘Just down the road, come on.’

  They ran down the road to the bus stop, it hauled up with a scream of brakes as they hailed it. They boarded and sat down near the front, the conductor approached.

  ‘Broadwaters,’ Wallace said and indicated that McKay had the money. He punched a couple of tickets and left them.

  ‘How did you know where to ask for?’

  ‘It was on the front of the bus,’ Wallace said, glad that for a second time he had used his wits before McKay had.

  They spent the night in a haystack somewhere along the Kidderminster – Stourbridge road. Luckily it wasn’t a cold night and the next morning they enjoyed a good sunrise while they picked the straw off each other. They were ravenously hungry again.

  ‘What time do the pubs open?’ Wallace asked.

  ‘About 11 o’clock.’

  ‘Shit! I could do with a beer now.’

  After tramping along the road they found a small shop that seemed to sell everything from pins to groceries. Chocolate and an apple was hardly gourmet stuff but it went down well.

  ‘What do we do now?’

  ‘I’m all for keeping away from roads,’ said McKay. ‘I’ve a feeling that the police are looking for us after whoever it was put them onto us. Come on, we’ll go this way.’

  They headed up a country lane; the surroundings were so idyllic that it was difficult to remember they were on the run.

  ‘Why can’t we ask the High Commission to send a car?’

  ‘They’ll want to have nothing to do with us with the police on our track. You’re still wanted for murder, remember?’

  ‘I’m hardly likely to forget it,’ Wallace snorted. ‘But they’ve got to see us sometime if they want these computer drives.’

  ‘They’ll probably be glad to see them, yes,’ McKay agreed. ‘But as yet they don’t know anything about them.’

  ‘I suggest we ring them and tell them.’

  ‘What’s on them?’

  ‘Well…er…details of their organisation,’ Wallace floundered.

  ‘Whose organisation for a start and can you be sure about that?’

  ‘Well…no…but what the hell! Kalim seems worried enough about it. Can’t we tell them that we have something and ask them to pick us up?’

  ‘And if they’re followed and they are caught picking us up? What if we’re apprehended on the way back to London? The police are probably watching the High Commission anyway for any signs of activity and to see if we roll up.’

  ‘They couldn’t arrest us in an Embassy limousine.’

  ‘They’re hardly likely to send one are they?’ McKay said scathingly. ‘I can see the headlines now. Australian High Commission picks up political assassin and escorts him to their offices. High Commissioner gives unsatisfactory explanation to Scotland Yard…the hell they will!’

  Wallace subsided into angry muttering. Quite clearly they were on their own; he supposed he should have been grateful to have McKay with him.

  They reached a main road with another railway running parallel to it. There was no option but to walk along the pavement. The railway ran along a high viaduct and then veered away from the road, but slowly came down to the same level.

  ‘Do we hitch a lift?’

  A signpost indicated that they were between Stourbridge and Kidderminster, an equal distance from each.

  ‘Don’t know, I just feel uneasy, let’s get off the road here.’

  McKay led the way up a small lane. They left the main road behind and were surrounded by green fields.

  ‘Where’s the blasted railway?’

  ‘The other side of this paddock, I’d say,’ said McKay. ‘Yes, look! There it is!’

  They could see the roof of a passenger train as it headed for Kidderminster. It gave a blast on its horn as it passed over a level crossing.

  ‘Why didn’t you want to hitch a lift?’

  ‘Because…just because…I guess,’ said McKay. ‘If you were searching for two men who absconded from Kidderminster and presumably wanted to reach London, where would you look?’

  ‘Either on the road to Birmingham or the road to Worcester.’

  ‘Or the road to Stourbridge or if you’re thinking of Birmingham, that is probably the same one.’

  Wallace nodded in agreement, they had gleaned sufficient of the local geography to have some idea of the routes to population centres.

  ‘So we head off the main road and go this way?’

  Wallace heard a siren blow in the distance and looked in the Kidderminster direction.

  ‘Sounds like a train, probably a goods train, different sound from that passenger train that just went the other way.’

  McKay looked thoughtful.

  ‘Come on, let’s cross the track,’ he said.

  ‘What have you got in mind?’

  ‘If they’re anything like Australian goods trains they won’t travel very fast.’

  Wallace agreed and they scuttled over the fields like a couple of startled rabbits and headed for the tracks. The train was still some distance away and didn’t seem to be a fast mover. The line passed through a cutting, they slipped and fell down the slope and raced across the line.

  ‘This’ll do,’ said McKay as they hid behind the signal. ‘This signal is still showing red.’

  The train came nearer, they hovered by the signal, but there was a noise that indicated that the signal had changed to green. Wallace made an executive decision.

  ‘Come on, walk down the track.’

  ‘They’ll see us.’

  ‘They’ll see us anyway, lurking around behind this signal, if we stay here doing that we’ll attract attention. If they see us walking the line they’ll think we’re railwaymen, the plate layers don’t wear uniforms.’

  They heard the locomotive blast its siren again and looked around.

  ‘Bugger it!’ Wallace said angrily, the train was gathering speed and was going too fast to think of boarding it.

  ‘So much for that,’ McKay snorted, and then added. ‘It was a good idea anyway.’ Wallace thought his first sentence had been tinged with sarcasm, his second had been added to reduce the invective and give credit where it was due to avoid another row.

  ‘Raise one arm,’ Wallace commanded. ‘That’s the standard acknowledgement, it shows you’re aware they are approaching…’ and added as another blast hit the ether ‘…and wave.’

  They both solemnly raised one arm in salute, bringing forth a briefer response from the locomotive. They turned their heads as it drew abreast of them, the driver was looking at them and they both raised an arm once more. He waved in response and the train ground past, boarding it was out of the question; it was travelling at a fair rate.

  They continued walking, as the train disappeared in the distance in the direction of Stourbridge Junction. They paused and McKay purchased some food at a small shop at a point where the railway passed under a road bridge, Wallace kept well out of sight as he could possibly be recognised, at least McKay had not had his picture emblazoned in the newspapers.

  They decided to stay where they were on the railway tracks, they walked all afternoon and where possible hid whenever a train approached to avoid having too many witnesses as to their progress. When they couldn’t hide they adopted the plate layers salutation procedure which appeared to pass muster.

  They found themselves not far from Stourbridge in late afternoon and could see the town in the distance as they rounded a bend. They also saw a group of men walking towards them some distance ahead.

  They scrambled up the cutting and lay on their stomachs peering over the edge. The men came within a few hundre
d yards, still ahead of them, and congregated around a small shed. They showed no inclination to move beyond it, they parked their tools and stood around it; McKay and Wallace could see drink cans being circulated and clouds of tobacco smoke.

  ‘Must be Australians!’ McKay commented cynically and they both chuckled.

  ‘We may as well stay here, that shed could come in useful.’

  It was. Dusk was falling before the men moved on for the night. They climbed up the opposite side of the cutting and there was the sound of cars starting up. They cautiously approached the shed; it was all in darkness and seemed deserted. McKay crept up to it and peered through the window, nodding with satisfaction.

  ‘All clear, it’ll do, if we can get inside.’

  They managed that without much difficulty. The padlock was a good one but the supporting hasp was not. They eased it out of the woodwork and opened the door. They found some sandwiches ditched in a waste bin and salvaged them like a couple of tramps and wolfed them down. There were several drink cans discarded in the bin, some of them had some dregs and they drained those as well.

  Chapter 25

  Wallace was awoken by the blast on the horn of a passenger train as it thundered past the shed. McKay was already awake and on his feet.

  ‘Sleep well?’ he enquired as he rummaged around the shed.

  ‘Well enough.’

  In fact Wallace felt terrific, it was the best night’s sleep he had had since leaving Liz’s place. Liz! As he thought of her he felt a surge of adrenalin and wondered if he would ever see her again and whether she would think kindly of him. She may well be aware by now that she had been entertaining a man wanted for murder, the newspapers and television news reports would see to that.

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Half past six, we’d better be out of here before our plate laying friends arrive for their morning shift.’

  They secured the shed, hammering the hasp back into the decaying woodwork. Wallace examined it critically afterwards, regrettably it did look as if it had been tampered with but on the other hand the wood was fairly rotten on the door jamb so any looseness could be put down to weather and elements over the years. Wallace also had doubts whether the plate layers would subject the hasp and padlock to a searching examination. They also helped themselves to a couple of sledgehammers.