by Jack Murray
THE KIT ASTON MYSTERIES
BOOKS 1 - 5
THE AFFAIR OF THE CHRISTMAS CARD KILLER
THE CHESS BOARD MURDERS
THE PHANTOM
THE FRISCO FALCON
THE MEDIUM MURDERS
Table of Contents
THE KIT ASTON MYSTERIES
THE AFFAIR OF THE CHRISTMAS CARD KILLER
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
THE END
THE CHESS BOARD MURDERS
Spoiler Alert!
Prologue
Part 1: Opening Moves
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Part 2: Middle Game
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Part 3: End Game
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Coda
A Note from the Author
Notes
Acknowledgements
The Phantom
Copyright © 2019 by Jack Murray
[email protected]
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 15
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 30
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Coda – One Year Later…
A Note from the Author
The Frisco Falcon
Copyright © 2019 by Jack Murray
[email protected]
A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
Prologue
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
Coda
Research Notes
The Medium Murders
Copyright © 2020 by Jack Murray
[email protected]
Prologue
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
Epilogue
Research Notes
About the Author
Acknowledgements
THE AFFAIR OF THE CHRISTMAS CARD KILLER
The First Lord Kit Aston Mystery
JACK MURRAY
Copyright © 2018 by Jack Murray
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed ‘Attention: Permissions Coordinator,’ at the address below.
[email protected]
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
ISBN: 9798749820010
Imprint: Independently published
For Monica, Lavinia, Anne, and Baby Edward
Prologue
6th December 1917: Cambrai, France
‘You’re on watch now,’ said the soldier returning to the shelter. He gave a gentle shake to the man lying in a bunk then threw his coat and equipment onto the wooden floor. Stepping back, he gave his replacement room to climb down from the bed.
The other soldier sat up and rubbed his eyes. He was a young man, too. Barely in his twenties. It seemed only minutes since he’d slumped onto the bed. Hopping off the bunk, the young soldier grabbed hold of a rocket pistol and some flares. His hands were stiff with cold. He could barely feel his feet. In one rapid movement his raincoat was on with the equipment slipped over it. The other soldier handed him a cup of scalding hot tea.
‘Here, you’ll need this.’
‘Thanks’
In less than a minute he was stumbling out of the shelter cut into the side of the trench and then the chill hit him. It stung his face but also helped him wake. He jumped up onto the fire-step to take over as sentry. It wa
s still dark. There was a lingering hint of the sweet, spicy smell of gas in the air clashing with the malodorous stench of the latrines. Or was it death? The smell no longer sickened him. He had long since become desensitized to this if not the horror around him.
Immediately in front of the trench were the wooden pickets supporting the barbed wire. Looking ahead, beyond the barbed wire, he could see the barren landscape pitted with holes made by shells. This was No Man’s Land. Perhaps a few hundred yards in front of the British line sat the Germans. The thought of them out there made him duck his head a little.
The trench was quiet. Sentries were posted every ten yards. Periodically, the trench was lit from a flare sent up by the Germans. They were obviously as bored as he was. No stars were showing through the thick blanket of cloud until the latest flare turned the sky a bright white. He leaned against the trench wall to avoid getting caught by the perfunctory rifle-fire that often accompanied the flare.
While the ground in front was visible, he used the opportunity to look through the periscope to scan the horizon. It was pockmarked with shell holes and tank tracks. In the far distance he could see the sandbags indicating the German position. No sign of Fritz. More sense.
As the flare died, he thought he saw something a hundred or so yards in front. The fading flare left darkness and him cursing. Turning to the sentry on his right, he waved to attract his attention. It took a minute of furious gesticulating before the other sentry nodded back. The soldier pointed to the open ground.
‘I thought I saw someone out there,’ he said in a loud whisper.
The other sentry shrugged and shook his head. As a rule, all soldiers avoided stepping out into No Man’s Land unless ordered. He decided that it was his imagination and tried to think no more about it. Ten minutes later he heard it. This time there could be no doubt. A groan. Someone was out there. He jumped down from the fire-step and almost collided with a battalion officer who was doing an inspection on this stretch of trench. The officer towered over the young soldier. He looked down.
‘Careful,’ he said, more in jest than anger. ‘Is there a problem?’
‘Sorry sir, I think there’s someone out there,’ answered the soldier before remembering to add a salute.
‘Aside from the German 3rd Army?’ responded the officer sardonically.
‘Yes sir. I heard a noise, definitely a man. Might have caught one. One hundred yards almost directly ahead. I thought I saw something when the last flare went up; now I’m sure.’
‘Well show me. It could be a trick, but it might be someone from a patrol that went out earlier. We haven’t heard anything from them, and they left two hours ago. The Boche have been a bit frisky tonight. I don’t know what’s wrong with them. Let’s hope he wasn’t caught up in something.’
The officer climbed up onto the fire-step and took out his binoculars.
‘Tell you what. Let’s stir Fritz up a bit. Maybe he’ll send a flare over. May as well use up his flares rather than ours. We’re running low.’
He took out his revolver and fired twice into the darkness. Within a minute the Germans helpfully sent up a flare to see what was happening. The officer and the soldier stood side by side on the step. The soldier used the periscope and scanned the area where he had looked earlier.
‘There,’ he said pointing. ‘Do you see over between the tank track and the crater, two o’clock? He looks like he’s in a crater, but you can just see his arm caught in the wire.’
‘Yes, I see it,’ replied the officer squinting through his binoculars. ‘Could very well be one of ours. Not sure I can see him moving, though.’ The flare died again preventing confirmation.
‘Do you fancy taking a closer look? The cloud cover’s good.’
It was not a question and the soldier knew it. The officer looked down at the man before him. Clearly a Londoner, he was short, probably around five feet six or seven and, like so many in the trenches, malnourished. However, looking onto his eyes he saw a mixture of the terror and determination that characterized so many of the men he had under his command. The soldier nodded back to the officer.
‘It’ll be too risky to send more than one man,’ added the officer apologetically.
‘I know, sir.’
‘Good man. Get ready, I’ll stand watch.’
A few minutes later, heart beating rapidly, the soldier was crawling through the pickets towards his object. The ground was frozen hard with just a hint of a frost on the top. Looking ahead, he mapped out a route that would take him from crater to crater. Unfortunately, there was also a little too much open ground to be negotiated for his liking.
Progress was slow. He went ten yards at a time then stopped to rest and take stock for a few minutes. Each movement was accompanied by a prayer. More than once he felt the remains of old barbed wire rip into his clothing and sting his skin. The journey of one hundred yards was accomplished in just over an hour. He’d made it.
The body lay crumpled in a depression. Barbed wire hung lazily off a post by the soldier’s side. The unconscious soldier’s arm was partially caught in it. He looked a mess. Incredibly though, the young soldier could feel a pulse. He whispered in the soldier’s ear.
‘Don’t worry, we’ll have you back soon.’
Obviously, the soldier was done for, he thought. What harm would a lie do now anyway?
Slowly, he extricated the soldier’s arm from the hooks on the wire. No other part of the body seemed to be so entangled. Slipping a wooden board underneath the soldier, he wrapped the rope attached to the board around himself so that he could pull the soldier over the frosty ground. With one final glance towards the enemy line, he made ready to move the prone soldier.
By now it was after four in the morning and bitterly cold. Thankfully, it had not rained in the last few days. Muddy ground would have made a perilous journey impossible. He pulled the body out from the depression causing a muffled groan. This was not good. It was one thing to know the man was still alive, but the last thing he needed was noise to attract the attention of the Germans.
They progressed slowly across No Man’s Land stopping regularly to rest. The young soldier was exhausted. The crossing was taking a mental, physical, and emotional toll. He knew it was only matter of time before the noise they were making would result in an exploratory flare.
Minutes later, he was proved right. A flare went up. He scrambled into a small crater. German voices were audible. He waited for the inevitable gun fire. The flare died and then there was silence. Maybe his luck was holding.
This hope was dispelled seconds later. Another flare went up. By this point he had yanked the injured soldier into the small crater alongside him. He rested there for over ten minutes until he was sure the Germans had lost interest.
At the British trench, the officer looked on grimly. The word had spread along the line. An audience had assembled to view the grim proceedings. He turned to the men alongside him.
‘Be ready to let Fritz have it, men. Are there any medics here yet?’ One man nodded in confirmation. The officer fixed his eyes on No Man’s Land. His heart was racing.
Thirty yards to go: another flare went up. The soldier looked up and groaned inwardly. This time he was in a completely exposed position above ground and between craters. There was no opportunity to hide. If anything, this was the worst part. The barbed wire and the stumps were directly in front of the trench. They would make it very difficult to move quickly along the ground.
He had a choice to make.
-
Seventy yards further back, another officer was gazing at the scene. Hauptmann Max Kahn held the binoculars to his eyes and scanned the British front line slowly. Finally, he found what he was looking for.
‘Yes, I think I see them now. Well done.’
His companion was Thomas Vogts, a sniper. In fact, Vogts was a highly effective sharpshooter. He’d lost count of the kills he’d made over the last two years since his unique talent had become apparent to his fellow sold
iers.
‘Let’s see what they do,’ said Kahn.
‘Shouldn’t we tell Artillery?’
‘To shell two Tommy? I think they might justifiably ask what your job is meant to be. Stick to your orders. We’re not here to finish off a Tommy who will probably die anyway. Don’t move your gun keep it trained on our target. Can you see him yet?’
Vogts looked up at Kahn, and then fixed binoculars to his eyes to hide his anger. His gaze was not on the two soldiers in No Man’s Land, but thirty metres to their left on a shallow outcrop from the main British trench. Lying there were two British soldiers on a similar mission to himself and Kahn. His rifle and its telescopic sight were trained on this dugout.
‘No sign but they’re there. I can see cigarette lights.
‘Do you think it’s him?’ asked Kahn.
‘Don’t know. It’s still too dark to see his face. He’s been here nearly two weeks now. They’ll move him soon.’
-
Further ahead, the young soldier had reached a decision. The other soldier was a goner. He was sure of this. The longer he stayed in No Man’s Land, the greater the chance of being spotted. This was especially the case so close to the front line. If he was able to put the injured soldier on his back, then he could cover the last thirty yards more quickly and avoid the barbed wire entangling them. Decision made, he lowered himself onto his knees and hoisted the soldier up. He stayed in the crater for half a minute taking deep breaths and then the final push.
The British officer saw immediately the soldier’s intention. He nodded to the soldiers beside him to be ready.
‘Come on my boy; you can do this.’ He prayed fervently the Germans would not choose that moment to send up a flare. Just then, the sky lit up. It seemed impossible for the young soldier to remain unseen. The officer held his breath.
-
‘I have a clear shot,’ said Vogts.
‘Of our man?’ said Kahn regarding Vogts.
‘No, the two Tommies up ahead.’
‘I told you to ignore them. I want the British snipers. Keep looking, in their direction,’ said Kahn angrily.
The officer glanced at Vogts. How he detested this man. Vogts had developed a murderous talent in order to avoid being involved in a direct frontal attack. A man who skulked in craters and killed, murdered even, wounded soldiers, or worse, the Doctors attending them. Kahn had heard the stories. Vogts was playing a deadly game of numbers. The more he killed, the less likely it would be for him to be sent over the top. He knew it would be a straightforward shot for such a man.
