The Man Who Played Trains: The gripping new thriller from the author of Playpits Park

by Richard Whittle

  Spargo cranked the wheel, bounced through the heather and joined the other track

  ‘That is sensible, John Spargo. I knew you would not let me down.’

  Spargo knew the risks he was taking. The old route ran flat for a short distance before plunging through a deep cutting in the valley side. He had walked the route many times when he was young, and years later had taken Jez that way to the old mine buildings, through the old plant yard and up the hillside, through the cutting and up to the moor.

  The cutting was different now. Years of rain had eroded the track and carved out deep hollows. With both hands gripping the wheel Spargo rammed his foot on the gas, confident that if he couldn’t drive through the hollows then maybe, if he went fast enough, he could fly over them, like Day and his potholes. The SUV lurched, grounded, spun its wheels and dropped so far to one side that Bar grabbed the door as if trying to get out. Jutting rocks bruised the suspension and tore at the bodywork; something underneath snapped, and dragged along underneath them.

  ‘John Spargo, I think you have broken the car.’

  Spargo, unfazed, kept going. He emerged from the cutting high above the old plant yard with the SUV dragging its silencer and the remains of a fence. Unsure if the police were following him he roared into the old plant yard and came to a stop on the middle – he had to, he had no choice because Mitchell’s car blocked the gateway to the road. Another, a marked police car, had been jammed across the Kilcreg road at the foot of the hill.

  ‘Don’t tell me to tell me to try to break through,’ Spargo said. ‘I won’t do it.’

  ‘That man. Is that Detective Inspector Quinn?’

  ‘It’s DS Mitchell.’

  ‘Get out and walk to him. Take the car key if you wish, I am in no mood for any more of this nonsense. Tell Mr Mitchell I wish to speak with him. And about yourself – he will ask you, so be careful what you say – tell him you fell down in dirt. Remember that Luis is still here and you do not yet have your daughter.’

  Spargo did as he was told. As he stumbled towards Mitchell, Mitchell walked towards him. The two men approaching each other like Wild West gunmen and when they met, Spargo held out his hand and passed over the car key.

  ‘You look like shit,’ Mitchell said.

  ‘I feel like it. I fell.’

  ‘Into a concrete mixer? Have you seen yourself?’ he reached out, grabbed Spargo’s coat and pulled it aside. Spargo yelped with pain.

  ‘That’s blood. That’s a knife wound, it’s bad… in fact it’s so bloody bad I’m surprised you can walk. Who’s the joker in the car?’

  ‘His name’s Bar. He’s Spanish.’

  ‘Did he do this to you?’

  ‘It wasn’t him. He wants to talk to you.’

  The sound of squealing tyres made both men turn. The police car that had been blocking the road was now roaring up the hill pursuing a silver-grey Alfa Romeo that came down the hill, turned in the road and was racing away. By the time Spargo and Mitchell reached the road the police car had returned with the occupants of the Alfa in the back. Spargo hobbled towards it and saw Jez, her face pressed against the car’s side window.

  ‘Dad! What have they done to you?’

  ‘That’s my daughter!’ Spargo yelled. ‘Watch that little bastard with her, he abducted her!’

  Then Mitchell was there and Jez was out of the car, hugging her father.

  ‘Where’s Murphy?’ Spargo asked her. ‘Who’s that in the car?’

  ‘His name’s Midge.’

  With his daughter safe, Spargo could point fingers and name names. He arm-waved at the car in the plant yard.

  ‘The man in the car is Oscar Bar, he’s behind all this, he set all this up. There’s another of them down in the bay… but watch him, he’s got a knife, he is the moron who stabbed me. The one you’ve got in your car abducted my daughter.’

  ‘No, Dad, no!’ Jez said, her head shaking. ‘You’ve got it all wrong!’

  ‘I have to say that your account of events differs in almost every respect from what I’ve heard from the others,’ Mitchell said to Spargo next day. He had pulled up a chair beside Spargo’s hospital bed and was perched uncomfortably on the edge of it. Spargo, propped on pillows, twisted to face the man.

  ‘Does that really surprise you?’

  ‘Mr Bar says he is a client of yours and you are doing consulting work for him. He says this Luis Benares is an agent for a charitable trust that has been funding the diving work.’

  ‘It’s not a charitable anything. It’s – ’

  ‘Spargo, hear me out?’ Mitchell scraped the chair closer to the bed, sat on it properly and leaned back. His eyes darted to the lights on the ceiling, the rail for the bed screen and the stand with the drip. ‘How’s the wound?’ he asked, his eyes settling once more on Spargo. ‘Any problems?’

  ‘Jabbed up and stitched up. They said I was lucky it wasn’t infected. I’m due out after consultant’s rounds.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it. This Mr Bar… he told me he’s long suspected Luis Benares has been using the trust’s funds for personal gain. He said he’s been waiting for an opportunity to catch him at it.’

  ‘That’s bullshit! Bar runs the whole game. He’s responsible for three murders, including my mother’s.’

  ‘Three murders? The man’s ninety years old, he can hardly stand up. Your mother was beaten by Ian Letchie.’

  ‘I said he was responsible for them, I didn’t say he did them himself. He was an officer in the SS during the war, he’s been selling art looted by the Nazis. At the end of the war he smuggled it out of Germany.’

  Mitchell raised an eyebrow and gave a faint smile.

  ‘In empty boxes?’

  ‘He’s told you about that?’

  ‘He’s told me everything.’

  ‘Did he tell you his name isn’t Oscar Bar? It’s Walter Wolff, the man named in Volker’s journals. He knew Volker in the war. They were stealing art from Göring.’

  ‘Are you on anything, Spargo? To kill the pain, I mean.’

  ‘Would you rather believe me or Bar?’

  ‘I’m not sure I have any choice. We have Luis Benares. He has already confessed to hiring Letchie and paying him to find out about you and your mother. He has told us Letchie killed both your mother and Lewis. He has also admitted murdering Letchie in your basement, he described the place to me and to DI Quinn, right down to details of the wire used to garrotte him. And Luis Benares stabbed you, you said that yourself.’

  ‘That’s true. But Bar is behind it.’

  ‘According to Benares, Mr Bar had no part in it. Mr Bar has explained that the trust is a charity established to recover lost works of art. He has told us about the work carried out on the U-boat on behalf of the trust. There were supposed to be old masters in the metal boxes you found in the mine.’

  ‘Did he tell you about these old masters? Did he say one was the Mona Lisa?’

  Mitchell shook his head. This time he didn’t smile.

  ‘Are you sure you’re not on anything, Spargo? Last time I heard, the Mona Lisa was hanging on the wall of the Louvre in Paris. Mr Bar did tell me the name of one of the paintings he was hoping to recover, I wrote it down. A portrait of some woman or other, Zandi or something, he said.’

  ‘It’s all in Volker’s journals. You need to read them.’

  ‘Unlike you I don’t have the luxury of spare time. One of my detective constables has read Lewis’s translation. He said he found it interesting but hardly relevant to your mother’s murder.’

  Spargo sighed and slumped back on his pillow. ‘Have you let Bar make any phone calls?’

  ‘Why do you ask if I’ve let him? We have no reason to hold him. He’s made several calls. Including one to a London lawyer, one of the best.’

  ‘And that bothers you?’

  ‘It does if he’s innocent.’

  Mitchell leaned forwards, his voice dropping to a whisper. ‘When we arrived at Kilcreg you were driving Mr Bar. Why was th
at?’

  ‘I was taking him to the airport. He wanted to get out quick.’

  ‘In a vehicle with no silencer?’

  ‘It wasn’t like that. We could have taken my Volvo.’

  ‘But you were leaving Luis Benares behind? Don’t you think it supports Mr Bar’s story?’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘That the man had been holding both of you in an old mine building. That you were escaping from him.’

  ‘He would say that, wouldn’t he?’

  ‘You were taking him to the airport willingly?’

  ‘No. He threatened me.’

  ‘Threatened you? He had no weapons. He’s got a heart condition. What did he threaten you with, a Zimmer?’

  ‘He had my daughter.’

  ‘According to your daughter she was held by a man named Grant Murphy. We believe he flew out of Heathrow yesterday on a flight to Seattle. We have no idea where he is now.’

  ‘She was held by that little creep with the Alfa. He’s been watching her for weeks. And perhaps also by Murphy,’ he added, reluctantly.

  ‘Only by Murphy, according to your daughter. The young man’s name is Rollo. He insists he was paid to keep an eye on your daughter, even Luis Benares agrees with that. According to Rollo, he soon realised something wasn’t right about Murphy. He played along with him until he had opportunity to get your Jessica away. He even drove her to Kilcreg to find you. You were there, Spargo. You saw them arrive.’

  Spargo was shaking his head. ‘Murphy and that yob abducted her. She’s suffering from that empathy thing you get when you spend too long with your abductors. She’s been through a lot. She needs proper care.’

  ‘She seems remarkably resilient to me. She said this Murphy once worked for you, is that right?’

  ‘We were partners.’

  ‘Seems to me you have some very strange friends, Spargo. And while I’m on the subject, there’s something that’s been niggling at me since the start of this business. You had Volker’s journals. If Letchie and Benares wanted them, why didn’t they just kill you and be done with it? They seem to have killed everyone else who stood in their way. You know what I’m thinking, Spargo? I’m thinking you know much more about this than you’re admitting.’

  ‘You’re wrong.’

  ‘Then let me spell it out to you. According to DI Quinn you’ve been trying to sell pewter in Edinburgh – pewter Kalman recovered from that submarine.’

  Spargo looked up at the ceiling. Stared at the lights.

  ‘Who told him that?’

  ‘Quinn pulled in a couple of jokers named Anthony Day and Montgomery Teague.’

  ‘That doesn’t surprise me. I asked my daughter to put Quinn’s boss Curtis on to them.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘She does a bit of forensic work. Geological stuff.’

  ‘So you said.’

  ‘She was analysing samples of soil for the police down there. I suggested to her that one sample might have come from an old builder’s yard I just happened to know. Seems I was right.’

  ‘The pewter, Spargo...!’

  ‘It was Kalman’s idea. He said he had it legally. He was looking for a buyer.’

  ‘And you found him one?’

  ‘It wasn’t like that.’

  Mitchell shifted in his seat as if he was about to leave. ‘Oh well, that’s DI Quinn’s business, not mine. I can’t sit here all day. As I said, you seem to be in bed with some very strange people.’ He pushed back the chair, breaking the silence of their small ward with a jarring scrape of its legs. ‘Mr Bar wants to talk to you, he says you and he have unfinished business. I would have thought it was worth keeping in with a man like that, he must be rolling in it, hand-made suits, private plane…’

  ‘Private plane?’

  ‘A charter. Waiting for him at the airport.’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  Mitchell was zipping up his jacket. ‘Outside. I offered to drive him to the airport. Oh, there’s another thing… that neighbour of your late mother’s, Mrs Munroe. She’s back from her daughter’s. She’s asked to see you.’

  ‘Has she been told about my mother?’

  ‘She has. As you might expect, she took it badly. I’m going, Spargo, I need to get out of here, I hate these bloody places. Do you want to see Mr Bar or not?’

  ‘If you try to implicate me in anything whatsoever you will be wasting your time, John Spargo,’ Bar said, taking the chair Mitchell had vacated. ‘I am a respectable businessman, a highly respected entrepreneur. Luis has admitted everything in a signed statement. As his employer I was given time alone with him. My statement to the police does not conflict with his in any way.’

  ‘Why did Benares lie for you?’

  ‘Lie? Luis did not lie. He was responsible for everything that happened here.’

  ‘You were responsible. He was working for you.’

  ‘It was his decision to hire Letchie and therefore he must take responsibility for the results of that man’s actions. It is cleaner this way, do you not think? It avoids so many complications. Besides, he has a wife and children in Madrid and he knows I will keep them from harm. I am sure you understand what I am saying.’

  ‘Mitchell thinks I’m involved in this. Because I was left unharmed he is convinced I’m in Benares’ pocket. Not in yours of course, Mitchell thinks the sun shines out of your arse.’

  ‘And so it does, John Spargo.’

  ‘Why was I not harmed?’

  ‘I must leave. Your policeman friend Mr Mitchell has been good enough to offer to drive me to the airport so I must not delay him. And do not forget to honour our contract, John Spargo. I expect to hear from you shortly.’

  ‘You’ll cancel the contract. You don’t need me now. The Canadian mine is nothing to do with you, it’s already sold. You used it as a hook to hold me.’

  ‘That, of course, is true. But you are wrong about the contract, I shall honour it and so will you. From what I have seen you are in need of the money. Before I go there is another thing I wish to say. I own several legitimate and very profitable businesses, John Spargo. The departure of Luis is most inconvenient and I am in need of another loyal employee. Is it possible you might consider learning Spanish?’

  ‘Just go, Bar! And tell me why I wasn’t harmed.’

  ‘Harm you? I could never harm you, John Spargo. Nor any child of yours.’

  CHAPTER

  FORTY-NINE

  THE PROCESSION OF MEN, Roth, Spengler, and Theo carrying Peter, passes through the U-boat from stern to stem. When they reach the bow tube room Roth dismisses Spengler and gestures, calmly, for Theo to enter the cabins. Once inside, Theo sits down on a bunk with his son on his lap, the boy snuggling close and sucking his thumb. Theo has no wish to fight, he knows he is beaten.

  ‘Is this child yours, Kapitän?’

  ‘My crewman, Fischer. How badly hurt is he?’

  ‘He will soon regret Oberleutnant Spengler’s bullet did not kill him.’

  ‘I am in command of this vessel, Sturmbannführer. You will ensure Stoker Fischer receives medical attention.’

  ‘You are mistaken. I am in command of this vessel. The boy, tell me, explain everything to me.’

  ‘He is my son.’

  Roth nods, slowly. ‘You are a fool. Never, in my service for the Reich, have I seen such incompetence. You have betrayed the German nation. You have betrayed your crew and betrayed Oberführer Wolff.’ He gestures with his pistol to Peter. ‘Against his knowledge you brought this on board.’

  ‘Oberführer Wolff knows I have the child on board.’

  ‘You are a liar! An officer of the Schutzstaffel would not countenance such a breach of discipline.’

  Theo says quiet, stroking the boy’s head. Roth’s neck colours quickly.

  ‘Tell me why you brought him!’ Then, more quietly, ‘For my own enlightenment please, Kapitän, it will make no difference one way or the other because what you have done is punishable by death. But of course yo
u know that.’

  Still Theo still does not answer.

  ‘Very well. You will remain here. The boy will come with me.’

  ‘The boy will stay.’

  Roth comes forward, raises his pistol and touches the tip of its barrel against Theo’s temple. Changing his mind he points the gun at Peter’s head.

  ‘We can resolve this little problem here and now, Kapitänleutnant. The decision is yours. Either the boy comes with me or you no longer have a son.’

  Peter understands. He presses closer to his father, gripping the top pocket of Theo’s coveralls with his free hand.

  Theo didn’t see the gun move, didn’t feel the blow. He comes round on the floor, staring up at a light he cannot see clearly. He moves his fingertips over his head and feels his nose, his mouth and his ears. He tries to stand, but cannot. When he finally manages it he trips against the bunk and falls flat.

  The room is hot and airless. The cabin door is open but the watertight door to the bow tube room is not. Intent on opening it he releases the side clamps but the locking wheel will not turn. He returns to the cabin and gropes for the phone. Roth answers it.

  ‘Where is my son, Roth? What have you done with him?’

  ‘He is with me.’

  ‘You harm him, Roth, and…’ he stops short. He is wasting words. ‘Tell me how you will navigate. The safety of this vessel is my responsibility.’

  ‘The Chief Engineer is well able to handle this vessel.’

  ‘He is no navigator. We will never get to Hamburg. The River Elbe is a nightmare. If you damage this vessel you will answer to a naval court.’

  ‘I think not.’

  The phone goes dead. Theo paces the floor then returns to the bunk. He tries to decide what his next move should be but he cannot think clearly. Unintentionally he sleeps again, and when he wakes the air in the cabin is worse than before, it is stale and lacks oxygen. It is also dark; the bulkhead light is out, as are those in the tube room, as are the ubiquitous, ghostly blue lights that bathe every part of the vessel.