Behind Closed Doors

Instructions

InstructionsChief Inspector Joshua Madden sat cradling his unlit pipe in the palm of his right hand, as Albert Norris sat down on the opposite side of his desk, as instructed. Aged almost sixty, a little under six feet tall, with a waistline just giving way to obesity, and hoping to retire before the year was out, Madden stroked his greying beard and waited for the inspector to settle himself before speaking.

“Well, Bert, we've a real to-do on our hands, that's for sure. Sorry for calling you out so early, by the way.”

“Not a problem, sir,” Norris replied, though he knew Madden's apology would never stand up in a court of law. It had probably given the chief inspector great delight to summon Norris from his bed at the c***k of dawn. “Young Fry told me there'd been a murder?”

“Yes, a bad business by all accounts. A young woman's body was discovered by a Metropolitan Railway employee a few hours ago.”

“On the railway track, sir, or on a train?”

“In a carriage, standing at the platform on Aldgate station.”

“Ah, so we can't be sure if the victim was actually killed where she was found?”

“Well, it's fairly certain she was killed in the carriage.”

“No, sir. I mean, if she was on a train, she could have been killed at any point along her journey. As you said, the body was discovered at Aldgate when the train was stationary. There's nothing to suggest that she was killed there, I suppose, as opposed to anywhere else along the train's route?”

“I don't have a lot of details, yet, Inspector. Sergeant Dove is on the scene and is carrying out a preliminary investigation of the carriage and the body, in the presence of the police surgeon.”

“I see, sir. Can I just ask why I've been drafted in for this one? I mean, I'm hardly flavour of the month around here, or anywhere else in the city, am I? Surely Scotland Yard will want to get their hooks into this one.”

Madden looked hard at Norris, his cheeks puffing out with barely concealed anger, which he did well to stifle before replying to the inspector's question.

“Listen to me, and listen well, Inspector. As long as you're on my team, you follow my orders, is that clear?”

Norris nodded but said nothing. Madden continued.

“Scotland Yard have got their work cut out in the search for this so-called Whitechapel Murderer. You know as well as I do that they've drafted in uniformed constables from every station in the city to help in the investigation. Stations like ours are being denuded of officers we can ill afford to lose if we're to police the rest of London effectively. We've lost five men to the Whitechapel investigation and I have to make the best of the resources left at my disposal. You, Norris, made a mistake ten years ago, one that cost you your place at Scotland Yard. Since then, you've done a pretty good job in my opinion, but you have a b****y bad habit of carrying that awful big chip around on your shoulder. Forget the past, Bert, and concentrate on now. You're the best man I have for this job, and I want you to lead the investigation.”

“I see, sir. When you put it like that, I can't really refuse, can I?”

“No, you b****y well can't. Now, are you going to listen to what I have to say, or not?”

“Yes, sir. Please, do carry on.”

Madden ignored the slight condescension in Norris's voice, but, as if to reinforce his superiority over his subordinate officer, he removed a box of Swan Vesta matches from a drawer in his desk and spent a whole minute lighting his pipe, puffing on the stem until the tobacco in the bowl was burning to his satisfaction. Satisfied at last, he spoke once again.

“How much do you know about the Metropolitan Railway, Bert?”

“Well, as far as I recall, it was opened in the early Sixties…”

“1863, to be precise,” the chief interjected.

“Right, sir, 1863 it is, then. It runs above and below ground and the steam locomotives that haul the carriages are specially adapted for running through the long tunnels underground. I've never travelled on it myself, but I've heard it's fast and efficient as well as being cheap. The downside, from what I've heard and read, is that it's smoky and draughty, and the smell of the smoke and other substances produced by the locomotives can be positively gut-wrenching for the passengers. The smoke fills the carriages, seeping in through every c***k and tiny hole in the coachwork, and some people claim that riding on the underground railway can be b****y hazardous to a person's health. That's about all I know, sir.”

“Some of what you say is quite true, Bert, but there's more to it than that. The government is committed to seeing a great expansion of the underground railway system. It already carries millions of passengers every year, and has revolutionised the movement of the labour force around the city. Workers can now travel into and out of the city, to and from jobs they might never have obtained before the coming of the railway. Yes, there are still those who doubt the long-term future of the railway, and those who tell of so-called choke damp as being a terrible affliction travellers place themselves at risk of catching if they use the system regularly, but the Metropolitan is here to stay. Not only that, but the company has plans to expand the system so that it reaches even further afield, into the suburbs and beyond. Before long, it will be possible for workers to travel into the city from country villages and towns, and vice-versa, of course. Think of the economic virtue of such expansion, and what it may do to assist in the growth of the industry of the nation.”

“Sounds like you're an expert in the workings of the Metropolitan Railway, sir.”

“I'm telling you what I know, and what I've read in The Times in recent months, Inspector, nothing more.”

After hesitating for a few seconds, Madden then went on.

“Well, there is something more, in fact, though what I'm about to tell you is completely confidential. You may, at some point in the investigation, reveal this to your sergeant, but only if you feel it to be a necessity for him to share this knowledge, understood?”

Not sure what the chief inspector was about to reveal, Norris could only nod in agreement, and shifted in his chair, slightly uneasily. He had a feeling he wasn't going to like what he was about to hear. Madden opened a drawer in his desk, and extracted a slim brown file. Placing it on his desk, he opened it and removed a single sheet of paper, covered, as Norris could see from his side of the desk, in neat typewritten script.

“Sadly,” Madden began, “there have been a number of threats made against the Metropolitan since it opened over twenty years ago. Most of the older ones can, I believe, be easily discounted as irrelevant to today's investigation. Others, however, can't be dismissed quite so readily.”

“Threats, sir? What kind of threats?” Norris was intrigued.

“There are people, Norris, who believe that the underground railway is not a good or proper thing as far as London is concerned. Here are a couple of examples.”

He began to read from the paper in front of him.

“ `Men have met their maker as a result of the greed and avarice of those who would turn the people of this fair city into denizens of the underworld. Be warned that their deaths will be avenged.' It's true that a number of workers were killed in accidents, mostly cave-ins, during the excavations of the original tunnel and some of the newer ones. This could be a valid threat from someone with revenge in mind against the company, perhaps a friend or relative of one of the dead men. `God will not allow this fiendish contraption, this infernal machine of the devil to prosper. We will bring about its ruination and force the Metropolitan Railway to cease its operations forthwith, in the name of The Almighty,' says another one. There are more, but they mostly follow the same theme.”

“But surely, sir, these are cranks, fools and idiotic protesters with more time and ink on their hands than real intent?”

“You're probably correct, Inspector. But, and we must be careful here, if even one of these is a genuine threat and someone has taken to murder to try and scare the good people of the city from the railway in order to force it to cease operations, or at least in a move designed to hit the company's profits, then we must be alert to the danger.”

“Yes, sir, I think I see. But if this is a random, motiveless murder designed simply to hit the reputation of the Metropolitan railway, we are going to find it even harder to track down the killer.”

“I'm afraid there's more. The final paragraph of this document, which was circulated to all senior officers in the Metropolitan Police, states quite firmly: `Any act of wilful sabotage, or potential wilful sabotage, violence against the person or persons of those employed by or being carried as passengers by the Metropolitan Railway, will be viewed in the gravest light by Her Majesty's government, such is the importance placed by said government on the future economic success of the underground railway and its implications for the future prosperity of the country itself. It is therefore imperative that any investigation into any such acts be carried out with extreme tact and diplomacy, with the minimum publicity being granted to the act, and with the outcome kept as close and private as can be allowed within the confines of the law.'

“In other words, Norris, you are to keep your investigation as low-key as possible, reporting only to me, and discussing the case only with those directly involved in the investigation. That includes your wife, and even your dog. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir, you do. I didn't realise this was such a high-profile case.”

“It isn't, really. And that's how we have to keep it.”

“But surely, sir, the press will be onto the murder in no time?”

“The government has certain powers to limit press coverage of cases which are deemed a matter of national security. This will be classified as such and all editors will be instructed, under the Special Powers Act, to co-operate in a partial news blackout. There will be minimal information printed, enough to make sure that there will be no embarrassing leaks of information from anyone privy to the fact that the murder did in fact take place, but the details will be closely guarded and any press articles censored by the Home Office.”

“b****y hell, sir. What you're effectively saying is that I'm to be working with one hand tied behind my back, so to speak.”

“I'm afraid so, Norris. That's the way things stand, and you'd better be extremely careful where you tread with this one. Now, I think we've wasted enough time here in the office. Your sergeant has already been despatched to Aldgate to take over from the responding officers, so I suggest you get over there post-haste and assert your authority on the situation. Remember as well that the Whitechapel Murderer is getting all the publicity and attracting massive press coverage. Let's keep it that way, eh?”

“In other words, let the boys in Whitechapel run rings around themselves, while we keep a low profile and work in the shadows?”

“Something like that, yes. Now, you were about to leave?”

“Yes, sir, but, just one question?”

“Which is?”

“What about any witnesses? Won't they be free to relate what's happened to their families, the press perhaps?”

“They will be taken care of too, Norris. Never fear. They will be sworn to silence under pain of prosecution. A member of Special Branch is already on the way to Aldgate to ensure they sign the necessary papers that will ensure their silence.”

“They, whoever `they' are, seem to have this all sewn up, sir, if you don't mind me saying so. Do you really want me to find this killer, or just go through the motions and let the whole thing be buried under the carpet?”

“We are the Metropolitan Police, Inspector Norris. You will do all you can to unearth and apprehend the killer, and then leave matters in my hands. Clear?”

“Yes, sir. I'd better be going then.”

Norris rose to leave and Madden stared at him for a second before standing himself, offering a handshake across the desk and saying, simply, “Good luck, Bert.”

“Thank you, sir. I've a feeling I'm going to need it.”

Norris took his leave of the chief inspector, and made his way on foot to Aldgate, where he knew his sergeant, and indeed his close friend, Dylan Hillman, would be waiting. What, he wondered, am I to tell Hillman?

For the first time in many years, Albert Norris envied the role of the humble police constable who simply followed orders, did his job, and went home at the end of his shift. Whatever he and Hillman were about to become embroiled in, would, he felt sure, leave a bitter taste in his mouth. Already, the feeling that he'd be subject to political manipulation as his investigation proceeded was strong in Norris's mind. As he entered Aldgate station and headed for the crowd of police officers already gathered on the platform, he had the sensation that this case, like one a long time ago, might not really be in the best interest of his career, such as it already was.