Read Online Cherringham--Last Train to London by Neil Richards - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Neil Richards
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shrugged.
“Talk tomorrow, Jack,” she said.
“Enjoy the cricket,” he said as she turned and headed off to her own car.
Then he smiled at the couple in the car and started the engine. “All yours.”
“Lovely!” the woman said, backing out of the way.
Lovely. And not for the first time he thought, I'm not in Brooklyn anymore …
13. A Quiet Night on the Goose
Riley sat beside Jack, head in his paws. Jack had thought about having a cigar – but on a night like this?
Clear dark sky, no moon yet so the stars were so bright.
Seemed a shame to mess that up with smoke.
Instead, he sat outside on his boat and tried to figure out if Sarah was right about this ‘case’ not being over.
What had they really learned in the past twenty-four hours?
They now knew that Otto Brendl wasn’t German.
That old Otto had in fact come from Romania just before the whole Communist world began to fall apart, just like the Berlin Wall being torn down.
Then – more interesting – he was in trouble; that Brendl was, in fact, in hiding from operatives from the old Romanian secret police.
That – according to Jayne Reid – all these years later – someone still wanted to find him.
Then – do what?
Punish him? Kill him?
But the man just had a heart attack?
Isn’t that what happened?
At that moment, Riley stood up, stretched. He placed his head near Jack’s right hand and Jack gave him a pet.
“Time to head in, Riley?”
The Springer tilted his head left and right.
It was late. But on a night like this, you could just sit out here till dawn.
Might do that sometime, Jack thought.
Worse ways to spend an evening.
The thoughts kept coming …
Someone had tried to break in the night before the puppeteer had died. But according to Jayne, they had failed. Then – only a couple of days later someone had actually gotten in and stolen the puppets.
Krause. Was he lying? Did he have something to do with the stolen, apparently irreplaceable, puppets?
And something else that had been niggling Jack: why hadn’t Otto told the police if he was worried about being attacked? Perhaps he feared losing his residency status. But would that outweigh his fear for his life?
And who was the man at Iron Wharf asking after Jack Brennan? In spite of what he’d said to Sarah, he hadn’t taken that report lightly …
“More questions here than answers, Riley.”
The dog’s head bobbed. Good. He agrees.
For Jack, an imbalance in questions-versus-answers always made him feel uncomfortable.
Riley made a small noise – probably eager for his doggy pillow rather than the wood deck of the ship.
Jack stood up. “Okay, let's head in, boy.”
And Riley led the way inside the Grey Goose.
Jack had left the wicker case with the Punch and Judy puppets just inside the wheelhouse.
Did those puppets have any value, he thought? They seemed pretty standard issue as far as puppets went, at least to Jack’s untrained eye.
Still – they were all that was left of Brendl’s collection.
Now he grabbed the crate by a thick leather handle at one end, and dragged it down the steps and into the galley area. Tomorrow, when it was light, he’d look at them more closely. It was just instinct that had him hold onto them after all of the others had been stolen.
But maybe there was something else there, some ‘answer’ that he had missed.
Riley found his pillow just inside the bedroom.
“Okay, I’m coming,” Jack said.
With the night air, the stars gone, he felt suddenly tired. Despite all his questions, sleep would be good.
Minutes later, the Grey Goose was dark, and the boat completely quiet.
Jack’s eyes opened. He had been asleep. He looked at the clock on the small dresser across the room.
2:18. 2:19.
He usually didn’t wake up in the middle of the night. But now —
Riley was standing. The dog walked up to the head of the bed, then did a small circle.
Hearing something. It was probably his paws – the claws on the wooden floor
“Talk tomorrow, Jack,” she said.
“Enjoy the cricket,” he said as she turned and headed off to her own car.
Then he smiled at the couple in the car and started the engine. “All yours.”
“Lovely!” the woman said, backing out of the way.
Lovely. And not for the first time he thought, I'm not in Brooklyn anymore …
13. A Quiet Night on the Goose
Riley sat beside Jack, head in his paws. Jack had thought about having a cigar – but on a night like this?
Clear dark sky, no moon yet so the stars were so bright.
Seemed a shame to mess that up with smoke.
Instead, he sat outside on his boat and tried to figure out if Sarah was right about this ‘case’ not being over.
What had they really learned in the past twenty-four hours?
They now knew that Otto Brendl wasn’t German.
That old Otto had in fact come from Romania just before the whole Communist world began to fall apart, just like the Berlin Wall being torn down.
Then – more interesting – he was in trouble; that Brendl was, in fact, in hiding from operatives from the old Romanian secret police.
That – according to Jayne Reid – all these years later – someone still wanted to find him.
Then – do what?
Punish him? Kill him?
But the man just had a heart attack?
Isn’t that what happened?
At that moment, Riley stood up, stretched. He placed his head near Jack’s right hand and Jack gave him a pet.
“Time to head in, Riley?”
The Springer tilted his head left and right.
It was late. But on a night like this, you could just sit out here till dawn.
Might do that sometime, Jack thought.
Worse ways to spend an evening.
The thoughts kept coming …
Someone had tried to break in the night before the puppeteer had died. But according to Jayne, they had failed. Then – only a couple of days later someone had actually gotten in and stolen the puppets.
Krause. Was he lying? Did he have something to do with the stolen, apparently irreplaceable, puppets?
And something else that had been niggling Jack: why hadn’t Otto told the police if he was worried about being attacked? Perhaps he feared losing his residency status. But would that outweigh his fear for his life?
And who was the man at Iron Wharf asking after Jack Brennan? In spite of what he’d said to Sarah, he hadn’t taken that report lightly …
“More questions here than answers, Riley.”
The dog’s head bobbed. Good. He agrees.
For Jack, an imbalance in questions-versus-answers always made him feel uncomfortable.
Riley made a small noise – probably eager for his doggy pillow rather than the wood deck of the ship.
Jack stood up. “Okay, let's head in, boy.”
And Riley led the way inside the Grey Goose.
Jack had left the wicker case with the Punch and Judy puppets just inside the wheelhouse.
Did those puppets have any value, he thought? They seemed pretty standard issue as far as puppets went, at least to Jack’s untrained eye.
Still – they were all that was left of Brendl’s collection.
Now he grabbed the crate by a thick leather handle at one end, and dragged it down the steps and into the galley area. Tomorrow, when it was light, he’d look at them more closely. It was just instinct that had him hold onto them after all of the others had been stolen.
But maybe there was something else there, some ‘answer’ that he had missed.
Riley found his pillow just inside the bedroom.
“Okay, I’m coming,” Jack said.
With the night air, the stars gone, he felt suddenly tired. Despite all his questions, sleep would be good.
Minutes later, the Grey Goose was dark, and the boat completely quiet.
Jack’s eyes opened. He had been asleep. He looked at the clock on the small dresser across the room.
2:18. 2:19.
He usually didn’t wake up in the middle of the night. But now —
Riley was standing. The dog walked up to the head of the bed, then did a small circle.
Hearing something. It was probably his paws – the claws on the wooden floor
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