Authors: Alan Cook
We had to change trains at Didcot, a parish in English terminology (because it has a church), with a multi-track railway station. We waited on an outdoor platform under a cloudy sky. We’d left the Edinburgh rain behind, at least for the moment, although the wet platform attested to the fact that it had rained here earlier. Didcot was marginally warmer than Edinburgh, but I was still glad to be wearing my raincoat for warmth.
On the opposite side of the platform from where our train was due, a sign warned passengers to stand back from the edge. We wandered over to this side of the platform, away from the people who were waiting for our train. Jason was reminiscing to Tom and me about his experiences at Oxford many years before. He’d often been at this station, traveling between Oxford and London. Suddenly he swore.
“Damn it, I left my bag on the ground by the wall of the building when I took out my camera.”
He was referring to the bag he carried in addition to his suitcase, and the building on the platform that was part of the station complex. His shoulders sagged; he looked tired. He still hadn’t completely recovered from the flight to the UK. It wasn’t more than one hundred feet away, but I volunteered to get it for him.
As I walked back toward the building, I heard the warning horn of a train. Looking up the track, past the station building, I could see the big engine of a passenger train approaching at what I estimated to be in excess of eighty miles-per-hour. No wonder the signs warned us to stand back.
I watched the magnificent beast in awe as it swept through the station, pulling the coaches behind it. For a moment I could understand the romance associated with trains, although in some ways they were from another era, especially in the U.S.
As the last car passed I swiveled my head to watch it retreat into the distance. I was aware of two things, simultaneously. Someone was waving frantically from where Jason and Tom were standing, and the train was grinding to an emergency stop.
Tom pushed Jason off the platform in front of the train.
That thought formulated in my brain even as my eyes informed me that the person waving was Jason. Tom was nowhere to be seen.
***
I was tired and hungry. And heartsick. Tom didn’t deserve to die like that—did he? Jason and I had been talking to detectives with long titles for hours—or so it seemed. Actually, a lot of the time had been spent waiting. We were in the Didcot Police Station, a sturdy brick building designed to give the residents confidence in local law enforcement.
I’d caught a glimpse of what was left of Tom after the train backed up, but quickly averted my eyes and couldn’t look any more. There wasn’t much. His body had been pushed for some distance and then rudely shoved aside.
We’d told our stories—many times. Mine was very short because I hadn’t seen what happened. The train engineer, who had a haunted look in his eyes, said he thought the pair of men, meaning Jason and Tom, were too close to the edge of the platform, but at the speed he was going there was nothing he could do about it. He didn’t see exactly what happened, but thought Tom might have tripped. He applied the brakes immediately, but by the time he stopped he was far down the tracks.
Jason looked white and exhausted. He said Tom did get close to the edge. Jason told him to move back and actually took hold of his arm to pull him when Tom must have slipped on the wet surface and fell onto the track in front of the approaching train. Jason said he’d almost been pulled off the platform too, trying to hold him.
The other passengers, who’d been on the opposite side of the platform, hadn’t seen what happened, and only short statements were taken from them.
I told the officials what I knew about Tom, including his address in Los Angeles. Although we were distant cousins, I said I didn’t know his next of kin. I suggested they contact the store where he worked to get that information. Since we weren’t really traveling together, we didn’t have to take responsibility for the body or for his belongings. Officialdom would handle those chores.
It was evening by the time we were set free. Jason made a couple of phone calls and announced that if we took the next train the remaining few miles to Oxford we would have a place to stay and be able to eat a good dinner. It sounded like heaven to me.
***
Somehow I slept well in my own room at the B&B Jason found for us. I needed my own room, not just for obvious reasons, but to give myself some space from the rest of the world. Although it would take a long time for me to shake the gruesome mental images I had, I also felt a certain relief since the problem of Tom had been solved.
True, Grandma wouldn’t get her money back, and I would probably never know whether Tom killed Jason III, but at least I didn’t have to worry about him killing anyone else.
After a hearty English breakfast provided by our landlady, Jason suggested he show me the highlights of Oxford, including some of the colleges there. I readily accepted, needing a change from the trials of yesterday. To demonstrate the age of the university, he told me New College was founded about 1400. Among other colleges, we walked through Christchurch College, where C. L. Dodgson, better known to his literary fans as Lewis Carroll, taught mathematics. As a math person, I liked him not only for his books but for his math puzzles, as well.
Jason came alive in the atmosphere where he’d spent two of the most enjoyable years of his life, by his own admission. I was glad to see the color return to his cheeks and the spring to his steps.
Therefore, when he suggested we spend a couple of days in London I acquiesced to that, and even took him on a side trip to the parish of Rotherfield where I’d spent two years teaching mathematics in a local school, although I couldn’t remember any of it. I introduced Jason to Janet Hudgins, the teacher friend with whom I’d walked the End-to-End and who’d helped me put the finishing touches on restoring my identity.
I thought about taking Jason to meet Lord Binghamton, who’d been involved in helping me in my quest. I didn’t feel any qualms about popping in on a Lord, since he had two nude paintings of me hanging on his wall, and I was certain he’d be glad to see me. But that’s precisely why I didn’t contact him. One didn’t show paintings like that to one’s grandfather, did one? Jason was a replacement for the grandfather I couldn’t remember.
Then we returned to Edinburgh where we gave an in-person report to young Jason and Sarah. We’d already called them and sent them emails, but we wanted to have some sort of closure in the case of Tom.
Sarah, with her psychological training, summarized the life of Tom. “He was one of those people who didn’t quite fit into the world. He was close enough that he could pass for normal, whatever that means, but to the eyes of people who got past his shell there were obvious quirks. He was looking for somewhere to belong, and he chose the Boyds, and although he made some missteps with them—one we know about almost for sure and possibly another to which we’ll never know the answer—there might have been a happy ending when it was revealed he was one of them, but it was not to be. I hope he rests in peace.”
CHAPTER 29
I had reservations to fly from Edinburgh back to North Carolina. It made sense. I thought my involvement with Grandma’s scam and Jason’s murder ended with Tom Kelly’s death. There was no longer any way to get back Grandma’s money, and my list of murder suspects had dwindled to zero.
When I checked my email on the computer belonging to Jason IV, I found a message from Audrey. Evan Hunter had called her and wanted to talk to me. Urgently. In person. On a confidential matter.
Please don’t tell anyone I need to speak to her
. Evan Hunter, the spaced-out roommate of Jason III. What the hell did he want? More to the point, how did he get my home phone number since I was Aiko when I talked to him?
I dithered. Was it worth it to change my reservations and fly to Los Angeles instead of North Carolina? It meant I’d get to see Rigo again. I missed him already. Also, my other friends. What if Evan really had some important information for me? If so, why couldn’t he tell me on the phone? Although I certainly wasn’t going to try to call him from Edinburgh. Because of the uncertainty of getting hold of him, especially with the eight-hour time difference, it would be difficult to keep the call confidential. I should at least honor his request to do that.
I found it wasn’t hard to talk myself into flying to L.A. I booked the same flights as Jason. He was flying coach class, so I bought coach tickets and managed to get seats beside him on the flight to Heathrow and then on to L.A. At least I’d have company. I told him I’d changed my reservations to see my boyfriend.
Jason and I had been together a lot over the past week, and talked about many things. He’d alluded to his army career, but hadn’t spoken much about it. After we took off from Heathrow and were eating lunch, served by smiling and efficient flight attendants, I asked him how long he’d been in the army.
“Too long.” He laughed. “It was hard on my wife. And my children. I took ROTC in college. In those days, the fifties and sixties, as soon as you graduated from college you were assigned a draft rating of 1-A, which meant you could be drafted at any time. I figured it was better to serve my two years as an officer than an enlisted man. One of the best things Nixon ever did was to end the draft.”
“But you received the Rhodes Scholarship.”
“When that happened I made a deal with the army. I was allowed to go to Oxford, but I was technically on active duty, which was good for me because I was getting paid as a second lieutenant. I had some duties but for the most part they were easy and fun. The downside was, I had to serve another two years after I finished. That’s also when I got married.”
Jason had told me when we were in London about Elaine, the English girl he married. The main reason he went to London so much while he was at Oxford was to see her.
“But you obviously served a lot more than four years.”
“The army offered me a promotion to stay in. They were ramping up for Vietnam and needed officers. I was young and patriotic.”
“So you fought in Vietnam?”
“Yes, but the less said about that the better.”
“What was your best assignment?”
Jason didn’t hesitate. “My last one. I was stationed in Berlin. It was a plum assignment. Elaine was with me. What was best about it is we saw the fall of the Berlin Wall in November 1989. Or rather the opening of the wall—most of it didn’t come down until later. But the celebrations—the people swarming through. It was the most marvelous sight I’ve ever seen.”
“I would have loved to have been there. Of course, I was only five years old.”
“Seeing the joy, all those happy faces.” Jason’s voice caught, and I noticed his eyes were wet. “It proved to me the human spirit wants to be free. It solidified my philosophy. People should be able to do what they wish—as long as they don’t hurt anybody else.”
“It sounds like the Golden Rule.”
“Isn’t it strange how the best rules are the oldest? I’ve been back several times since. At the Checkpoint Charlie Museum I found a poem that summarizes my feelings. I took a picture of it and later input it to my computer. I carry it with me everywhere.”
Jason dug out his wallet, which wasn’t easy since he had the seat tray across his lap, and extracted a dog-eared piece of paper from it. He passed it to me. Some of words were made almost illegible by the creases, but I concentrated and was able to figure them out.
Over and under and through the Wall they came,
parched with a thirst they couldn't quench.
Tunneling, flying, leaping, crawling, hidden
in car seats and carts, determined to wrench
themselves free from tyranny's stench.
Oppressed, tortured, imprisoned, shot—
still the thirsty would not could not be denied.
The spring of freedom beckoned, so close, so far;
yards, feet, nay inches away they died—
and friends and loved ones cried.
Some made it! a baby hidden in a bag in a cart;
desperate men who leapt on a moving train;
a hollow car seat, tunnels, boats,
a makeshift glider, balloon and plane;
putting an end to the thirst and pain.
And then one day, one wonderful day,
they hammered and shattered and tore down the Wall!
Thirsting, singing, shouting, laughing, hugging,
chunk by chunk they watched it fall—
and the terrible thirst was quenched for all.