Detective Watters Mysteries

Chapter 7

When Eddie arrived at the back door of the police office, Watters and the detectives boarded his cab.

“I’m getting a new cab soon, Sergeant,” Eddie said. “I want a Hansom rather than this old-fashioned growler.”

“There’s less room in a Hansom,” Watters said.

“Aye, but it’s lighter, faster and more manoeuvrable. This old thing is clumsy, and Dundee’s streets are getting right busy.”

“You must be making good money, then, Eddie.”

“Here you are, Mr Watters.” When Eddie pulled up outside a semi-derelict building, Scuddamore and Duff disembarked to walk in different directions. Watters had chosen a suitable location for each detective to overlook Gilbride’s offices.

“Thank you, Eddie.” Watters said. “You know where to go next?”

“I have the address, Sergeant, Watters.” Eddie touched his whip to the brim of his bowler hat.

“Take care of them.”

“I will.” Eddie cracked the reins and rumbled off.

Watters had chosen a location where he could see a section of Whale Lane and the back of Gilbride’s office. He settled down with a hunk of bread-and-cheese.

After all these arrangements, we had better catch Abernethy.

After all these arrangements, we had better catch Abernethy.After half an hour, Watters saw Boyle and Shaw walk around the building, checking the doors and windows, as their duty demanded. They talked noisily, with Shaw lighting a pipe against regulations and Boyle pulling a newspaper from the pocket of his coat.

“Keep it up, lads,” Watters said to himself as Boyle pointed out something in the newspaper to Shaw, who laughed, jabbing the stem of his pipe in the air.

They’re playing their part well. Here comes the next stage.

They’re playing their part well. Here comes the next stage.The two women walked arm in arm along East Whale Lane. One carried a baby, while the other was a few years younger but very confident in her carriage. Watters watched anxiously, unsure if he had done the right thing.

The two women, Marie, and Duff’s sweetheart Rosemary, began to talk to the two constables, distracting them from their duty. Boyle and Shaw played along, responding with laughter and loud voices, accompanying the women to the end of the lane, where Duff had concealed himself. Watters did not like the idea of Marie walking in the dark street, but with two uniformed police at their side and Duff and Scuddamore only a hundred yards away, he had reconciled himself. The idea had been Marie’s, and once considered, she refused all Watters’ arguments about the danger.

“You’ll be there,” Marie had reminded, smiling sweetly but with fire in her eyes, “and Constable Duff. It would take a brave Burker to face Duff!”

“You don’t know what sort of men are out there,” Watters said.

“I’m not as innocent as you seem to think!” The fire was growing hotter, and the sweetness diminishing as Marie’s determination grew.

“You take care, then!” Watters surrendered while trying to have the final word.

Knowing she had won, Marie was gracious in victory. “You’ll take care of me,” she had said, dousing the flames with a smile.

Now Watters watched the police wander off with his wife and Rosemary, and then a man emerged from the shadow beneath a streetlamp. Medium height and dressed in dark clothing, he carried a carpet bag.

Got you, cully, Watters thought. Get out of the street, Marie!

Got you, cullyGet out of the street, MarieWatters felt his tension rise as the man crouched beneath the back window of Gilbride’s office. He watched as the burglar extracted a piece of cord and a length of metal from his bag.

I know that technique, Watters thought.

I know that techniqueThe burglar looped his cord around two of the bars on the window and twisted with the metal. After a few moments, the pressure forced the bars apart. The gap was not sufficiently wide to attract attention, but the burglar slipped his hand inside and carefully scraped out the putty from one pane of glass.

This fellow knows what he’s doing.

This fellow knows what he’s doing.Removing the pane, the burglar inserted his hand through the gap, unlatched the window and pushed it up. Only a small man could wriggle through the hole, but the burglar managed without difficulty. He pulled the pane of glass after him, placed a sheet of dark paper over the missing pane, pushed the two loose bars together and closed the window. With the dark paper looking like glass, only the most observant of passers-by would notice anything amiss.

Now, what will you do? Watters wondered. You can’t carry the strongbox out of that small space. And where is your companion? All my informers told me you worked with somebody else.

Now, what will you doYou can’t carry the strongbox out of that small space. And where is your companion? All my informers told me you worked with somebody else.Some cracksmen came supplied with a pony and gig, which they parked nearby. They would rob the premises, then run to the gig and drive from the robbery to their headquarters. Watters had Eddie’s cab parked a street away just in case he was required. However, he had not heard the rumble of wheels on the cobbles nor the jingle of harness.

You’re on foot, my friend, Watters said. That means you are local. Knowing that Duff and Scuddamore were watching the front of the building, Watters kept his concentration on the back window. He saw the faint glimmer of light inside the room, guessed that the cracksman was working by candlelight and smiled. You’re still there. Well, so am I.

You’re on foot, my friendThat means you are localYou’re still there. Well, so am I.After twenty minutes, Watters saw the window slide open. The burglar pushed the bars slightly further apart and thrust his head outside, scanning the dark street. Watters withdrew an inch, although he knew it would take a good man to spot him through a half-closed wooden shutter.

Watters hardly heard the cracksman’s low whistle. McGavin and Taylor responded, pushing a handcart across the cobbles, with one or the other checking around him with every fifth step. The cart was well greased, for it made little sound.

Using the same technique as the cracksman, McGavin and Taylor wrestled aside the window bars and then, quicker than Watters believed possible, manoeuvred them free from their stone base to create a much wider gap.

That will cost something to repair. I hope Mr Mackay thinks it worth the money because Mr Gilbride will send us the account.

That will cost something to repair. I hope Mr Mackay thinks it worth the money because Mr Gilbride will send us the account.As Watters watched, McGavin slipped through the gap and helped the cracksman carry the strongbox outside. Taylor stood watch, with his head darting this way and that, like a finch searching for a sparrowhawk.

Right, my lads, Watters said, as McGavin loaded the box onto the handcart. I’ve got you now.

Right, my ladsI’ve gotyou now.Taylor threw a ragged blanket over the strongbox to disguise the shape, and all three thieves hurried along the street, with the cart making no noise at all. You’ve done this before, Watters thought as he left his observation perch to follow the thieves.

You’ve done this beforeWatters was experienced in following suspects, so even in the quiet streets, he managed to remain out of sight. He timed his steps to coincide with those of McGavin, so nobody would hear him and kept sufficiently far back to avoid detection. Taylor was the most nervous of the three thieves, watching everything and turning every dozen steps to peer behind him. Watters recognised the pattern and slipped into doorways or areas of shadow every ten steps, so there was no movement to alarm his quarry.

When they passed the entrance to Whale Lane, Watters stepped into the light for a moment, aware that one of his detectives, or one of the uniformed men, were expecting to see him. Watters had given instructions that the uniforms would remain in place to guard Gilbride’s office while the detectives would follow him.

Taking the back streets and wending through a myriad closes and wynds, the thieves came to St Clement’s Lane, a narrow street with crowded housing and the original base for Dundee’s Police Office. Watters noted the three thieves were masters in avoiding the beat police"s patrol routes and wondered if he should suggest that Lieutenant Anstruther or Sergeant Murdoch alter the times. Taylor slid into the shadows and pulled a blackjack from his sleeve, standing guard while the others tapped at a closed door. Watters noted the distinctive knock, rap- rap- rap, three slow then three rap, rap, rap, in quick succession.

When the door opened, McGavin and the cracksman lifted the strongbox and carried it inside. Taylor backed in last, still scanning the dark lane with his blackjack held ready.

Watters nodded as Duff and Scuddamore joined him, saying nothing. Watters held his cane firmly, with the lead-weighted end upward, ready to strike, and counted to ten, feeling the tension mount inside him. He nodded to Scuddamore, who moved up the lane to an area known as the Vault, searching for a back entrance to the house.

Still silent, Watters stepped to the door with Duff in support. The dark paintwork on the door was peeling to reveal a lighter colour beneath. Watters wondered how many layers of paint there were and how long it had been in place. He lifted his cane. Rap – rap – rap, three slow and then three fast taps.

Watters stepped aside and back, holding his cane ready to strike and reassured by the muscular bulk of Duff at his side. It was only a few weeks since a criminal had injured Duff in a fight outside Dundee, so Watters hoped his arm was fit to fight. A glance at him revealed the broad policeman standing quite relaxed with his staff like a toy in his massive fist.

Here we go. We’re coming, Abernethy.

Here we go. We’re coming, Abernethy.Watters heard voices from within the house, a low murmuring that increased in volume. He guessed the inhabitants were discussing whether to answer the door or not.

“Shall I break it down, Sergeant?” Duff asked, hopefully.

Watters glanced at his watch; he had allowed Scuddamore sufficient time to find a rear entrance. The tension was building up.

“Dundee Police!” Watters roared; he tried the door and found it locked. “Open up!” He nodded to Duff. “On you go, Duff.”

Duff had two techniques for opening locked doors. One was a full-blooded shoulder charge, and the other a simple raised boot and mighty kick. He used the second method, and the door shuddered but held.

“They’ve bolted it,” Duff said, took three steps back and charged. With his full weight behind him, Duff smashed open the door in a welter of splintered wood and wrenched-out bolts. Watters rushed in, cane ready. As he expected, Taylor met him with a swinging blackjack.

“No, you don’t!” Watters blocked the weapon with his cane, shifted his feet and punched Taylor, left-handed, in the throat, sending him staggering backwards.

As Duff recovered from his initial shoulder charge, Watters looked around. The room was small and had once been ornate, with a corniced ceiling and a large stone fireplace. Now, years of neglect had tarnished the cornices while patches of plaster peeled from the wall to fall on the bare floorboards. A single bed and a battered deal table with two chairs made up the only furniture, and the only other door at the back of the room was ajar.

McGavin and the cracksman crouched over the half-open strongbox, staring, while Owan MacMillan reached for a weapon.

“Dundee Police!” Watters shouted again as he pointed his cane. “You are all under arrest.”

MacMillan snarled something incoherent, lifted a poker, and rushed at Watters, while McGavin seemed frozen to the spot. Only the cracksman had the sense to turn and flee.

Duff grinned as MacMillan banged into him.

“You’ll have to do better than that, cully!” He threw the thief aside. MacMillan gave a mouthful of obscenities, grabbed the poker, and swung at Watters, who dodged.

“Bluebottle bastards!” MacMillan said and thrust the metal point of the poker at Duff’s groin.

“Aye, would you, now?” Duff sucked in his middle and gave what looked like a casual swing that spun MacMillan against the far wall.

“I give up!” McGavin raised both hands in the air, realised that both detectives were fully occupied, dropped his arms and bolted through the door in the wake of the cracksman.

“Bugger!” Watters swore. “You take these two, Duff!” He was not particularly interested in MacMillan or Taylor but knew the operation would be wasted unless he caught the cracksman. The others were merely petty thieves, local ne’er-do-wells that the beat policemen could pick up any time.

Following McGavin, Watters ran through the door and looked around. He was in the house"s back room, empty except for a small pile of clothes and minor artefacts that McGavin and his companions had undoubtedly stolen, and the only window was open.

Without hesitation, Watters lunged through the window. He was in an alley so narrow only one man at a time could squeeze through, and in the darkness, he could see nobody.

Which way did McGavin run? Watters looked right and left. Choose!

Which way did McGavin run? Choose!“Got you, my man!” Scuddamore’s cheerful voice rang out. “Where do you think you are going?”

“Scuddamore,” Watters shouted. “Did you get the cracksman?” The noise had awakened the neighbourhood, with lighted candles appearing at windows and querulous voices echoing in the echoing cavern of the Vault. A few of the braver inhabitants ventured out of their doors, armed with lanterns, and various weapons from pokers to broomsticks.

“Dundee police!” Watters shouted again. “Everything is under control! Please go back to your beds!”

“Can’t you make less noise?” A man asked. “Some of us have work in the morning!”

Scuddamore appeared, holding McGavin with both arms twisted behind his back. “Good evening, Sergeant,” Scuddamore said. “I found this beauty trying to run away. Do you want him?”

“Not particularly,” Watters said, “but Perth Prison might. Did you get the other fellow, the cracksman?”

“Give me a minute, Sergeant, until I get McGavin secure.” Scuddamore dipped in his pocket for his shangies, a foot-long affair of rope with a wooden handle that acted as simple handcuffs. He looped it around one of McGavin’s wrists, attached it to his left arm and grinned. “Pray to step this way, kind sergeant of mine, and be careful because it’s a tight squeeze.”

Scuddamore had left the cracksman at the junction of the alley and the more spacious Vault, with his left wrist handcuffed to his right ankle. “I had to leave him here in case you needed help,” Scuddamore explained. “I screwed my D pattern handcuffs on him, which is why I used the shangies for McGavin here.”

D pattern handcuffs were so named because they were shaped like the letter D. They were cumbersome machines that the policeman had to work by screwing into place with a large key, encouraging many officers to use the lighter rope shangies.

“I may have keyed the D too tight,” Scuddamore said, without even a trace of remorse in his voice. The D pattern had a fault that once the police officer fastened them, he could not adjust them, so the officer preferred to screw them tight rather than risking the prisoner slipping free.

“I think you may have.” Watters lifted the cracksman bodily. He was small and light, with wide staring eyes. “Come on, you.”

Watters took a deep breath, allowing himself some satisfaction. After a few hitches, his elaborate plan had worked. He had captured the cracksman and a trio of known criminals. He should be pleased with the night’s work, but somehow, he felt a niggle of dissatisfaction. Everything had gone too smoothly, and something was wrong, although he did not know what.