Sarah pulled into the near-empty car park of the Cherringham Junction station of the Great Cotswolds Steam Railway.
She didn’t think she’d visited the place before.
But now she remembered bringing Daniel up here on a school outing when he was in year six, soon after she returned to Cherringham, kids in tow, to live with her parents.
That had been such a low time for her, the tail end of a messy divorce, uprooted from London back to Cherringham with two young kids …
“They even running today?” Jack asked, interrupting her thoughts.
She and Jack had decided that it was best if they hit the scene of … whatever had happened, first thing in the morning.
Not even thinking that the train might not run on a weekday.
But now as she stopped and pulled on the handbrake, she saw a giant forest-green locomotive, smoky white billows from its front being whipped away by the steady breeze.
“Think so. That thing looks ready to go!”
And as they climbed out of the car, they could see a handful of spectators on the platform watching the locomotive.
“Gotta say, this may be the most entertaining spot for our little investigation to begin,” said Jack. “All set?”
And she nodded, thinking, as they walked to the ticket office, We’ve had cases where we had little to go on …
But this one?
She felt that they knew absolutely nothing except one undeniable fact: Bernard Mandeville had vanished.
*
Jack stayed back as she went up to the jail-like grill of the ticket window.
A dapper man in full uniform, hat perfectly perched on his head, stood at the window, apparently ready for an onslaught of passengers … which didn’t seem to be coming, at least today.
“Good morning, madam,” he said quickly, a bright smile on his face.
“Good morning,” said Sarah.
And already she felt like she had taken a step back to a century ago: the waiting locomotive not far away, clouds of smoke erupting from its great steam engine, stacks of old leather luggage on the platform.
And this man, in near period costume here.
Jack took a step closer, cocking an ear.
“Yes, we’re, um … we’re wondering if we could ask you a few questions?”
And at that, of course, the station manager’s smile faded. She looked at his nameplate, brass with black letters.
Reg Syms.
“Mr Syms, we’re looking into the disappearance of Bernard Mandeville. At the request of his family.”
Syms looked away, his performance as old-time station manager thrown off balance.
“I have talked — at length — to the police, and told them absolutely everything I know. Which, needless to say, isn’t much!”
At that, Jack leaned in. Sarah saw that her partner wore the familiar — for her — “Jack Brennan smile”.
Disarming, to be sure.
But also with a bit of force. People tended to pay attention when Jack gave them that look.
“Mr Syms … Reg … the family is deeply worried. I mean, not every day someone just vanishes from a train, now is it? So how about … indulge us … just a few questions?”
Reg hesitated, then took a drastic breath.
“Very well. Tim, you man the window. And you two, come around to the side door.”
Then Reg walked away, and a younger man, dressed identically, took his place.
And Jack turned, as the stationmaster gestured to the side entrance into the station’s little office.
Jack waited for Sarah to follow.
“After you — think he doesn’t exactly like me.”
And Sarah laughed, leading the way.
*
The door led into the ticket office — small and cramped enough that the three of them had to stand quite close.
Over Reg’s shoulder, Sarah saw Tim — an unused stool beside him — as he stood waiting for the rush of customers that had still not materialised.
In the corner she saw an old CCTV monitor, the screen split into four views of the station.
Going to need to check that, she thought.
“All right,” Reg said, “what do you want to know?”
Sarah took out her notebook — drawing another disapproving glance from the station manager.
And she went over all the facts — as they knew them — from Mandeville’s family.
“Is that all about right?” Sarah asked.
“Yes, yes, of course. That son of his, the “smoker” I call him, dashing onto the train before it had barely stopped. Then storming out, yelling at the top of his lungs. Made quite a scene, I don’t mind telling you.”
Jack cleared his throat.
“Guess he could be forgiven for reacting that way, hmm? Not every day you lose a dad like that.”
The humour of Jack’s words was lost on Syms. Sarah saw the other man, Tim, look over now and then.
Though they spoke quietly, he could easily follow every word.
“There’s nothing we’ve left out? Nothing we’ve missed?”
Reg shook his head. “No. I saw Mr Mandeville at the window as the train departed for Cheltenham Racecourse. Upon the train’s return, he wasn’t there. My staff checked each and every carriage immediately — nothing. I’m as baffled as anyone. And I must say, it doesn’t reflect well on the Great Cotswolds Steam Railway!”
“Yeah,” Jack said. “You don’t want to get a reputation for losing passengers.”
Again, the crack brought no smile from Reg. Sarah thought she knew why.
“You knew Mr Mandeville, yes? Bit of a regular?”
And Reg nodded slowly. “Yes. Every Sunday. Same train. He loved the trains.”
“I know,” Sarah said. “We visited his house. Saw his model train set, looking, well, very much like this.”
Reg’s face brightened. “Yes, Mr Mandeville was someone who understood why our little train line here is so very important.” Another deep breath. “And I for one can’t bear the thought that something … something bad has happened to him.”
Yes, Sarah thought, the crusty station manager has a genuine affection for old Bernard.
She looked to Jack. A nod — he’d noted that as well.
Then Jack asked, “You yourself … you didn’t ride the train, right? Just watched it pull away?”
A nod from Reg. “Yes, of course. My place is here, at the ticket window. Sunday’s our busiest day, you see. Full complement of staff on board: Archie on duty as guard, Jim Wakely in the buffet car, providing hot drinks and snacks. No need for me—”
Then, an interruption.
From the man at the window.
“But I did. I rode the train. I was on it.”
Sarah saw Reg look over, annoyed at either the interruption or the unsolicited information being shared.
Or maybe both.
“Really?” she said, flipping over a new page in her notebook. “And you are?”
“Tim Waite,” said the man.
Sarah turned back to Reg for approval. “Do you mind? A few words?”
He gave a shrug and a nod, and she and Jack walked over to Tim Waite.
Who may, she thought, be one of the last people to have seen Bernard Mandeville.