Can DCI Fretwell solve this terrible case on the local railway?
BY DAVID BALMER
THE driver raised an eyebrow as Jess climbed on to the footplate of the 150-year-old narrow gauge steam locomotive.
She gave the driver a nervous grin.
He held out a sooty hand.
Jess hesitated, but then took the driver’s hand with a firm grip, just to show him she meant business.
“My name’s Eric,” he said. “I’ll be your driver today, and this useless lump is Jack. He’ll be showing you the fine art of firing a steam locomotive.”
Jack gave Eric a wry glance.
“So you want to be a fireman, or should I say fire woman?” he asked Jess.
“Fireman is OK,” Jess replied. “You have other women working on the engines, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes, quite a few,” Eric said.
Jess picked up a lump of coal from the little tender behind the footplate.
“Well, I’m not frightened of getting my hands dirty,” she said.
“We’d better get the fire roaring,” Jack told her, handing Jess a shovel that looked as old as the engine.
At the rear of the train, two men boarded the Pullman observation carriage.
It had large windows and heavily upholstered velvet seats, and it cost a fiver extra each way to ride in.
George Ellis, the train’s guard, thought the two men looked tense as he punched their tickets.
He wished them a pleasant ride and locked the carriage door with his heavy brass key.
Jess was busy placing coals on the fire under Jack’s instruction.
She’d been volunteering on the railway for a couple of years, serving tea and snacks in the dining cars.
More than anything, she wanted to get on the footplate of the gleaming steam locomotives that had been beautifully restored in the railway’s workshops.
The pressure in the boiler was rising, and Jess nearly jumped out of her skin when the safety valve lifted and steam shot from the engine.
George finished checking the doors on the carriages.
“Jess, your first job is to blow the whistle,” Eric said.
Jess reached up and pulled the chain. At last, her dream had come true.
The train eased out of the station at Porth Dinas.
In the observation carriage, the two men eyed each other with suspicion.
One was short and a little overweight, the other burly with a distinctive tattoo of an eagle’s claw on his neck.
The shorter man looked out across the estuary as the train pulled out of the harbour
