A shrill whistle and a loud hiss announced that another train was leaving the station. Around it, the people of Minehead, Somerset, went about their daily lives. The renovated steam railway was just a part of their daily lives, and the trains’ high-pitched calls were as common a sound as the gentle crashing of the waves upon the beach. Even a few tourists found this sound normal enough to be ignored.
One such man sat in the buffet car that stands in the station, watching the train leave. His bald head and wrinkling face gave him the look of a kindly grandfather figure, while his creased dark red t-shirt and slightly ripped jeans created the idea of a man undergoing a mid-life crisis. The waitress, dressed in traditional black and white dress, greeted him with a friendly smile, but he didn’t smile back. He politely ordered a toasted teacake and a pot of tea, and the waitress turned smartly to take his order to the kitchen. The man glanced at his watch, fished out a leaflet from his pocket and looked out of the window towards the road, waiting. His teacake and tea arrived shortly, but he didn’t touch it. Instead he continued to look out of the window, waiting.
A black Land Rover braked sharply and pulled up outside the buffet car. The passenger opened the door, while the driver reached for the police radio that had recently been installed. The passenger’s hand shot out and stopped him.
“Sir?” the driver turned to him, confused.
“We won’t need backup,” the passenger said, “Trust me - I know the man.”
“But, sir, it goes against…”
“You have to learn to wave the rules now and then.”
“If you say so, sir.”
“I do,” the passenger said firmly and climbed out.
He squinted briefly in the summer sun and, once his eyes had accustomed to the brief glare of the sunlight, made his way to the buffet car’s entrance. The bald man didn’t look up as the man in grey suit walked calmly up to his table and sat down opposite him. The newcomer took a brief look at the leaflet and grinned.
“Planning what you’re going to do with your time once you’ve retired.”
Now, for the first time that day, the bald man smiled and looked up.
“Assuming I reach my retirement, of course,” he said softly, with a thin smile, before adding, “I was beginning to wonder when you were going to get here.”
“Well, we do have things to worry about other than you,” the man in the suit smiled back, “Did you think I’d be surprised to find you waiting for me?”
“Of course not, Detective,” was the reply, “I’ve learnt that you never make the same mistake twice.”
The only way to reply to this was with a genuine smile.
“So, shall we get the obvious out of the way?” the bald man asked, “How did you know I was here?”
“The same way I’ve caught up to you so far, Robertson,” the detective smiled, “The clues you keep leaving me. In this case, it was the four leaflets and flyers you left on the table in your last hideout: one for holidaying in Somerset, one train timetable, one for a local buffet restaurant, and a final one for a car showroom. Somerset. Railway. Buffet. Car. Doesn’t take a genius to work out that this is the place you meant?”
“And how did you know I’d be here today?”
The detective sighed.
“Do we really have to go through with this?” he asked, “I used to think the performance review tests on the Force were bad, but they weren’t as irritating as you checking that I’ve picked up on every little one of your clues.”
“Humour an old man, please,” Robertson grinned.
Another sigh.
“Fine. It was the broken watch in the top draw of your bedside cabinet. It displayed ten ‘o’clock and today’s date when it stopped – not many watches are set a week ahead of the current time.”
Robertson sighed with satisfaction.
“Thank you, detective. You know, I always think of you when I set out my next set of ‘breadcrumbs’.”
“I’m honoured,” the detective replied flatly, “Your clues were a little too easy this time. I almost thought you were trying to give me the slip.”
Robertson’s head rose, creating unfaltering eye contact with the detective.
“I assure you, Detective Sergeant Martins, I would never try to give you the slip.”
Martins looked at him, his eyes narrowing. The man seemed to be speaking with an honesty he had not yet seen in him.
“Anyone would think you wanted me to catch you this time,” he observed.
Robertson shook his head and returned his gaze to his teacake.
“I was merely beginning to miss your company.”
The detective had to laugh at that.
“This is the first time we’ve actually met face-to-face.”
“And it’s been too long coming, wouldn’t you agree?”
Both snorted with amusement and smiled.
“Besides we’ve become very familiar with each other without even meeting,” Robertson added, “You cannot deny that you know me as well as you would had we met each other at the beginning.”
“You’re right,” Martins replied, “I can’t.”
“You’ve enjoyed the chase as much as I have. Deep down, you have a fascination, almost admiration, of me. Of my methods. I am the most intriguing thing that has ever happened to your career, and you find that exciting. That adrenaline, that thrill of knowing you’re on the right trail and that you’re the right man for the job: that’s why you’ve have made sure that it is you that has led this investigation. You are almost addicted to the adrenaline that this chase provides you. As am I.”
“Now you’re being ‘deep’ with me, Robertson,” the detective said, leaning back in his chair as if conversing with an old friend.
“My apologies,” the bald man replied, “I know that you like to keep things very business-like and formal. But the chase has broken down the formalities between us.”
“I guess so,” Martins smiled, “If you need this chase as much as I do, then why did you make it so easy for catch you this morning.”
“Our chase has to end some time, Detective Sergeant Martins.”
There was a moment of silence between them. Robertson took a sip of his tea, then picked at the edge of his teacake pensively, before placing the crumbs on the table.
Eventually, it was Martins who broke the silence.
“So,” he said, “Why does the chase end here? Am I too fast for your liking?”
“On the contrary, detective. I’ve been most impressed with how well you’ve kept up with me. You almost caught me in Leeds.”
“Well, you made the mistake of using the same hotel twice.”
“Ah, but you made the mistake of assuming I didn’t know you were coming. I’ve been watching you as much as you have been watching me.”
“I know. You keep leaving me photos of me and my officers watching each of your hideouts.”
“You seem to be able to cope with the frustration of this job very well. All the others would have given up by now.”
“Yes, well, I suppose I’m just stubborn.”
“I know. You have the determination of a man who still enjoys his job. I’m sure you’ll grow out of it, someday.”
“I hope not. I wouldn’t want to be sitting where you are in thirty years.”
“Hold that thought; otherwise you will end up where I am today. Just as I was once in your position.”
“You never did tell me what happened to you.”
“I couldn’t really. Not over the phone. I’m well aware of your ability to track phone calls, so I didn’t want to give away my position. I was enjoying the chase, so where was the fun in letting you know where I am?”
“What’s the matter? Aren’t you having fun anymore?”
Robertson smiled.
“It has been fun, but as I said, the chase has to end some time. I wanted it to be on my terms.”
“Ah, so what are your terms?” Martins asked, his eyes narrowing once more.
The old man chuckled.
“We’ll get to that later. I promise,” he smiled, “Besides I thought you wanted to know what happened to me. You wanted to know why I am sitting here today. You wanted to understand the method behind the madness. The concept behind the chase.”
Detective Sergeant Martins leaned forward with interest.
“Tell me,” he said simply.
Robertson leaned back in his chair and took a breath, as if about to tell a long story.
“I was once a policeman just like you,” he said, “Of course, you’ll know this because you’ve gone through my police file in the hopes of understanding me a bit better. I trust it was an interesting read?”
Martins merely nodded.
“I spent years working as hard as I could, but they always gave me menial duties like neighbourhood watch or traffic duty. I was patient, though, and I worked my way up to CID and found myself working cases that I found much more interesting. I was very similar to you back then, because I loved the adrenaline of a case that took me all over the town, or all over the county, pouring my heart and soul into remaining only one step behind my target. I worked my way up from there, and settled in a job not unlike yours. I suppose your job is better in mine only in that you get to travel the country, while I was restricted to the boundaries of Suffolk. If my case escaped me or left my territory, it was passed on to someone like you.”
He took a sip of his tea.
“I won’t bore you with the details of the many cases I cracked,” he grinned triumphantly, “but suffice to say I was every bit as good as you, if not better. I didn’t succeed in every case, of course. Some of our suspects slipped away from us, but that’s part of the job you have to accept. I’m sure you know what I’m talking about.”
“I do,” the detective replied sincerely, “But we do our best to stop that from happening.”
“Agreed, but none of us are perfect. I had once hoped I could be,” he replied, before continuing, “The years passed, as did different cases, and it all became fairly routine and unmemorable. One case, however, stood out from the others and changed my outlook on my career.
“We were following a man guilty of several counts of armed robbery. Every time we found out where he was, he escaped a few hours before we arrived, leaving behind an insulting note along the lines of “you’ll have to do better” each time. It soon became clear that we were dealing with an ex-policeman, who obviously knew our methods and procedures, so he could stay one step ahead every time.”
“Of course,” Martins breathed, realising, “The Drake case. The target turned out to be one of your own men.”
Robertson nodded.
“But I don’t understand how that changed you,” Martins continued, “Your file shows that he was arrested and you spoke to a counsellor and it turned out that you were okay with the whole thing and that it didn’t affect your work.”
“And it didn’t for years. But there’s something that my file doesn’t contain. Something that know one knows about.”
“And what would that be?”
Robertson seemed to ignore him. He picked at his teacake once more and placed a few crumbs on the table, deep in though.
“Bill Drake got paroled about five years ago and on his first day as a free man, he called me and asked to speak with me. We met in a café and had a simple conversation, much like this one. He apologised for letting me down, but he mainly wanted to tell me why he had done it. He went on for about half an hour about the fruitlessness of a police career. The pathetic pension at the end, the restrictions that keep us from doing our job properly, the amount of cases that go unsolved, the lack of respect from the people we try to help.
“He made quite a good case of it. In fact, the only part of his career that he enjoyed was staying ahead of his own colleagues as he enjoyed the thrills of the other side of the law. He disappeared after that, and I didn’t think much of his little speech, and I never told anyone about our conversation. But the Drake case had made my superiors wary of me. As you said, the counsellor’s report gave me the green light, but they wouldn’t take any chances. The cases I received after that were less interesting, less exciting. The thrill of the chase was always bound to leave, but in my case, it was taken from me. It was then that I began to understand what Bill had been saying.
“I personally vowed to show the police what Bill had shown me – I left the Force with the intention of following his example. Originally, I was just going to rob a bank and lead the officers that followed me on a merry chase. But then I became addicted to the danger, the adrenaline, the thrill of the chase. I began developing my own style, leaving my ‘breadcrumbs’ behind. I managed to outwit various different officers. Soon it became a plan to rob a bank and escape the local police in every county in the country, but after a few counties, it soon became apparent that it would take much longer than I wanted.
“After years of small blows, I decided to pull one final operation. I wanted to have the police chase me all over the country. It would be a big job, so I would need some help, and I enlisted none other than Bill Drake. One last case together, but this time we were both the ones being chased. As we began planning the job, two thoughts occurred. The first was that we could do this in a way that would have the police following me all over the country for something I haven’t done. This would provide the ultimate humiliation that we were aiming for.”
“And the second?”
“The second thought was more of a hope. The hope that we would be chased by a capable officer in order to string out the chase as long as possible. Bill hoped that the officer would follow in our footsteps, but I didn’t care about that. All I was interested in was the thrill of one last chase.”
“So here we are,” Martins said, “at the end of your final chase, and you think you’ll be able to just retire? I’ve been following you from one of this country to the other and the day you let yourself be caught, you tell me that this was all a joke to you.”
“You’ve enjoyed it. You are only frustrated now because you don’t see the point in our little conversation today, other than that I have proved that the police are easily humiliated.”
Martins couldn’t think of a reply to that. He thought back to Robertson’s description of his plans.
“You’ve had me following you all over the country for something you haven’t done?” he repeated, pondering.
Robertson picked at his teacake again and dropped the crumb onto the table.
Realisation dawned on Detective Sergeant Martins.
“There were never any jewels, were there?” he asked, “You didn’t rob those jewellery stores and you haven’t had anything as we chased you. You do know that wasting police time is an arrestable off…”
“I am aware of that,” Robertson stopped him, “But there are jewels. I just don’t have them.”
“Drake,” Martins realised, “Bill Drake has the jewels.”
Robertson nodded. Martins held his head in his hands.
“We’ve been chasing the wrong man.”
“Now do you see why I have done this?” Robertson asked, “Our police force is in such a terrible state that we have wasted too much time and resources chasing the wrong suspect.”
“It’s a bit of an extreme way to make a point, don’t you think?”
“Desperate times, desperate measures and so on, Martins.”
Martins stood and reached for his radio.
“Could you come in here please?”
He turned back to the old man and opened his mouth to speak.
“I know, I know. I’m charged with wasting police time, accessory to armed robbery and I have my rights. You know, I was a policeman,” he smiled.
Martins didn’t smile back now. The driver of the Land Rover came in.
“And so our chase has ended,” Robertson said, standing, “I must admit that I had fun, but I think you were a little disappointed with the way it ended on my terms.”
“You never explained what your terms were.”
“I didn’t need to. My terms were merely to allow you to see what I had set out to do, and that the chase ended only when I said so.”
Detective Sergeant Martins reached into his pocket and removed a pair of handcuffs. Robertson stood still, calmly awaiting the handcuffs, and was led away by Martins’ colleague. Martins began to follow, but stopped for a second.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the leaflet that Robertson had been looking at before he had arrived. The crumbs he had picked off his teacake during the conversation were lying on a picture of the United Kingdom, the map that directed people to the railway.
He peered closer and blinked. Initially the crumbs didn’t appear to be placed in any particular pattern, but then Martins noticed which parts of the country they were placed on. Each crumb was placed roughly over each place where he had caught up with Robertson. Leeds, Liverpool, Birmingham, the Brecon Beacons, the Norfolk Broads, they were all here.
There was one extra crumb. As best as he could judge, it was Heathrow Airport.
“Breadcrumbs,” he chuckled.
He walked outside and caught up with Robertson.
“I saw you’re little message on the leaflet. Is that where Drake is heading? Heathrow Airport?”
“I don’t know what you mean, Detective,” Robertson smiled smugly.
“It is, isn’t it? You let yourself get caught so that we can concentrate on Drake.”
“Detective Sergeant Martins, I said that our chase ends today. I never said the chase itself ends today.”