Rob went to London once a week, usually on Monday; it was a only a forty minute journey from Huntingdon New Town but although he could probably make more money if he made the move, once a week was fine for him. It was, as his late mother would have said, a nice place to visit but you wouldn’t want to live there.
At twenty-six he wasn’t doing badly for himself, in spite of having a disastrous marriage behind him. Well, they had both been very young, and in the end they had done the sensible thing and divorced. He found his seat at the front of the train, sat, loaded his shopping onto the overhead rack and sat down to read the first of his magazines. Then, curiously, the train began to fill up.
The reason he always made this trip on Mondays was that by tradition it was the quietest day of the week. Apart from commuters, a fair number of whom would be taking the inevitable ’awayday’ after a boozy weekend, hardly a soul made the trip into the capital and he was almost always guaranteed a table entirely to himself so that he could stretch his legs and get his head down for half an hour or so. Today that was not to be, and as the train filled up, an elderly woman sat down opposite him followed by a young and quite stunningly attractive woman made up to the nines and with a portfolio under her arm.
Kenny sat bemused, lost in his own thoughts and staring into space. He was quite unaware that the elderly woman opposite was struggling with her small case, trying valiantly but hopelessly to hoist it onto the rack. If he had realised, he would have sprung to help her like the gentleman he was, but today, he was a million miles away, and as her pleading eyes turned towards him, he stared not at but through her.
The woman whimpered, and as she did so, the young woman who was standing immediately behind her, slammed down her portfolio onto the table and said, “Let me give you a hand with that, Love.”
“Oh, thank you, you’re most kind.”
The elderly woman struggled out while the young woman thrust herself into the space between the seat and the table and began hoisting the small but apparently heavy case onto the rack.
At this point, Rob snapped out of his daydream and rose from his seat, but it was too late. The young woman with a powerful thrust of her spidery arm, had succeeded in shoving it onto the rack.
“Oh,” Rob was bemused and sat down again.
The young woman edged herself out and smiled sweetly at the old lady.
“Thank you very much,” she said.
“That’s all right, love,” then her smiling face became a mask as she stared at Rob and said under her breath, “Some people ’aven’t got no fuckin’ manners at all.”
Rob was shocked and thought at first he’d misheard. There was nothing he hated more in a young, attractive girl than bad language, especially that sort of language. What was the point of having a face like Helen if she had a mouth like a sewer? He stared at her eye to eye and smiled stupidly through his black-framed glasses. The woman stared back, smiled evilly for a brief second then sat down herself. Taking out a copy of Cosmopolitan magazine she held it up in front of her face and began reading it or pretending to read it.
Rob looked down at his watch; the train was a minute late, they’d be going soon. He spread out slightly, confident that if he wouldn’t be able to cat-nap with his head on the table like he usually did that at least he would be able to cover his face with a magazine and crash out like that. Alas, that was not to be, for as the train began lurching forward, a well-built man of about his own age lurched up the aisle with a big, heavy case in each hand.
“Is this seat taken?” he looked down at the seat next to Rob.
“No,” Rob sighed.
“I’ll be back in a minute, I’ll just dump these in the rack.” Then he turned around and began lurching back the way he’d come.
Rob shook his head sadly. Well, it was only forty minutes. But it was not the forty minute journey which would be most significant but the encounter with the stranger during that journey. For the man with the suitcases who had just walked into his life would affect it more dramatically than anyone since his now ex-wife. With fatal consequences.
“Sorry, can I squeeze in here?”
Rob looked up and saw him standing over him. Then he realised what he meant; he retracted his feet and shifted himself firmly into the window seat. He always liked to spread out but this was going to be a fairly cramped journey. He glanced momentarily at the stranger; he was quite well-built, intelligent looking, possibly a graduate. Turning back to his magazine he yawned; the train pulled out of the station.
The man who had set next to Rob stared into space, obviously his mind was elsewhere. The old lady took out a woman’s magazine and began reading while the girl who was sitting opposite the late arrival put down her Cosmopolitan and took out a local paper. On the front was a story about the “Railway Rapist” as he’d been dubbed. A man in North London had attacked a dozen women, most of whom had been brutally raped. This story had been running for several weeks and had been given a great deal of publicity by the local, national press and broadcast media at the insistence of the police. The girl glanced at it momentarily and turned her head away in obvious revulsion. It was a story she had read many times before.
The man sitting next to Rob continued to stare into space, then lowered his head slightly. The girl, who continued reading her paper, looked across at him briefly, pouted, then put it down. She opened her portfolio, fiddled in it for some papers and fished out a small diary. When she’d finished, she put it away and sat facing the man. Rob turned the pages of his computer magazine.
Suddenly the girl became visibly uncomfortable; the man was staring at her. She pouted again with obvious disapproval, then “tsked” under her breath. He continued staring, or maybe he only appeared to be staring, at her at any rate. Staring back at him she said “What are you starin’ at?”
The man’s reply was instantaneous and chilling. He leaned forward across the table and said, “My next victim.”
His pupils had shrunk to pinheads, and as the girl stared back at him she was filled with mortal dread. This man was undoubtedly the Railway Rapist. As if to confirm her revelation, he glanced down at the paper where she had left it on the side of her seat.
The girl’s eyes bulged in abject terror and she virtually bolted from her seat, her portfolio under her arm, the newspaper falling to the floor and being trampled underfoot in her rush to escape her terroriser.
The old lady looked up confused then turned back to her magazine. The man looked at Rob, whose eyes asked a question.
“Wrong time of the month,” the man said.
Rob smiled, “That doesn’t surprise me; she gave me a right mouthful that one, before you got on.”
“I always say you should never judge a book by its cover,” he continued, “Any time I see a beautiful woman I think of Elizabeth Bathory.”
Rob shook his head then remembered where he’d heard that name before, “Oh yes, Madam Dracula.”
“That’s right,” the man replied, “the most prolific murderess of all time and arguably the wickedest woman to have ever lived.”
“That’s right,” said Rob, sitting forward, “I saw a film about her once, it wasn’t half good too. It was a vampire film but I found out afterwards that she really existed.”
“She was an Hungarian countess, one of the most beautiful women of her generation.”
“That’s right,” Rob said for the third time, “are you a police officer or something? Historian?”
“No, I just like murder.”
“And rape?” Rob asked, laughing.
The man laughed back, “I wasn’t thinking of that, I just wanted to put the willies up the little bitch.”
“You sure did that.”
“I hope they catch the bastard though.”
“Me too.”
Rob would have turned back to his computer mag but the man continued, “Why did you think I might be a copper?”
Rob shrugged, “Well, that’s quite an abstruse piece of information.”
“You’d be surprised how much strangers often have in common; you a programmer?”
He nodded towards Rob’s computer magazine, “Er, no. Well, I did learn a bit of BASIC.”
The man laughed, “Why does everybody take the piss out of BASIC?”
“Well, it’s not exactly the ultimate language.”
“Give me BASIC anyday.”
“You program in BASIC?” asked Rob curiously.
“Only for pleasure, mostly C.”
“C? Yuk!” said Rob, “Still, that’s what it’s all about, I suppose.”
“I also do a bit of ASSEMBLER.”
“If you can master C you can master anything.”
“I’ll agree with you there; certainly ASSEMBLER is no worse once you get used to it.” He held out his hand. “Ken. Kenny.”
“Robert. Rob.” said Rob, mimicking him.
“So if you don’t program, how come you know so much about computers?”
“I’m in graphic design. And DTP.”
“Freelance?”
“Yeah. You?”
“I’m just starting a contract at Ashbournes in Huntingdon New Town. Six months.”
“Oh. C programmer?”
“Yeah. Graphics mainly.”
“You’re right.”
“Right about what?”
“Strangers often do have a lot in common. I live in Huntingdon. Are you a Sagitarius too?”
“No,” Kenny laughed, “I don’t believe in any of that crap either; I’m a rationalist.”
“Do you read The Skeptic too?”
“Now and again.”
Both men laughed.
Rob helped Kenny off the train with his cases at Huntingdon New Town and as they walked up the platform to the exit he said, “Normally I’d have my hands full; I go to London mainly for shopping.”
“Aren’t there any shops round here?” asked Kenny.
“Oh yes, there’s even a market but you can’t get records and things, you know, proper records, quality drawing equipment, that sort of thing.”
“Hope I can get somewhere to live,” he replied.
Rob looked at him in surprise, “Haven’t you got anywhere to stay?” he asked.
“Oh yeah, for a week, maybe two, somebody’s putting me up, but I can’t stay there long. They’ve only got a small flat and they haven’t been married long so they last thing they’ll want is someone else about the place.”
They reached the ticket barrier, which was unmanned, and walked out of the station down to the bottom of the hill where Rob told Kenny he could find a taxi. “Who are they you’re staying with, friends?”
“Well, more of an acquaintance actually. From Ashbournes.”
“Oh. Look, I think my landlord’s got a spare room, in fact I’m sure he has. I live on the first floor but it’s a big house and everybody comes and goes as they please.” He stopped, put down Kenny’s case and tore a piece of paper out of his notebook. “Why don’t you give him a ring? His name is Crossman.”
He handed Kenny the piece of paper and the older man took it.
“Thanks Rob, much appreciate it.”
“Drop my name and tell him you’re an old friend; if you decide to take it.”
“Oh, I will. I’ll give him a ring tonight before I unpack. I don’t start till Thursday but I’ve got a lot to do before then. Gotta get myself a new car for one. You drive?”
“Yes but I haven’t got a motor; it wouldn’t be cost effective. The only place I ever go barring holidays is London. Apart from that I take a taxi.”
At the bottom of the hill the two men shook hands and Rob, who only lived a short distance from the station, walked home. Kenny had a trip of about three miles. When he arrived home, Rob put away the few things he’d bought, sat down in front of his Apple Mac computer and opened up his accounts folder. As he planned his budget for the following week he wondered en passant if Kenny really was the Railway Rapist.
The thought was an idle one and it was proved so the following day when the Metropolitan Police announced they had detained a man in connection with a series of rapes. He was charged with four rapes the following day and it was expected that more charges would follow.
Rob hadn’t thought for one moment that the man he had met on the train was any sort of sex fiend, although by all accounts he was something of an avant garde character and, he had the distinct impression, not the right man to get on the wrong side of. That aside, he liked him and hoped he would take up his offer and phone his landlord.
The following Friday his wish came true. He was hunched over his Apple Mac in his first floor flat when a car pulled up outside the house and Kenny stepped out. Rob’s living room window faced onto the road and he peered out idly, at once recognising the well-built figure in the black leather jacket. Switching off his computer he tidied up the living room then went down to meet him. Kenny was standing impatiently on the doorstep but his impatience evaporated as soon as Rob opened the door.
“Hello stranger.”
“Hi,” he replied, “your landlord said to meet him here at one o’clock.”
“Crossman? You’d better come in, he’s not the most punctual of people.”
He stood back and Kenny walked into the hall. “Ta. Just picked up a new motor,” he continued. The car was a late a model estate.
“Yeah, I can see, it looks okay. I’ll have to get out of design and into programming.”
Kenny laughed, “It does my brain in sometimes.”
“Come up, I’ll make you some coffee until the old goat arrives.”
Rob led the way and Kenny followed him up the stairs.
“He sounds about eighty, your landlord.”
“I don’t think he’s that old, but he’s certainly well over sixty.”
They reached Rob’s flat and Rob waited, allowing Kenny to walk in first. He admired the decor.
“Well, you can certainly tell this place was furnished by a designer.” His eyes fell on the computer on the table in front of the window, “You’re an Apple man.”
“Yeah.” Rob shut the door, “I know IBMs so when if I have to do contract work I’m not lost but most people in my line are into Apples.”
“Mind you,” said Kenny, “with Windows there’s not a lot of difference. I think it’s totally overrated myself, all this GUI stuff.”
“Yes,” said Rob, “but it does make life easier.”
“For you maybe, but have you seen the amount of code that goes into Windows programs?”
“Nobody asked you to learn C,” Rob laughed, walking over to the kitchen, “Black or white?”
“I’m easy,” said Kenny, “I work a lot under UNIX, and OS/2. What are you working on at the moment?”
He followed Rob into the kitchen. “Oh, this and that; I do a lot of work for the Silverman Group.”
“Oh yeah, I know them, been around a while, haven’t they?”
“Yeah. They’re my bread and butter, but I get some work through my cousin and basically it’s word of mouth. I work in-house now and again too.”
“For Silverman?”
“No. One or two local companies. It’s only a day here and a day there but it get’s me out of the house. So you’re gonna be in town for six months?”
“Yeah, at least.”
“They caught the Railway Rapist,” said Rob, changing the subject entirely.
“Yeah. Didn’t think it was me, didja?”
By this time Rob ladling coffee by the spoonful into the percolator. “I like it strong.”
“I’m easy,” repeated Kenny.
“That arrogant little bitch on the train did. I’ve never seen anyone look so frightened in my life.”
“Serves her right,” said Kenny, “if there’s one thing I don’t like, it’s bitches. The thing I always look for in a woman is personality. Good looks are a bonus, but they come a poor second to what’s up here.” He tapped his forehead.
“I couldn’t agree more,” said Rob, “my wife was, well, you know.”
“Divorced?”
“Yeah. You?”
“Me too.”
“Divorced?”
“Yeah. Small world.”
“I don’t think it’s that small; a lot of marriages are ending in divorce now.”
“Well, it’s not such a bad thing between me an’ Sheila. She phoned me a while ago and said that maybe we could get back together.”
“For the sake of the children?” suggested Rob.
“No. She couldn’t have any.”
“Oh.” Rob sensed the temperature drop a degree or two and, not wishing to set his new friend to thinking about painful memories, changed the subject. “What have you seen of the town so far?”
“Not a lot.”
“That’s because there’s not a lot to see.”
“It is rather small,” said Kenny.
Outside a car horn sounded. “That’ll be him,” said Rob.
“Who?”
“Crossman.”
“Oh right.”
“Go down and meet him; I’ll bring the coffee down.”
“Yeah. Ta.”
Kenny went downstairs to meet his prospective landlord while Rob fished out another cup for the old man.
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