Night Train to Murder

by Simon R. Green

  I made my way back down the empty carriage. Something about it didn’t feel right. I didn’t like the way the dark seemed to press in around me, oppressive and unnerving. I couldn’t shake off a growing conviction that I wasn’t alone. I kept glancing around, positive I’d caught some sudden movement on the edge of my vision. I was alone in the carriage; I knew that … but I wasn’t sure I believed it. I couldn’t shake off an uneasy suspicion that the psychic assassin was standing silently in the shadows, watching me from behind his shield of invisibility, defying me to find him. I stopped abruptly and spun around, straining my eyes against the gloom … But there was nothing there. Nothing at all.

  I didn’t move for a long moment, breathing hard, and then I deliberately turned my back on the dark and walked steadily towards the light in the vestibule. I had to trust my abilities and my training, that I would know if someone was trying to hide from me. I needed to believe that I was alone in the carriage, that the murderer, psychic or not, had done his work and moved on. Because if I couldn’t be sure of that, I couldn’t be sure of anything. I reached the door and turned around, refusing to let myself be hurried. The darkened carriage stared back at me, giving nothing away. I stepped through the door, into the bright, comforting glare of the vestibule, and the door hissed shut behind me, cutting off the darkness and all it contained.

  I stood in the vestibule for a long moment, getting my breathing back under control. I was going to have to tell the people in First Class that Sir Dennis was dead, and I needed them to see me as cool and calm and completely in control of the situation. Or I’d never get them to answer my questions. I looked at the toilet door. Not a good way to die, and not a good way to be found, sitting on the throne with your soiled trousers at half-mast. Perhaps that was the point … not just to kill the new Head of the Division before he could take up his post, but to humiliate him as well.

  To make a statement.

  I hadn’t taken to Sir Dennis in the short time I’d known him; even so, he deserved a better end than this. I might have failed to protect him, but I could at least avenge him. I straightened my back, put on my best professional face … and went back into First Class.

  Once I was back inside the compartment, I glanced quickly around to make sure everyone was still where they had been. The bodyguard sat up straight in his seat when the door opened, expecting to see Sir Dennis, and then looked away again when he saw it was only me. Sir Dennis hadn’t been gone long enough for him to be properly worried yet. He wasn’t going to react at all well to discovering his client was dead. And I doubted he’d take much comfort from finding out he’d been right all along: that he should have insisted on standing guard outside the toilet until Sir Dennis was finished. Of course, if he had, the killer would probably have dealt with him as well.

  None of the three businesspeople so much as glanced at me. The younger of the two men was staring out of the window at nothing, smiling slightly, as though contemplating something pleasant he planned to do when he got to Bath. The other man was staring emptily at his laptop, as though what he saw there depressed him unutterably. The young businesswoman was still pounding away at her keyboard. Whatever she was working on, it had her full attention.

  I sat down beside Penny. She looked up from her magazine and saw immediately that something bad had happened. She put the magazine aside and gave me her full attention. I leaned in close, lowered my voice to a level only she could hear, and brought her up to date on everything. Including all my thoughts and suspicions. She listened intently, not interrupting once. When I was done, she sat quietly, thinking hard.

  ‘How could the killer have got to Sir Dennis without us noticing?’ she said finally.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I should at least have heard the attack, but I didn’t. Unfortunately, I got distracted listening to the bodyguard phoning in a report. I was concentrating so hard on him that anything could have happened outside this carriage and I wouldn’t have heard it.’

  ‘Good timing on the part of the killer,’ said Penny.

  ‘Suspiciously good,’ I said. ‘If the killer knew when the bodyguard was supposed to make his call, and planned his attack to coincide with the one time he knew I’d be distracted … But then he’d also have to know in advance that I can hear things other people can’t.’

  ‘Could the bodyguard have deliberately made that report, in order to distract you?’ said Penny. ‘Because he’s working with the killer?’

  ‘It’s possible,’ I said. ‘Any man can be bought, or pressured, into switching sides. But the bodyguard’s not supposed to know we’re here.’

  ‘If there’s a psychic assassin on this train, how can we be sure what anyone knows?’ Penny said darkly.

  ‘Well done,’ I said. ‘I really needed something else to depress me.’

  ‘You mean apart from the fact that one of the people in this compartment must be the killer?’ said Penny. ‘And was able to sneak right past us?’

  ‘Unfortunately, it’s not even that simple,’ I said. ‘One or more of these people could be working with the killer, to distract us and confuse the issue. Maybe all of them …’

  ‘Just once …’ Penny said wistfully. ‘Just once, I’d like a simple, straightforward case. The butler standing over the dead body with a smoking gun in his hand, shouting, I did it and I’m glad! That sort of thing.’

  ‘We don’t get the simple cases,’ I said. I shook my head tiredly. ‘We only had one thing to do: keep Sir Dennis alive for an hour and a half. And we couldn’t even manage that. The Organization is not going to be happy with us.’

  ‘Or the Division,’ said Penny.

  ‘Exactly. So all that’s left to us is to work out who killed Sir Dennis, along with the how and the why, before we get to Bath.’

  ‘How long is that?’ said Penny.

  ‘About an hour.’

  ‘Oh, great,’ said Penny. ‘No pressure, then …’

  ‘It’s only a deadline,’ I said. ‘We can do deadlines.’

  ‘Couldn’t the authorities just hold all the passengers when we get to Bath?’ said Penny. ‘Until the Division’s psychics have had a chance to take a peek inside everyone’s head?’

  ‘Confining that many people in one place would be bound to attract media attention,’ I said. ‘And then there’d be all kinds of unfortunate questions. The Division can’t afford to be dragged into the spotlight.’

  ‘All right,’ said Penny. ‘Let’s concentrate on what we have. Do you believe Sir Dennis was killed by a rogue psychic? The man on the stair who isn’t there?’

  ‘The killer broke Sir Dennis’s neck,’ I said. ‘I would have expected a psychic to give him a heart attack, or a cerebral haemorrhage … or a dozen other things that would have made his death seem natural. A psychic wouldn’t even have needed to enter the toilet to do that.’

  ‘But wouldn’t the Division psychics watching over the train have spotted something like that?’ said Penny.

  ‘Not if our rogue is really good,’ I said. ‘Of course, Sir Dennis could have been deliberately killed that way, to make a statement. To humiliate the Division, and show that whichever group is responsible can get to anyone.’

  Penny looked quickly around the carriage. ‘Could the psychic assassin be in here with us, right now, hiding behind a don’t-see-me shield?’

  ‘I think I’d be able to tell,’ I said.

  Penny looked at me sharply. ‘You think? You said you could always spot a psychic!’

  ‘But I’ve never gone up against a really powerful one before,’ I said steadily. ‘Not many have and lived to tell of it. Fortunately for the world, talents of that calibre are extraordinarily rare.’

  We sat quietly together for a while, thinking our own thoughts. Finally, Penny shook her head and scowled unhappily.

  ‘Is it wrong of me that I don’t feel bad about Sir Dennis’s death because I didn’t like him? Because I knew the kind of man he was?’

  ‘We can’t always protect
good guys,’ I said. ‘He’d been made the new Head of the Psychic Weapons Division; that’s all that matters. An attack on Sir Dennis is an attack on the whole country. We have to find his killer.’

  ‘Oh, of course, darling,’ said Penny. ‘I just wish I could have liked him more.’ She thought for a moment. ‘You said you searched the darkened carriage. And you didn’t see or hear or smell anything out of the ordinary?’

  ‘There was no evidence I could detect,’ I said carefully. ‘But if we are dealing with a professional killer, I wouldn’t expect there to be.’

  ‘Should we contact the Colonel?’ said Penny. ‘Tell him what’s happened?’

  ‘He made it very clear that we’re on our own,’ I said. ‘No backup under any circumstances, remember?’

  Penny turned suddenly in her seat, looking at me sharply. ‘Ishmael … You are sure Sir Dennis is dead? It couldn’t just be some mental trick by the psychic?’

  ‘I held his broken neck in my hands,’ I said. ‘I don’t believe I could be fooled that completely.’

  Penny subsided, frowning. ‘Do you think the Division will blame us, for letting Sir Dennis be killed?’

  ‘Not if we find the murderer before we get to Bath,’ I said. ‘Once we identify him, the Division can find out who’s behind this.’

  ‘How dependable is that railway guard?’ said Penny. ‘Can we trust him to keep quiet about what’s happened?’

  ‘I don’t think he’ll tell the passengers,’ I said. ‘But I don’t know how long he’ll be able to keep himself from sharing the story with someone else on the staff. If only for moral support. Just another reason for us to find the murderer as quickly as possible. We don’t want a bunch of well-meaning people turning up here wanting to help, and getting in the way.’

  ‘How bad will it be for the Division, that their new Head has been murdered?’ said Penny.

  ‘Strictly speaking, not very,’ I said. ‘Sir Dennis was just a political appointee, the contact man between the Division and the Government. Easy enough to replace. The point of this attack is to demonstrate to the rest of the world how vulnerable the Division is. In the espionage game, the perception of strength and weakness is everything.’

  ‘The things you know,’ Penny said admiringly. She looked down the carriage at the three businesspeople and the bodyguard. All apparently completely unaware that anything had happened.

  ‘If one of them did manage to sneak past us,’ Penny said slowly, ‘either because they’re psychic or through some really clever subterfuge … how are we supposed to figure out which of them is the killer?’

  ‘We question them,’ I said. ‘Work out possible motives, methods, opportunities … Eliminate the ones who couldn’t possibly have done it, and whoever’s left must be the killer. Hopefully, once we’ve figured out how Sir Dennis was killed, that will help determine who did it.’

  Penny looked at me dubiously. ‘That kind of detective work isn’t really what we do best, Ishmael.’

  ‘Then we’d better learn fast,’ I said. ‘We only have … fifty-six minutes before the train arrives at Bath. If we haven’t identified our killer by then, we’ll have no choice but to let these people go. And then the killer will just walk away, along with everyone else.’

  ‘Fifty-six minutes, to solve an impossible murder?’ said Penny. ‘Ishmael, that just isn’t enough time!’

  I smiled. ‘We’ve had harder cases.’

  Penny scowled, thinking it through. ‘How are we going to handle it, if they refuse to answer our questions? It’s not as if we’re the police.’

  ‘If we act like we have the authority to question them, then they’ll act like we do,’ I said.

  ‘All right,’ said Penny. ‘We can do this. No, wait, hold it … Do the psychics watching over this train know Sir Dennis is dead?’

  ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘But the Division won’t be able to do anything until we get to Bath.’

  ‘But won’t they know who killed Sir Dennis?’

  ‘They’re only watching for psychic attacks,’ I said patiently. ‘A purely physical attack wouldn’t show up on their radar. That’s why the Colonel wanted us here.’

  Penny turned away suddenly and looked around the carriage, studying each face in turn. ‘Ishmael, I just had a horrible thought. If one of these people really is a psychic assassin, could they have left a mental image of themselves sitting in their seat and then walked right past us to kill Sir Dennis?’

  ‘You’re right,’ I said. ‘That is a horrible thought. And just when I was running out of things to worry about. But it doesn’t matter. These people are our main suspects, however they killed Sir Dennis, just because they’re here. Unless, of course, that’s what we’re supposed to think.’

  ‘I hate this case,’ said Penny.

  FOUR

  What’s Really Going On

  I knew I had to get to my feet and address everyone in the carriage, but I really wasn’t looking forward to it. I’ve never been comfortable doing anything that draws people’s attention to me. But needs must when the devil is breathing down your neck and happily reminding you of how much closer Bath is getting with every moment that passes. I took a deep breath and started to lever myself out of my seat, and then stopped as Penny put a staying hand on my arm. I dropped back into my seat, trying not to show how relieved I was at being interrupted, and looked at Penny enquiringly.

  ‘What are you going to say to them?’ she said bluntly.

  ‘I’m going to tell them the truth.’

  ‘I was afraid of that,’ said Penny. ‘You need to tread carefully here, Ishmael. These people aren’t used to being part of our world, coping with the kind of things you and I take for granted.’

  ‘You mean psychic assassins?’ I said. ‘Or just generally the weird and unnatural stuff?’

  ‘I mean murders,’ said Penny. ‘Most people don’t have our experience when it comes to sudden death and unexpected bodies.’

  ‘It’s nothing new to one of them,’ I said. ‘But I will try to be as considerate as I can.’

  ‘That should be worth watching.’

  ‘I can do polite and courteous.’

  ‘News to me,’ said Penny.

  I got to my feet and cleared my throat loudly, and all heads turned in my direction. They knew immediately from the look on my face that something bad had happened. I gave them all my best reassuring smile, but it didn’t seem to help much … So I just took a deep breath and dived right in.

  ‘My name is Ishmael Jones, and this is my partner, Penny Belcourt. We’re security agents, put on this special express train to keep an eye on things. Unfortunately, I have to tell you that the man who was sitting in this carriage with us, the politician Sir Dennis Gregson, has been murdered.’

  I paused for a moment to let that sink in. The passengers murmured Sir Dennis and murder, and then security. Murder came as a definite shock, but I could see them turning security over in their minds, trying to decide whether that made them feel any safer. I’ve always found security to be a very useful word in fraught situations. It implies Government connections and authority without actually confirming either of them. People tend not to question words like security, if only because they’re pretty sure they wouldn’t like the answers.

  I studied the passengers carefully, but their expressions all looked much the same. A mixture of shock, horror, disbelief … and a whole lot of confusion. One of them had to be faking it, though. And I really couldn’t rule out the possibility that they were all in this together. It might take something like that to pull off whatever trick had allowed someone to sneak right past me without my noticing. I started speaking again, and everyone’s gaze snapped back to me.

  ‘Sir Dennis was killed inside the First-Class toilet cubicle,’ I said flatly. ‘I’ve had the door locked, to protect the body and preserve the crime scene until we get to Bath. Where the police can take over.’

  The bodyguard couldn’t stand it any longer. His voice cut across mine,
full of anger as well as shock.

  ‘I told him! I told Sir Dennis not to go off on his own, but he wouldn’t listen to me!’ And then he broke off and looked at me questioningly. ‘Wait a minute. How can you be so sure he was murdered?’

  ‘I do have some experience with dead bodies,’ I said. ‘And given that Sir Dennis’s neck was broken while he was sitting in a toilet locked from the inside … I’d be hard-pressed to explain how a thing like that could happen naturally.’

  The bodyguard slumped back in his seat, scowling hard but staring at nothing. Probably thinking about what his superiors were going to say once they discovered he’d failed to protect the man in his charge. The three businesspeople didn’t seem to know how to react. The young Indian woman appeared to be coping best; shock had already been driven off her face by frowning concentration. The older man looked as if he wanted to ask questions but couldn’t find the words. The younger man raised his hand tentatively, like a child at school.

  ‘Excuse me, but … Can I just ask, who is this Sir Dennis?’

  ‘A politician who’d just been promoted to an important position,’ I said. ‘His presence is why this service was made into a special express, with no stops along the way. And why he had his own bodyguard.’

  ‘If he was in such danger, shouldn’t we have been warned?’ said the older businessman.

  ‘No one was supposed to know he was travelling on this train,’ I said.

  ‘I want to know why you were assigned to this case!’ the bodyguard said forcefully. He fixed me with a cold glare, suspicion filling his face. ‘No one told me you were on board. How can I be sure you’re the real thing?’

  He scrambled quickly out of his seat and into the aisle, and before I could even start to answer him, he bent down and produced a gun from a concealed holster on his right ankle. He aimed the gun at me, arm extended, and even as the other passengers made startled noises and ducked for cover, my first thought was to congratulate myself on correctly guessing where he’d hidden his weapon. I shot Penny a glance to tell her not to move, and then stared unflinchingly back at the bodyguard. Just to make it clear that it would take more than brandishing a frankly undersized gun to unnerve me. The bodyguard raised his voice commandingly, to make sure the other passengers paid attention.