This excerpt is from the book entitled The Frisby Waterless Murders, an English Murrder Mystery book set in the countryside, starring two policemen who have been working together for a few years and get along really well. There’s lots of dialogue and banter with some humour thrown in amongst the murders and suspects.
“Great, just what we didn’t need, but just what the murderer would have wanted, so many suspects for us to consider.”
“So you reckon whomever opened the window is our prime suspect for the murder, sir?”
“Well, perhaps that was the plan, but maybe someone else opened the windows to let in some fresh air and unwittingly helped the murderer.”
“I have asked people who opened the windows and no one has been able to categorically state who it was.”
“Either they were open already or they were opened by someone whose job it is to do such things. People tend not to notice the familiar.”
“The steward then or the train manager?”
Knowles nodded and looked around the room – people were gradually making their way home after being interviewed and the tea ladies were sitting down chatting amongst themselves, free of the burden of feeding the passengers.
“Has anyone seen the driver, Barnesy?”
“He’s sitting over there, sir,” said Barnes pointing to a bald-headed man in blue overalls at a table reading a tabloid newspaper, “his name’s Barry Kenyon and he lives in a small flat here at the station, so he was perfectly happy to be interviewed last of all.”
“Was he now,” said Knowles smiling, “how generous of him – that’s good customer service. I will go and talk to him now. I have a couple of questions I’d like to ask. I see he hasn’t bothered to get changed for the benefit of the police.”
“Be my guest,” said Barnes smiling, “I am going to be interviewing Peter Johnston who was sitting in Seat 17 facing the Major. Hopefully, Mr Johnston can shed some light on what happened.”
“Especially on what happened when the smoke came in and whether the major moved at all or he stayed still. Anyway, I will leave you to it.”
Knowles headed towards the engine driver, who was sipping his tea and reading the racing section. Barry Kenyon had laid his greasy gloves on the table so as not to stain the precious pages of the paper. He had a couple of marks on his face from the coal he had been shovelling only recently.
“Barry?” asked Knowles. “I am Inspector Knowles from Scoresby CID and I would like to ask you about today’s journey.”