Excerpt from the book called The Frisby Waterless Murders
“Did she see anything of interest?”
“She was facing in the same direction as the major, so she didn’t think she saw anything untoward – she was affected by the smoke and ran towards the kitchen area. As did a lot of people apparently, about 10 she said, all of whom would have gone past the Major on their way.”
“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. 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.
Julian Worker Fiction Writing 