She tried to keep her tone matter-of-fact, but couldn’t help the edge creeping in.
If he noted it, Allard didn’t seem to mind. “Oh,” he said. “Yes, well, that wasn’t an option, unfortunately. My captain made sure of that.”
Adele sighed. Great. A local cop was already meddling. She shook her head and amended her mood, trying to at least maintain a working relationship. “Thank you for your help, regardless. Well, I suppose it is what it is. Did you at least keep the staff around?”
“Yes, of course!” he said, brightly. “Follow me, please, Agent Sharp and Agent Renee.”
Then, with a slight skip to his step despite his heavy frame, the jolly officer led the two grumbling agents into a side service door of the massive train station, and down a long gray hall with thick, edged brick-work.
At last, they reached a white door, which he pushed open. As Adele followed with John and the door hissed, closing on a contained spring system, the train station became suddenly much more muted.
John whistled beneath his breath, pursing his lips and transitioning the expression into one of mild awe. He looked around the high ceilings and the varnished wooden archways. For her part, Adele glanced down, regarding the marble fountain in the center of what was purportedly a train station, and the old-fashioned, wooden ticket-collecting stand with old photographs framed and pinned to the side. She spotted a rest area in one corner, complete with an ottoman and six recliners all facing a sputtering projected screen playing a black-and-white video of some kind.
And the centerpiece of it all, sealed in the strange area, cordoned off from the rest of the train station, was the train itself. Except it didn’t look like any train Adele had seen before.
It looked… old, though she knew the Normandie Express was a newer circuit. The train itself had drapes in the windows and a balcony around the front locomotive. Crisp green paint with golden lettering on each of the compartments displayed the name for the company.
Officer Allard, noting their astounded looks, coughed sheepishly and said, “Ah, yes… Part of the deal the Normandie Express made when contributing to the station—an allowance for a private holding area in six of the nineteen stops it makes on its seven-day journey.”
“Seven days?” John asked, seemingly even more surprised than before. “Who wants to be trapped on a blasted puke box for seven days?”
Allard chuckled good-naturedly, as if they were sharing a joke rather than listening to a complaint. He turned to Adele as if sensing she were the less prickly of the two agents, or perhaps designating her the senior partner, and said, “Here it is. Would you like to see the crime scene? We’ve left it mostly as we found it. Without the body of poor Ms. Mayfield, of course.”
“Mayfield?” said Adele. “That’s not a French name…”
“She came on a boat across the English Channel,” the jolly officer said. “A two-week vacation, by the sound of it. I spoke to her son-in-law on the phone. He’s agreed to fly in tomorrow and confirm the body.”
Adele sighed. This was going to be tricky. Normally, the killers were the ones on the move. This time, the crime scene was. It made routes through at least four countries, and had been traveling for half a day before the murder. The first heart attack had occurred on a separate train line in Italy, but part of Adele—deep down—was hoping they could simply confirm this was an accident and move on. She had other things to worry about back in Paris, and wasn’t particularly interested in having to also head over to Italy… though… she did have a friend or two in Bel Paese.
She hid a soft smile at the recollection of Agent Christopher Leoni from Agenzia Informazioni e Sicurezza Esterna. The Calvin Klein good looks and immaculate manners mixed with a determination to match her own had made them fast friends.
Adele brought her attention back to the moment. Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing to have to stay on this particular case for a couple of days.
“Show me where the woman died,” Adele said.
Officer Allard nodded, and whistling to himself, he moved past the marble fountain and toward the stationary train. He led them onto the boarding platform, through an open partition in the back of the second car, and into a spacious compartment with chesterfield sofas and blue drapes on the windows.
Adele stepped into the place, impressed John didn’t even need to duck beneath the miniature chandeliers dangling from the ceiling.
“Looks smaller from the outside,” she said.
Allard cleared his throat. “Ah, yes. Part of the charm, I’m told. Normandie Express promises the charm of a traditional carriage with the luxury of all the modern amenities. I don’t know much about trains, but it seems… nice.” He shrugged and nodded.
“Nice,” grunted John. “Hell with drapes is still hell.”
Don’t be so dramatic, Adele thought, but didn’t say it. Normally, she never would have held back. But as things seemed to have shifted between her and the lanky agent, she didn’t want to stir up any more hard feelings, so she let it lie. And for his part, Officer Allard didn’t seem to notice John’s grumbling.
“Here’s where she was found,” said Allard, stepping forward and gesturing toward a seat facing the largest window in the compartment.
“On the chair?”
“Well—ah, according to the witness who was here, she was sitting and then jumped up all of a sudden. She died seconds later, sort of draped across the ground and the cushions… like here.” Allard gestured with one hand in a sweeping motion.
Adele looked over. “Witness? Someone was here when she died?”
“Oh… Yes? Didn’t anyone tell you? Sorry. There was a young woman who’d been here from the start of the trip. A Parisian, in fact. However, she’s currently at a nearby hospital being treated for shock.”
Adele glanced at John and her partner shrugged back. “Shock?” Adele said.
Allard winced. “She seemed quite upset by the whole experience. Not that I can blame her, of course. It must have been very frightening.”
“Well,” Adele said, “I can’t really do anything here. And no passengers to interview. We’ll save the staff for a bit—I think it best we go talk to the young woman. John?”
“Sure,” he grunted. “Anything to get us off this contraption.”
This time Adele did speak her mind. “It’s not even moving,” she replied.
Instead of riposting back, John just shrugged and left the train. Adele found her temper rising; it was almost as if he were intentionally trying to make her feel the cold shoulder as much as possible. Well, two could play at that game.
She made to follow her partner, but just then, she heard someone clear their throat and she looked up. There, at the back of the compartment, next to an open door that had a sign which read Staff Only, a bald man in a blue and gray uniform, boasting a pointy, pitch-black goatee that reminded her of shoe polish, said, “Excuse me—are you the detective in charge?”
“Agent,” she said, pausing, then following with, “Sharp. And you are?”
The man with the goatee glanced at Allard, who quickly said, “Ah, yes—this is the conductor, Mr. Granet.”
“Yes, yes,” said the man, speaking quickly. He began to move, and Adele realized everything about him seemed quick, as if he were a human played on double speed. He moved hastily across the car in half the time it might take most and came to a halt in front of her, not gasping, but breathing in a loud, obvious sort of way. She didn’t have much time to listen, though, as the sounds of his rapidly spewed words overtook her attention.