Murder on the Orion Express

Old Friends

Stoically, Beckett acquiesced to their request to meet with Black. 

He opened the door to Black's berth without knocking, while Pilkington and Purchase waited outside. The smell of whiskey struck Beckett immediately. The room was in darkness and Black was sitting up in bed, his pale, almost translucent face giving him the appearance of a spectre. He was sipping a glass of water.

"Beckett, you came. Good, I need someone I can trust." With a shaking hand, Black returned the glass to his bedside table. Turning his head slowly towards Beckett, he continued. "Let me get straight to the point, Beckett, someone is trying to kill me."

"Consuming that quantity of whiskey, Mr Black, perhaps you mean yourself?"

"No, don't waste both our times, Beckett. I know what I mean and you know what I mean. Someone on board this ship is trying to kill me. I don't know who, but I'm certain of it.

"If I accept what you are telling me, perhaps you know the reason why?"

"Of course I know the reason. It's because I've been hired to kill them first. This person I'm after, they know it and they plan to get me before I act. I left the army, but killing is in my blood, I'm good at it. Or rather, I was good at it. Recently my heart isn't in it anymore. I've lost my damn nerve, Beckett and I've decided; I'm not going through with it this time. You know that's the truth; you can see it in my eyes."

"I know a little of your life, Mr Black, your biographies frequently appear in the news feeds. In your present situation, it would be most useful if you could tell me who you were hired to kill."

"That I can't do. There's too much at stake. If I tell you that, the whole thing unravels and the trail leads back to the people who hired me. That happens, my life is forfeit, whichever way this plays out."

Beckett pondered the statement. "Well then, why tell me this? What do you propose I do to help?"

"Damn well protect me, Beckett," Black spluttered. "Keep an eye on my back. Talk to Pilkington, tell him I need protection. He'll listen to you, not to me."

"I suppose I can do that much, but it would be most helpful if you could tell me who is trying to kill you. I will ask you one last time."

With that, Black dragged himself from his bed. He pushed roughly past Beckett, back into the corridor, muttering, "I've said all I'm going to say. Now, I need a drink."

Beckett tutted and motioned Pilkington and Purchase to leave Black alone. Death stalked the man like a shadow, nothing they could do would prevent that fact.

The crowd had fully dispersed in the bar, when Black returned. Only Patrick Gudmunson sat on his own, unsuccessfully trying to build a tower of playing cards, while nursing a gin and tonic. Under strict instructions from Pilkington, the bar man refused to serve Black. Two blue-uniformed attendants diligently enforced the order. In frustration, Black plonked down in the booth beside Gudmunson. "Finished playing with your new friend then?" he said.

"What do you want, Black?"

"Nothing Gudmunson. Nothing at all. Glad to hear that the antiques business is going so well for you. Who would have thought it could be so lucrative? Tell me, what's the real reason you're on the Express?" The manic look in Black's eyes scared Gudmunson. He glanced at the attendants to make sure they were still watching.

"I've made my money, Black, I deserve to spend it like anyone else."

"I wonder. I wonder. It was certainly hard won, I hope you're enjoying it."

"What's it to you anyway?"

"Oh nothing really. Just, people get cold feet sometimes. They end up regretting things they've done. They decide to try to right wrongs of the past. Are you one of those people, Gudmunson?"

Gudmunson stood up abruptly, knocking over the small tower of cards. "Shut up, Black! I don't need to listen to any of this. You're insane, go back to bed where you belong." He turned and stormed off, almost knocking over Mrs Evans and Miss Sprout on their way in.

"Well, I say," remarked Mrs Evans. "See, I told you Philadelphia, I was right, there is an evil atmosphere about. Mark my words, girl, its influence grows stronger by the minute."