Murder on the Orion Express

Influencer

The final passenger to present to Beckett was Matteo Frankenstein. He was dressed in a tailored olive green suit, a cream rose adorning his left lapel. He was the height of fashion as usual, and appeared relaxed and calm.

"I'm the last one, eh, Beckett? I've been looking forward to this, a rare insight into the genius methods of a legend. Do you know who it is yet? I hope not, that would spoil the surprise."

"I have a reasonable idea of the sequence of events that occurred last night, yes," answered Beckett matter-of-factly. "Now, could you tell me where you were last night between 11pm and 4am?"

"Oh. Is that it? How disappointing. I was expecting something a little more ... left of field. Well, I was locked in my cabin, of course. Tucked up in bed. I would normally check in on my media feed before I sleep, but with no access, I simply closed my eyes and slept. As someone who has built a reputation, and dare I say successful career, on my colourful nightlife, I will confess to being disappointed with last night's offering. The Orion Express dinners are legendary, but that row sort of poured cold water on the atmosphere, don't you think?"

"You have mentioned your career before, Mr Frankenstein." 

At this, the younger man interjected. "Oh, please, call me Matteo! There is no need to be so formal."

"Matteo, what qualifications does one need to become a ... what did you call it? A social influencer?"

"Close enough. Nothing really, apart from a sparkling personality, a sense of style and lots of confidence. I did go to university though and actually qualified with a liberal arts degree from Mainford, five years ago."

"A small, but very well-regarded university. Quite close to where Black lived, if I recall correctly. Tell me, Matteo, had you ever come across Virgil Black, before meeting him on the Express?"

"I'd heard of him. Everyone has heard of him. But I never met him." Something about the furtive movements in Frankenstein's eyes gave Beckett the distinct impression that there was a hidden meaning behind the words. Beckett remained silent, waiting for the man to speak again. "I'd never met him, Beckett, I swear it. Anyhow, why would I want to kill him? He and I were from completely different worlds." Frankenstein laughed, somewhat hollowly.

"And what of our fellow passengers, perhaps you have met some of them before?"

"No," answered Frankenstein quickly. "Don't know any of them. That chap Gudmunson seems interesting, but I never laid eyes on any of them before two days ago."

"Very well, Matteo, you have given me plenty to ponder. If there is nothing further you want to add, I will call a halt to our little discussion." Frankenstein was only too happy to oblige. Beckett called in Pilkington, who was waiting restlessly outside.

"Well, Beckett? That's the last of them. Do we have our murderer?"

Beckett gazed out of the window at the endless expanse of space beyond. "Patience, Colonel, patience. I need a little more time yet. In the meantime will you arrange dinner for tonight at 7pm, as usual? I want the room laid out exactly the same as it was last night, down to the smallest detail. Please have everyone present, including the serving staff and the various attendants, or whatever you call them."

"Of course, of course. Easily done. Anything else?"

"Magazines."

"Pardon me, old man?"

"Magazines please, Colonel, made of paper, like the ones I found in the Observatory yesterday. I found perusing them helped me concentrate no end. Quite an enjoyable experience and one I would like to replicate. Have some delivered to my cabin as soon as possible." With that, Beckett bowed politely and took his leave.

Pilkington stared after him, raised his substantial eyebrows and said, "What an unusual fellow."