Murder at Rhiwbina Twmpath

Frick, Frack and the Visitor

"Come this way, Miss Banks," the balding blond detective she was calling "Frick" in her mind directed. He didn't invite and certainly didn't ask. He directed. "Frack" fell in behind her: darker, shorter and frumpier. Can you call men "frumpy?" A glance back at the ill-fitting gray suit and scuffed brown shoes, the loosely knotted too-wide for this year tie with the remains of breakfast on it (possibly yesterday's) and Jordan decided: Yup.

Jordan was at New Scotland Yard. It would have seemed quite a romantic adventure to her if the building wasn't so achingly modern and didn't resemble a gigantic urban greenhouse. The room she was shown to less gritty TV cop drama and more dermatologist-waiting-room-designer-neutral. 

She faced Frick and Frack across a plain table occupied only by a file folder, a small digital recorder, Frick's forearms and clasped hands. Frack folded his hands on the roll of fat that pooched out when he'd slumped back in his chair.

Frick announced the names of all parties, the date and time for the benefit of the recorder.

"I don't know why we couldn't do this on the phone," Jordan said.

"It's a murder investigation," Frick answered her.

She repressed the urge to roll her eyes. "Yes, I'm aware. I'm not minimizing the importance of the issue, but as I said when you called, I simply have nothing at all of use to tell you."

"Thing is, you see," Frack joined in. "You seem to be the last person known to have spoken to the victim." He leaned forward and read from the file in front of Frick. "Geoffrey Vrtis."

"Wait. I wasn't the last person - he was the steward on the Great Western Cardiff commuter, correct?"

"Host."

"Right. Anyway, I wasn't the last. He served us and then went on to the man across the aisle."

Frick perked up. "Us?"

Jordan was surprised. "Well, yes. You have interviewed - contacted at least - the ... " she hesitated. "... the person sitting across the table from me, I assume."

Jordan resisted giving them Ben's name.  There'd been something oddly intimate in him  knowing she'd known and not saying anything at the time, either. It was a kind of connection in shared intent. Maybe he simply wanted to get away without having to point at her in front of an iPhone. Maybe she was reading far too much into it. But Jordan valued the encounter so much, she wanted to keep it all her own.

The men exchanged looks. Frick - "There wasn't anyone across from you. Or next to you, according to the records. And other passenegers. You rode the whole trip by yourself."

"That's ridiculous, of course there was."

Frack gave her a sly smile, "The Invisible Man, was it?"

That surprised her. It was what she had called Ben in her mind. "Yes, in a way. He was wrapped up, you see. Sunglasses, hat, scarf. He's a - well - a celebrity and didn't want to be recognized."

"That right? A celebrity. Incognito. He told you this, did he?"

Jordan was beginning to feel distinctly uncomfortable. "No. We didn't really speak. It was just obvious from the way he was dressed. His hat pulled down, dark glasses on inside, the muffler pulled up over his mouth. Pretending to be asleep. He's a famous man on a train and was looking for privacy."

Frack. "So you decided this bloke must be someone famous because you couldn't see his face and he didn't talk to you?"

Frick flipped through the pages of the file. "And not one other person in that carriage saw anyone who was 'all wrapped up' go through?"