Page 17 of Murder on the Brighton Express
He wrote down some of it, but not all. “Are you sure you didn’t hear a scream coming from her compartment during the journey?”
“As I already told you, no, I didn’t.”
“Well, if you’re sure.” He put away his pencil and notebook. “Shame. I saw the photograph the brother left with us yesterday and she was pretty.”
“I fail to see what that has to do with anything,” I said hotly.
“Now don’t get upset, Miss Fox, it was just an observation that it’s a shame a pretty young thing would end her own life.”
I bit my tongue, but it was no good. On rare occasions, my anger took on a life of its own and would not be contained. This was one of those times. “Is it not a shame whenanyonetakes their own life, Detective, pretty and young or otherwise?”
“I was just?—”
“And what makes you so sure she killed herself?”
His nostrils flared. “I don’t have to justify my professional opinion to you.”
“Is it because she didn’t scream? That’s your only reason? As I just told you, she made plans to meet me in London. A woman wanting to kill herself on the way doesn’t make plans for the near future. You need to wait for the results of an autopsy to determine the cause of death, and you should speak to someone close to her to know more about her state of mind before accepting or rejecting any theory. The brother who reported her missing would be a good place to start.”
D.S. Fanning stiffened. “It was evident that she died from the fall.”
“I didn’t say she was killed in her compartment, just that she may have been rendered unconscious first then bundled out of the window by her assailant. The mark on her neck requires closer inspection by a medical professional. Hopefully an autopsy?—”
“I’m not going to bother the coroner with this one, Miss Fox. The Balcombe police say the viaduct is a common place for suicides.”
“And Scotland Yard is a common place to find intelligent people, but idiots do happen to work there, too.” Perhaps I shouldn’t have said that. I instantly regretted it and was about to apologize when D.S. Fanning said something that changed my mind.
“This is what happens when women are exposed to sights like the one you saw back there. You are overwrought, Miss Fox. I advise rest and a cup of tea.”
It was so ridiculous that I could only laugh. It held no humor, but it did have the effect of confusing Fanning. He watched me warily the rest of the way back to Balcombe, as if he expected me to turn into a wild creature and attack.
He didn’t offer to drive us back to London. I wouldn’t have accepted anyway. As I stepped out of the carriage at the railway station, I held the door open and leaned back in. I may not like him, and I may think him incompetent, but he was a necessary evil at this point. “Please, Detective, ask the coroner to perform an autopsy, and suggest he pay particular attention to the mark on Ruth’s neck.”
D.S. Fanning grabbed the door and wrenched it out of my grip then slammed it closed.
Victor and I caught the train back to London. We didn’t sit together, which was just as well. I wasn’t good company. My blood was still boiling after my discussion with Fanning.
I telephoned Monty when I returned to the hotel, but he said he didn’t have the authority to force Fanning to keep an open mind. He also pointed out the case might be a joint operation between the Sussex police and Scotland Yard, since Ruth Price’s body was found in West Sussex, yet she lived in London.
“I’m afraid Fanning is somewhat lazy,” he went on. “If he can find a reasonable explanation for her death without too much effort on his part, he’ll take it. There’s a chance the Sussex division will keep him on his toes, so all is not lost.” He did not sound hopeful, however.
In light of that, I asked him to give me the address for Ruth’s brother. If Fanning was going to rule her death suicide, I was going to see if her family agreed. If the brother claimed she was melancholy, I’d let Fanning have his way. But if he didn’t think his sister was likely to take her own life, then I’d go with my instinct and treat her death as murder.
Chapter5
Over breakfast the following morning, Harmony agreed with my decision after I told her about our gruesome discovery and my frustrating encounter with Detective Sergeant Fanning.
“I’m afraid I lost my temper with him,” I told her. “I called him an idiot.”
She peered over her coffee cup at me. “Is he an idiot?”
“Evidence and witness accounts suggest he is.”
“Then I don’t see the problem.”
“I might need his help in the future.”
“You have Monty for that.” Her sly tone and smirk implied what she thought about me being on a first-name basis with D.S. Forrester.
