Page 58 of Murder on the Brighton Express
“He was on the express from Brighton that morning,” I said. “He sat in the compartment next to Ruth’s.”
Mr. Salter cracked his knuckles again.
Harry suddenly rose, as if he expected Mr. Salter to become violently angry.
But Mr. Salter proved he wasn’t ruled by his emotions. He shook his head and calmly explained why he didn’t think McAllister had anything to do with Ruth’s death. “Even if McAllister saw Ruth, he would assume she was just a young woman. He wouldn’t know she worked for a newspaper, or that she was spying on his associate, Pridhurst.”
I had further thoughts, but I didn’t express them. There was a problem with his entire account, and it was time to put it to him. “You said you didn’t speak to Ruth at all while you were away.”
“That’s right.”
“You sat in the third compartment of the first-class car with Clement Beecroft on the way home.”
“Yes.”
“Did he leave at any point on the journey?”
“No.”
“Did you see anyone pass your compartment?”
Mr. Salter shook his head. “I’ve been asking myself the same questions, trying to recall who I saw on the train. I can assure you, I saw no one pass, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t bob down, or that the murderer wasn’t in her compartment all along, or in the one between hers and mine.”
My heart sank. I’d wanted him to admit that he’d gone to her cabin for a lover’s tryst where he’d left her alive and unharmed before the Ouse Valley Viaduct. But my questions hadn’t led him to correct himself, meaning the absence of an admission wasn’t simply a mistake. It was a deliberate omission, and it went against three witnesses who’d seen him.
Three was too many to dismiss as a mistake.
If Mr. Salter sensed I suspected him, he didn’t show it. He seemed distracted by his thoughts. “That moronic detective from Scotland Yard wouldn’t tell me anything. I have so many questions. Were any of her injuries inconsistent with a terrible fall? Was there poison in her system that would have rendered her incapable of screaming as she fell? What had she written in the final pages of her notebook?”
“Did she have her notebook with her in Brighton?” I asked.
“She took it everywhere. She kept it in her bag and guarded the bag as if it were her most prized possession.” He sighed. “I suppose it was.”
“Can you please write down where we can find Alastair McAllister?”
“Of course. You’ll want to question him and see if the woman in his compartment got up and left at any point on the journey.” He tore a page out of his notebook and scribbled down an address.
Harry and I thanked him and left.
“He’s lying,” I said.
Harry wasn’t so sure, however. “I think he’s genuinely upset about her death.”
“Threepeople saw him leave his compartment, Harry.”
“I agree that it’s an overwhelming condemnation on the face of it, but think aboutwhoclaims they saw him. Beecroft and Geraldine are lovers. He could ask her to lie for him and she’d probably do it without question.”
It was a valid point. “Or vice versa—shecould askhimto lie for her. But the conductor?”
“Bribery.”
“All right. We need to know for certain. We’ll confront the conductor with the allegation. We also need to return to Brighton to speak to Alistair McAllister.” I patted my bag where I’d slipped the piece of paper with his address. “Even if he had nothing to do with Ruth, as Salter thinks, and didn’t kill her, he’s still a witness. If he says he saw no one pass his compartment, then it means Salter is telling the truth and the other three lied. If they lied, then any one of them could have done it, as well as Odette Pridhurst who the conductor claims he saw. But I’m not sure we can believe anything he says now.”
“Leave that to me. I’ll get the truth from him.”
“How?”
Harry merely smiled.
