All Trussed Up and Nowhere to Go

She's still on the train. The clock is ticking. And she's just found the man she's been looking for.

The Chortler has been located. The widow has been assessed. The man in the fedora has been dispatched. And the mysterious assenter is about to have a very interesting morning.
Welcome to the third misadventure.
— J

Madame J tried to hurry Amelia along the corridor past the first-class cars with private doors and porters waiting in the service compartment of the car, ready for a light to buzz and call them into service. She turned to ensure that Amelia remained trailing behind her. Each time she gave her a pointed look to hurry them along. The Chortler, or the man in 2A, could have gotten off the train at any time. If he didn’t wish to be found, there were many places on a train where one could hide. He could even still be in one of the other empty sleeping berths. Madame J gave herself a quick reprimand and then dismissed the idea entirely. The man was not a silent sleeper–they all would have known if he had remained in the sleeping car and tucked himself away in an empty berth. No, she assured herself; she was on the right track.

Amelia paused every few feet to admire the view and created a pile-up at one of the service stations when she wedged herself closer to the window in a small galley. The porters looked to Madame J for help.

“Come along, Amelia. We are running out of time. About 90 minutes, give or take, until we arrive at the station and the locals take over.”

She took Amelia’s elbow and moved her away from the window. Madame J placed her in front to lead. No more wasting time to ensure Amelia was where she ought to be.

“What if he is no longer on the train? What if he jumped off after attacking my husband?”

“Attacked? What gives you the impression that someone attacked your husband? Surely you would have heard an attack?” Madame J stopped to meet Amelia’s gaze head-on. Amelia widened her eyes and shook her head before pointing her chin down.

“Did that sort of coy look work on your husband? Does it really work on anyone? Stop doing that. It makes you look like a liar. Did you hear anything that would cause you to believe your husband was attacked?”

Amelia’s chin moved back into place, and her twisted hands dropped to her sides.

“No.”

“What did you hear?” asked Madame J. To the uninitiated, she perhaps should have asked this question much sooner. Something out of a police procedural with a series of boxes to check. Speak to witness. Check. Ask them where, what, who, and when. Check and check. She always found that it was better to give everyone a moment to breathe and concoct whatever story they were going to dream up. Overly consistent and rehearsed stories gave her more cause for concern, then waiting to ask a witness the very thing she wanted to know and would always find out.

She and Amelia stood staring at each other. Madame J waited, silent pressure being the most useful tool.

“I heard my husband shifting his weight. He kept trying to get comfortable. That was after the snoring man left. Before that. Well, before that, he complained. He liked to complain about my incompetence. I forgot to pack his pajamas. That meant I had failed to pack properly. Then he went on to my general failings. And questioned whether I should continue to exist at all. This was par for the course for him. He finally tired himself out. Reminds me of the toddler I mind twice a week. Between the snoring man and my husband’s usual list of my failures, I was exhausted. I heard nothing else.”

“When did you discover his dead body?”

“I make it a point to rise before him and make myself presentable. When I exited our berth, I saw the curtains across from me were open and he was lying on his back with the scarf shoved into his mouth.”

“You didn’t call for help right away?” Now, Amelia had said nothing of the sort. This was intuition. Amelia had the choice to refute the assertion out of indignation or to provide an excuse. Either way, Madame J would get the requisite information.

“I… no… how did you know? I froze. I stared at him for what felt like ages. And then it’s as if I remember I was supposed to scream. So I did,” said Amelia. She then stared off towards the window, now showing small towns dotting their way into the city. Madame J snapped her fingers. Amelia pursed her mouth in irritation, no sudden startle or surprise in her expression.

“Come along,” said Madame J.

She opened the door so they could exit and enter the dining car. Two rows of tables with white linen and high-backed chairs lined the dining car. Porters wove around tables, people, and children. Madame J directed Amelia to an open seat at an empty table.

“Eat. I will find which porter was on duty last night and early this morning.”

“I couldn’t possibly eat a thing.”

“It wasn’t a suggestion. I don’t need you fainting for lack of food. You have other perfectly good reasons to practice fainting. Let food not be one of them.”

“Alright, if you insist,” said Amelia.

Amelia ordered a full breakfast with all the works. They hadn’t time for all that. Maybe a quick egg or a coffee, but an order including bacon, eggs, and ham was on its way.

“Now where is a little lady like you going to put all of that?” asked the porter.

“It’s the first meal I haven’t had to prepare or share.” said Amelia. The porter smiled down at her, but made no further response.

Madame J stood outside the galley, watching tidy napkins pressed against pink lipsticks and hearty throats slurping down coffee. None of the tiny, polite sips of the British tea drinkers. Instead, the strong smell of enormous cups of American coffee and loud over-talking filled the train. She breathed in the atmosphere and felt a peace wash over her in the din of the dining car. A feeling of rightness had her standing tall and admiring the large, talking, slurping, laughing morning New Yorkers.

“May I help you, Miss?”

She flicked a five-dollar note from beneath her short gloves, like a magic trick. The porter standing before her looked weary, but equally adept; with a flick of the wrist, the note disappeared somewhere into his hand and onto his person.

“Did a man sleep in the dining car last night?”

“Yes, kept us up all night. Jerry there had to stay up all night to keep watch over him. There was no convincing him to leave, and he was sure out. We couldn’t wake him if we tried. Slept like the very dead.”

“Was he here all night?”

“Jerry, this lady is asking about the man who slept in the car last night.” Said the head porter.

“Who wants to know?” said Jerry.

Jerry, with the brill cream shine and bright white smile, sidled up to the head porter and eyed Madame J with a lick of his lower lip. He gave her, what she assumed was, his most attractive and practiced facial expression. Unimpressed, she sighed heavily and ignored him, directing her attention back to the main porter.

“Did Jerry say he was here all night?”

“Why do you want to know?” asked Jerry.

“There’s a dead guy in the sleeper berths. I’ve got about an hour to figure out who did it. Were you in the sleeper berths last night? Did you go near them?”

Jerry straightened up and lost the stupid, practiced grin.

“No, I was here all night. Watching that man, making sure he didn’t mess with anything in the car. He was here all night. Slept there at the third table on the left.”

The table now had a family of four. Incessant prattle streamed from the girl about a yellow dress with floral smocking. The father would poke his head out from his newspaper at regular intervals and nod his head with a “that’s nice, dear.” Imaginary airplanes full of mush never made it to their intended destination. Instead, the toddler wore more porridge than he’d swallowed down. The children were neat and shiny, despite the porridge, yet the mother’s own toilette had been neglected.

“Did you see him leave the table?”

“A few minutes after you walked in.”

“Which way did he go?”

“Back the way you came towards first class.”

“What did he look like?”

“Very tall. Lanky. Silver hair sticking up. Wrinkled gray suit. Man looks like he has never seen a comb or an iron.”

This broke up their little party as each porter was called by a series of blinking lights towards the kitchen and back out into the dining room, laden with full plates of steaming food. Broadway choreographers could learn lessons from the men working the dining car. The careful orchestration of bodies and props along the narrow walkway. Never spilling a drop and making it all appear effortless.

“Thank you for your time,” said Madame J as she made her way back to Amelia with piles of plates before her.

She sat down across from Amelia and spotted a man in a chocolate-brown fedora seated diagonally across the dining car. Amelia, enamored of the food, took no notice of her surroundings and tucked in, taking small bites of each item before deciding which to devour first. Madame J moved to the seat closest to the window, where she could be a bit more hidden from the man in the fedora. It was rude of him to wear a hat indoors, especially in the presence of all these ladies. If he wished to make himself inconspicuous, his get-up had the opposite effect. He paired the fedora with a rich brown tweed suit. The texture was a standout in a sea of men in nondescript gray suits. A bold orange tie peeked out from the lapels. “Not inconspicuous at all.”

“What’s that?” Amelia asked.

“Nothing. Eat your food.” Madame J then adjusted her body to the right to see if he would match her curiosity or move to conceal his face. He did the latter and positioned his body more towards the window, so the back of his hat faced her. She wondered if this was the voice she’d heard in the night. The Assenter. He must have left the sleeping car early and escaped everyone’s notice in the morning’s raucous.

Amelia turned to follow her gaze.

“No! Look at me. Don’t look behind you.”

“Who are you looking at?” Amelia leaned closer, hovering over her food. Her dress gaped, and Madame J glimpsed hand-tatted peach lace.

“There is a man in a fedora who does not wish to be seen.”

“I am going back. If he follows me, you are to stay here. Find Mr. Jacoby and have him escort you back to the sleeper car. I will expect you in 10 minutes. If he remains behind, stay near the porters and ask them to get Mr. Jacoby for you.”

“Is he dangerous? Do you think he did it?”

“I’m getting up now. See you in ten minutes.”

Any woman who was quick to cast aspersions without so much as a thought for the consequences wasn’t worth dignifying with real answers. She would just find a new target within a moment’s notice. Madame J made it a point to scrape her chair against the floor.

“Well, my dear, I will meet you back in first class.” She stopped outside the door to fiddle with her gloves. Into the next car she went, and once the door closed behind her, she pulled out her mirror. The man in the fedora was in the car behind her; his hat cast low across his face. Her heart raced, and the tiny hairs along her neck stood up, ready for a chase. The warm flush of adrenaline spurred her forward. There was a part of her that loved being pursued. There was also the rational part of her that feared being caught by someone who might stuff her own scarf down her throat. Despite a slight rocking motion beneath her feet, she continued towards the sleeping car. She was two cars away now and felt a presence gaining on her.

A sudden lurch had her grasping at one of the cabin doors for steadiness. The man gained on her by several feet. She didn’t like the idea of him closing the distance. Madame J wanted to test whether they were going in the same direction or he was truly giving chase. She picked up her pace and saw that he was several feet behind her in the window reflections. A moment’s hesitation before navigating between the two cars, suddenly intrusive thoughts about being thrown underneath the train’s steel wheels came to mind. She took a big swallow of air and skipped across the visible track into the next car.

The moment of hesitation caught her, and no sooner had the door closed than it was opening again. She was now within his grasp and decided to really kick her heels and focus her energy towards the balls of her feet. Ensuring they made more rapid contact with the swaying ground before her, she reached for the next door to the last car before the sleeping berths. The man placed his hand on the doorframe above her, bracing the door shut.

Her stiletto-shaped hatpin was in her hand as a matter of reflex. The pointed end at the man’s throat.

“Hey now. What is this?”

“No, no, I ask the questions. Why are you following me?”

“Because I thought you wanted me to follow you. You made eyes at me. Announced your departure, and then kept making sure I followed. You know, a quick meeting before we head into the city?” said the man in the fedora.

“I what?” said Madame J. She rubbed her forehead with her free hand, holding the stiletto at his throat. She sighed because there was no other choice but to admire the gall of men. A woman announcing she was leaving a room was an invitation to follow her. The man removed the hand bracing the door closed and put both hands up, palms forward near his face. He was taller than her, but their height difference was unlikely to matter if she plunged the pointed tip at his throat.

“I had no such liaison in mind. I’m not in the habit of picking up strange men in train cars for ‘quick meetings.’” This was not exactly true. There had been one or two occasions where she initiated and enjoyed such a “quick meeting,” but never while in pursuit of a murder suspect.

“I must have misunderstood.” His hands remained raised, but his face lowered so she was again staring at the top of his hat.

“You certainly did. Now remove your hat. You’re in the presence of a lady.”

“I’ll remove my hat if you put away the stiletto.”

“It’s a hatpin,” said Madame J. She stuck it back in its place across the crown of her head and patted her hair. He removed the hat to reveal a bald crown with thin wisps of hair making a valiant attempt at camouflage. He held the hat sheepishly in front of his chest. She had a soft spot for vanity.

“You’ve got nice blue eyes. We can’t see them with that ridiculous hat brim. No need to carry yourself like a well-dressed thug. Bald men can be very attractive. But not if they’re following women on trains. And you should never advertise that a ‘meeting’ will be a ‘quick’ one.”

He choked out a snorted laugh and shook his head.

“I’ll take that under advisement.”

“As you should. Now stop following me. I’m looking for a lanky man in a gray suit with disheveled hair. Have you seen him?”

“Yes, I saw him slow sipping coffee. They would have done better to serve him via a long drip. He looked done-in.”

“Did you see where he went?”

“Same direction you’re headed. Want me to go with you, just in case?”

“No need for a knight. I have my own trusty sword.” She patted her head and was heading to the next car when a voice came from the car ahead of her.

“Miss J. Miss J. Yoo-hoo. I found him. I got him all trussed up for you. Put ‘em right next to the body. He almost fainted. He ain’t going nowhere,” said Mr. Jacoby.

The man in the fedora looked wide-eyed and exchanged looks with Madame J before donning his hat.

“You’re on your own, lady.”

“That is how I prefer it.”

He tipped his hat to her and retreated towards the dining car and away from the incoming Mr. Jacoby.

“I was looking all over for you.”

“You must not have looked very far. I’m surprised we didn’t pass each other.”

“We did. Well, almost. I saw yous come in the dining car. I followed the man from 2A and jumped him when he got back to the sleeper car. I told you. He’s not going nowhere.”

There was a part of her that wanted to correct him and insist on “anywhere” rather than “nowhere,” but there simply wasn’t time. They had an hour until arrival. Without saying more or allowing Jacoby to say more, she crossed train cars and found a man trussed up like a hog, fast asleep. True to his word, Jacoby had placed him in the Barnes’ original berth, and there he lay. The gray suit was even more rumpled than she had imagined. Ankles and wrists tied together, he lay on his side with tufts of hair spiking out. His mouth was agape with a string of drool being pushed in and out.

“I would say to untie him, but he seems to be just fine where you’ve left him.”

A heavy sigh, interrupted by gasps for breath, shot out from the man. Here lies the Chortler. She looked at her watch again. Over ten minutes had passed.

“Jacoby dear, get Mrs. Barnes from the dining car. We need her to identify this gentleman here. But be quick about it. We’re running out of time. I will wake him up and get him to talk.”

“I’ll be back in a jiff.”

She waited for the door to close before gently shaking the man awake. He woke with a gasping breath and a violent pull against the ropes. Deep red marks formed.

“Please untie me. I told that idiotic little man I was no threat. I’m too tired to be a threat to anyone.”

“I’ll untie you in a moment. What’s your name, sir?”

“Reginald Crosby. I would shake hands, but I’m all tied up. Look, if I stay like this, I’m liable to fall asleep again. At least push me over some; I’m seated a bit.”

“No can do. There’s a dead man, and I don’t know you. It could be you.”

“When I left this car, that man was alive. Red in the face, screaming expletives at his poor, mousy wife. She’d forgotten his pajamas, and you’d think she’d committed some sort of capital offense. They woke me up. I offered my berth and told them I would go to sleep in the dining car. I desperately needed sleep and left.”

“That’s rich. They woke you up?”

“Yes, they woke me up. I know I snore,” he said. A yawn interrupted his speech. “No doctor can explain it.” He yawned again and the drool string reappeared.

“Did anyone see you?” She pressed her hip against him and his eyes opened at half mast.

“The couple in this berth and the man who watched me all night in the dining car.”

“Anyone else?”

“I heard someone in the berth above this one roll over, but I never saw their face so I am not sure if they saw me or not. You didn’t see me leave, but I know you were there. I saw you come in and close your curtains before we departed.”

“Did you see the man in the berth above leave?”

“Can’t really say ma’am I was too tired to notice or see much of anything. Surprised, I made it to the dining car without falling off the train.”

“Why are you so tired, besides the snoring, which prevents restful sleep?”

“Twins. My wife just had ‘em.”

His eyes closed again, and she nudged him with her hip to get him speaking.

“Nobody has slept. Not even the twins.”

She nudged him, and he scooted away from her.

“Dropped ’em off with her mother in Connecticut. We need all the help we can get. I think my family needed a real break from me.”

He nodded off, but this time she let him be. Pitying the sleeping man wouldn’t do his sleep deprived post-partum wife any good, and it brought her no closer to solving this one. She sat back and analyzed everything that was said, and what they all chose not to say. She continued to look towards the door for the return of Mrs. Barnes and Mr. Jacoby. Her watch ticked on, and minutes were wasted. She must set herself to solving this one or face her fellow detectives and explain the one that bested her. As that was completely intolerable, she disciplined her mind to organize the facts and files on the imaginary table she kept clear inside her mind. Imagining a beautiful fountain pen dragging across fine, thick paper. She crossed off: The Man in 2A, aka the Chortler. The man in the fedora. Mr. Barnes did not murder the Chortler after all, nor was he murdered for being the Chortler. That left…

With a sudden burst, she jumped up and thrust open the chenille curtains in the berth above where she sat. A beautiful young man with soft blonde waves pressed against the outer window of the compartment blinked at her in surprise.

“The mysterious assenter, I presume.”

To be continued…

To read Part 4, click here. The assenter has been found. Now Madame J has to figure out what he knows.If you'd like to talk about what just happened in the comments, I'll be there.
See you next week.