Done to Death: A Rail Tale

           “Murder!” The word pierced the loud machinery of the train and echoed into everyone’s ears. Within seconds, the narrow hallways flooded with the passengers pouring out of their rooms. Even Princess Johanna was crowding the space with her wheelchair and servant Claudia Razorbill. Claudia was on her quarter life, but her wrinkles from years of hard labor masked that. She hid behind her lady who rather resembled a decorated prune with a white veil over her face. At the end of the hallway, Mario Mafietti waved his hands about to get everyone’s attention. Wearing a light blue uniform, the train attendant, a short Italian, was lost in the sea of passengers.

           “Everyone remain calm! Please file into the dining car!” Mario ushered the eight passengers away and into a room where they could all see each other. They made the space their own, scattered at several finely-set tables in front of the attendant. Princess Johanna and Claudia were in the far corner. It was tight but manageable. The voices among the crowd overlapped in a cacophony of chaos. “Please quiet down!” begged Mario. The muttering continued until one of the passengers loudly whistled, breaking through the others. Mario quietly thanked the man before addressing everyone. “It seems that we have a situation. Late last night, Captain Don Cornelius Roberto Jonathan von Schmitt was murdered in his sleep.” The whole room gasped.

           “Do you know who did it?” asked Belle Candle. Belle was holding onto her husband Romeo for dear life. They may have been a couple past the quarter life, but their fair complexion would make any modest man do a double take. Mario shrugged.

           “It’s a real conundrum,” he started. “Could be any one of you, but I’m not sure we can figure it out before the next stop. I’m not a detective or anything.”

           “But, I am!” proclaimed the curious figure who had whistled earlier. He wore a short fedora and long jacket, and a large pipe dangled from his lips. His exaggerated handlebar mustache was the bushiest, thickest, darkest, and greasiest set of hairs that anyone on this train had ever seen. This man’s dress appeared to resemble a Halloween costume of a detective instead of a real one. “I am Detective Jean Baptiste de Paris, the best detective in all of Europe. Of course I’m on this murder train. Where else would I be? I am intrigued with this particular mystery.” Detective Paris took a long draw from his pipe.

           “Well, uh, how convenient.” Mario paused. “Could you help us?”

           “I’m sorry,” Detective Paris spat out. “I’m retired, on vacation, and swore this infernal, all-encompassing occupation out of my life!”

           “Oh, uh.” Mario took a short breath. “Then I guess I’ll figure out what I can. And maybe when we get to Rome, the police-”

           “Oh, if you insist.”

           “Wait. But you said-”

           “Chop. Chop. Time is something we have very little of. Bring me to the scene of the crime!” Detective Paris dramatically marched forward, following Mario who gestured for the others to wait in the room. The cabins in the sleeping cars were cramped together, and the walls were as thin as paper. This allowed for anyone and everyone to hear a pin drop, but it seemed that once they were asleep, the passengers were heavy sleepers.

           “This is room 7, Detective,” said Mario. He led Detective Paris into the claustrophobic space with the recently deceased, an old and hairy man with one eye frozen in a wink. At the sight, Mario raised a handkerchief over his mouth, but Detective Paris had dealt with this many times. He closed the open eye before analyzing the bedside table to find a handgun adjacent to a glass with traces of whiskey. He stuck his finger in it and brought it to his lips. Mario raised an eyebrow, and Detective Paris caught his gaze.

           “Ah, just as I thought.” The detective spit out the substance onto the floor. “Whiskey, 30 years old. I prefer 40 myself.” He pursed his lips together and smacked them a few times. “And of course, a powerful sedative. Given enough, it could have killed him.”

           “So, he was poisoned?” inquired Mario.

           “Quiet! Perhaps you haven’t noticed this.” Detective Paris motioned towards a red spot just above the blanket, and Mario gasped as he pulled back the covering. Six knife wounds penetrated the corpse, as evident in the dried blood. The man was also buck naked, his patchy, gray hair covering little.

           “Can you please cover him up!” exclaimed Mario. “Show some decency!”

           “We need to be very thorough,” insisted Detective Paris.

           “I think everything we need to know is above the waist.” The detective eyed Mario and grabbed the bed sheet when he noticed a piece of paper under the body’s left buttock. Detective Paris laughed out, as he snatched the paper and backed up. While he was distracted, Mario covered the man up to his waist.

           “Always be thorough,” Detective Paris instructed Mario. He unfolded the parchment, and his eyes bulged. “Thundering irons!” In excitement, he showed Mario. The only item on it was a picture of a young boy, about twelve. “Do you know what this is?”

           “A young boy?” asked Mario.

           “No, you fool!” He slapped Mario upside the head. “This is Alex Burnsby! The little boy who was trampled to death by the horses of one… Thundering irons! This isn’t Captain Don Cornelius Roberto Jonathan von Schmitt! This is Captain Don Cornelius Roberto Jonathan von Schmitz! I can’t believe that I didn’t see it before! He was the owner of the horses that trampled poor Alex to death. After he bought out the jury to save himself, Alex’s mother, sweet Nancy, threw herself from a window. In consequence, her husband Brett shot himself because he just couldn’t live with the pain. Without parents, Alex’s five other brothers and sisters starved to death. Their three cats and five birds went savage. And that dog. That poor sweet thing. He waited day after day for them to wake up. They found him eating the other pets. It was all so tragic.”

           “Do you think he felt guilty?” asked Mario.

           “Unless someone else set him up! Mario, we must question everyone aboard this train, starting with you!” Mario took a short breath.

           “That was years ago, detective. I was a family friend of the Burnsby’s, but I put that all behind me. As for last night, I was stationed outside your rooms, but I didn’t hear a thing.” The detective eyed him.

           “Very well. I myself worked as a private investigator on the case and feel guilty myself for not bringing the man to justice.”

“It could have just as well been you detective, the murderer,” said Mario. Detective Paris scoffed.

“You’re thinking of the wrong story, my lad.” He clapped his hands together. “Bring everyone in one by one, starting with Claudia Razorbill. I will be in my room, number 6. We don’t want anyone to be burdened with staring at the body as I interrogate them. And, be quick! We only have until this train stops to figure it out.” Mario evacuated the room, and Detective Paris retired to his own. With no room for chairs, Detective Paris slouched on his bed, waiting for Claudia. After a brief minute, he heard a sheepish knock. “Please enter.” Claudia cautiously stepped inside. Detective Paris motioned for her to sit, but she refused. In one swift motion, the detective displayed the photo of Alex from behind his back. “Do you know this child?” Claudia took the picture and eyed it carefully.

“I’m afraid not, detective. Neither has my lady. She asked me to speak on her behalf,” said Claudia.

“Of course. Where were you on the night of the murder?”

“In my bed, detective. Brushing myself. Cleaning myself.” The detective blushed, as she reenacted her actions. “I’m in the room next door, you see. Number 8. I remember waking up in the middle of the night and feeling very odd.” Detective Paris raised an eyebrow. “Well, typically Captain Schmitt snores like a platoon of cannons, but all there was, was silence. I looked at the foot of my bed to see a man rushing out my front door. Oh, it was so awful! I knew how my door was weak, but I think I’ll talk to a manager when I get to Rome.”

“Did you see what he looked like?” Claudia shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

“No, just a dark tall figure. I hoped my dear lady was alright, but I thought it was best to stay put and not draw any attention to the matter.” She shook. “Oh, now I’m shivering like a leaf. I sure hope you find this killer, Detective.” Detective Paris rose, held her hand to calm her, and ushered her outside.

“I sure hope so too, Miss Razorbill.” After Claudia left, the detective collapsed back onto the bed. Someone was lying to him, but he wouldn’t rest until he found out who. Romeo and Belle Candle were the next to be interrogated, but Detective Paris only got a little vital information out of them. They may have not heard anything, but they had been neighbors to the Burnsby’s for years before the incident. After they left, the detective called in Sean Clodsworth and Julie Lamb together. They refused to make eye contact, but their sexual tension was high. Sean twiddled his thumbs while Julie fiddled with her lucky dead mouse, smelling quite rancid.

“Why did you call us in together?” asked Julie. The detective cleared his throat.

“You two are an item, are you not?”

“WHAT MAKES YOU THINK THAT?” Sean blurted out, advancing forward. Detective Paris eyed the young man and rose.

“I’m a detective. It’s my job to notice things. Now, there’s no reason to get hostile unless you’re responsible for murder. I happened to eavesdrop on part of a conversation you were having earlier, as I do enjoy the banter of young couples. You seemed to be hiding something. Perhaps this was a murder?” Sean faced off with Detective Paris.

“Are you accusing us of-“

“Do you know this boy?” The detective flashed them the picture, and for a moment, Sean paused.

“Is this what this is about?”

“Answer the question.” Sean took a short breath.

“He was my cousin.”

“There’s motive enough.” Irritated, Sean got into the detective’s face.

“Are you calling us killers?”

“Then what are you hiding?”

“Will you keep it to yourself?” Sean inhaled nervously and eyed Julie. “If we tell you, will you only keep it to yourself?” Detective Paris nodded, and Sean sighed. “Alex was my cousin, but he was also Julie’s cousin. Yes, my love here is my cousin.” He peered into the detective’s eyes, expecting disgust, but he had seen it all. “Please tell no one that we are an item. You see, on the train is another family member as well.” Detective Paris rose an eyebrow. Getting little more information out of the controversial couple, he called for his last subject: Officer Remy Blumbarch of the Third Regiment. Once at the door, Officer Blumbarch clicked his heels, and the detective beckoned him inside. He was a tall, muscular man well-past his mid-life crisis.

“You are Officer Blumbarch, I presume?”

“The very same,” answered the officer. “I served during the Great War for the British.”

“Your accomplishments proceed you. So, you would say you have killed before?”

“Only in the name of the crown, sir,” retorted the officer. His tone rose to one of offense. The detective just laughed.

“I mean you no harm, officer. I just love a good story, and sometimes I pry it out of people in the strangest of ways. But, I guess time is of the essence.” The detective flashed him the picture. “Do you know this boy?” Utterly shocked, he stared long and hard before solemnly nodding.

“I was his uncle,” he finally croaked. Detective Paris smirked, but Officer Blumbarch’s gaze never altered.

“I was tipped off that it might be the case. Nancy Blumbarch, being her maiden name, was your sister, yes?” Not peering up from the picture, the officer nodded.

“Where did you find this?”

“Why in room 7 with Captain Schmitz himself!” At this, Officer Blumbarch raised his head and turned to Detective Paris.

“I want to see him.” The detective stared into the officer’s eyes, understanding. He gathered all he needed, so there was no harm in indulging this man. Detective Paris gestured for him to follow to room 7, and what they found was inconceivable.

“Thundering irons!” cried Detective Paris. The body of Captain Don Cornelius Roberto Jonathan von Schmitz was gone! Detective Paris rushed Officer Blumbarch back into the dining car. Everyone else had been waiting anxiously, and the two bursting in caused them all to jump. The other passengers huddled around him. Mario rushed forward.

“Did you figure it out?” A smirk cracked the detective’s face.

“They don’t call me the greatest detective in all of Europe for nothing!” Everyone’s face lit up, and the car grew silent. It seems that not just one of you is to blame.” The passengers continued to hold their breath despite the news. “Instead, it was the six of you!” Detective Paris pointed to Mario, Romeo and Belle Candle, Sean Clodsworth, Julie Lamb, and Officer Blumbarch. The group was silent. No one knew what to say. “Mario, you drugged his whiskey, as you are the one who handled the drinks. Officer Blumbarch, you snuck into Claudia’s room in the middle of the night to unlock the door, as you would have had years of stealth training. The rest of you took turns enacting your revenge, as you made exactly six puncture wounds into the victim.” The detective paced as he talked. “You then hid the murder weapon in room 5 with the Candles, but I happened to peer inside on my way to my room during the interrogation process.” Detective Paris protruded a small, bloody dagger. “You were even kind enough to leave the blood on it. But what was the revenge you ask? You all are connected to Alex Burnsby in one way or another. It is clear you came on this train to trap Captain Schmitz. And, while I was interviewing the others, you hid the body from further investigations.” Despite the loud train, the car was silent.

“What do you mean the body is gone?” asked Mario.

“Don’t be coy with me!” demanded the detective.

“You’re connected too,” restated Mario. “And if we were the killers, we could just kill you as well.”

“Unless I agree to say nothing. This was a rather enjoyable way to pass the time.”

“You’re not understanding,” said Mario. “We’re here by accident.”

“Then why haven’t you all been hugging and catching up or what have you?”

“I think I speak for everyone here,” spoke up Officer Blumbarch. “We have been keeping our distance because we are rather superstitious about coincidences like these. A bad omen, I reckon.”

“That’s ridiculous!” The arguing grew louder into a chaos. Nervous, Claudia slunk into the corner with her lady.

“What about the Princess!” shouted out Julie. “She hasn’t said a word!”

“The Princess is weak!” defended Claudia. In a panic, Julie rushed Princess Johanna, clutching her lucky dead mouse for help.

“Let her speak for herself!” Julie lunged for the white veil. A blackout suddenly fell onto the train, as it went under its first tunnel. Julie screamed in agony, and the crowd went silent. When the sun shone through after a minute lapse, Julie was motionless on the floor. Everyone gasped, and Sean rushed forward to her aid. Officer Blumbarch stared at the Princess.

“The omen,” he observed. “The veiled woman is the omen! Why have we never seen her face?” Those associated with Alex backed away from the Princess and Claudia. “Show yourself!” Claudia stepped forward to defend her lady, but the others singled them out.

“This is ridiculous,” said Claudia. “She is Princess Johanna. No one gives her orders!” Sean ran at Claudia as the train hit the next tunnel. When they could see again, Sean had met the same fate. The others screamed. Officer Blumbarch and the Candles got down on their knees to chant in Latin at the Princess. For the first time in his life, Detective Paris was utterly stumped. “I swear, if you don’t stop that RIGHT NOW-”

A gunshot fired out across the cabin, leaving everyone with a ringing in their ears. Claudia flew back in a heap of her own blood. The passengers turned and dropped their jaws at the sight of Captain Don Cornelius Roberto Jonathan von Schmitz. Everyone fell silent.

“How did you? What?” asked the detective.

“Claudia didn’t stab anywhere vital,” said the captain. “She was not a very good murderer.” His words hung in the air as Sean and Julie miraculously regained consciousness. “Apparently I snore too loud.” Captain Schmitz remarked to the dead heap on the ground. He moved to the Princess, unveiling her. “Just as I thought.” The smell of rotting flesh hit the room first. The Princess’s dead gaze shocked the passengers.

“Ah hah!” piped in the detective. “I solved it! It was so obvious! Claudia had been posing as a maid all along!” Ignoring him, the captain addressed the crowd.

“I know you’ll never forgive me for what happened to Alex, but maybe one day…” Captain Schmitz eyed the ground solemnly before turning away. Officer Blumbarch rushed up to him and grabbed him by the shoulders. Their eyes met.

“We forgive you. We never liked that side of the family anyway.”