Murder Expressed
A Lloyd Barrett Mystery
It was the thrumming that woke him, his head bobbing with the rhythmic pulse of the engine. Lloyd forced his eyes open, cursing the tinkling crystal that tickled his ears. Soft yellow light filled the dining car, toile curtains drawn across the windows. White linen underlaid the silver dinnerware, and the few chairs empty of patrons were built of mahogany and black leather.
“The hell?” he murmured, rubbing his head as he blinked against the bright chandeliers. Lloyd Barrett was feeling particularly crummy. He could almost remember drinking the night before, but did not try thinking too hard, for fear that his head would explode in the process.
The train lurched, chugging along the tracks as if something had momentarily slowed it. His attention was drawn to the passengers as they continued talking, paying no notice to the strange rattling sensation. Finely dressed gentlemen attended velvet-clad ladies, the women adorned with diamonds that dipped deep into sweetheart necklines. An androgynous hum vibrated the car, light swing music just audible through the conversation.
Lloyd wiped his face, staring as the voluptuous lady across the aisle nearly cleared her plate with a wave of her wine glass. The attendant appeared, tipping a bottle to refill it. He glanced down at his own table, bereft of the fancy silverware and bare save for a pair of thin candles. It was as if the crew had recognized that he would never be able to afford the luxury.
A passenger stood nearby, her emerald dress revealing a pair of slender shoulders. She glanced at Lloyd, registering him with a cozy smirk before clicking down the aisle. The door was quiet as she slid it open, and she disappeared into the next car.
Lloyd shifted in his chair, feeling for his pockets. He frowned, pulling out a crumpled wad of bills. He whistled as he thumbed through them, quickly counting the small fortune. Flagging down the attendant, he asked, “Got anything stiff?”
She smiled. “I could get you a mixed cocktail.”
“Tch,” he clicked. “It’ll have to do.”
He watched her as she went to the counter at the back of the coach. Her navy dress buttoned to her collar, ending at her calves. Judging from the interior and the color of the uniform, it had to be the Thorton line. A very expensive, very select rail company. That, along with the notes, meant that he’d scored quite the lucrative gig.
Lloyd Barrett was a renowned private investigator, after all.
“Thanks, doll.” He sipped the drink, wincing as the train rattled again. The attendant nodded at him, moving to serve another entitled client. Lloyd set down the cocktail glass. “Better,” he sighed appreciatively.
An assortment of items quickly assembled on the table as he upturned his pockets. Aside from the bills, there was an envelope, a business card, and his silver revolver. No ticket.
He opened the cylinder, counting the bullets. Full. That was good; at least he hadn’t shot anyone in his drunken stupor. Curiously, he flipped open the envelope, revealing a photograph and a signet ring. Peering closer at the ring, it was finely made; gold twisted around a pair of emeralds, looking like tiny jeweled leaves. He glanced around the cabin, pocketing the ring and examining the picture. It was a man, his features young and feminine.
“Handsome face,” a voice said behind him.
He nodded. “A fine lad.”
It was the woman who had left the car earlier, having returned in slightly more sensible attire. Her dress -now covering her shoulders- was green. The color favored her; it was likely that much of her wardrobe was similarly fashioned. She held out a gloved hand. “Emeri Hillerton.”
“Lloyd Barrett.”
“So,” she said, eyeing the photo, “is he someone you know?”
“Not yet.” Lloyd watched her as she took a seat across from him. Her cheeks were rosy as she grinned, her eyes as green as the dress.
“You don’t remember me, do you?”
“Sure I do. You’re Miss Hillerton. Something I’m missing?”
She laughed. “I suppose you were too drunk to recall. I’m the one who hired you. This man is my brother. I’d like to find him as soon as possible.”
“Owe you money or something?”
Her eyes flashed momentarily before she waved him off. “No. He’s threatened to run off with some girl, and I’m hoping to catch him before our father finds out.”
Lloyd scrutinized her for a moment. There did, in fact, seem to be a familial resemblance. “So you think he’s wherever the line is going?”
“I believe you were the one to track him down. You said you were positive he’d be on this train.”
“Did I,” he murmured. “Well, if you’ll excuse me.”
She seemed surprised. “Where are we going?”
Lloyd didn’t bother answering, tipping his head and strapping his revolver to his belt. He moved toward the door of the dining car, opening it and leaving the rich to their amusements.
The adjoining car was a regular passenger coach, the seats close together and facing the aisle in two long rows. A few people looked up as he entered, but most continued reading their newspapers or chatting with their companions. The coach was much less furnished, with a wire rack overhead stuffed full of trunks and bags.
He scanned faces as he passed, dismissing most as quickly as he saw them. A young girl darted across the aisle in front of him, shouting as her brother stole a precious doll. He smiled as he watched them, frowning as he looked at the curtain behind them. To one side of the window, the curtain was hanging freely, the sash missing. Perhaps it was serving as some boa for the doll.
He looked up, pausing. Standing near the door was a train attendant, his navy uniform standing out against the crowd. A young boy stuck near him; his face pressed to the window. Lloyd approached the pair.
“Have you seen this man?”
The attendant glanced at the picture, then eyed Lloyd. “Guards don’t take bribes.”
“A guard, then? Perfect.” Lloyd rummaged through his pockets, producing the business card. The guard took it, scrutinizing the thick cardstock.
“PSI? What’s that? Private Special Investigator?”
“Something like that.”
“Did he do something dangerous?” he asked, his eyes serious.
“Not that I know of,” Lloyd said off-handedly, taking back his card. “His sister’s looking for him. Guess he ran off and she wants to make sure he’s doing alright.”
The guard nodded. “I did see him. Last I saw, he was in the sleeper car.”
“Thanks ever so.” Lloyd shook his hand, ruffling the kid’s hair. The boy smiled, turning back to watch the landscape go by. It was evening already; people would be going to sleep soon.
He wandered through the passenger cars, talking to random people before making his way back through the dining car. Most people hadn’t recognized the photo, and it was past dark by the time he entered the sleeper. Rich passengers sheltered in tiny rooms, the privacy making Lloyd envious.
Standing in the hall, he cocked his head. Maybe he’d try his luck in the saloon. Rich kids were often known for drinking late into the evening. Especially Byron.
When he entered, the car was almost empty. A few sets of lush armchairs lined the side of the aisle as he walked toward the bar, taking the stool next to a slender man with no facial hair. The man glanced toward him, a cigarette butt waving in the air, his hat resting on the counter. He folded his legs, eyeing Lloyd.
“Good evening.”
“Yes, very,” Lloyd said, waving at the bartender. He sighed as ice plunked into the glass, watching the liquor spill. “Just about given up on finding you, Mr. Hillerton.”
Byron flinched, straightening. “You’re either sent from my father or my sister. Say my sister, won’t you?”
“That make it any better for you?”
“You’ve no idea.” He pulled on his cigarette, exhaling slowly. “How much?”
“Five big ones.”
Byron slammed his fist into the bar, snuffing out the butt. “Bugger. A counteroffer should be at least double, right?”
“That’s right,” Lloyd said, leaning back. He watched Byron, the young man’s irritation clearly visible. As the man fumbled in his pockets, Lloyd noticed a small bruise along the line of his jaw. It was newly formed- perhaps a few hours old. Byron caught his gaze, tossing a wad of cash on the counter.
“Ten and I was never here, got it?”
“Got it.” He pocketed the dough, taking a sip from his drink. “Emeri tells me you’ve been causing trouble.”
Byron laughed. “Wanna see?” Reaching into his breast pocket, he pulled out a still. The woman in the picture was wearing a smart uniform, her stewardess cap pinned to a curly updo.
“She’s a working girl?”
“Sure is. Except sis is under the delusion that I’m after some prostitute,” he said bitterly. “She insists on telling dad that I’m running off with my fortune to party, now that the war’s through.”
“Overreacting, then?”
Byron snorted, downing his shot and wincing. A loud snore interrupted their conversation, and they glanced at a senseless fat man, his face flushed and flattened against his armchair.
“Might be a good idea to sack out, myself, if I could find my ticket,” Lloyd mused, drawing Byron’s attention.
“You haven’t got a ticket?”
“Seems to have been lost. I wasn’t quite sober last night.”
“You’re an interesting man, Mr. Barrett,” Byron replied, chuckling. “I’ve got some finer vintage in my cabin. Care for a drink?”
“Be rude to say no to free booze.” They stood from the bar, leaving change on the counter. The bartender came around the counter to shake the drunkard as they left, his snores short with a grunt and sniff.
The sleeper car was quiet, the ceiling lights dim. They passed through the narrow hallway until Byron stopped in front of his room, unlocking it.
Lloyd closed the door as they moved into the room, the rumbling of the train softer. There was just enough room for a small table and cupboard, along with a lean mattress and toilet compartment. Naturally, Byron moved toward the cupboard, revealing a stout bottle of brandy.
“I’ve been meaning to hire someone to look into affairs at home,” Byron said, pouring the stuff into glasses. “You seem like a decent enough fellow. What services do you offer?”
“Investigation of events. Usually cheating spouses, but I get the occasional murder,” Lloyd responded, sipping his drink. He scanned the room, noting that the curtains were drawn. The sash on the left was hanging oddly. He cocked his head.
Byron paused, his drink halfway to his mouth. “You don’t leave that for the cops?”
“Hard to, sometimes.”
Byron frowned, and Lloyd watched as he began drumming his fingers along the table. “I’m worried about my father. His doctor’s crummy, but the geezer never listens to me. Wondering if sis has something to do with his declining health.”
Lloyd regarded him, leaning against the wall and swirling the snifter. There was a note of sincerity in the young man’s tone, but it wouldn’t be hard to fake. His face was rather flushed, however, so the reaction could be genuine. He's lying.
They jumped as a crash sounded nearby, eyeing one another warily. “I’m going to check things out.”
“I’ll go with you,” Byron offered quickly, setting his glass down. His footsteps were hasty, as if eager to discover the source of the mysterious noise.
Lloyd ventured into the hallway, listening. Not far down the hall, a boy exited his room, rubbing bleary eyes. He was perhaps ten, clearly woken up from the crash. Coming down the hall, the boy stopped.
“Is something happening, sir?”
Lloyd pulled a coin from his pocket, pressing it into the boy’s hand. “Not a thing, kid. Best sleep it off.”
Eyes widening, the boy nodded and quickly turned back around, disappearing back into his room. Lloyd stood, glancing at Byron, but he seemed preoccupied.
The door to their left burst open, a red-faced man toppling out. His eyes bulged as he looked at them, the fleshy features revealing himself to be the drunken man from the bar.
“Are you alright, sir?” Lloyd asked, extending a hand as the man backed into the wall. Check the room.
“Ah-ah,” he sputtered, his hands shaking. “Ah- I-I’ve been attacked!”
“Attacked?”
“Someone was waiting for me in my room!” he blurted out, pointing toward his door. “When I entered, they jumped me. I managed to beat them back, but- but…”
Lloyd slowly drew his revolver, stepping around the man and peering into the room. “But what?”
“But… I think I may have killed them.”
Light bled from the hallway into the room, revealing a pair of pale legs and stilettoed feet. The heel of the left foot was snapped off, and the body was unmoving. Lloyd flicked on the lights.
A woman sprawled across the floor, her eyes wide. A silk dress clung to her, hugging her figure in a deep emerald. Dark marks had formed on her neck, her hair ruined from the scuffle.
“What’s happened?” Byron asked, poking his head through the door. “Is there something-”
His eyes widened, jaw slack. His hand trembled as it covered his mouth, and he shook his head. Lloyd watched his expression, waiting for the information to sink in.
“Emeri,” Byron said finally, stepping past Lloyd. “She- no, why? Why was she…” He turned toward the drunkard, grabbing his lapels. “What on earth have you done?”
“I-I didn’t have a choice! She attacked me first!”
“You’re lying!”
“You’re right,” Lloyd interrupted, lowering his gun and stepping further into the room. “He is lying.”
The fat man stared at him in horror.
“In fact,” Lloyd continued, “I’d appreciate it if you could let him go, Mr. Hillerton.”
Byron turned in confusion, his grip loosening. “What are you-”
“Should we continue inside, or would you like to wake the rest of the cabin?” Lloyd asked pleasantly, and the others glanced down the hall. In unspoken agreement, they all stepped into the room, closing the door.
The portly gentleman’s room was larger than Byron’s, the bed wide and the room long enough to include a vanity mirror and counter. Lloyd motioned at the bed, and the drunk man sagged into the covers, his shoulders slumped. As for himself, Lloyd leaned against the counter, eyeing the body.
“What are you trying to say?” Byron asked, his fists curled.
“It’s quite simple. As you know, someone in this room is a murderer.”
“What?”
“Well, I suppose you’d already know that, Mr. Hillerton, considering you killed your sister quite a few hours ago.”
Panic flew across his features, but Byron quickly replaced it with deliberate confusion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We both heard this man kill Emeri.”
“Yes, I am quite certain that was your intention,” Lloyd mused, folding his arms. “Now, may I ask, Mr.-?”
“M-Morrow.”
“Mr. Morrow, if I may ask, did you try to strangle Miss Hillerton?”
“W-well yes, but I didn’t know-”
“With your hands, I’m assuming.”
“Yes?” he said, obviously bewildered.
Lloyd smiled. “Now, I would ask you, Mr. Hillerton, to look at your sister’s body. The line on her neck clearly indicates that she was strangled with something soft but straight, like a silk rope or perhaps a curtain sash. Definitely not finger marks. In addition to this, you might note that rigor mortis has begun to set in, which means she must have died a while ago. I would guess between 2 and 3 hours, to be exact.”
Byron went very still. “And why would that make me her killer?”
“There were more clues, of course, that led me to the conclusion,” Lloyd continued. “When I was looking for you earlier, I noticed a missing curtain sash in a passenger car. Did you know there’s an extra one in your room?
“But that could very well be housekeeping, I know. That train crew, never paying attention,” he clucked, shaking his head. “Of course, that might mean nothing, if I hadn’t seen my ticket in your pocket when you showed me your girl. Which, by the way, was another mistake. The ‘working girl’ you’ve tried so hard to present was wearing the hat from Fernel airline, not the Coalwood line- they might be the same color, but the latter has an embroidered feather. My ticket, of course, would note both my name and the name of Emeri Hillerton, as buyer, so you would know that your sister had hired me.”
Byron reached into his pocket, yanking out the ticket and tossing it to the floor. “So what? I did know Emeri hired you. That doesn’t mean I killed her.”
“Perhaps not, but it would explain why you moved the body.”
“What?” he breathed, face pale.
“The room is clean, and yet Miss Hillerton’s stiletto is broken,” Lloyd stated, gesturing towards her shoe. “The heel is missing. This means it either broke in the scuffle or broke while she was being moved. Since her ankle shows no sign of bruising, I would guess at the latter; however, I can’t be too certain on this point.”
“You can’t prove that. Besides, why would I kill my sister?”
“Ah yes, the motive. As I previously stated, your picture was staged- rather poorly, I might add. Your sister seemed to imply that your woman was another kind of ‘working girl’- I’d guess a stripper, likely more. Your father wouldn’t have approved, so you planned to fake her identity as a stewardess. Still a bit low for his standards, but much more approachable. However, your sister found out. She was going to tell your father unless you renounced your inheritance.” He slipped his hand in his pocket.
“She told you that?” he asked, surprised.
“Actually, that was a guess of mine,” Lloyd said, waving the signet ring, “but it seems I was correct.”
Byron stood, speechless, his face clouding.
“Oh, perhaps I should mention that you were also seen heading into the sleeper car about the time of her death,” he offered quietly, tightening his grip on the gun. A muscle jumped in Byron’s jaw, and he lunged toward Lloyd.
Morrow whimpered as they scuffled, Byron’s arms flailing as he fought to gain control of the gun. Lloyd brought up his knee, jamming it into Byron’s thigh. The young man cursed, throwing a punch that elicited stars. Lloyd shook his head, feeling Byron’s fingers clasping the gun. He kicked, Byron losing control. The gun fired.
The sound was deafening in the silent room and banging came at the door. Morrow flew to the door. It was open in an instant. Lloyd shoved Byron off, the young man crying and clutching his stomach.
A guard entered, steel baton in hand. He assessed the situation with a glance, looking toward Lloyd and recognizing him from their previous encounter. “I heard most of it. The boy did well, though it was good I sent him back.”
Lloyd panted, leaning into the wall. “I figured you wouldn’t let a bribe go.”
“I’ll handle it from here,” the guard said, yanking up Byron and dragging him out of the room. Morrow followed them, sending nervous looks back as he left Lloyd alone in the room.
“Satisfied?” Lloyd asked, wiping the barrel against his already-stained clothing.
“Well enough,” Emeri said, staring at her body on the floor. “Although it would have been better if you’d done the job before he killed me.”
She stood in her plain dress, the same she had worn ever since she started following him through the train. The investigation had been much easier with her at his side, telling him the information he needed to know about Byron.
“Unfortunately, that happens sometimes,” Lloyd said, bending to collect his ticket. “As a Private Spirit Investigator, clients near death are drawn to me. If I had known beforehand, I’d have tried to stop him. Wasn’t part of the job though.”
Emeri scoffed, but her lips curved upward. “Thank you, despite the outcome. At least my father will understand Byron’s intentions, and I can move on in peace.”
“Do that,” he waved. “Don’t start haunting the place and make me come back here.” Her smile deepened, and she vanished, leaving him alone in the room. “Damn. Should have got that in writing.”
He closed the door, looking the room over again to make sure nothing would be missed. Then he hummed softly to himself, ambling forward and disappearing into the crowd.
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