Murder on the Orient Espresso(56)

‘So you looked at the time and it was nearly nine, you said. What time exactly?’

‘Eight fifty-five, maybe?’

‘What did you do then?’ Pavlik asked.

‘It suddenly hit me that perhaps the sound system could only be heard in the dining car and, for all I knew, the program had begun and they were looking for me.’

‘Not true, though.’

‘Correct. As I went forward to check, I heard Zoe greet the gathering.’

‘Did you see Laurence Potter?’ I asked from behind the phone/camera.

‘Come to think of it, we did cross paths in the dining car. He was going toward the back of the train as I was moving to the front.’

‘Did you pass him before the cake?’ I asked.

Finally, a roll of the eyes from Pavlik. Unfortunately directed at me.

Markus looked confused. ‘Are you asking if I saw Larry before I went past the table with the cake on it?’

I glanced at Pavlik. When there was no response, I nodded at Markus.

‘We were coming from opposite directions,’ the librarian said, ‘but as I recall we crossed paths about halfway through the dining car.’

‘So you’d already passed the cake, but he hadn’t reached it yet,’ I summarized.

‘Correct.’

‘Did you notice the cake as you went by?’ Pavlik followed up.

‘I did.’

My turn. ‘Was the knife still in it?’

This time I got a glare before Pavlik turned to Markus. ‘Can you describe the cake?’

It was only then I remembered that Pavlik had been seated on the banquette at the front of the dining car for most of our ride. Except for going to the club car – the opposite direction – to get my second espresso martini, he hadn’t left the table and therefore hadn’t seen the cake before it was hacked apart. Nor the knife, until we discovered it in Potter’s body.

‘Umm,’ Markus glanced nervously at me and then back at Pavlik before answering. ‘I don’t know … shaped like a sleeping man? Blanket pulled up to the neck. Covered with icing, of course.’

‘Of course.’ This time Pavlik seemed to purposely not look my way. ‘And did you see the knife?’

‘Sure. Stuck in his chest.’

Pavlik did a double-take. ‘You saw the knife in Potter’s chest?’

Markus’s eyes grew wide. ‘Oh, no. No, no. It was in the cake’s – I mean the “man” depicted in the cake’s – chest.’ He looked back and forth between us. ‘You saw it, right?’

I turned to Pavlik. ‘The cake knife was stuck in the frosted body’s chest.’

‘Explains the white goo,’ Pavlik said to himself. ‘Any idea where Potter was headed when he passed you?’

Markus shook his head. ‘Since the bar was the other way, I assumed he was going to the bathroom or to see someone in the passenger car. Tell you the truth, I didn’t even realize the sleeping car was there.’

‘You’ve told us you knew you were to speak next. Did you also know Potter was about to be introduced?’

‘Are you asking why I didn’t stop him?’ Markus asked. ‘Believe me, Potter did pretty much whatever he wanted and no one had the nerve to mess with him. Or they’d pay.’

Pavlik’s eyes rose. ‘First-hand experience?’

‘Me?’

‘You’re a writer, aren’t you?’

‘Markus writes—’ I started, and slapped my mouth shut. ‘Sorry. Go ahead.’

‘I write non-fiction,’ Markus supplied. ‘Books on classics, mystery compendiums, readers’ guides, like that.’

‘So you’ve never had the pleasure of being reviewed by Potter?’

‘No. Well, yes. Once.’ Markus looked miserable. ‘Maybe.’

‘Maybe?’

‘Umm, well, he did review a … well, sort of an encyclopedia I did of crime writers.’

‘Sounds impressive,’ Pavlik said. ‘Did Potter like it?’

‘Not exactly,’ Markus directed the words toward his clasped hands on the table.

‘Excuse me?’

‘I said,’ the man looked up, ‘that while he praised the “effort,” Potter found a bit of fault with it. Not at all unusual in a work of this length.’

‘How long was it?’

‘Three volumes.’

‘And how many errors did Potter find?’

‘One …’ Markus, just murmuring, stammered anyway. ‘One hundred and forty-eight.’

I remembered the interchange between the two men on the bus. I’d known something wasn’t quite right there. Potter had seemed to take great pleasure spreading salt into that wound.