Murder on the Orient Espresso(58)

‘Not necessary,’ Harvey said, waving me to sit back down.

I ignored him, poured the water and handed it to him.

‘His name really is Harvey,’ I told Pavlik. ‘He’s just playing the part of Christie’s “Hardman.”’

Harvey accepted the glass, but set it down immediately. He glanced back toward the closed connecting door to make sure we couldn’t be heard, then leaned in anyway. ‘You do know the Hardman character is just a blind. I’m a private detective.’

‘And you do know,’ Pavlik said, ‘that you’re only a fictional character, right?’

Harvey sat back like Pavlik had punched him, a look of astonishment on his face. ‘But this is just part of the show, right? The whole crazy man-eating snake story?’

‘Take my word for it, Harvey,’ I said. ‘The python was real, Potter is dead and neither incident was in the script.’

Harvey cocked his head. ‘Listen, you don’t have to worry about me. I’m not part of this group – just an actor. I’ve been playing these kinds of parts for years, and—’

‘For the last time,’ Pavlik said, honing an edge in his voice that made me fear for all mankind. ‘This is not a show. A man has been stabbed to death, more than half devoured by a snake the length of a fishing pier, and this train is stranded in the Everglades with no current means of communicating to the outside world.’

‘Oh.’ Harvey seemed to deflate beneath his flashy sports jacket. ‘Well, that’s not good.’

‘No, it’s not,’ said Pavlik. ‘Your real name, please, as well as your profession and address?’

Harvey wiped his forehead on a cocktail napkin and scribbled his answers on another.

‘Thank you,’ Pavlik said, after reviewing the details. ‘How many of the people on this train did you know prior to boarding?’

‘Know personally, you mean?’

‘Personally, or via telephone, telegraph, carrier pigeon, email, Facebook, Twitter.’ Pavlik was getting wound up. ‘I really don’t give a shit, Harvey. Just tell me if you know any of these people.’

‘And therefore have a motive, huh?’ Harvey leaned back. ‘Well, let’s see. Zoe Scarlett. And Missy Hudson, of course, was the one who invited me.’

‘Who else?’ asked Pavlik.

‘Well … no one,’ Harvey said, trying to smooth down the independent-minded lapels of his God-awful sports jacket. ‘I mean, not really.’

Even I could see that Harvey was prevaricating.

‘How about Potter, Harvey?’ the sheriff asked.

‘What about Potter?’

Pavlik’s eyes darkened. ‘Cut the crap. Did you know anything about Laurence Potter before you boarded the train?’

‘Well, well,’ Harvey said. ‘If you put it like that, of course I’d heard of Potter. What writer hasn’t?’

‘Then you’re a writer as well?’ I asked.

‘As well as what?’

‘As well as an actor.’

‘Oh, yes.’ Harvey dipped his head. ‘I’ve tried my hand at the occasional screenplay or two, here and there.’

‘And that’s how you knew Potter?’

I could tell that Pavlik wasn’t going to let go of his bone.

‘I didn’t say I knew him personally. A friend offered to show him one of my screenplays, but I ultimately decided against it.’

‘Why?’

‘A different friend warned me off. Said Potter had a reputation for …’

Pavlik growled, ‘Giving unkind reviews?’

‘Well, yes, that too, but my second friend was talking more about Potter stealing other people’s ideas.’

‘Like whose?’ I asked.

‘Rosemary Darlington, for one,’ Harvey said. ‘Word has it he was mentoring her a few years ago – professionally and personally, if you get my drift.’

I didn’t bother to correct him. I was too busy thinking about Rosemary’s slightly drunken suggestion that Danny was dogging Potter because the young man suspected the uber-reviewer had stolen his manuscript. Not to mention that I’d seen Danny whispering with Harvey on the bus.

‘And that kid, Danny,’ Harvey continued, like he’d read my mind. ‘He’s been pumping me for information on Pott—’

Two doors slid open in rapid succession and then Missy was standing there. ‘I think you’d better come. And quick.’

‘Why?’ Pavlik and I answered in duet.

‘Well, Audra has a gun and, oh, dear, she’s going to shoot Boyce.’





TWENTY-FIVE





‘I want to see my husband.’ Audra Edmonds was, indeed, pointing some kind of pistol at Boyce, not three feet in front of her, Danny the Sycophant just to her side.