Murder On The Highland Sleeper

He turned sharply. “I’m sorry, madam. Please return to your compartment.”

“Who is Mr Bell?”

The attendant looked at the door. “A passenger.”

“That much I gathered.”

Another door opened behind her. A woman in a blue dressing gown peered out, her face pinched with irritation.

“What’s happening?” she demanded.

“Nothing,” said the attendant.

The handle of compartment twelve moved again under his hand. It did not turn.

Mairi crossed the corridor. “You’ve knocked?”

“Yes.”

“And called?”

“Yes.”

“Then use your key.”

His eyes flicked to hers. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because the bolt is across.”

The train swung hard to the left. The attendant’s shoulder struck the door, and a dull thud came from inside the compartment.

The woman in the dressing gown drew a breath. “Was that him?”

Mairi felt the unease she had carried since boarding at Inverness sharpen into something colder. She had spent the evening among strangers who watched one another without seeming to. The broad-shouldered man in the dining car who had kept his gloves on while eating. The red-haired woman who had changed seats twice. The older gentleman now locked behind this door, if he was still alive.

“Get the conductor,” Mairi said.

The attendant swallowed. “He’s in the rear carriage.”

“Then fetch him.”

“I can’t leave this corridor.”

“You can, and you will.”

He stared at her.

Mairi took the key ring from his hand.

His fingers closed around it for a moment before letting go. “If Mr Bell has barred himself in - ”

“Then we’ll find out why.”

She bent towards the keyhole. The brass plate was cold beneath her fingertips. No key was visible on the other side. The door sat flush in its frame, its latch concealed, its small upper window covered by a blind.

“Is there another entrance?” she asked.

“No.”

“A connecting door?”

“Not in this carriage.”

“Emergency access?”

The attendant’s face tightened. “Madam, I’m not authorised to - ”

“Your passenger may be unconscious.”

The woman behind them made a small, frightened sound. “Shouldn’t we stop the train?”

Mairi turned. “What is your name?”

“Mrs Vale.”

“Mrs Vale, return to your compartment and lock the door.”

That frightened her more than the noise had. “Lock it?”

“Please.”

The woman retreated, but she did not close the door.

The attendant leaned close to Mairi. “Who are you?”

“Mairi Fraser.”

“That tells me nothing.”

“It tells you enough if you’ve heard the name.”

He had. His expression changed, not to relief but to calculation.

“You’re police?”

“Detective inspector.”

“Off duty.”

“Not anymore.”

She examined the hinges. They were on the corridor side, three heavy screws in each plate. The frame showed no damage. The door had not been forced. She crouched and looked beneath it. A thin strip of darkness lay between the door and the carpet. No light. No movement.

“Mr Bell,” she called. “Can you hear me?”

The wheels hammered over a joint in the rails.

Nothing answered.

Mairi took the torch from her pocket and angled its beam along the threshold. The light caught a smear of something dark near the inner edge. It might have been oil from the fittings. It might have been blood.

The attendant saw it too. “Oh God.”

“Find the conductor.”

“I said - ”

“Go.”

This time he went. He moved quickly, one hand sliding along the wall as the train bucked beneath him.

Mairi stood alone outside compartment twelve, with the woman in the blue dressing gown watching from behind her open door. The corridor lights had been dimmed for the night, and every few seconds the carriage passed a line of trackside lamps, throwing pale bars across the ceiling.

Mairi tested the handle. It held firm.

“Mrs Vale,” she said without turning, “is there anyone else in the carriage?”

“I don’t know.”

“Who was in the dining car?”

“I wasn’t in the dining car.”

“Did you see Mr Bell tonight?”

A pause. “He was in the lounge.”

“Alone?”

“I think so.”

The answer had been too quick. Mairi looked over her shoulder. Mrs Vale’s hand gripped the edge of her door.

“What did he look like?”

“Older. Grey hair. He had a leather case.”

“Did he speak to anyone?”

“I don’t know.”

“Mrs Vale.”

The woman’s eyes moved towards compartment twelve. “He argued with a man.”

“What man?”

“I couldn’t say.”

“You could.”

“I didn’t hear the words.”

“But you saw him.”

Mrs Vale closed her robe at the throat. “It was dark.”

The train entered a tunnel. The windows became black mirrors, reflecting the corridor, the open doors, and Mairi’s own pale face. For several seconds the only light came from the ceiling lamps.

Then something struck the other side of compartment twelve.

A single, heavy knock.

Mrs Vale cried out.

Mairi pressed her ear to the door. The wood vibrated faintly against her cheek. She heard no breathing, no footsteps, no movement at all.

The attendant returned with a broad man in a railway uniform. The conductor’s cheeks were flushed from hurrying.

“What’s the situation?” he asked.

“Passenger unresponsive,” said Mairi. “Door bolted from inside.”

The conductor looked at her uniformless clothes, then at the attendant. “You know her?”

“She’s a detective inspector.”

“Off duty,” Mairi said. “But that may not remain relevant.”

The conductor took out his master key. “Stand back.”

He inserted it and turned. The lock clicked, but the handle would not move.

“Bolt,” he said.

“Can you open it?”

“Not without breaking the door.”

“Do it.”

He hesitated. “We’re running through open country. If he’s merely asleep - ”

“He has not answered, and there is blood beneath the door.”

The conductor’s face hardened. He thrust the key back into his pocket and called to the attendant. “Bring the emergency bar from the service cupboard.”

The attendant ran.

Mairi studied the compartment door while they waited. The bolt had been drawn from within, but the darkness beneath the threshold suggested the floor inside was lower than the corridor by no more than an inch. There was no gap wide enough for a hand. No visible wire. No trick she could identify in the uncertain light.

The conductor shifted beside her. “What are you looking for?”

“A way in.”

“That’s plain enough.”

“And a way out.”

He frowned.

“If someone killed him, they had to leave.”

“There’s no way out.”

“Then we’ll establish that properly.”

The attendant returned carrying a short steel bar. The conductor wedged it between the door and the frame. The carriage swayed, making the metal scrape and groan.

“Clear the corridor,” Mairi ordered.

Mrs Vale disappeared into her compartment. Two other doors opened farther down, revealing sleepy faces and frightened eyes.

“Close them,” Mairi said. “Stay inside.”

The conductor braced his boots. “On three.”

The first blow jolted the carriage.

The second split the wood around the lock.

On the third, the door burst inward with a crack like a rifle shot.

The conductor stumbled through. Mairi followed, torch raised.

Compartment twelve was small and unnaturally neat. A reading lamp burned beside the berth, though the curtains were drawn. A leather case lay open on the floor. Papers had spilled from it but had not been scattered; they rested in a precise fan across the carpet.

Mr Bell sat in the corner beneath the window.

His head had fallen forward. One hand hung beside his knee, the fingers curled as though they had been gripping something. A dark stain spread across the front of his white shirt, disappearing beneath his waistcoat.

Mairi stopped just inside the doorway.

The conductor whispered, “Is he -?”

“Don’t touch him.”

She moved closer, careful to avoid the papers. The train rocked beneath her, and Mr Bell’s body shifted slightly with it. His skin had the grey, waxen cast of death. Mairi placed two fingers against the side of his neck.

No pulse.

She checked the wrist. Nothing.

The conductor made the sign of the cross.

Mairi looked at the wound. It was narrow and deep, just below the ribs. No weapon lay on the carpet. The blood had dried at the edges, though the centre of the stain remained dark.

“When did you last see him alive?” she asked.

The conductor stared at the body. “At ten thirty. I checked the tickets.”

“Was the door locked then?”

“No. He opened it for me.”

“Who has keys to this compartment?”

“The attendant. Me. The railway office at Inverness.”

“Could anyone enter from the next compartment?”

“No.”

Mairi turned towards the broken door. The bolt hung crookedly from the inside edge, still extended into the damaged frame.

She crouched. The bolt had been forced back only when the door gave way. Before that, it had been fully engaged.

“Look at this,” she said.

The conductor leaned down.

“There’s no chain,” he said.

“Would there need to be?”

“If the door was bolted, yes. The key wouldn’t matter.”

“Unless someone had another way to draw it.”

He looked at her. “From outside?”

Mairi did not answer. She scanned the compartment again. The window was latched. The curtains were secured. The berth above was empty. A washbasin occupied one corner, its tap trembling with the motion of the train.

On the small table lay a silver pocket watch. Its hands had stopped at 11:17.

The same time as the clock in the corridor.

Mairi reached towards it, then stopped herself.

“Seal the carriage,” she said.

The conductor’s face tightened. “We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“The next station is Corrour.”

“When?”

“Not until after one.”

“Then stop before it.”

“There’s nowhere to stop.”

“Signal the driver.”

“We’re on a scheduled run through the Highlands. There’s a storm coming in, single track ahead, and no platform for miles. If we halt out here, we may block the line.”

“A man has been murdered.”

“I understand that.”

“Do you?”

His jaw worked. “The train cannot stop before Corrour.”

Behind them, a door opened. The attendant stood in the corridor, white-faced.

“Sir,” he said, “the passengers are asking what happened.”

Mairi rose. “Tell them nothing.”

The conductor looked from her to the dead man. “Inspector, until we reach the station, this carriage is under your authority?”

“No,” Mairi said. “It’s under the authority of whoever killed him.”

The words settled in the compartment with the weight of the train’s endless motion.

She stepped back into the corridor and looked along its length. Closed doors. Drawn curtains. Faces hidden behind thin walls. The sleeper carriage ran through the darkness like a sealed box, carrying the dead man and every possible witness towards a station still hours away.

“Lock every door,” she said. “No one leaves their compartment without my permission.”

The conductor began issuing orders. The attendant moved from door to door, his keys shaking as he worked.

Mairi returned to compartment twelve. She looked once more at the bolt, the untouched window, and the blood on Mr Bell’s shirt.

The train plunged deeper into the Highlands, and the broken door swung gently on its hinges, unable to close.

End of chapter one. 6 more chapters and about 14,791 words in the full book.