Everyone on This Train Is a Suspect

Majors crossed the room, tears in her eyes, and hugged Lisa.

Hatch cleared his throat. “Does it usually take this long?”

All the crime writers in the room said simultaneously: “Yes.”

“I have to go through everyone’s motives and alibis publicly,” I said. “It’s basically a requirement of the genre.” I lowered my voice in a conspiratorial whisper. “And my literary agent is here, and given all she’s done—behind the scenes, so to speak—to bring this book to life, I think she’ll want a proper ending. She’ll want me to really milk it.”

Simone squirmed in her seat. I enjoyed that too much to elaborate just yet, so I turned instead to S. F. Majors.

“One thing Royce had right was your motive. That same night in Edinburgh, you told McTavish your idea for a novel. A year later, his new book Off the Rails was published and it had the exact same plot. And that boiled in you. Because not only was it your idea, it was your story. Wasn’t it?”

Majors was chewing her lip. She shot a glance at someone else. I’ll get to who in a moment.

“You attended a regional primary school, didn’t you? It’s in your bio. You used to reread the only three books in your school library, which speaks of a very small school to me. You know Alice Springs—you recommended the best bakery to get a vanilla slice. You grew up around here.”

Majors nodded.

“That school bus that was hit by the Ghan, I am guessing that was from your school. I don’t think you survived the crash though—no one could have. I think you missed it entirely.”

“I was sick,” Majors said. “Any other day my parents would have bundled me up with tissues and painkillers and sent me off, but I never liked sports on Wednesdays, and so I hammed it up. I could’ve gone.” Her voice quivered, and I felt a wave of empathy: the why me I’d struggled with so much myself. “The girl . . . in my story, if that’s where you’re going with this . . . her name was Anna. She was my best friend. If you care to know.”

I knew it was like pushing a rotten tooth with your tongue to her, so I turned my attention to Douglas. “Let’s talk about how the two of you met. Your partner, Noah, was a teacher at the school, and he died that day in the crash. You told me that the driver of the bus, Troy Firth, had been inappropriate with a student. Anna, as we’ve just learned. Noah had convinced Anna to come forward. To stop that from happening, Troy parked on the tracks and locked all the doors.”

“He killed five people,” Douglas said. “Four kids.”

“The accident makes local news, it’s a tragedy, but nothing more. Normally such a story would fade into the past, but not here. Because a version of the story gets retold and lives on in one of the most popular crime novelists in the world’s third book. But Off the Rails is not just a retelling of the accident, it’s the real story—someone staging a murder as a rail accident—a story which only a few people knew. A victim’s best friend”—I nodded to Majors—“and her teacher’s partner. But there’s one crucial difference: in the book, the murderer gets away. If you believe it is a

true story, you might believe something crazy. You might believe that Off the Rails has a hidden meaning: that Troy Firth is still alive.”

All the women in the room sized up the men: Wolfgang, Royce, Jasper, Douglas. Even Aaron didn’t escape the scrutiny.

“That’s where you come in, Douglas. You brought a gun on this train.” This drew a murmur. “Don’t worry, Hatch. The gun’s in a trash can at Alice Springs. Douglas, you asked me a question about revenge during our first panel. You wanted to know what it felt like to take a life. You set foot on this train ready to kill someone.”

“I’m not—”

“I know you’re not Troy Firth. But you were looking for him.”

I let that sink in.

Simone gasped. “Troy Firth is Henry McTavish. His injury.”

“Sorry to be the editor,” Wolfgang said. “But is that plausible? Majors knows the man who molested and murdered her best friend is walking around still alive, and she doesn’t turn him in to the cops?”

“It’s not plausible at all,” I agreed. “The timing’s out, for one thing. That could be a plot point straight out of any one of our books, but it’s not real life. The problem is: it’s exactly what Douglas believed. He thought Off the Rails was the true story of how Henry McTavish got away with multiple murders. He convinced himself McTavish was Firth, and that Off the Rails was a confession. Because there was just enough truth in the book to make it seem convincing, after all. But it was truth that McTavish stole, not knowing the consequences, from Majors’s story.”