The Victim in Victoria Station Read Online Free

way, after making sure that she had indeed made herself some breakfast.
    â€œAre you quite sure you’ll not feel nervous alone?”
    â€œQuite sure. I’m rested, and it’s daylight, and I’d feel really guilty if I took up the time of a hardworking policewoman when you’re so understaffed. Off you go!”
    â€œDaylight” was something of a euphemism. It was one of the darkest summer days I’d ever known. True to my tibia’s forecast, the rain was coming down in torrents, and the sky was dark bluegray. I would actually have liked to have a bite to eat and then go back to bed, but I was stern with myself. Old ladies do that sort of thing. Active middle-aged women face the day with alacrity.
    You’ve got to be kidding
, said an inner voice.
    Well, if alacrity wasn’t in the cards, I’d try to muster something more positive than sleepy gloom, anyway. I made fresh coffee, very strong, and after a couple of cups had pumped some life into my system, I sat down with the papers. Half an hour later there was enough adrenaline in my system to make the caffeine redundant.
    There was no mention of my dead man in either paper.
    I hadn’t expected headlines, but surely a dead American, found in rather unusual circumstances, was worth a small paragraph! I felt insulted, personally and patriotically. Okay, London is a big city, and people die there every day, but not foreigners, not in a train, not of a heart attack at age thirty or so. How could they just ignore it?
    Would CONNEX, the railway company, be any help? It seemed unlikely. Since the demise of British Rail and the privatization of what used to be England’s admirable rail system, I’ve almost never found any railway official to be of the slightest help about anything. It was, however, worth a try.
    Several phone calls later, my opinion of the railway bureaucracy was left unchanged. Nobody knew of a dead man in any train that had called at Victoria Station. Nobody thought it at all likely that such a thing had occurred. Nobody considered that anyone, much less an American, would have the temerity to die in any train operated by CONNEX. Thank you, madam.
    Very well. I hadn’t wanted to bother the police. It was, in any case, highly unlikely that the Metropolitan Police would release to me the name of the young man. However, there was no point in being married to a very important, if retired, policeman if one didn’t use the connection now and again.
    I picked the phone back up and put in a call to Detective Chief Inspector Morrison, the most senior police officer I knew. He called back in five minutes.
    â€œThis is a pleasure, Mrs. Martin. Not found another body for us, have you?”
    The Inspector and I had first met over a body in the town hall.
    â€œNot really,” I said with a rueful laugh. “This time it’s more a case of my wanting you to find one for me.”
    â€œYes? An unusual taste, if you’ll forgive my saying so. But to each her own.”
    â€œMaybe I phrased that badly. Let me explain.”
    I did so, detailing the circumstances, the day and time the train got to Victoria, and a description of the dead man for good measure.
    â€œI do understand that it’s really none of my concern, but I’d feel a lot better if I knew who the man was and how he died. I keep thinking there ought to have been something I could do. I know you’re busy, but I didn’t think Scotland Yard would listen to me.”
    â€œYou might be surprised,” he replied, rather cryptically, I thought. “But I can speed things up. I’ve rather a lot on my plate, as usual, but I’ll make a few inquiries and report back.”
    I puttered around the kitchen, cleaning up bits of glass that the police had missed. I should call someone to replace the window in the back door. The piece of wood that covered the gaping hole was not only unsightly, it darkened both the kitchen and