"Countryside," my friend says in his most abstracted voice, breaking the silence between us, "miles of no-man's land, separate houses and gardens, wild rivers and thick forests, perfect choice to commit, let along hide a crime."
After this announcement, he suddenly turns around and stares at me as if noticing me showing up there for the first time in our two-and-a-half-hour train trip to Matlock, just in time to capture my disapproval face.
"The same mistake, John," he goes on in a more matter-of-fact tone, "pure and peaceful countryside is one of those preconceived ideas rooted in common minds like yours. Any more rational deduction would leads to an opposite conclusion."
I hide my face behind newspaper, refusing to take part in his conversation. In a second I wish this detective would receive my posture and at least stop before changing his subject to my blog, unluckily he's too self-centered to notice that, or to care.
"You should see how your blogs are based on those stupid preconceptions and full of unnecessary questions and wrong emphasis, turning my cases into random novels."
I put down the newspapers, "Don't read them then." Although slightly silvering with hurt, I'm glad to find my voice stable, a little louder maybe, and surprisingly see a smile played on his face.
"What?" I inquire, uncomfortable.
"I finally make you talk, my good doctor."
For a moment I stare at him speechlessly. Then I faintly point out that a simple apology would work just as well.
He hides his smile. "Hmmm… no. a. apologizing is not quite my area. B, it's not honest. So what do you think?"
I think I appreciate the train is arriving at our destination, saving my labor to punch back.