A/N: Back after a long hiatus. A few notes before we get started. The chapter title was stolen from a Miss Marple movie, another Agatha Christie charcter. Imagine that! This chapter, unfortunatly, sometimes takes passages directly from Murder on the Oreint Express. I avoided it as much a possible, but sometimes there was no way around it. Also, this installment in mostly dialogue. Sorry.
Now the answer my new reviews from Schermione!
He died? #$! I can't check until tonight, so I'll take your word for it. It'll be something for me to fix when I come out with "Harry Who: The Regenerated Edition".
I don't know what you're complaining about. I have to wait until October to watch season 2.
I have in fact met people who have never heard of Doug Adams or his books. I feel sorry for them. I must be sad to go through life not knowing what it's all about.
Ratchett's American.
I'd say you should read the book, but that would spoil the surprise.
"Oh and I'm certain you'd be able to update quicker if you stopped reading the back of cereal packets..."
Eh? Anyway, I'm you like the series idea and think the chapters are brilliant. I hope you like this six page dialogue I've churned out.
Harry Who
Chapter 4: Murder, Ahoy!
Part II
Dedicated in memory of Alan Bensinger: 4/1/89 - 3/27/06. One of the best friends I ever had.
"Murder! Who?"
"The man from last night. Ratchett. Now hurry up, Tonks."
Without waiting for Tonks to follow him, Harry continued down the hall.
"Hang on a tick! What're we gonna do," Tonks called after him.
"Investigate," Harry called back.
Tonks finally caught up with Harry in Ratchett's room. Someone had apparently asked who Harry was, because Harry was saying, "My name is Harry and the captain has authorized me to investigate this crime. And you are?"
"Dr. Constantine," answered an elderly Greek man.
"Pleasure to meet you. What is your opinion of all this?"
"It is impossible to say exactly, but he was definitely killed between midnight and two. I'd say around one."
"That would fit. I heard him cry out last night."
Tonks, who had had enough of just standing around, went across the room to the open window and looked out it. There was no evidence that anyone had climbed in or out it.
"When did the icebergs stop us," she asked.
"About 12:30, mademoiselle," replied Pierre, who had just entered the room with the man who had eaten dinner with Ratchett the night before.
"Then the murderer is on the ship with us," Harry concluded. "How was he discovered?
"Monsieur MacQueen," Pierre started, gesturing to the man who had come in with him, "knocked on Monsieur Ratchett's door when he didn't come to breakfast. When he didn't answer, Monsieur MacQueen got me and I unlocked the door. But the door was chained from the inside and I was forced to break it."
"Suicide, maybe," Tonks suggested.
"Have you ever heard of someone committing suicide by stabbing themselves twelve times in the chest," Constantine asked.
"Twelve!"
"Yes, of various strengths. It's odd. Some are weak; mere scratches. Others go straight through bones. And look at this one on his side! It is as if the murderer was aiming for his chest and missed. Like they were in some kind of wild frenzy."
A wave of anger came over Harry. "I could have prevented this," he muttered to himself. "He told me he was in danger, but I wouldn't listen. Well, I was only half right about myself. I don't like to interfere, but will if I have to. I'll make this right. Kent always said everyone gets a shot at redemption, and this is mine."
Then, as suddenly as it had come, the anger was gone.
You may be wondering what the other people in the room thought of Harry's little. Well, I can assure you, they were very confused.
"Are you all right," Dr. Constantine asked.
"I'm fine. I'm fine. I've been through a great deal of trauma lately and I'm still recovering. Is there anything else you can tell me?"
"The weaker cuts make me think a woman was the assailant, but the stronger ones are more consistent with a man."
"Don't be so sure. I once knew a woman who could take a head off with a butter knife if she wanted to," Harry mused. "Had her head taken off in the end. Now, I would like to speak with you, Mr. MacQueen. In private if you will. In the mean time, Tonks, look for clues."
Harry led MacQueen to his and Tonks' (Is that proper English? Probably not.) room. He sat down and motioned for MacQueen to do the same.
"Mr. MacQueen, I'd like to ask a few questions."
"Before you start, I have a question. Who are you?"
"My name, I'm representing the HMS Orient in this investigation."
"Harry who?"
"If you like. My turn. I need to know everything you know about Ratchett. Were you related to him?"
"No, I was his secretary."
"For how long?"
"About a year. I met him in Iraq. We were staying at the same hotel. He fired his secretary and offered me the job. Since then we've traveled around. He wanted to see the world, but speak any languages. I was more of his translator than his secretary."
"You're a linguist, then?"
"Yes."
"Very good. Now tell me more about Ratchett. What was his full name?"
"Samuel Edward Ratchett."
"He was an American?"
"Yes."
"What part of part of America was he from?"'
"I don't know."
"Well, what do you know?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing!"
"Nothing. He never talked about his past."
"And why do think that was?"
"It's possible he was ashamed of his beginnings. Like Gatsby."
"And you honestly believe that," Harry asked, disbelievingly.
"No."
"Then what do you believe?"
"I believe he was running away from someone who had a vendetta against him. And succeeded until a few weeks ago."
"A few weeks ago? He was only killed last night."
"Yes, but a few weeks ago he started getting threatening letters."
"Do you have them with you?"
"They're in my room. Would you like me to get them?"
"Yes."
MacQueen left, giving Harry a moment to gather his thoughts. MacQueen seemed honest enough. But so had Tom Riddle's diary. And Quirrel. And Scabbers. And Professor Moody. And Fudge. In other words, Harry was going to be suspicious of everybody.
MacQueen returned and handed Harry two pieces of paper. The first read:
Thought you double-cross us and get away with it, did you? Not on your life! We're out to GET you, Ratchett, and we WILL get you!
The Second read:
We're going to take you for a ride, Ratchett. Some time soon. We're going to GET you- see?
Both were typed and neither (obviously) were signed.
"Tell me honestly," Harry asked, "what did you think of Ratchett? Were you on good terms with him? Did you like him?"
"We were on good terms, but I didn't like him. He was always pleasant enough, bit there was always something about him that made me uneasy."
"One more question. What is your full name?"
"Hector Willard MacQueen."
"Thank you. You can go now, but I'd like you to keep this quite for now."
"I'll have to tell his valet."
"Very well."
"Find anything interesting," asked Harry, upon returning to Ratchett's room.
"Quite a bit," Tonks replied. "We found a woman's handkerchief."
She handed said Harry handkerchief, who scrutinized it closely.
"It's embroidered with the letter 'H'," he noted. "It shouldn't be too hard to find out who this belongs to."
"We also found the butt of a cigar."
"And," Dr. Constantine added, "his tongue is that of a non-smoker."
"Hell, what's this," exclaimed Harry, who seemed to not have heard the doctor. He went over to Ratchett's bed and examined the cadavers arm. "His wrist watch. Smashed at a quarter past one. Perhaps he put up a struggle."
"Doubtful," retorted Constantine. "Two cuts went through veins, but didn't bleed like they should have. He was dead or drugged when they were made."
"Plus we found this," said Tonks, showing Harry Ratchett's gun, "under his pillow."
"I forgot about that. Anything else?"
"Most of the cuts," the doctor answered, "were made by a right-handed person. But one or two were made by a left-handed person."
"Two killers? Or one who is-"
Harry was interrupted by a cry of "Eureka!", a loud thump and a cry of "BOLLOCKS!" Apparently the hopelessly clumsy Tonks had gotten on her hands and knees in hopes of finding something important. Once under the bed, she found something that sparked her interest, and, in her excitement, hit her head on the bed frame.
"You OK," Harry asked.
"Yeah. Look at this."
She handed Harry a piece of paper. Someone had tried to burn it, but he could still read a few letters.
"irce Warb? What's an irce Warb?"
Not irce Warb. Circe Warbeck! A kidnaping case in America."
"I don't remember it."
"I do," said Constantine darkly. "It was horrible."
"What happened?"
"It was back when you we're a second-year," Tonks answered. "I'm not surprised you don't remember it. Ooh, it was horrible! It still makes my blood boil! Little was taken from her home, and the kidnappers demand a ridiculously high ransom. Her family got the money together, but never saw Circe again.
"Six months later, a man called Cassetti was arrested for her murder, but money changed hands and he got off a disappeared.
"But that's not the worst of it. Circe's father, A war hero (he fought along side Moody) killed himself. The shock caused her pregnant mother to go into early labor. Both mother and baby died."
"There was another, wasn't there," asked the Doctor.
"Yes. The police got into their heads that the Warbeck's maid was involved. When they refused to believe her denials, she threw herself out a window and died. When Cassetti went to trial, she was proved innocent. If Ratchett was Cassetti, the he caused the deaths of five people. Five!"
An uneasy silence fell over the group, which was only broken by Pierre entering the room.
"Monsieur Harry, the information you requested," he said, handing Gary a stack of passports and a sheet of paper telling the destinations of all the passenger in the Bergen coach..
"Thank you."
"The captain says his room is open to you now and that I am to do everything you require."
"Well, doctor, if you want to join us, I'd be grateful for you insight.
And the for left Ratchett's room to find the killer's killer.
TO BE CONTINUED...
A/N: Review please!