Night Train to Memphis - Elizabeth Peters [37]
I shifted uncomfortably and then tore the list into a heap of unreadable scraps.
John’s confederate couldn’t be anyone I knew, so it must be someone I didn’t know. (Brilliant deduction, Vicky.) I turned my attention to the passenger list.
I could now attach faces and personalities to most of the names. There were only thirty names in all – twenty-nine, now that Jen had left. I started to cross her name out and then stopped myself. She might not be on the boat, but she was not out of the picture. Difficult as it was to imagine her as a criminal mastermind, I couldn’t dismiss the odd coincidence that had left her on the loose in Cairo.
After considerable thought I eliminated sixteen people. I wasn’t credulous or prejudiced enough to think that old age put a person above, or below, suspicion, but a minimal degree of physical agility is one necessary qualification for a master thief – at least I’d have insisted on it if I had been hiring one – and a round dozen of the passengers had to be in their seventies or older. I also eliminated Louisa. Her name was a permanent fixture on the best-seller lists, so she didn’t have to turn to crime to make a living, and she was unquestionably the real Louisa Ferncliffe. The picture that adorned all her book jackets had been retouched but it was recognizable.
Sweet and Bright were two of the good guys. So who was left? Blenkiron was too rich and too famous to be a suspect, but I hadn’t eliminated his bodyguard or his secretary. I’d have to find out how long they had been in his employ. That. was the sort of set-up John specialized in, forging impressive credentials to gain access to a person or a place. Suzi? She was a little too good to be true. I was unacquainted with the social elite of Memphis, Tennessee; she could be a ringer. The unsociable German was another possibility. Somehow I’d have to get to know him better.
Mary and John made twenty-one. That left eight people I hadn’t spoken with except to exchange names and casual good-mornings. I was inclined to eliminate them too; they were all members of an amateur archaeology organization from Dallas, and they were travelling together. They were also rich and not exactly spring chickens.
How about the staff? Alice and Perry were who they claimed to be. They knew one another and they were known to others, including Blenkiron. Could either be corrupted? In theory, yes. In theory Feisal was also corruptible. Or he could be in league with one of the fundamentalist groups who wanted to rid Egypt of foreign influence. Promoting a scheme that would arouse public indignation, riot, and insurrection was the sort of thing fanatics might do.
I seemed to be long on hypothetical motives and very, very short on actual clues, and all too well supplied with possible suspects. John’s ally (or allies) might be one of the housekeeping staff or one of the crew. There was no way I could question them.
The hell with it. I got dressed and went up to the lounge to hear the lecture on birds. It would be a pleasure to hear about pretty, harmless things like birds. Bugs, that was what birds ate. Nothing wrong with killing bugs.
I had forgotten about owls. They eat a lot of things, including cute little mice and an occasional unwary kitten. There was an unexpected bonus, though; the lecturer turned out to be the unsociable German gent and he certainly knew a lot about birds. If he wasn’t a genuine enthusiast, he gave a good imitation of one; he talked about the creatures the way another man might talk about his mistress. Long slim legs were mentioned, and delicate flushes of pink. Some birds, he was sorry to report, were rather secretive in their habits. He’d even brought a collection of slides, all two hundred of which he showed us. Oh, well, maybe it wasn’t two hundred. It seemed like more.
A passion for birding would account for his presence on board. However, it did occur to me that it’s easier to bone up on Egyptian ornithology than Egyptology