Last Violent Call (Secret Shanghai, #3.5)(50)
Benedikt looked up suddenly, surprised at the statement. He likely hadn’t noticed, nor made note of the passageway encounter. Since Marshall was the one who had almost collided with her, he nodded easily, confirming the account.
“Did you know the deceased?” Marshall asked, picking up the questioning while Benedikt scribbled.
Yeva shook her head firmly.
“All right. Last question, and I suppose this is especially relevant since you were nearby. Did you see anyone suspicious at the time of the crime?”
For a moment, it seemed Yeva was about to shake her head again. Only then she paused, her brow furrowing in thoughtful contemplation.
“I was in a hurry to get back to my room, so I did not see anything,” she said slowly. “But… around fifteen minutes earlier, I was also walking by to get some food. I heard arguing, and I think it may have been from the deceased’s compartment.”
No one seemed to have seen a guilty perpetrator go into the deceased’s room, but everybody had heard the muffled argument.
“Chances are high,” Marshall said. “Thank you very much for your help, Yeva Mikhailovna.”
Yeva blinked. “You… do not want to know what the argument was about?”
Benedikt’s chair creaked as he sat up straight. “You actually caught what was said?”
“Of course,” Yeva said, appearing bewildered at any alternate possibility. “It was so loud. I didn’t catch much because I thought it inappropriate to linger, but I did hear one command very clearly. He said, ‘Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare put that in me.’?”
In an instant, Marshall met Benedikt’s eyes and knew they were thinking the same thing. Unless Popov was deluded enough to reason with a killer before they stabbed a weapon through his throat, it was likely that this occurred before the crime, and he was speaking about a syringe instead.
“Thank you, Yeva,” Benedikt said. “Could you send the next passenger through on your way out?”
* * *
The sun was setting. Once the rapidly moving skies finished burning red and color seeped down the horizon like liquid from a wrung-out washcloth, another day would have passed upon the Trans-Siberian Express.
Marshall flipped through the encyclopedia in his lap, humming beneath his breath. They had left the overhead light off, still intent on soaking up the last of the sunset. While Marshall made a concentrated effort to browse through the thick tome he had retrieved from the dining carriage’s corner library, his legs stretched out on the bed and his posture curled to put him close to the page, Benedikt was sitting on the floor instead with his sketchpad, leaning his head back on Marshall.
“I don’t suppose drawing has given you a big revelation?” Marshall asked, cutting into the quiet.
“It has, actually,” Benedikt replied in an instant. He shaded the grassy scene on his paper, then paused before adding a tiny cow to his field. “I have realized I need to draw more cows. They are very nice.”
Marshall rolled his eyes, softly thumping Benedikt over the head.
“I meant about the investigation, Ben. We have a ticking time bomb.”
“A time bomb, too? I thought we only had a dead body.”
“You think you’re so funny.”
“You laugh at all my jokes, so whose fault is that?”
Marshall pushed the encyclopedia off his lap, then leaned over and put his hands around Benedikt’s neck, pretending to strangle him. It was no fun, because Vodin would want his report in a few hours, and instead of experiencing joy at being a nuisance, Marshall moved so that his arms wrapped along Benedikt’s shoulders instead, resting his head there as his thoughts raced. He had hoped the encyclopedia would have some sort of scientific method for determining the presence of chemicals in dead bodies. Even though Benedikt said that he hadn’t found an injection site while checking the body again this morning, Yeva’s claim about what she had overheard made it likely that the syringe had been used.
But the only interesting thing the encyclopedia had been able to offer him were facts about clouds. Which was nice, but irrelevant for his specific purposes. Maybe if they already had contact with Lourens, the old scientist would easily be able to offer a method of deduction. Except by the time they were in contact with him, one could only hope they had already solved this murder.
“Hey.” Benedikt reached up to touch Marshall’s arm, his tone turning earnest. “Don’t fret so much. I am supposed to be the nervous one.”
“We cannot both be the nervous one?”
“Absolutely not. That is far too many nerves in one marriage.”
Marshall laughed. He tipped his head so that it was his cheek leaning on Benedikt’s warm shoulder instead, the heat of skin emanating through the white cotton shirt Benedikt had changed into. There had been so many times in their childhood when he had wanted to do this. When his palms had practically stung in his craving for touch while knowing he had to rein back, knowing he couldn’t risk crossing the line. Instead of stealing a kiss, he had gotten by with playful punching. Instead of touching Benedikt’s hair when it shone painfully bright under the morning sun, he had leaped at his best friend, demanding to be carried on his back. Marshall Seo had grown up playing himself off as a joke; it was always easier to pretend that he didn’t really mean something, to shrug a matter off and feign carelessness.