4:50 to Pakenham

The woman walked down the length of the platform until she reached the middle door of the first train carriage. She boarded the train and took a seat in the empty compartment. A minute later, the doors slid shut and the train departed Flinders Street Station.  The train reached the next station in four minutes. A commuter opened the door of the carriage and saw the woman slumped over in her chair, her white jacket stained red with blood. The woman was dead.

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“The victim’s name was Elizabeth Arbour, a 23 year old nursing student,” said Northrop as he consulted his notebook, “She worked part-time as a dispensing technician in a pharmacy in Armadale. She was taking the train to her evening shift when she was attacked.” Sherlock nodded with comprehension. The pair crossed the main concourse of Flinders Street Station, and made their way to the stationmaster’s office. Peak hour had now passed and the crowds had subsided considerably.

“I’d always wanted to be a train driver as a child,” reminisced Northrop as he knocked on the office door.

“But a life in law enforcement proved more alluring perhaps,” suggested Sherlock with a smile.

 The door opened, and the pair were greeted by a stern, military-looking man.

“Ah yes, the police. Roger Caulfield – stationmaster,” said the man authoritatively, “and this is Bernard Finn – the driver of the train where the incident occurred.” A small, haggard man gave a polite nod. “Please, take a seat.”

“Well, CCTV footage confirms it,” said the stationmaster, “The train came into the station at 4:45pm. The on-board passengers alighted. Only a handful of people boarded the train from 4:45 to 4:50. The victim was the last person to board, and the only person seen entering the first carriage. The train departed at 4:50pm exactly.”

“Do you usually have so few passengers on this train?” asked Northrop.

“It’s one of those in-between times; the after-school rush is over and the after-work rush has not yet started. It’s usually rather quiet. There tends to be more passengers boarding at Richmond.”

“Anything seem out of the ordinary?” asked Sherlock.

“Not at all,” said the stationmaster, “You notice anything, Bernard?”

“Well, no,” said the driver, “This is my usual route and it was just like any other.”

“Did you see the victim board the train?” asked Sherlock.

“I think I might have seen the girl – I noticed her white pharmacist jacket as she was walking up the platform. I have a side mirror where I can see the platform and make sure everybody’s got on the train. I can’t say I noticed anyone else in particular – there were maybe three or four other people who got on the train. I see so many people every day, you know.”

“Was the victim with anyone else?”

“Not that I could see.”

“And did you notice anything unusual on the train?”

“No – I was busy at the control deck. I usually can’t hear much coming from the carriages because of the noise of the train.”

“I don’t suppose there were any security cameras on the train?” asked Sherlock.

“No, this is an older model. There are no security cameras or intercom,” said the stationmaster.

“Let’s have a look at this train then,” suggested Sherlock.

The train had been relocated back to Flinders Street station, to an area of unused tracks reserved for servicing trains. Northrop led the way to the first carriage.

“Here’s the train carriage. Three sets of sliding doors on either side, and a door at either end. The door at the front end of the carriage leads to the driver’s cabin and is locked; the door at the rear permits access to the second carriage. If the sliding doors are forced open during travel, then the driver is alerted via an alarm. The windows were all shut when the train arrived at Richmond.

“Forensics have already been through here and removed the body. The body was found here,” indicated Northrop to a forward facing seat near the front of the carriage, “She was stabbed once in the chest, most likely with a knife. It seemed like she didn’t even have any time to react – there was a bloodstained copy of the mX in her hand indicating she may have been completing a crossword puzzle at the time of the murder. She also had a handbag with her – the contents had spilled all over the floor suggesting a robbery.”

“Was anything missing?” asked Sherlock.

Northrop consulted his notebook. “Not that we can tell. Her wallet and phone were still there, as well as a makeup kit, pens, scrap paper and a packet of gum.”

“Did nobody see or hear anything?” asked Sherlock.

“The other passengers are currently giving statements now. Let’s go ask them.”

The first to be questioned was Genevieve Huxley, a small, timid woman with short, blond hair. A turquoise pea coat was draped over her shoulders, partially concealing the white chef’s uniform she wore underneath.

“I can’t believe what happened to Elizabeth,” stuttered Genevieve, “Of all the trains. Of course, I haven’t seen her in years.”

“You knew the victim?” questioned Northrop.

“Well, yes. I knew her from back in school. We weren’t friends or anything; she was a bit of a bully to me. But that’s all in the past – I can’t believe this has happened.”

“Do you usually catch this train?” asked Sherlock.

“Yes, I’m a chef’s hand at a restaurant in the city and I was just catching the train home after my shift.”

“And did you notice anything unusual?”

“No, I’m afraid not. I boarded the train like normal. I was in the second carriage, seated towards the front, facing the opposite direction. I had my iPod in and was playing with my phone. I’m afraid I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary.”

The next suspect questioned was Damien Chiu, a tall, athletic law student who appeared visually upset by the ordeal.

“Oh god, I can’t believe it. Poor Lizzie,” sighed the student.

“You knew the victim?” asked Northrop.

 “Yes, I knew her. She’s an ex-girlfriend of mine. We went out for a couple of years, but our relationship turned sour and we inevitably ended it a month ago. The break up was mutual, I can assure you.”

“Do you usually catch this train?”

“Yes. Lizzie and I used to catch this train together – she’d go to Armadale for work and I’d get off at Huntingdale to go to the law library at Monash. We took it like clockwork. But since the breakup, we obviously sit in separate carriages now.”

“And where exactly were you sitting?”

“In the second carriage, towards the back.”

“Did you notice anything unusual?”

“I’m afraid not. I was facing the front, but I had my earphones in and was watching a film on my iPad.”

The final suspect was Costa Di Pietro, a gaunt, middle aged banker with greying sideburns and thick rimmed glasses. “It’s a most ghastly business,” said Costa as he blotted his forehead with a stained handkerchief, “To think that poor girl was murdered in the carriage right next to us.”

“Did you notice anything?” asked Northrop.

“I’m afraid I can’t say I saw anything – I was too busy reading the Financial Review. I didn’t hear anything either, except the usual rumble of the train.”

“And where were you seated?”

“I was seated in the middle of the carriage, facing the front.”

“Do you usually catch this train?”

“Yes, I try to avoid peak hour. I catch it every afternoon to my home in Armadale.”

“And did you know the victim?” asked Northrop.

“No, not at all,” he replied.

“Murdered in an empty train carriage with not a single witnesss,” said Northrop as the pair left the station and walked out into the bustling Melbourne street scene, “And the killer disappears into thin air. I just don’t get it.”

“Ah yes, quite a clever case here, but not too clever for Sherlock Ho,” declared the inspector to his friend. 

From the author:

Guys! My third mini mystery. Hopefully it makes sense! The title is a homage to Christie's 4:50 from Paddington. Ask for clues and interrogate the suspects! Happy sleuthing!

PS - I know that a train would have more than four passengers at 4:50pm on a weekday, but I had to keep it at 4:50 for the title, and didn't want to complicate it with too many suspects :P