Three innocent human beings killed, murdered even. I am going to recount a terrible time that haunts my past. Ms Jane Cress, Mr George Wilson and Mr Craig Martin came to the end of their existence, but how? Let me just get comfy in my arm chair.
The date was September 19th, 1894……
We were to depart from Switzerland National Station and arrive at Berlin Central Station in 6 days’ time. As I usually would, I greeted and served the passengers as soon as the train had departed from the platform. I had been employed by this rail company for 8 years. My love of exploring and travelling had prompted me to take up this vacancy as soon as I saw it advertised.
I encountered a man, George was his name. He seemed quite distant, with a bewildering look. “Hello” I called in my normal cheery manner; however, he sternly told me to leave him alone. I left him muttering to himself and walked over towards a lady, engrossed in reading a book. I pleasantly wished her a good afternoon. As we spoke, she revealed she was Jane Cress, and her workplace was a prestigious law firm. I flamboyantly pronounced I was Hendry Stewart. I passed her a tea which she had requested and asked if she took milk. “No thank you”, she responded. “Your loss Madam” I retorted. As I gave her the tea, the man I had spoken to earlier came running down the carriage, shouting his bag had been stolen. I assured him that this was probably not the case and that he must have moved it elsewhere. I proceeded to check and found his suitcase under his chair. He apologised profusely and meekly told me he had dementia and I now understood why he’d previously told me to leave in a curt manner. He added that he used to be a Police Detective, mentioning this was the only thing about his life he could remember vividly. As I left him, I walked towards my office but suddenly the lights abruptly switched off. It was my duty to investigate what had caused this cessation of the electrical power.
I ran over to the power supply generator. There was a deafening scream from one of the carriages nearby. I scurried to see what had happened. It was Ms Cress. She told me a noise had startled her. I promised her nothing would happen to her on this train as long as I was aboard.
The next morning, I offered a man some breakfast. He told me his name was Craig Martin. “Hendry Stewart” I replied. He continued, he “used to be a police constable”. I politely nodded and bid him farewell. I hated these police/law enforcing related jobs. I have my reasons for this hatred.
When I was serving the guests, I was asked to intervene in an altercation. It was Mr Wilson and Mr Martin. Witnesses stated Craig had started the fight, though he denied these allegations. I went to assist Mr Wilson. He was badly hurt. As he cleaned himself up, I offered him some lunch and he asked for a tea. “Milk and perhaps sugar? He nodded. “Excellent”. I took the milk from my pocket and added it to the warm drink, wishing him a good afternoon.
At 5pm, the busiest time for the staff on the train, Mr Wilson was found in the bathroom, with no pulse, DEAD. I summoned Mr Martin to enquire what could have happened. He came several minutes later and examined the body. His diagnosis was “suicide”. I looked at him and the cuffs of his shirt had blood on them. I asked what had happened, “eh, eh, paper cut” he replied, faltering his words. He hurriedly left and didn’t come out from his room that night. I wondered to myself how a paper cut could cause a shirt to be so reddened. It didn’t add up?
The next morning, I paced around with my food cart. I met Ms Cress, and she asked for her regular tea. “Would you like to add anything?” “You have finally persuaded me. If you insist.” I took the milk from my pocket and added it to the tea.
That night, on the way to my room, I heard a bubbling fizz as if somebody was boiling something. However, I dismissed it and went back to my room and tried to get some sleep. It was 7am when I awakened.
I gallantly strode with the food trolley at 10am. However, Ms Cress wasn’t in her seat and there was no response from her room. I forcefully kicked the door down. I found Ms Cress in her bed, not breathing, DEAD. I called the doctor and he stated “poisoned”. “Where’s the evidence.” “The way she is lying on the bed suggests foul play”. I tried to recall which room I heard the sound of boiling from last night. It was Mr Martin’s. I found Mr Martin and escorted him to an empty room on the train to hear his side of the story. “I didn’t do it. I swear”. “You deny allegations quite often, don’t you Mr Martin?”
His lunch was about to be served, when he piped up “I’m not hungry, rather thirsty actually. I’ll have a tea”. “Some milk?” He nodded, “definitely”. I locked the door. I was the last to see Mr Martin.
At the next station, the police had been waiting to arrest Mr Martin. I unlocked the door to find Mr Martin on the floor, no heartbeat, DEAD. I rushed and asked the officer “What happened?” “Well, he’s been poisoned”. The policeman enquired who was last to assist Mr Martin. “Well…. myself”. They had determined that it was me all along. I was arrested and sentenced to life imprisonment.
Back then, my parents sold tampered, soiled milk to make ends meet. They got caught, had no money for fancy lawyers and were incarcerated. I had promised to avenge the suffering they had encountered at the hands of law enforcement officers.
I have been in this prison cell for nearly 13 years. I was allowed to bring my own personal belongings, so I brought my comfy arm chair. This arm chair was passed down through generations, throughout my family. It’s as if it links us together…..through crime.
I am going to have a good old cup of tea.
Quick question, how do you like your tea? Personally, I prefer my own with a hint of milk.