Spoilers!
What I love about reading an Agatha Christie book — and again, I’m kicking myself for only diving into them these past few years — is how fresh they feel nearly 100 years later, especially given they are within a specific genre. A few minor intricacies of day-to-day life in the 1930s aside, these books could be written today, and Hercule Poirot would still be a loveable detective. And the main aspect that astonishes me: No matter how many twist-and-turn murder-mystery books I’ve read, Christie still manages to keep me guessing. I tip my black homburg hat, the kind Poirot wears, off to you, Christie.
The latest one I read was 1934’s classic and two-time movie adapted, Murder on the Orient Express. Poirot finds himself on the Orient Express when it’s stopped by a heavy snowfall and Keith Morrison voice … murder. The man murdered, Ratchett, is not a sympathetic victim — he was behind the kidnapping and murder of a child in America. I don’t remember if it was explained how Poirot knew that Ratchett was actually the infamous Cassetti. Nevertheless, Ratchett knows he’s in danger from revenge because he tries to hire Poirot for the equivalent of nearly half-a-million dollars in today’s dollars! Which Poirot declines. He didn’t like Ratchett’s face and no amount of money can dissuade him of such an impression.
Through the course of the book, Poirot, teaming up with M. Bouc, his friend and director of the train company, and Dr. Constantine, who determines (seemingly!) Ratchett’s time of death, interviews the slew of characters aboard the train, collects evidence, and spends a chapter thinking (while M. Bouc and Dr. Constantine trail off, stumped). The main clues are a Wagons-Lits uniform button left behind, a pipe cleaner, a watch presumably set to the time of Ratchett’s death, a woman’s red kimono, and a charred piece of paper with “member little Daisy Armstrong” written on it, the name of the kidnapped and murdered American girl — perhaps that’s how Poirot deduced Ratchett as being Cassetti?
Ratchett was stabbed 12 times. Brutal. A detail I always think about when the murder weapon is a knife: There would be a lot of blood, and likely evidence of the stabbing on the hands of the killer(s). Stabbing through a human body is obviously a very violent act, and it’s impossible to do it neat and tidy. Since Poirot, M. Bouc, and Dr. Constantine ascertain fairly early on that the murderer (or murderers, as they aren’t sure if it was one killer) couldn’t have absconded from the train and the crime, there must be bloody evidence somewhere, not to mention all within Ratchett’s cabin.
My nerdy digression aside, throughout repeated interviews and evidence-gathering, Poirot realizes how many of the passengers have lied to them and what they all seem to be lying about is their connection to the Armstrong family and case, i.e., establishing a motive for murder. It starts to be, rightly, seen as improbable that all 12 passengers would have a connection to the case and happen to be on the same train at the same time with the man.
Unless … they all colluded to be on that train in order to kill Ratchett, which is the second of two solutions Poirot offers for what happened. I didn’t expect that. In fact, as the book went along, I started thinking perhaps M. Bouc and/or Dr. Constantine were the killers, primarily because they were the only two Poirot never questioned or investigated. Alas, I was wrong. So, 11 out of the 12 passengers, and one of the conductors, Michel, stabbed Ratchett, thus accounting for all 12 stab wounds. If they all did it, then none of them did it, is sort of the logic they went for, and they likely would have gotten away with it if not for the snow — the murder could have been blamed on a stranger who escaped from the train. Also, get it? 12 people, or 12 jurors, who rendered their own judgment of Ratchett, who escaped justice all those years ago.
Well-done, Christie, well-done. Remember though when I said Ratchett wasn’t a sympathetic victim? Poirot agrees, essentially, because he goes for the first of the two solutions to offer to the police: that it was a stranger. I’m not sure about that decision. Even murder of an unsympathetic figure is still murder, and the law against murder doesn’t work well if it allows for vigilante justice. And remember also, stabbing, as I said, is a very violent way to kill someone. I can’t sweep that away. The lack of justice would also be compounded if they and Poirot were wrong about Ratchett’s identity and culpability.
Still, I loved the book! Ha.
Milam's Musings 