“Looks like the conductor locked us in here,” he said, and then suddenly lurched forward in his seat as the train started to slow abruptly. “What the hell?”

The door at the end of the car opened and the conductor came through, spoke briefly to Drucker, and then walked expertly down the aisle to them.

“What’s up, Pete?” Parsons asked.

“Moose on the line. It’ll take a few minutes until he decides to move on.”

The passengers turned back to their discussion of who did what.

“Where are you from, McDonald, and where do you work?” demanded Barker.

“What’s it to you?” He’s older than he looks, Anne thought, as McDonald pushed his thinning red hair back from a forehead damp with sweat.

“I want to know who you people are. One of you is a killer.”

“Well it’s not me. I sell real estate in Sudbury, but I’m from White River. I’m just going up for the weekend. What about you?”

“I told you I work for Natural Resources. I’m from North Bay, but I didn’t know this Giselle.”

“All we know is what we tell each other,” Anne said. “I don’t even remember everyone’s first name.”

“Dave.” Barker replied.

“And you’re Tom,” Anne noted, turning to Parsons.

“Yes. What did you say your name was, McDonald?”

“Harrison.”

“Where’s that Drucker?”

“Another one gone into a lethal lavatory,” McDonald noted darkly.

“Christ,” Barker swore briefly as he charged down to the washroom.

“Empty,” he called back. “He must have gone through.”

“Or out,” Anne called back.

“Did he leave anything in his seat?”

“Nope,” answered Parsons as he looked over the back of his chair. “But he didn’t have much with him when he came on.”

“Shouldn’t he have had a rifle if he was hunting?” Anne asked.

“You can’t bring a rifle on the train,” Parsons told her,” and I didn’t hear him say he’d been hunting.”

“I guess I assumed it from the way he was dressed.”

Anne left her seat and walked down to the other end of the train where she stood looking out the door for a moment. Someone yelled suddenly, asking her what she was doing.

“Just looking out,” she answered as she turned and walked back. “I wondered where Drucker had gone.” The train started abruptly and she stumbled slightly as she took her seat again. “I think I’ll do some work,” she said as she opened her computer. She wedged herself into her seat so her screen wasn’t visible to the others, especially the nosy McDonald, and started searching for him on-line. Lucky he had an unusual first name.

No Harrison McDonald. Not in any real estate web site she could find, not in a general Google search, nor in the yellow pages, nor in 411. Anne looked up to find him staring at her.

“The window behind you is a good mirror,” he said. “Didn’t find me, eh?”

Fear gripped her throat and she struggled to force the words out. “What are you talking about?”

“I saw what you were doing. So now you know.” He pulled a gun from inside his jacket, gestured for Barker and Parsons to get into seats near Anne, and took a seat himself across the aisle.

“What do you think you are going to do now? Kill us all?” Parsons asked.

“If I have to. Behave yourselves and no one else needs to die.”

‘You won’t get away with this,” Barker spoke up. “The cops are waiting for you in White River.”

“We’re stopping before White River,” McDonald said, reaching for the call button.

Moments later, the conductor appeared, stopping at the sight of the gun.

“Tell the engineer to stop the train at post 722 or one of these people will no longer be with us,” he ordered. The conductor backed off then ran towards the front of the train.

“So now we have a few minutes to wait.”

“Where is your buddy, Drucker?” Anne asked.

“He’s not my buddy. I think he had his own reasons for getting off the train before White River.”

“Why did you kill Giselle?”

“No more questions.”

The train started to slow then stopped at a distance marker.

“Parsons, open that satchel. There’s an envelope inside it. Give it to me,” McDonald ordered as he gestured them all down to the exit door.

They stepped one by one down onto the roadbed into cold, glancing rain. An ATV was parked beside the marker. This man is going to kill us, Anne thought, fear clutching at her throat again.

“The conductor will have told them who was on the train,” she whispered.

“Then I’m leaving no one to tell where I have gone,” he snarled raising his handgun.

Anne covered her face. An explosion of sound hit her. Her first thought was that he hadn’t killed her. Then she opened her eyes. McDonald lay in a twisted mass on the ground, blood pouring from a chest wound. Drucker loped up the line, cradling a rifle in one arm. When he reached them he turned the body over, felt for a pulse, and pulled the envelope from his hand.

“Let’s go inside, folks,” he said.

“Who the hell are you?” demanded Barker.

“Detective-Sergeant Drucker, Toronto.”

The passengers and the trainmen turned silently and climbed back into the train.

“Do you know who Giselle or McDonald were, Sergeant?"

“No. Let’s look at her purse while we move on to White River.”

‘What about McDonald’s body,” Anne asked.

“Trainman is staying with it until I get back.”

Barker grabbed Giselle’s carryon, but stopped as Drucker bellowed at him.

“I want to know who she is. Maybe there is some connection I need to know about. I want to know where I stand,” Barker protested.

“I’ll look,” said Drucker.

Drucker extracted the contents of the bag and handed them over to Anne, instructing her to write down what she was given.

The first wallet revealed identification for Marie-Ange Bertrand, Montreal. He dug deeper and handed Anne a small case. Make-up, she thought, as she opened it.“Huh,” she said. “Another complete set of id. This one’s for Giselle Cloutier, including a passport.”

“Let me see that,” Barker snarled.

“Hands off, Barker,” McDonald ordered.

“There is a passport for Bertrand, too, “Anne said. “Next of kin, Alysse. Oh my.”

“Do you know this Alysse?” Barker asked suspiciously.

“I’ve met an Alysse Bertrand. She’s the widow of a man murdered in Vermont last year. She owns an art Gallery in Montreal. The husband was an art thief.”

“So who was this woman, Cloutier or Bertrand?” Parsons spoke up for the first time. “And what’s in the big leather case?”