Everyone on This Train Is a Suspect

“McTavish didn’t even know what book he was supposed to be talking about on the panel. Not only that, but he didn’t even seem to properly understand that the series was ending.” I’d gotten this the wrong way round: I’d thought McTavish was upset at Wyatt for pushing him to keep the Morbund series going, but in reality he probably hadn’t even known Morbund had died in The Dawn Rises until that first panel. I remembered him glaring at Wyatt. “I assume he had a word with Wyatt about that little surprise. He’d been so hands-off he didn’t realize his cash cow was coming to an end. But, Jasper, that was your ultimatum to Wyatt. No more Morbund, until he published your own novel: Life, Death and Whiskey. And then when you gave it to Wyatt, he didn’t want it. Because Wyatt needed to smooth things over with McTavish, he went back on your deal: he needed a new Morbund from you. I heard you arguing.”

It’s in your contract. More Morbund, Wyatt had said. Why change it after all this time? Once I’d realized my error about Erica Mathison, I figured that it wasn’t McTavish in Wyatt’s room. After all, I hadn’t heard the distinctive thunk of McTavish’s cane. Just plain old, regular footsteps.

“Wyatt thought I was going to give him another Morbund novel,” Jasper said. “Even though The Dawn Rises was supposed to be the finale. The only way I could get him to agree to me killing off Morbund was by pitching it as a publicity stunt. Big sales for the final—so to speak—book, and even bigger sales for the comeback. I really hoped that if I gave it time, if I put something fantastic in front of him, he would come around. Or maybe I could convince him that if I just had a year off the Morbund books, I could do both.” He sucked his teeth. He was angry now. “He didn’t read more than a page.”

Harriet massaged Jasper’s shoulder. It fit with what I’d deduced. You promised me you’d bring him back, Wyatt had said. I know, I know. Archie Bench. Real fucking cute.

“Wyatt could have just gotten another ghostwriter though,” Hatch said.

“No one’s as good,” Harriet said. I agreed with her: the DNA of the Morbund books was as much Jasper’s as it was McTavish’s. He’d written most of them, after all. Wyatt would have seen him as irreplaceable.

I went on. “That’s why you put Archie Bench in the last book—that was your promise to Wyatt. To the sharp-eyed fans, including Brooke, who told me Archie Bench was the reason she wouldn’t have killed him. Archie Bench is an anagram for Reichenbach. As in Reichenbach Falls, the famous waterfall Sherlock Holmes died falling over. Only he didn’t stay dead: Conan Doyle brought him back, safe and well. Which is, of course, another reason I knew McTavish didn’t write it. I found a piece of paper in his notes, written on Ghan stationery, where he was trying to solve the anagram himself after the panel. Why would he need to solve his own puzzle if he was the one who’d come up with it?”

Brooke smiled at this.

“Jasper”—this was Hatch now—“how did you react when Wyatt declined your book?”

Jasper sighed. “I said I’d blow it all up. I’d out myself, McTavish. The whole thing.”

Don’t threaten me, I’d heard Wyatt say through the door.

“And there’s one final clue,” I said. I didn’t technically need this, I had more than enough confirmations of Jasper’s ghostwriting, but given Simone had gone to so much effort to set this up for me, I might as well give her the finale she desired. “Simone, you knew about all of this, didn’t you, all the way back when book three was finally delivered? You knew that Off the Rails was plagiarized, you would have been privy to Majors’s accusations, and negotiations with Jasper had begun for book four. You told me you wanted to work on real literature. That’s why you left that job.”

Simone, surprised that the conversation had turned from Jasper to her so quickly, stammered, “Y-you get a stink on you, it follows you around. I wanted out before the dominos fell.”

“But they didn’t, and you watched Wyatt and McTavish grow rich off a secret you held. You wanted your slice, which meant convincing McTavish to sign with your agency, so you tried a little bit of old-fashioned blackmail. You told me that the way to get through to McTavish was by speaking to him in codes and riddles, and you did exactly that.”

That was what she’d told me: To get his attention, to impress him, you have to use his own tricks. He loves codes and riddles and wordplay and all that Golden Age stuff.