I’ve never read Murder On the Orient Express before, and I have somehow managed not to see a single film version of it. I’ve seen film clips over the years, and formed an impression of the story. Going in, I “knew” who committed the crime, but not how or why.
As with all of Christie’s Poirot novels so far, (I’ve been reading one a month since January of this year), the presentation of the mystery and the interviewing of the suspects is very enjoyable.
Nothing quite adds up, even for the reader, until Poirot is ready with his reveal.
Poirot ravels on a packed train from Istanbul to Calais, with plans to go on to England from there.
At a snowy, unplanned stop, a traveler is murdered. The victim has been touring Europe under an assumed name, and is in fact guilty of heinous crimes in America.
Poirot is asked to investigate by the head of the train line, an old friend, who is also traveling aboard the train.
Working with a doctor who is onboard, Poirot investigates the crime scene.
We know Poirot disdains the traditional methods of detection, such as solving the crime by some miniscule piece of evidence. At this crime scene, however, clues are writ large upon the scene.
Stab wounds, and there are many of them, are at angles that suggest both a left handed and a right handed assailant. Differing wound depths, suggesting frailty and strength.
An unusual flat match that looks nothing like those the victim used. A ladies handkerchief. A pipe cleaner. Someone, maybe more than one person, appears to have planted clues galore.
As Poirot’s interviews begin, everyone seems to be outright lying or openly holding something back.
How will Poirot deal with all of the contradictions?
The solution to the crime and the meting out of justice was oddly touching.
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