PONS Kurzkrimis: The Last Train E-Book

Emily Slocum

• Herausgeber: PONS
• Kategorie: Fremdsprachen
• Serie: PONS Mörderische Kurzkrimis
• Sprache: Deutsch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Seitenzahl: 175

Beschreibung

Englisch lernen mit mörderischen Kurzgeschichten Sie lesen gerne Krimis und möchten etwas für Ihr Englisch tun? Mit diesen spannenden Kriminalgeschichten frischen Sie Ihr Englisch auf. Die verwendete Sprache passt genau zu Ihrem Lernniveau, so dass Ihnen das Lesen ganz leicht fällt. Schwierigere Wörter sind in den Fußnoten übersetzt. Für Fortgeschrittene (B2).

Leseprobe

THE LAST TRAIN

Mörderische Kurzkrimis

zum Englischlernen

von Emily Slocum

PONS GmbH Stuttgart

PONSTHE LAST TRAIN

Mörderische Kurzkrimiszum Englischlernen

von Emily Slocum

Alle in diesem Buch geschilderten Handlungen und Personen sind frei erfunden. Ähnlichkeiten mit lebenden oder verstorbenen Personen wären rein zufällig.

1. Auflage 2017

© PONS GmbH, Stuttgart 2017 Alle Rechte vorbehalten

www.pons.de E-Mail: [email protected]

Projektleitung: Francesca GiamboniAutor: Emily SlocumRedaktion: Brian WolfeCovergestaltung: Anne Helbich, StuttgartLogoentwurf: Erwin Poell, HeidelbergLogoüberarbeitung: Sabine Redlin, LudwigsburgBildquelle Umschlag: Akte: Thinkstock/RTimages; Bahnhof: Shutterstock/pisaphotography.Layout: PONS GmbH, Stuttgart

ISBN: 978-3-12-050105-3

EINIGE WORTE VORAB …

Sie lesen gerne Krimis und möchten etwas für Ihr Englisch tun? Mit diesen spannenden Kurzkrimis, deren Handlungen an verschiedenen Orten in den Vereinigten Staaten spielen, tauchen Sie noch tiefer in die Sprache ein und erweitern Ihren Wortschatz. Die verwendete Sprache passt genau zu Ihrem Lernniveau, so dass sie die richtige Mischung aus neuen und bekannten Elementen bietet.

Die fett geschriebenen und nummerierten Wörter oder Ausdrücke zeigen, dass es hierzu Vokabelangaben gibt. Mit Klick auf ein fett geschriebenes und nummeriertes Wort öffnen Sie automatisch eine Fußnote mit der deutschen Übersetzung. Von hier können Sie zur Vokabelliste für das jeweilige Kapitel springen. Mit nochmaligem Klick auf das Wort in der Liste schließt sich diese wieder und Sie gelangen zurück zum Text.

Im Anhang können Sie nochmals alle Wörter und Ausdrücke in einer alphabetischen Wortliste nachschlagen.

Viel Spaß!

ÜBER DIE AUTORIN

Emily Maude Mary Slocum, Jahrgang 1987, ist Autorin, Theaterautorin und Lehrerin für Englisch. Sie wurde in Basel geboren und lebte dort bis 2006. Heute lebt und arbeitet sie als freie Autorin in Köln und schreibt an ihrem ersten Roman.

INHALTSVERZEICHNIS

1. THE LAST TRAIN

2. A BROKEN HEART

3. THE CULT

4. THE THIEF

5. SHELTER

6. THE ESCAPE

7. NIGHT VISIT

FUSSNOTEN

WORTLISTE

1. THE LAST TRAIN

Jeffrey Carlson was a good man: a decent1, goodhearted and hardworking man. He had always been loyal to his friends, his family and the life- insurance company he had worked for as a salesman for over fifteen years. No one would ever have imagined that he was able to commit a crime. But one day, he decided to take a young woman’s life.

Her name was Becky James. She was twenty-three years old, and she had just begun to work as a sales assistant at his insurance company, Pro Life Insurances. Jeffrey had been there for twenty years and Becky, a college graduate, had been assigned2 to work with him. She was supposed to learn from his experience, accompany him on his door-to-door sales rounds, make notes and organize his busy schedule. Jeffrey’s boss would later state that he had been delighted to have some company on his travels and had been eager3 to pass on all his knowledge of becoming a life-insurance salesperson.

Jeffrey and Becky had been working together for little over four months when he pushed her in front of an incoming subway train on July 22, 2015 in Greenwich Village, New York.

After Jeffrey’s wife, Jill, had received news of his arrest, she reported to the police that they had been struggling to make ends meet4 during the previous couple of months. They and their two children had been forced to move to a smaller apartment outside of Brooklyn by the end of that month and to sell their car. But she told the police that Jeffrey had not shown any signs of stress over their lack of5 income or their growing debt. He had remained positive, at least on the surface, repeatedly assuring her that there had always been ups and downs in his line of work and that everything would soon be okay again. She had believed him and swore to the police that this must be a misunderstanding and that he was not capable of such a crime.

“That’s not my Jeff, not my sweet Jeff...,” she kept saying.

Detective Dan Stevens had just got home from a fourteen-hour shift when he received the call from his former partner, Detective Gonzales. She informed him about what had happened and asked him to come to the precinct to get Carlson to confess, as he had not said anything since his arrest. Gonzales had been trying to get Carlson to talk and to get a full confession for the previous six hours, before realizing she needed help.

Stevens possessed a gift. He knew how to get suspects to talk. He never knew why they would open up to him as willingly as they did, but he accepted it without analyzing how his approach differed from that of others.

After his long day at work, he was in dire need6 of some sleep and was not willing to take on another case, but he was coaxed7 into coming in anyway. He still liked Gonzales more than he wanted to admit and had difficulty saying no to her. They had stopped being partners five years earlier after their affair had nearly ended his marriage. His wife, Aimee, had given him an ultimatum – either Gonzales or her. Stevens had been transferred to a different station. He had never regretted his choice, except for those rare occasions when he had been in the same room as Gonzales.

Stevens carefully stepped into the bedroom and kissed Aimee on the forehead. He whispered that he would soon be back, but she did not hear him. She was fast asleep. He hoped to be in and out of the station in less than an hour.

As Stevens drove down the interstate8, sipping the rest of his afternoon coffee, he was already thinking hard about the case. There were two things that troubled him. First, the surveillance camera had been shut off. The transit police officer had stated that there had been technical difficulties with this particular camera that day. Second, there had been no witnesses9 except for a blind and nearly deaf homeless person who had been seeking shelter10 from the rain. An unusual coincidence – no camera, no real witnesses – Stevens thought while parking his car at the police station.

After the incident, Carlson had remained at the crime scene. He had not moved from the platform, nor resisted his arrest. He had just kept looking down onto the tracks in front of him, saying over and over that he was sorry. One of the passengers of the incoming train had reported that he had looked like he was “zoned out11” or “somewhere else” – like in a daydream.

As Stevens entered the police station, he felt his heart beating faster. He forced himself to calm down and to take some deep breaths.

“Don’t let her see you’re nervous,” he told himself repeatedly.

The station itself was relatively calm. A handful of officers were on their computers typing reports and drinking their umpteenth12 coffee. There were two arrests waiting to be processed and one victim who was reporting her incident.

On the other side of the room stood Gonzales with a file in one hand, talking to a young officer – probably a recent recruit. Gonzales. She looked in Stevens’s direction and waved him over. She seemed nervous and impatient.

“Hi,” she said, handing him the file.

“Hi,” Stevens replied somewhat surprised by her brisk13 welcome. Just as he was about to ask if everything was okay, she was already leading him into the interrogation room14 in the back, while giving him the latest update on the case.

“So his prints came back clean – no arrests, no drink-driving, nothing. He’s as clean as a whistle. They ran a round of tests on the victim and found a high level of alcohol in her blood. She had multiple brain hemorrhages, a severe skull fracture, internal bleeding and organ failure. You can imagine the body was in a bad condition after being hit by the train.”

“Okay,” Stevens mumbled while glancing over the case file.

“You okay alone in there? I have to make a phone call. If you need me though, I can stay,” Gonzales offered, noticeably15 in a hurry to get away.

“No, no. I’ll be fine. I’ll be done here in a minute anyway,” Stevens replied, realizing that this statement sounded a bit too boastful16.

“Alright, then. Thanks for coming in. See you soon – probably at Mitch’s party?”

Gonzales gave him a pat on his upper arm as she walked past him. Stevens wanted to respond, but she had already left the room. Stevens was not planning on going to some officer’s party, and she knew that. He stood there for a minute, file in hand, thinking about their weird encounter17. The young officer next to him started to yawn.

“Sorry sir,” he quickly apologized when he noticed Stevens’s angry look.

“You need sleep? Then go get some, kid.”

“No sir, I’m fine, thank you. My name is Davidson, Malcolm Davidson, sir.”

The young officer wanted to shake his hand, but Stevens handed him the file instead and began to study Carlson through the mirrored glass; he was sitting quietly, his hands folded in his lap. The paper cup with water next to him seemed untouched. He had been arrested at 5:30 pm and now it was 11:30 pm. Stevens inquired18 if he had eaten anything yet. Officer Davidson said he had not.

“Did he have a cup of coffee or tea or anything?”

“No, nothing sir,” the officer replied, unsure of what Stevens was aiming at19.

He was just about to ask, when Stevens asked him to bring two sandwiches – one cheese, one ham – and two cups of coffee. “Black. Four packs of sugar. Two spoons.”

Davidson quickly wrote down the order and hurried out of the interrogation room. Stevens grinned after him, wondering where his own enthusiasm had gone throughout the years at work.

Rubbing his chin, he kept studying Carlson: pale skin, slightly overweight, a receding hairline20 and a permanent puppy-eyed expression on his face. And he appeared so trustworthy. Stevens knew he needed to approach him with caution. Men like this tended to suppress21 their inner demons to the point where they could suddenly snap. And so he knew he would probably need to lure22 Carlson’s inner demon out to get a full confession. He hoped to get enough time with him to do so.

Without waiting for the officer’s return, Stevens took the file and entered the room next door. As Stevens shut the door behind him, he let out a big yawn.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Stevens said, covering his mouth. “What a day. Honestly, what a horrible day. But what am I saying – yours must have been worse.” He extended his hand to shake Carlson’s and noticed that it felt moist and fleshy.

“Listen,” Stevens began as he let the closed file drop onto the table, and sat himself down opposite Carlson. “I know you haven’t said much since your arrest...” and he opened the file, pretending to look for a particular line, “... except for, and I quote: 'I’m sorry, so sorry.'” He looked up at Carlson, whose eyes began to fill with tears, and whose chin started to quiver23. Stevens was not convinced. The soft and sensitive Carlson would never admit to what he had done.

“Listen man, I’m here to help you. Seriously. I know you’re a decent guy. I know you love your family and your job. You wouldn’t hurt a fly – at least that’s what everyone in your life has said.”

Carlson looked up, unable to hide a slight24 grin. Stevens noticed it and felt confident that there was an entirely different person behind the shy appearance. Stevens continued, feeling he was on the right track.

“Soon, your appointed lawyer will come in here to release you on bail25 until you get to court for your hearing. But you will probably not be able to pay it because...” and he pretended to look for another specific line in the file “... you are in deep debt.”

Stevens looked up at Carlson who was staring right at him. “Correct?”

Carlson swallowed hard. “Yes,” he replied uncomfortably.

Stevens closed the file and pushed it away from him. “Okay, so I’m telling you the best thing you can do now is to tell me what happened. I’m being real honest with you, man. I’m on your side. If you cooperate, we can maybe work something out.”

Stevens and Carlson looked at each other.

“Was it an accident?” Stevens asked. Carlson hesitated and then nodded. “Pal, I need you to say either yes or no, okay?”

Carlson nodded again.

“Did Rebecca James die by accident?” Carlson cleared his throat. “Yes.”

“How did Rebecca – Becky James – die? What happened this evening?”

A moment passed and Carlson kept looking at the small recording device in the middle of the table. He was just about to speak, when suddenly Officer Davidson burst into the room carrying the sandwiches and coffee. He stood in the doorway for a second, as he realized he had just interrupted them at a critical part of the interrogation.

“I’m sorry, I...,” he said, as he caught Stevens’s furious expression.

“Just put it down, thank you,” Stevens said, trying not to sound as angry as he actually was.

“This is Officer Davidson. I asked him if he would be so kind as to get us something to eat. You must be starving, right?”

Carlson looked at Officer Davidson, who put the coffees and sandwiches on the table.

“Would you like me to stay, sir?”

“No officer, you have gone to enough trouble.”

“Yes sir,” Davidson replied, and he headed for the door as quickly as possible. Stevens told Carlson to help himself to a sandwich.

“I had him get a cheese sandwich too. Are you a vegetarian?”

“No,” said Carlson, whose body language had changed, and who seemed to be more reserved again.

“Oh, okay. Well then, I’ll take that one. Coffee?” Stevens asked, already chewing and washing the dry bread down with a sip of coffee.

Carlson did not touch the food or the hot beverage. That did not stop Stevens from eating. It suggested26 comfort to be able to eat and drink in front of a stranger, and it might ease the tension in the room. When he was finished, he carried on with the interview. He knew it would not be easy to get back on track.

“So you just said that it was an accident, and I think I asked you what had happened. Correct?”

“Yes.”

“Well then. Please continue.”

“I think I’ll wait until my lawyer is here.”

Stevens cringed27 on hearing these words. He knew that this case would get more and more difficult with every passing minute.

“Of course – it’s your right. Would you like me to call your wife? I mean, she’ll have to come up with some money; she’ll maybe need to ask her parents or yours.”

Carlson thought for a minute and then bent forward, resting his arms on the table. He seemed to ease up a bit.

“Both our parents have already passed away28. It’s only my wife and I... and the kids.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Stevens said and instinctively gave Carlson some space without interruption or pressure. He waited for him to continue.

“I don’t know where to start,” Carlson began, nervously fumbling with his fingers.

“Tell me whatever you feel is important.”

Carlson folded his hands and cleared his throat again.

“Important? Well, I guess it would be important to start from the beginning. You see, I’m not a bad guy. I work hard, I’m never late. I take care of my family as best as I can. I love my family so much.”

Tears once again formed in his eyes but he fought them off and continued.

“I thought I might really be of use – be a good teacher, help someone to become good at something. But I was wrong. It all went so terribly wrong. I thought she was nice. A nice young girl from the Midwest: helpful, curious. But after our first week together, I soon got acquainted29 with the real Becky James. It all started about four months ago.”

He paused to take a small bite from the sandwich but apparently could not swallow it and sipped the coffee instead.

“We had been on the road throughout the week and everything went fine until we stopped at a diner for a quick bite to eat before heading home. I wanted her to take some notes on what we had done throughout the day and on whom we had visited when she stopped writing. She kept looking over to some guys who were flirting with her. I asked her to continue and told her she’d have enough time for fun after work. Then she suddenly dropped the pen onto the table and gave me a look of pure disgust saying, 'I’ll tell you what we’ll do. You write this useless report, and I’ll go over there to those cute guys and then, when I’m done, you can damned well call us a cab.’ Just like that, she switched from quiet and attentive30 to cruel and rude. She said that she was sick of me and my sweaty, chubby31 appearance. She complained that we were using public transport instead of a car. I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Before she stood up to go over to the men, she said ‘What do you think will happen in a few months anyway? You think I’ll still be some stupid sales assistant? You think I honestly want to become someone like you? No thanks. I’ll be out of this company in no time. So just do us all a favor and stop acting like a mentor. Because you’re not. You’re a sad reminder of what women like me have to endure32 on the way to the top.’ It seemed like a bad joke,” Carlson said.

He then said that they had continued their trips with one another but more or less in silence. The roles had completely changed, and he had ended up fetching her water and food and doing all the work. After another month or so, she had got him to make copies of the transcripts of the day, so that no one would notice that she had often not turned up at work. Carlson stopped talking. It seemed as if the next part was leading up to the present day, just hours before his arrival at the police station.

“You must know that these past months were like torture33 – the psychological abuse34, bullying35 me whenever and wherever she pleased. I couldn’t tell anyone either. She was such a nice girl to everyone in the company – no one would’ve believed me.”

“And you were in love with her,” Stevens added.

“Yes. I was in love with her,” he shyly admitted.

Carlson’s expression was begging36 for Stevens to believe him. “You’re not the first man I have encountered, who’s been psychologically or even physically abused by a woman. It’s not as rare as you might think. I believe you, Jeffrey. Please, go on.”

Carlson nodded and proceeded carefully.

“So we were on our way back from one of our rounds in Greenwich Village. I’d signed up four new clients and a promising fifth. A good day, you might think. But Becky was out for trouble, wanting to go to a bar. She managed to steal my wallet from my back pocket and was counting the small amount of money I had left. She said she needed a drink and that I had to go with her. She said she’d give me back my wallet when we reached the bar, which she didn’t do. She got herself pretty drunk, and I didn’t want to leave her in such a state. It was getting dark. Even after all she had put me through, I still tried to look out for her. So we walked to the subway station. I told her that she was heading to the wrong platform, but she just kept walking. She became aggressive and I endured more verbal attacks when she started looking at the photos in my wallet, which made her behavior worse. She was wobbling37 and got too close to the edge of the subway platform. I had to pull her away. She started to scream and said I was attacking her and that I had raped38 her and that she’d see to it that I’d get fired. I tried to calm her down. I let go of her arms, and then she stumbled39 backwards and fell off the platform. It all happened so quickly. I went down to try and help her, but she was unconscious.40 Then the train came rushing in and I had to leave her... I never wanted anything to happen to her, honestly. It was an accident. Please, you have to believe me.”

Stevens had been listening carefully. It all made perfect sense. He had been the victim, not the other way around. An accident, a terrible accident without any wrongdoing by Carlson. It seemed too plausible to be true, his speech too perfected. Stevens was still going through the story in his mind when the door opened a second time. A man in a suit and tie entered the room and sat himself next to Carlson.

“Hello. I’m your appointed41 lawyer, Samuel Johnson. You have been granted