Major Edwin Grives
Well turned out man, trim, fit, about 35. Sits legs crossed, looking slightly miffed, trying to read the FT.
Came out of the Army straight into development work for Pall Mall Oil. Knows both passengers 37 and 235. Travels widely for Pall Mall, always first class. Has family connections in the Far East (as well as a mistress, but he knew her before he married). His wife teaches in the local girls' school. Commutes from a village near Aldeburgh. Lives in a 16th century farmhouse with a Japanese water garden. He takes the train to Liverpool Street, parking his white BMW at the local station.
What he is doing or thinking
Cursing his local pig farm, which he calls Pig Belsen. When they wash out the tanks late at night, the smell wakes him up. The slurry is so full of chemicals it cannot be used on the fields. It's hauled away in huge lorries marked HAZCHEM.
This morning however was beyond imagining. The damn fool lorry driver tried to drive down their lane and got stuck. The valve went and they were flooded with pig swill. Edwin had to drive through it. Sheets of slurry washed up over the windscreen. The wipers jammed. His son Jason had left the back window open. The rear seat was splattered. The stench penetrated everything.
The car is still sitting outside the station, a solid mass of drying sewage. The parking lot for several spaces round is empty. Tonight he'll have to drive through the sewage again.
Edwin gives his FT another fretful shake. No comment.
Car 3 map