Laughing, the two women walked out into the street, too engrossed in their conversation to notice the figure now moving towards the train.

As the train moved south, effortlessly eating into four hundred miles or so of open fields and closed communities, she noticed that spring had come early to England–as quick to grace the gentle countryside as it had been to enhance the drama of the hills against a Highland sky. Instead, she was met by a testament to the long wait ahead: the carriages were in darkness; the engine itself gravely silent; and a mountain of luggage built steadily along the cold, grey strand of platform. It’s the last week of the highly successful run of Tey’s stage play Richard of Bordeaux, and the book begins with her on a train from Scotland to discuss the national tour of the play and, perhaps, a film. At the time of this novel Tey, whose real name was Elizabeth Mackintosh, hadn't yet invented the Josephine Tey pseudonym; she was writing under the name Gordon Daviot. It was broadcast between April 21, 2008 and May 2, 2008, barely a month after the novel's publication.

Archie Penrose, investigates and soon learns that the victim was adopted under irregular circumstances. Clues and circumstance suggest that Tey may have been the intended target, so the narrative follows her and her time at the theatre. I would echo the above recommendation of Daughter of Time and another good starting place might be Miss Pym Disposes or The Franchise Affair. When the lethal point punctured her skin, she felt nothing more than a sharp blow beneath her ribs but there was no chance to be thankful for the lack of pain, nor to wonder that her body should surrender itself with so little ceremony. Having read the second in the series first, I was happy to learn that it didn't really affect my enjoyment of this one.

The real play made John Gielgud a star and he features here as the fictional John Terry, alongside many other members of the cast and crew. The narrative of the book is choppy, with a more sedate sort of head-hopping, with lots of points of view. At six o’clock, when she walked down the steps to the south-bound platform, she expected to find the air of excitement which always accompanies the muddled loading of people and suitcases onto a departing train. I didn’t race through this because I kept having to re-read a few bits here and there, I did enjoy it though and it was surprised how dark it was in parts – which I am a fan of in crime. She is an interesting character, but takes a back seat for most of the book, while we read an over-long series of vignettes about the lives of the theatre company and associates, learn more about Elspeth's suburban relations and, after a second person is killed, various theories about a possible relationship between the two deaths.Indeed, one of the most impressive features of the novel is the way that Upson alternates between pastiche - the plot involves a locked room, a signature twist in fiction of the period - and the perspectives that distance permits. I suppose most people would think it silly to get as engrossed in theatre as I do, or to put such value on stories that other people make up, but for me it’s much more than a play. I found it substantial, like a five course meal, appetizers,soup, salad, entree and dessert, the story delivered to the table and absorbed by the reader, bite by bite, detail by detail, carried by the characters, themselves highly believable and compelling. The same thing happens with a few other minor mysteries: what did Elspeth’s boyfriend do that has him in so much trouble with his boss? This first tale starts with “Josephine” travelling down from her home in Scotland to sort out some theatrical business concerning her successful play “Richard of Bordeaux”.

A sizeable crowd had gathered at the head of Platform Eight, obscuring his view of the train in which the girl’s body had been discovered less than an hour ago by a young railway employee. When Elspeth is found murdered in the train carriage, Inspector Archie Penrose has to investigate the death and the strange links to Josephine’s play.

If you change the name Jospehine Tey to Wilhelmina Sausage, does it make any difference to the story? An Expert in Murder’ by Nicola Upson has been one such book on my TBR pile (which you can see here) for quite some time. How England’s cities were changing, Josephine thought, looking out at the small, modern houses and giant cinemas which seemed to have sprung up everywhere. She removed her hat, then looked round anxiously for somewhere to put it before the waiter came to her rescue and took it from her with a wink.

We meet the leads in the play, Johnny and Lydia; the two are presumably based on the real life leads in the best-selling run, John Gielgud, whose career it, arguably, made, and Gwen Ffrangcon-Davies. On the train from her home in Inverness, Josephine meets and befriends Elspeth, a young fan, whom she arranges to meet later in the week, after a performance.By March, it was not uncommon for the year to have offered Lydia at least three different versions of the love of her life, but Marta had survived to enter victoriously into a fourth month of tenure. I know she is based on a real-life person, but she was a dry as a stack of toast served at a wedding reception. The clues tie her play to the characters who are victims, the first a young girl Josephine meets on the train. Yet although clever, I find this juxtaposition of real and imaginary unsatisfactory, as I am constantly aware in the back of my mind that "Josephine Tey" is a fiction, but that some of what happens in the book was "real".