Dead Man's Tunnel (7 page)

“Do you know Sergeant Joseph Erikson?”

Linda Sue's face darkened, and she searched out a cigarette.

“I heard he killed himself in an accident,” she said. “I heard they were shipping his body back to his home.”

“Did you know him personally?”

“No,” she said, shrugging. “William's mentioned him a time or two, I guess.”

“Did William like him?”

“Once, he said that he'd been passed up for promotion because of a bad write-up Erikson gave him, but he never said more after that. I guess they worked it out.”

“Do you know if Sergeant Erikson had a girlfriend?”

Linda Sue sat up and wove her fingers together in her lap.

“No. I mean, I don't know. None that I ever heard about.”

“Do you know if he was depressed about anything or in trouble, maybe?”

“Look, I'm real sorry about the sergeant, but it was an accident, wasn't it? I mean, it's not like he died in the war or anything.”

Hook looked out the window to check on Mixer. “Thanks,” he said. “You've been helpful. I better be on my way.”

“Sure,” she said. “Maybe you can come back sometime when you're not on business. They have a dance out at the armory every Saturday night.”

“Thanks,” he said, “but I'm not much of a dancer.”

“It don't bother me, you know,” she said.

“What doesn't?” Hook said.

“The arm,” she said. “It don't bother me a bit.”

*   *   *

Back at the salvage yard, Hook parked the jeep and sent Mixer on his way. The crane clanked and growled in the distance, and the pushers idled on the siding.

He found Scrap's office empty. Taking the card from his pocket, he dialed Lieutenant Capron's number. A man answered but declined to give Hook any information. Hook explained who he was. The man paused and then gave him a different number to call.

She answered the phone herself. “Lieutenant Capron.”

“Hook Runyon, here,” he said. “You still want to talk to that engineer?”

“I can't file my report until I do,” she said.

“Come to my caboose at West's Salvage Yard in the morning if you can. He's coming in on the eight o'clock.”

“Alright,” she said. “I'm still in town, but it's pretty clear what happened out there.”

“Not to everyone,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“I'm just a yard dog,” he said. “But I've been around enough to know that when two men are involved with the same woman, trouble isn't far behind.”

 

8

H
OOK WATCHED THE
engineer walk down the tracks. He carried a lunchbox and had his hat cocked. Mixer growled, and Hook sent him to the corner.

The engineer propped his foot up on the caboose step and pushed his hat onto the back of his head.

“You Runyon?” he asked.

“That's right.”

Over the top of the engineer's head, Hook could see an army staff car pulling into the yard.

“I'm Ted Benson,” the engineer said. “I understand you need to talk to me.”

Hook buttoned his shirt and stood to the side. “Come on in, Ted. I see Lieutenant Capron just pulling in. The army's involved with this as well.”

The lieutenant, in full-dress uniform, stopped at the bottom of the steps. Her hair sprang in curls from underneath her hat, and her shoes, shined to a high polish, glistened in the morning sun. She looked up at Hook.

“A caboose?” she said.

“It's where I live,” Hook said.

“Really?”

“The engineer just got here. If you have a problem with the caboose, we could meet in Scrap's office.”

Mixer stuck his head between Hook's legs and looked her over.

“Does he bite?” she asked.

“Not often.”

“Very well. I've wondered what these things looked like inside. I had no idea they were inhabitable.”

“That's still up for debate,” he said. “Go lay down, Mixer.”

Hook started to take her by the hand to help her up the steps, but she took hold of the grab iron and pulled herself up.

“Lieutenant, this is Ted Benson, the engineer involved in the incident at Johnson Canyon Tunnel.”

“Hello,” she said, stepping in. “Oh, my, there isn't much room, is there?”

“Sleeping and eating,” Hook said. “For the most part. But then that's what living's all about. Anyway, where I go, she goes. Sometimes where she goes, I follow.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Talking to myself,” he said. “Comes from living alone.”

The engineer had taken his seat next to the window. Sweat glistened on his upper lip. Mixer rose to check out the lunchbox that the engineer had left on the floor next to his feet. Hook pointed for Mixer to go away, which he did with some reluctance.

Hook moved some books off the bench and motioned for her to sit down.

“You've quite a collection there,” she said.

“It's an addiction that keeps me on the brink of bankruptcy,” he said.

She dropped one leg over the other and opened her purse. Her nails were manicured. He couldn't help but wonder how a woman like her wound up in army transportation. She looked out of place, like a crystal vase in a junkyard.

“Okay,” she said, taking out a notepad. “I'm ready.”

“Would you care to start, Lieutenant?” Hook asked.

“It's your railroad, Mr. Runyon.”

“Ted,” Hook said. “An investigation is conducted by the railroad on all deaths that take place on company property. It doesn't necessarily mean you've done anything wrong. Do you understand?”

“Yeah,” he said, glancing over at the lieutenant. “They told me everyone has to do the report. This is a first for me.”

“A first?” the lieutenant asked.

“Most engineers go through this sooner or later,” he said. “I've been lucky up until now.”

“You mean where a person has been killed?” she asked. “It happens often?”

“Most engineers experience it sooner or later,” Hook said. “But it's not in the job description.”

“I've hit plenty of critters,” the engineer said. “It happens all the time, dogs, cattle. I ran over a pinto horse outside Amarillo, but I've never hit a man before.”

“Did you see anyone else around that night?” she asked.

“No, but then you don't see much out there at night, especially coming down that grade.”

Hook picked up his book and fanned the pages. Some bastard had dog-eared a page.

“At what point did you know that you couldn't avoid the impact?” he asked.

The engineer dabbed at his mouth with his sleeve. “The minute my glimmer lit him up. In that instant, I knew I was about to kill a man, and there wasn't a goddamn thing I could do about it.”

“Didn't you apply the brakes?” the lieutenant asked.

“We were coming down the steepest grade on the continent, ma'am, and with forty loaded cars at our back. No brakes or God's own hand could have slowed that train down one iota. Most folks don't have the least idea how long it takes to stop a train.”

“Where exactly was the sergeant when it happened?” Hook asked.

“Standing midtrack just east of the curve. Why the hell they put a curve in a tunnel, I'll never know. The wheel carriages sounded like they were going to tear right out from under the engine.”

“You didn't see anyone else in the tunnel?” the lieutenant asked.

“There's no room for a crowd in that tunnel,” he said.

“Was he tied up or anything like that?” Hook asked. “Anyone forcing him to be there?”

“He was just standing there, right out of the darkness, just like that, and us barreling into that mountain. He stood with legs apart, facing the engine. There was no turning back for either one of us.”

The engineer turned to Lieutenant Capron. “I wanted to be an engineer my whole life. As a kid I used to stand at the crossing and watch the trains coming and going. I dreamed about being up there in that cab ever since I can remember.

“And being an engineer turned out to be everything I thought it might be, the engine, the power, folks watching along the way. But I never thought to kill a man. I never thought that.”

“What happened afterward?” Hook asked.

“I locked her down. When I got her stopped, I left the switchman with the engine and ran back.”

“Through the tunnel?” the lieutenant asked.

“There's no other way to get to the guardhouse, 'less you want to climb a mountain.”

“What did you see at that point?” Hook asked.

The engineer searched for a smoke and lit it up. “I saw what a train can do to the human body, and I'll never forget it.”

“Did you see evidence of anyone else having been in there?” Hook asked.

“Dark, you know, and quiet, quiet as death.”

“You called from the guardhouse?” Hook asked.

“That's right. Division said to finish the run. Come back in for this interview.”

“And Corporal Thibodeaux answered the door that night?” Hook asked.

“That's right.”

“Was he wearing his uniform?”

“To tell the truth, I don't remember. He could have been stark naked.”

“Anything else you'd like to ask, Lieutenant?” Hook said.

“Do you have any knowledge of why Sergeant Erikson might have stayed in that tunnel so long?” she asked.

He rubbed at his face with both hands before looking up at her.

“No,” he said. “We were on schedule. You'd think a man who walked that tunnel every day would have known better than to cut it close. There are lots of reasons why a run can be late, early, too, for that matter, but we were right on the button that night.

“It was a bad mistake, and it's sad for the sergeant's people. But he's not the only one who has to pay, you know. I got to live with this the rest of my life. It's the last thing I think about at night and the first thing in the morning. No, sir, that sergeant ain't the only one who lost out on that run.”

Hook turned. “If there's nothing you'd like to add, that should wrap it up. If we need you again, we'll contact Division.”

The engineer checked his pocket watch and walked to the door. He paused.

“There is just one thing,” he said. “It keeps going through my mind.”

“What's that?” Hook asked.

“That sergeant held up his hand right at the last second as if he had it in his power somehow to stop that train. I'll never forget that look on his face.”

*   *   *

After the engineer had left, Hook turned to the lieutenant.

“Well?” he asked.

“I think the engineer had it right. Maybe the sergeant had gotten too comfortable. Maybe he just got careless, cut things too close in the end.”

“It's possible,” he said.

“But you don't think so?”

Hook opened the door to let Mixer out. “And don't run off,” he said.

She picked up her purse. “The engineer believes that to be the case. I don't see any reason to think otherwise. As far as I'm concerned, this investigation is complete.”

“The engineer's account didn't provide much more than what we already knew,” he said.

The lieutenant rolled her eyes. “And your answer?”

Hook picked up his book and worked the dog-ear out with his thumb.

“I haven't found a good answer yet,” he said. “That's my problem.”

“Mr. Runyon,” she said. “I admit that my experience may not be as extensive as yours, but I can't help but wonder if you don't have a vested interest in keeping this case open.”

“Oh? And why would that be?”

“Perhaps a man who's guarding salvage cars prefers instead to be investigating a murder case.”

“I'm just interested in the truth, no matter where it leads or who is implicated, Lieutenant.”

“Really?” she said. “You were quick enough to delegate the personal details of this case as I recall.”

“It may be the army is more concerned about following the rules than finding the truth,” he said. “I'm not cut that way.”

“Are you insinuating that we're ignoring evidence?”

“Sometimes it's necessary to look beyond the evidence, Lieutenant.”

“I see. And what is it that you think I've overlooked?”

“For one thing, I'd bet my next paycheck those two guards were sleeping with the same woman. Men have been known to kill each other over that sort of thing.”

A blush crawled up the lieutenant's throat. “Even if this was true,” she said, “it only proves that men are capable of deception, which comes as no surprise to anyone. But it doesn't necessarily equate to homicide.”

“No, but it does require consideration.”

She walked to the door of the caboose. “So, what are you suggesting?”

“I want to go back and question that guard again,” he said.

Lieutenant Capron stepped out onto the platform of the caboose.

“Really, Mr. Runyon, is that necessary?”

“Yes,” he said.

“I'll have to be there, and there are a good many other things I need to be doing.”

“It's necessary.”

The lieutenant sighed. “When?”

“Right now. We can take the popcar out if you want. It's a straight run from here.”

“The popcar?”

“The motorcar,” he said. “The railroad provides me one on occasion.”

“Doesn't that violate some sort of railroad rule?”

“Not so long as I'm enforcing them,” he said, picking up his coat. “Did you bring a wrap?”

“No.”

He reached for an old work coat from behind the door.

“Take this one,” he said. “Like me, it's a little worn around the edges, but it still does the job.”

 

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