Dead Man's Tunnel (25 page)

Hook lit a cigarette. “Checking out the line,” he said. “You boys had any trouble out here?”

Corporal Severe took the binoculars from around his neck.

“Had to scrape a coyote off the trestle this morning,” he said. “Monday, damn near got snakebit walking patrol.”

“Sounds normal to me,” Hook said.

“But there's been a decided lack of sabotage ever since I got here. Guess the Germans figure there's no reason to blow up what God nor man doesn't want.”

“You don't know where that survey crew is by now, do you?” Hook asked.

Corporal Severe pulled at his chin. “A work train came through here the other day. Said they were just east of Kingman.”

“Thanks,” Hook said. “Anything you boys need, let me know.”

“A transfer to the Bahamas would be nice.”

“You're talking to a man who can't get himself out of a junkyard,” Hook said.

“I guess there's always someone worse off than yourself,” he said, smiling.

Hook nodded. “By the way, we rounded up that Corporal Thibodeaux.”

“Oh?”

“He's in Sheriff Mueller's jail. I tried to get hold of Lieutenant Capron but wound up with the wrong department. Wonder if you could get in touch with her for me? Tell her Corporal Thibodeaux is on ice in Ash Fork.”

“I'll give her a call.”

“Thanks,” Hook said. “I'll let you know if anything comes up on the Bahamas deal.”

*   *   *

When he couldn't call Mixer in, he left him in the canyon, figuring he'd be hunted out and hungry by the time he came back through.

It took nearly an hour to reach the work crews on the outskirts of Kingman. A flatcar, cluttered with tools and supplies, sat on the siding. The survey crew had gathered around the watercooler.

Hook approached one of the men. “I'm looking for the foreman,” he said.

The man drank from the dipper and wiped his chin. “Rudy Edgeworth? He ain't here.”

“Know where I could find him?”

“And who would be looking for him?”

“I'm the railroad bull.”

“You going to put him in jail?” he said.

“Not planning on it.”

“Too bad,” he said. “Kingman depot, be my guess. He had to make calls.”

“Thanks,” Hook said.

When he turned to go, he noticed a stack of chain links on the end of the flatcar.

“What are those?” he asked.

“Links from a three-ring Gunter's chain,” the man said.

“What you use them for?”

“For surveying, but a Gunter's chain don't make a bit of sense.”

“How's that?”

“It's exactly sixty-six feet long, made up of links precisely 7.92 inches in length. The rings on the ends of each link are one-half inch in diameter.”

“Why those particular measurements?”

“'Cause if they weren't that, they'd be something else,” he said.

“Sounds like something Scrap West would build.”

“Excuse me.”

“What's with these here?”

“Wore out,” he said. “Those rings stretch with use and give bad readings. Without replacing them once in a while, this railroad could wind up going in a circle.”

“Maybe you should change them more often,” Hook said, climbing up on the popcar.

*   *   *

He found Rudy Edgeworth sitting in the lobby of the depot drinking a cola. When Edgeworth saw Hook's prosthesis, he stood.

“Mr. Edgeworth?” Hook said.

“That's right.”

“I'm Hook Runyon, railroad bull. You might remember me?”

Edgeworth drained his cola and set the empty bottle on the windowsill.

“I remember. What is it you want?” he said

“Blue's Café asked if I'd talk to you.”

Edgeworth pushed his hat back with fingers thick as rail spikes.

“So, talk.”

“It's the general policy of the railroad to spread their eating around,” Hook said. “Makes for good relations with the community and all that.”

“I'm a contractor, Runyon.”

“I understand,” Hook said. “It's just that Blue could use the business, and the food's good. Thought you might consider it.”

“I got a job to do here, and I have to cut a profit in the process. Shuttling my crew back and forth to Ash Fork doesn't do it. I guess Blue's Café is just going to have to live with that.”

“There's no law says you have to,” Hook said. “I told Blue I'd ask, and I did.”

“Anything else you want to ask? I've got calls.”

“No,” Hook said. “Well, maybe just one thing.”

“And that would be?”

“You did say your company's headquartered in Kansas City?”

“That's right.”

Hook lit a cigarette at the door. “Didn't happen to know a Joseph Erikson there, did you?”

“Kansas City's a big town,” he said.

“Right,” Hook said. “Damn big town.”

*   *   *

Evening fell as Hook made his way back to Ash Fork. He donned his coat against the cool and watched the moon climb skyward.

The trip had been fruitless, and he should have known that it would be. Edgeworth could only be described as a son of a bitch. Scratch the surface of a son of a bitch, and there's another one just like him underneath.

Hook listened to the clack of the wheels. The sound soothed him, as it always did, and cleared his mind. For him, nothing came as close to freedom and contentment as clicking down the rails.

When he spotted the surveyors' flatcar on the siding, he idled back. The supplies and tools had been secured for the night, and the men were gone. Hook brought her down and shut off the engine.

He walked over to the flatcar and relieved himself. Bats darted through the night sky in search of prey, and the smell of creosote hung thick in the air. He lit a cigarette, his match illuminating the stack of links from the Gunter's chain. He picked up a link, turned it in his hand, and dropped it into his coat pocket.

*   *   *

Even though he'd double-checked clearance at Seligman, Hook tensed a little as he rolled into the Johnson Canyon Tunnel. No one entered the tunnel without some anxiety, the sounds, the absence of light, the lack of recourse in the event of trouble.

When he exited, he brought the popcar to a stop. The lantern light flickered from the guardhouse window. He whistled for Mixer, who came bounding up the canyon path. Mixer, panting, his tongue lolling from his mouth like a wet rag, leapt onto the car and thumped his tail.

As they rolled onto the trestle, Hook looked back at the guardhouse. It stood stark and lonely on the mountainside, its light glowing in the window.

When they reached West's Salvage, he parked the popcar on the far siding and went to the caboose. After feeding Mixer, Hook dropped into his bunk.

The day had been unproductive, and he knew no more now than when it began. But there
was
Corporal Thibodeaux, and he knew exactly where to find him.

 

30

S
CRAP WEST STOOD
in the doorway of the caboose, pipe stuck in his mouth.

“You going to sleep all day, Hook?”

Hook sat on the side of his bunk. “You woke me up to ask me that?” Hook pushed the hair from his eyes and searched for a cigarette. “Okay, Scrap. What's going on?”

“Just doing my duty as railroad secretary and personal messenger.”

“And?”

“That female lieutenant called. Said she'd got the message from that guard about Thibodeaux, and she'd pick you up here in a couple-three hours. Said you'd know what she was talking about.”

“Lieutenant Capron?”

“How many female lieutenants do you know?”

“Do you always answer a question
with
a question? Jesus.”

“What's wrong with that? Well, I better get to work. Someone's got to around here.”

*   *   *

After showering and shaving and eating, Hook headed for the front gate of the salvage yard to meet the lieutenant. Scrap's crane roared and clanked from the junk pile. Mixer trailed behind Hook.

At Scrap's office, Hook opened the door and whistled Mixer inside.

“No,” he said. “You can't go along. Stay.” He took Scrap's coat from behind the door and tossed it on the floor. “And don't sleep on it,” he said.

*   *   *

When the lieutenant pulled in, she set her briefcase on the backseat and unlocked the door. He slid in. Her hair, the exact color of a new penny, curled out from under her army hat.

“How was the trip?” he asked.

“Early start,” she said, pulling out for Ash Fork. “Corporal Severe said you've arrested Thibodeaux?”

“He's in Mueller's jail. He'd taken up residence in Linda Sue's trailer.”

“This is excellent news,” she said.

As they drove up to the sheriff's office, the old man who had helped push Hook's jeep sat on the bench outside. Hook came around and opened the lieutenant's door.

The old man looked them over. “You under arrest?” he asked.

“No,” Hook said.

“That your wife?”

“No,” Hook said. “She's in the army.”

He looked up at the lieutenant. “Can you push?” he asked.

“Push?”

“I can't get my own shoes on,” he said. “Bad back.”

“Sorry to hear it,” the lieutenant said, looking at Hook.

Hook guided her inside.

The lieutenant hung her purse over her shoulder. “What was that about?”

Hook shrugged. “Every town has one, you know. I'll have them bring the corporal out.”

*   *   *

The deputy brought Thibodeaux into the office handcuffed.

“You can take them off,” Hook said.

Thibodeaux sat down and rubbed at his wrists. Both eyes were black.

“You have a smoke?” he asked.

“I owe you one,” Hook said. “Drink, too, though that will have to wait.”

The lieutenant took a notepad from her purse. “Corporal,” she said. “The army will be filing formal charges. You'll be transferred to the base and tried under army regulations. Do you understand?”

Hook lit Thibodeaux's cigarette.

“Yes, ma'am,” he said.

“You'll be charged with armed robbery, desertion, and the murder of Sergeant Joseph Erikson.”

“Murder! But I didn't kill no one, ma'am. Maybe I did some of those other things you said, but I didn't kill the sergeant.”

The lieutenant said, “I admit to misjudging this case. But I can no longer believe that Sergeant Erikson's death was accidental. Evidence to the contrary is now convincing; I might say overwhelming.”

“No, ma'am,” he said. “I didn't kill him. I swear it.”

The lieutenant leaned in. “Sergeant Erikson was involved with Linda Sue, your girlfriend. He held up your promotion. You had the motive and the means, and you've since proven yourself to be capable of criminal behavior. Somehow you managed to get Erikson in that tunnel, knowing the whole time that train was coming.”

Thibodeaux drew on his cigarette. “I hated Erikson, I admit. He didn't care about no one, see, and after spending all that time together at that tunnel. A man can listen to only so much, you know. I'm glad he's dead. I wished him dead a thousand times. I wished I'd been there when that train ended the bastard's life. But I wasn't there, and I didn't kill him.”

The lieutenant jotted something in her notebook. “You'd save yourself and the army a great deal of trouble if you'd confess, Corporal. Get this burden off your shoulders.

“Mr. Runyon,” she said, turning to Hook. “If you have anything to ask, do so now. The corporal will no longer be under civilian jurisdiction.”

“A couple of questions,” Hook said. “Were you going to make a career out of the army, Corporal?”

Thibodeaux snorted. “I'd as soon pick cotton.”

“Were you in love with Linda Sue?”

Thibodeaux paused before answering. “Lap cats can be real cozy. But in the end, they don't give a damn whose lap they're sitting in.”

“No more questions,” Hook said.

The lieutenant stood. “I'll arrange for the transfer, Corporal, and for a defense attorney. You'll be hearing back from me soon.”

When they came out of the sheriff's office, the old man had gone.

“I need to talk to Blue,” Hook said. “Would you care for a cup of coffee?”

“Alright,” she said.

“Let's walk,” he said. “It isn't far.”

The lieutenant's heels clipped on the concrete as they walked to Blue's Café. Blue himself poured their coffees and set the pot on the table.

“This is Lieutenant Allison Capron,” Hook said.

Blue nodded. “Lieutenant.”

“I talked to that survey crew foreman, Blue,” Hook said. “He didn't strike me as the sharing kind.”

Blue scraped at the spot on his apron. “Appreciate you trying, anyway, Hook.”

“Maybe things will pick up,” Hook said. “Looks like a pretty good crowd here now.”

Blue shrugged. “Oh, it's a crowd, alright. Same crowd's been in here all morning telling lies and getting free refills. Come lunch, they'll all disappear without so much as a tip.

“I heard you caught that corporal breaking into Linda Sue's trailer.”

“We caught him. Thanks to you,” Hook said.

“You ain't heard from Linda Sue, I guess?”

“I don't figure they'll be too hard on her. She didn't hurt anyone but herself.”

When Blue had gone, Hook sipped at his coffee. He looked up to find the lieutenant watching him from across the table.

“What?” he said.

She set her cup down. “Now that things are wrapping up, I guess you'll be moving on?”

“Not so long as Eddie's unhappy.”

She dropped her spoon into her coffee. “That's not really why, is it?”