Kate paced Cooper’s living room, anxious to find answers to both the sabotage of the Sunset Limited and the kidnapping of Kelly Garcia. She checked her watch and resisted calling the deputy again. Since she was a notoriously restless sleeper, Kate couldn’t believe she’d conked out on his couch for ten hours. Of course, there were the two bottles of wine and the snifter of Bailey’s to consider.
She stopped in front of a photograph in an ornate silver frame. Cooper, wet hair slicked back, and a dark-haired beauty in a honey-colored sarong. Smiling in some tropical setting, they both seemed horribly happy.
Kate remembered dinner and had to admit the cop put on quite a show. The stuffed pork chops had been thick and juicy, flavored with sprigs of rosemary grown in his backyard herb garden. Small red and purple potatoes were basted in olive oil, rolled in sea salt and cracked black pepper, skewered, and roasted whole on the grill. String beans, sautéed with thinly sliced onions and Portobello mushrooms, were served in a delicate, green and white, shamrock-covered bowl. Kate knew the pattern, recognized it was Belleek china made in Ireland. Dessert consisted of brownies topped with Ben & Jerry’s Heath Bar Crunch ice cream and came with an apology that he didn’t have time to make something more worthy of her visit. Next time, he’d do bananas Foster, he’d said.
Next time? All the years she and Cooper had been acquainted and she knew so little about him.
Kate pushed open the back door and walked into the midmorning sun. She slumped into a royal blue wrought iron butterfly chair. Sipping the strong black coffee Cooper brewed before heading into the office, she listened to the cacophony of desert noises swirling around her, sounds made all the more vivid because there was no competition from electronic noise, sounds that would have been muted at Kate’s house by the TV that was always on. She had not seen a television anywhere in Cooper’s home.
Birds warbled and chirped and whistled around her, going about their daily work. A red-tailed hawk circled, searching for a meal. A huge black insect droned by and would have sent Kate running for cover had she not recognized the giant as a carpenter bee. The harmless creature sounded like a miniscule helicopter.
Turning her attention to the sheets of paper she’d retrieved from Cooper’s fax machine, Kate perused the information. The text of the letter found at the wreck scene continued to baffle her, as it did the local and federal authorities whose specialists were studying the writing and content for clues. Klanwatch, a group that kept tabs on domestic terrorists, had no files pertaining to a militia named Sons of Gestapo. The letter was aimed at law-enforcement agencies including the Federal Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms, the FBI, the state police, and even the county sheriff. Also mentioned were the government sieges at Ruby Ridge and Waco. Kate thought the hodgepodge of information was strange, scattered. Domestic terrorists were usually more specific in their agenda.
A Mexican bird-of-paradise shuddered at the edge of the flagstone patio. The plant’s ball-shaped orange blooms rustled as Ralph emerged and plodded her way.
The front door slammed, and Kate hollered “I’m out back.” She watched the tortoise. He reached her foot, his head strained upward, no doubt in search of a grape or some other tortoise-type treat.
“Good morning.” Cooper graced Kate with a bright smile.
“That was quick.”
“Not much is happening.” His eyes shifted to the tortoise. “Jesus, Ralph. Why do you always have to hit on my women?”
Kate raised her eyebrows.
“Just a figure of speech.” He bent down, and took hold of the animal. Cooper lifted the turtle up to eye level. “Cool it, Ralph. Begging does not become you.” The tortoise’s head bobbed and weaved.
“You’re goofy.” Kate finished the last of her coffee.
The phone rang. “Excuse me.” Cooper placed the tortoise gently under a nearby creosote bush and walked back into the house. When he returned, he had a serious look on his face. “Pat Sanders called. He wants to talk. Let’s drive out there.”
“Great!” Kate jumped from her seat in the butterfly chair. “I was starting to get a little stir-crazy.”
“Life in the outback is a bit too tame for a big city girl?”
“No, it’s not that. It’s just that I’m so used to having to be somewhere all the time. In the news business, you’re always scrambling to get to where the story is. You’re always playing catch-up. I’ve been living like that a long time.”
“I understand,” Cooper said. “Police work is pretty much the same way.”
39
COOPER GUIDED THE BLAZER off of Hyder Road and into what had become the parking lot for the federal and state workers who’d been assigned to the wreck site.
“By the way, they’ve got that student in Tucson sitting with a sketch artist.” He shut down the engine. “A drawing should give us a better idea of who we’re looking for. Hopefully, we’ll be able to get a copy by noon.”
“What about the other passengers who saw him?” Kate asked.
“The kid got the best look at him. He said they worked together about ten minutes getting the girl out of the car. He’s a college boy. They say he seems pretty astute. Maybe we’ll get lucky and get a good likeness.”
The Blazer doors opened and slammed in unison, and Kate and Cooper walked to the FBI tent for a meeting with Pat Sanders.
A short time later, the FBI chief handed a magazine to Cooper. The periodical, titled SP Trainline, was the most recent issue. “We need to take a look at anyone locally with a connection to the railroad. Open it. Take a look at the article I’ve marked.”
Cooper flipped to a page tagged with a bright yellow Sticky. Kate stood close to him so she could also read the text. It took a couple of minutes for the significance of the article to sink in.
“Jesus!” Cooper closed the magazine. “It’s all here. This is a copycat-crime right down to the wiring. This article should be titled ‘Train Sabotage for Dummies.’”
“All they had to do was follow the instructions,” Kate said. “There’s even a diagram.”
Sanders nodded. “Though they did need to have the right equipment. Still, it’s scary. The poor guy that wrote the story, what’s his name again?”
Cooper checked the article again. “John Signor,”
“Yeah, Signor. Here he’s getting paid to write a nice little historical piece about a derailment fifty-six years ago in Harney, Nevada, and some yahoo decides to recreate the crime.”
“Says here twenty-four people died in that crash, and that the saboteurs were never caught.” Cooper handed the magazine to Kate.
“The bad news is not much has changed in regard to the way trains function in the last fifty-six years.” Sanders sat and motioned to Cooper and Kate to join him. “So, what worked back then, works just as well today.”
“I’ve never seen this magazine before.” Kate flipped to the cover of the periodical. “What kind of subscription rate does it have?”
“We’re lucky in that department. It’s got a very small circulation compared to most magazines. Only about twelve hundred people are on the mailing list. Mostly hobbyists. It caters to railroad buffs. The magazine’s devoted entirely to Southern Pacific Railroad history, and it only comes out four times a year.”
“That means our saboteurs decided to do this pretty spur of the moment,” Cooper said. “This is the most recent issue?”
“Correct.”
“How many subscribers live in Arizona?” Kate asked.
Sanders reached into a stack of papers on the table and found the one he wanted. “Fourteen. I was hoping maybe one of the names might ring a bell. We’re prepared to check each one, but since you’re familiar with the locals, I thought I’d run the list by you first.” He handed the page to Cooper.
“The only one I recognize is Carl James.” He gave the list back to the FBI man. “But I don’t think he’ll help you. He’s been dead maybe six months. Liver cancer.”
“Is there any way to find out if t
he magazine was delivered to him?” Kate asked.
“Unless someone cancels subscriptions, they generally just keep coming as long as they’ve been paid for.”
“I know James’s son,” Cooper said. “He’s not the most easy-going guy. Ex con. Why not let me check into it?”
40
“HEY, RAMM,” the proprietor of the Butterfield General Store called from his usual spot behind the counter. Various publications were spread before him, all with lead articles concerning the wreck of the Sunset Limited. “Can you believe this?” He observed as Ramm grabbed a cardboard carton.
“Do they have any idea who might have done it?” Ramm inquired casually.
Tom Pace slipped his glasses from his forehead and adjusted them so he could read. “Says right here in the Arizona Republic that they’re still goin’ over the crime scene. Only one person died.”
Ramm looked over. By some fortuitous stroke of luck had the deceased been Miranda? His hopes were dashed when Tom continued his oratory.
“Just that poor railroad worker. I guess he was up doin’ his rounds while most everyone else was sleepin’. They’re sayin’ that’s what saved ’em. ‘Bout one hundred were injured, but most of ’em weren’t hurt bad.”
“Pretty lucky.” Ramm worked his way down the shelves.
“No word on Kelly. Funny, there’s nothin’ in the papers or on the TV ’bout her missin’. Now who would wanna go and take that poor little thing?”
He didn’t give Ramm time to respond.
“And that letter. Damn odd if you ask me. Started out with some poem about women prayin’ at that Branch Davidian compound over in Waco. Prayin’ by the light of kerosene lamps right after the electricity was cut off. Guess whoever wrote it didn’t like the way the government treated Koresh and his group.”
At the mention of the Branch Davidian leader, Ramm froze. Madman or Messiah? It made no difference in the end. David Koresh died along with his believers in what turned into a public relations disaster for the Federal Government. Could Dr. Bar El have prevented the annihilation had Koresh been treated at Kfar Shaul? Would he have become just another tourist stricken by the ancient city’s mysteries, only to return home chastened and embarrassed by the experience?
“Ramm! Hey, Ramm! You alright?” Tom stood at his side, griping him by the shoulder.
“Sure, I’m fine,” Ramm shook his head. The storeowner seemed unconvinced. Both men stooped to pick up the cans of tuna Ramm had no memory of knocking to the floor. “I’m sorry, Tom. I must still have a touch of flu.”
“You aren’t lookin’ too good, if you ask me.”
The groceries were boxed and paid for. Tom helped Ramm carry them to the truck. “Got rid of that dog, did ya?” He squinted at the empty front seat in the cab.
“No, just left her home today. Don’t worry, I’m keeping her.” Ramm forced a smile. “Oh, shit! I forgot I need a quart of ice cream. Mint chocolate chip, if you have any.”
Tom stared at Ramm, fingering a pen he kept in his shirt pocket.
“Do you have any?” Ramm asked again.
“I think I’ve got one left. Let me check.”
The proprietor returned a few minutes later holding a brown paper bag. “Here you go. Double wrapped it, but you better get it home pretty quick.”
“Thanks.” Ramm peeled off a five to pay for the ice cream.
“It’s on me,” Tom waved the money away. “Though I don’t recollect you ever havin’ much of a taste for ice cream.”
Twenty minutes later, the bell in the store rang. “Elect Sun.” Tom peered over his glasses. “How about that wreck?”
“Such a horrible thing. I don’t know how people can commit such violence.”
“Any word on Kelly?”
“Not yet. I was hoping you might have heard something.”
Tom looked at the woman. “Not a word. In fact, I ain’t even seen her mentioned in the papers.”
“They’re not releasing any information until the authorities determine exactly what’s happened.”
“And the reason for that?”
“I’m not sure, but they must deal with this kind of thing frequently. I’m sure they know what’s best.” Elect Sun placed her few purchases on the counter. “But Kelly must be located. The baby is due soon.”
“When you think about it, there are only two possibilities.” Tom dropped his glasses to the counter. “Either the people who derailed the train found some reason to take Kelly, which probably wouldn’t be good. Or she is with someone who is tryin’ to protect her.”
Elect Sun nodded. “You mean someone rescued her from the train? A friend?”
“Maybe so.”
“But why not come forward?” she asked. “Bring her back, now that she’s out of danger?”
Tom looked directly at the woman. “I don’t know, but I think someone is tryin’ to help her.”
“Maybe.” Elect Sun turned toward the door.
“By the way, Ramm was in just before you got here. He bought hisself a quart of mint chocolate chip ice cream.”
41
“HEY, BUCK!” Cooper called, as he and Kate stepped inside the tiny front office of the Dateland Gas Station.
“Deputy.” Buck James entered through the rear door. “I was out back working on my transmission. What’s up?” The brutish man stopped and suggestively eyed Kate.
“This is Kate Butler.”
“You livin’ here abouts, honey?” Buck proffered a lecherous grin.
“No, just visiting.” Kate stared down the thick-armed mechanic whose vein-stained nose pegged him as a heavy drinker. Spiderweb tattoos on his elbows marked him as an ex-con.
“You know about the train wreck, Buck?”
“Sure.” He wiped the wrench he was holding with a greasy rag.
“I was wondering whether you’ve gotten any magazines in the mail lately. One’s that might be addressed to Carl?”
“Hell! He’s been dead over six months now. Why would ya care what he might be gettin’ in the mail?”
“We’re looking for a magazine called SP Trainline,” Kate said.
“Are ya? You a cop, honey?”
“She’s just a friend.” Cooper shot a glance at Kate. “Still, we’d like to see the magazine if you have it.”
“Guess I shouldn’t have been considerin’ this a social call. I don’t talk to no cops without an attorney present.” Buck turned. “I got work to do on my transmission.”
“Gosh, Buck.” Kate walked toward him, smiling sweetly. “This doesn’t have anything to do with you. We’re just trying to locate a copy of a magazine that might have been sent to your father. Nobody’s talking about a crime. His name’s on a list of people who’ve received it, and we’d like to take a look at it.”
Buck coldly appraised her, making no effort to mask his gaze as he inched his way over her body. “Honey, you must think I’m just some stupid country boy. But today’s your lucky day, ’cause I ain’t done nothin’ wrong. So yea, my daddy got the magazine. Been gettin’ it for years.”
“You still have it? The one that came this month?”
Buck thought for a moment. “Don’t remember seein’ it. Then again, didn’t see much mail over the last week.”
“Why is that?” Cooper asked.
“Don’t know. I asked the mailman. Said he delivered a wad a stuff. But my box was empty.”
“You’re saying somebody stole your mail and might have picked up the magazine in the process?”
“Maybe. Don’t know. But I ain’t never seen that magazine. Not in three or four months.”
“You know anybody who might wanna rifle your mail?” Cooper asked.
Buck narrowed his eyes while his hands worked harder cleaning the wrench. “That boy a mine. Little half-breed prick. He’s been around causin’ trouble wherever he goes. Coulda grabbed the mail just to piss me off.”
“Your son? I thought you told me he isn’t around here much.”
“Yeah, he liv
es with his momma in L.A.”
“Is he there now?” Kate asked.
“Don’t know. Don’t care. Hope I never see the little bastard again.” Buck turned to Cooper. “Kid robbed me. He was here a few days ago. Took my old Chevy and everything else he could get his hands on. Ain’t seen him since.”
“Could you give me his full name? And an address if you have one?” Cooper reached for his notepad.
“Why should I?”
“Maybe we can help you get your things back?” Kate said.
Buck appraised her again and finally said, “Okay.”
42
KELLY MODELED THE turquoise pullover and matching pants. She also wore a pair of bright white Reeboks.
“Big improvement.” Ramm nodded. “You like the shoes?”
“They feel better than any shoes I’ve ever had.” She marveled at the soft cushioning provided by the thick rubber soles.
“They fit all right? Not too tight? I had to guess the size.”
“They fit just fine, Jason. Thank you.”
“You’re certainly welcome. There are some shirts and socks in the other bag.”
“Not just for the clothes.” Kelly pulled her gaze away from the shoes and looked at Ramm. “Not many people have been nice to me. Most, when they see me, turn their heads and act like I’m not even there. Or they speak to me like I’m a child who doesn’t understand. Thank you for talking to me without looking away. Thank you for being my … friend.”
“You just haven’t known that many people yet.” He smiled as brightly as he could. “You’ll have lots of friends someday.”
“Do you really think so?” Kelly twirled in her new shoes.
“Yes, I do. Now let’s get some lunch, because I have something special for dessert.”
“Ice cream?”
“You’ll see. And then, I’m going down to talk to Elect Sun to tell her you’re here,” he said mostly to convince himself that he would. “We’ll figure out the best place for you to live. Okay?”
A Light in the Desert Page 15