“Do you have any idea which direction he might have taken?”
“He talked about home, Louisiana.” She stubbed her cigarette out in the tray. “You’d have thought no other place on earth existed.”
“And then you were picked up by the police?” the lieutenant asked.
“I sat there for a long time before deciding to turn myself in. I tried to talk him out of robbing those people, you know, but he said it was the only way we could get the money. He said people like us would never have nothing if we didn’t take it. But I ain’t no criminal. I worked all my life and never robbed no one.”
Hook walked to the door and then back to the table. “Did he ever talk to you about Sergeant Erikson’s death?”
“He said he was glad he was dead, that Erikson had ruined his promotion.”
Hook sat back down at the table. “Do you think he killed Sergeant Erikson?”
“No,” she said.
“But you said he was jealous of you and angry about the promotion, so why wouldn’t he kill him?”
Linda Sue studied her hands before answering. “Because he was afraid of him.”
“And were you afraid of him, too?” the lieutenant asked.
“Yes,” she said.
The lieutenant glanced at Hook. “Why were you afraid of him?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I just was.”
* * *
Lieutenant Capron and Hook sat in the staff car. She took a mirror out of her purse and checked her makeup. She dropped a fingernail against the corner of her mouth.
“Do you think she’s telling the truth?” she asked.
“Yes,” Hook said.
“So,” she said, clamping her purse shut. “Where have you been?”
Hook searched out his cigarettes, but he’d given the last one to Linda Sue.
“Pickpockets up north,” he said. “There’s no end to them.”
“Do you have a theory about Thibodeaux?” she asked.
“He’s developed a taste for easy money,” he said. “We’ll be hearing from him again, I expect.”
“Are you going back to Ash Fork?” she asked.
“Tomorrow,” he said. “I’ve a hot lead on those copper thieves. You?”
“I plan on staying at the Broadview here in Wichita tonight and then on to Chicago tomorrow. Army business.”
“The Broadview? The army must not be so bad as everyone says.”
“Could I drop you?” she asked.
“I’d appreciate that.”
“Mind if I stop by the hotel first? I’m expecting a call.”
“No problem,” he said.
* * *
Hook bought a pack of cigarettes at the bar and then waited in the lobby while she checked at the front desk.
“Would you bring up my luggage from the car?” she asked. “I’m in room 204. I’ve requested room service to send a bottle of Beam up. That is your preference, isn’t it?”
“Sounds good to me,” he said.
Hook found only a single suitcase in the car. He knocked on the door and waited.
“Come in,” she said, opening the door. “I’ve drinks fixed.”
He took a seat, and she handed him a whiskey on the rocks.
“Thanks,” he said.
She sat across from him and sipped at her drink. “Do you think Corporal Thibodeaux is still in the area?”
“It’s possible,” he said. “But I don’t think so.”
“Perhaps he’s gone back to Louisiana like the girl said.”
“Thibodeaux’s smart enough to know that home is the first place the army would search for him.”
“Where do you think he might be?”
“Well, that I couldn’t say, but he’s leaving a pretty clear trail, isn’t he?”
“There must be something that can be done?”
Hook lit a cigarette. He stirred the cubes in his drink with a fingertip.
“It strikes me that the army’s particularly keen to catch a soldier who’s just gone AWOL,” he said. “I’d think that such a thing might happen fairly often in the army, especially when a war’s on. Guarding that tunnel out there in the middle of nowhere had to be pretty lonesome duty for a young fellow like him.”
“You’re forgetting that the corporal has managed to commit a couple of felonies along the way.”
“That’s a fact,” he said. “And he’s likely running scared. It’s pretty clear he’s not a master criminal. He’ll be sticking his head up again soon enough.”
She settled back in her chair. “Perhaps you’re right. Let’s change the subject.”
Hook finished his drink, and she got up to fix him another.
“You’ve never talked much about what happened to you, I mean, about the arm and all that,” she said over her shoulder.
She handed him the drink. “There’s not much to say,” he said. “I lost it in an accident. I felt pretty sorry for myself for a while, but sooner or later you either die or get up. I wasn’t ready to die, I guess.”
“At first, I thought you were just arrogant,” she said. “I don’t think that anymore.”
“You were probably right about that,” he said. “A man with one arm has to believe in himself a little more than the normal. Some folks might take it as arrogance.
“I never did thank you properly for saving my life that night at the culvert,” he said.
“It was nothing,” she said.
The phone rang, and the lieutenant went over to the desk to answer it. She sat down and held the phone with her chin.
“Alright,” she said. Reaching for a pen, she jotted something down on the hotel notepad. “Right,” she said, tearing off the page and slipping it under the corner of the lamp. “Yes, thanks for calling.”
Hook stood. “Everything okay?” he asked.
She looked in the mirror and brushed her hair back.
“Yes,” she said. “Army business. Everything’s fine.”
“Well,” he said. “Thanks for the drink. I best be going.”
“I’ll get my wrap and drop you,” she said.
When she opened the closet door, Hook glanced at the notepad where she had written down a phone number and, in perfect hand, “Contact John Ballard, American Locomotive Company, Schenectady N.Y.”
* * *
Hook watched from the depot window as the lieutenant pulled away. He checked his watch. He had plenty of time before his train’s arrival.
The operator unlocked the office door for him.
“Phone’s there,” he said.
“Thanks,” Hook said.
He dialed Eddie and lit a cigarette. When he crossed his legs, he noticed that he’d put his socks on wrong side out.
“Security,” Eddie said.
“Eddie, this is Hook.”
“Where are you now, Runyon, Bermuda?”
“I’m in Wichita, Eddie, and with cow manure in my pockets from riding on a stock train.”
“You interview that girl?”
“Yeah. The bastard blacked both her eyes before he dumped her. She turned herself in.”
“And where’s he?”
“On the lam.”
“Jesus, Runyon,” he said. “Do you ever catch anyone?”
“I’m heading back to Ash Fork, Eddie. I’m closing in on those copper thieves.”
“I don’t want any more diner bills run up on the Super, Runyon. You ain’t Clark Gable, you know.”
“Listen, Eddie, what do you know about the American Locomotive Company out of Schenectady?”
“Just that they’re the biggest supplier of steam engines in the world, Runyon. Where the hell you been?”
“One more thing, Eddie. Did you call Lieutenant Capron about Linda Sue’s arrest here in Wichita?”
“You think I have time to take care of your business and army business, too?”
“Gotta go, but I always know where to come for information. You’re full of it, Eddie.”
23
HOOK FOUND SCRAP and Pepe atop the caboose. “What’s going on?” he asked.
Pepe took out his bandanna and wiped the sweat from his eyes.
“Loco,” he said.
Scrap climbed down and searched out his smoking tobacco.
“A man ahead of his time has to deal with the ignorance and narrow-mindedness of others,” he said.
“Mexico calls,” Pepe said. “I think it’s time Pepe listens.”
Scrap lit his pipe and looked down his nose. “You bastards go ahead and make fun. One day you’ll be begging to be a part of the Scrap West empire, but it’s going to be too late, ain’t it?”
Scrap pinched off his match and flipped it away. “You catch those copper thieves yet by any chance?”
Hook said, “No, I haven’t, but then what can you expect from ignorance and narrow-mindedness?”
“I’ve got another load of them copper pipes coming in today,” Scrap said. “I was hoping they might get to the smelter.”
“I’ve been working on it,” Hook said.
“It’s a sorry state of affairs when a law-abiding citizen has to stand by while he’s being robbed of a living.”
Hook looked over at Pepe, who had taken up a seat on the caboose steps.
“Well,” Hook said. “I have to have evidence before standing someone up against the wall and shooting them.”
Just then Hook heard something coming from under the caboose. He whirled around.
“What the hell was that?” he said.
“Hogs,” Scrap said.
“Hogs?”
“They’ve taken a liking to sleeping under your caboose,” Pepe said.
“Top-notch rooters,” Scrap said. “None better in the state.”
Hook looked under the steps and found a half-dozen sows stretched out in the shade. They grunted and peeked over the tracks at him.
“Hogs under my caboose?” he said again. Hook dropped his head and rubbed his face. “What the hell you doing, Scrap?”
“Them porkers didn’t cost me a dime,” he said. “Traded out that old station wagon for ’em. I figure they’ll turn a neat profit.”
“What are you doing with hogs, for Pete’s sake?”
“You ain’t got a lick of free enterprise in your blood, Hook. Them sows breed like rabbits. Tell him, Pepe. I’ll have hogs fence to fence and three deep by summer’s end.”
“You have to feed hogs, Scrap, or hadn’t you thought of that?”
“Hogs eat anything, even rattlers. Makes them randy. Bosely said he had a boar eat a rattler once, and it mounted three sows in a row before falling over dead.”
“That’s just crazy,” Hook said. “My dog sleeps under there, and by the way, where is Mixer?”
“Gone,” Scrap said.
“Gone where?”
“He just went off down the tracks with his nose stuck in the air.”
“Jesus,” Hook said. “Maybe I’ll just move on myself where there’s no hogs or lunatics to deal with.”
Scrap said, “Hear that, Pepe? And what would I do with my phone and jeep? Who knows but what someone might even steal my copper.”
“You just leave Pepe out of this,” Hook said. “He’s got enough misery.
“I got to go find Mixer now that his feelings are hurt. He could be lost, or worse.”
“He’ll be back when it’s time to eat,” Scrap said.
Hook looked down the tracks. “I need to borrow the jeep, Scrap.”
Scrap knocked out his pipe and stuck it back in his pocket.
“It’s currently in a state of disrepair,” he said.
“You sold the transmission again?”
“Back tires and for a dang good price.”
“How am I to find my dog? He might be halfway to Williams by now.”
“The daily operations of a salvage yard take a good bit of time and thinking, Hook, and that dog ain’t high on my worry list.”
“You’d think a man who owns a salvage yard could keep at least one vehicle running.”
“Well, if I was you, which I ain’t, thank the Almighty, I’d catch Frenchy’s short haul out.”
* * *
When Frenchy eased the bullgine up to the switch point where Hook waited, he stuck his head out of the cab.
“Now what is it, Hook?” he asked.
“How about a hitch out to the tunnel, Frenchy?”
Frenchy pushed back his hat. “You got a pass?”
“I got a sidearm,” Hook said.
“Climb aboard.”
Hook settled in at the back of the cab and waited for Frenchy to bring her up.
The bakehead opened the firebox, the heat blasting into the cab. Frenchy leaned over and checked the color.
“Blow her out,” he said. “She’s choked up.”
The bakehead pitched in some sand, and black smoke churned into the sky. The steamer coughed and sputtered and took a deep breath.
“Why you going to the tunnel, Hook?” Frenchy asked. “Or is it a police matter what’s too important to share with the rest of us?”
“My dog ran off,” he said.
“I’d count that as a blessing myself,” Frenchy said.
“I admit Mixer’s got a few emotional problems,” Hook said. “But who hasn’t?”
“Me,” Frenchy said. “I keep this son of a bitch running so fast and hard that problems can’t catch up.” He looked over at Hook. “Most of them, anyway.”
“You’re running pretty fast already, aren’t you? I don’t want to be sweeping up locals at a crossing.”
“They took all the crossings out,” Frenchy said. “It’s an open alley, no stops, and the tracks are spanking new. I guess they figure the Super wasn’t going fast enough to keep the celebrities happy.”
Hook watched the smoke boil by the window as they hit the grade. If Mixer stayed with the tracks, he might have wound up at the guardhouse, given that they had food, and food had always been one of his priorities.
Hook studied the back of Frenchy’s neck, which looked exactly like old shoe leather. Come any kind of weather, Frenchy rode with an open window where he could stick his head out. Said a man couldn’t get the most out of a machine without smelling the smoke.
“Frenchy,” Hook said. “What do you know about the American Locomotive Company?”
Frenchy studied his cigar. “They make the biggest, hottest engines in the country. But a steamer’s like a woman, she can get too big and too hot to handle.”
“Sounds like an engineer’s problem to me,” Hook said.
Frenchy grinned and lit his cigar. “It’s the fireman what can’t keep the boiler hot,” he said.
* * *
Before they reached the trestle, Hook lowered himself onto the steps, the ties clicking by beneath him.
“How long before you’re back?” he called up to Frenchy.
“Couple-three hours,” Frenchy said, “providing I can keep the bakehead awake.”
“Look for me when you come through, will you?”
“You can ride anytime you want, long as you got that sidearm,” he said.
Hook dropped off in a lope and waited as the train labored off toward the tunnel. He picked his way out onto the trestle, his head whirling a little at the space that opened beneath his feet. He knelt to get his bearings and to listen. Mixer, like most animals, preferred not to walk the trestle, so he may have sidetracked into the canyon instead.
Working his way over, Hook spotted dog tracks at the other end but couldn’t determine if they led in or out of the canyon. From there, he could see the military jeep parked in the shade near the guardhouse. Since food was most likely there, he decided to check it out first.
He knocked on the door of the guardhouse, but no one answered. Peeking through the window, he could see no one inside. Only then did he notice the briefcase sitting on the bunk.
He looked around before trying the knob. The door opened, and he stepped in. The guard’s weapon was gone, which meant that he had pr
obably left on patrol. An empty coffee cup sat on the table, and Hook could smell the remnants of breakfast bacon.
The briefcase was army and of high-quality leather like the lieutenant’s, unusual for an enlisted man to have officer issue. Hook looked out the window once again before dumping its contents onto the bunk.
He found in it a ballpoint pen, grocery receipts, and an Arizona map that had come apart at the seams. Something shiny had caught in the bottom corner of the briefcase. While he didn’t know much about the army, he did know what a captain’s insignia bars looked like, and he knew that they had no business being in the possession of enlisted men.
When he looked up, he could see Corporal Severe climbing the steps. Putting everything back into the briefcase, Hook went out to the porch. As Corporal Severe climbed the last few steps, he glanced up.
“Oh,” he said. “It’s you.”
“Couldn’t raise anyone,” Hook said. “Figured you were on patrol.”
The corporal leaned his rifle against the railing.
“That’s right. Is there something I could do for you?”
“Looking for my dog,” Hook said. “You haven’t seen him, have you?”
Corporal Severe shaded his eyes with his hand. “No dog,” he said. “I haven’t seen a living soul all day.”
“Well, he’s not much of a dog,” Hook said
“I’ll keep an eye out,” the corporal said.
“Thought I’d check down below. Hope the coyotes haven’t gotten to him.”
“Well, good luck, then,” he said.
“Is the line clear?” Hook asked. “Might take a turn through the tunnel.”
“It’s clear for now,” he said.
“Thanks,” Hook said. “You boys be careful out here.”
* * *
Now clad in boilerplate, the tunnel magnified the sounds of Hook’s footsteps. The curve had remained as before, cutting off most all light.
Without a flashlight, Hook had to feel his way along the wall. The weight of the mountain pressed in, as it always did, and the smell of dampness hung in the air. When he could see the sunlit exit in the distance, he went no farther and returned instead the way he’d come.
He looked at his watch, two hours until Frenchy was due back. That should be enough time to search out a pretty good stretch of the canyon.
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