The Hanging of Samuel Ash (29 page)

Junior stood. “You mean by myself?”

“If you're going to be a prosecutor, you need to learn to take on responsibility, Junior.”

Junior looked at Hook. Somewhere along the line, he'd torn his shirt, and his elbow stuck out the hole.

“You said you'd obtain a pass for me, Hook.”

“I'll do some checking on it. In the meantime, hop something westbound out of the yard. Your running ability isn't worth a damn.”

“What are
you
going to be doing, Hook?”

“It's bad form for a lawman to reveal his whereabouts and agenda to just everyone who comes down track, Junior. You never know when someone might derail your investigation.”

“I hadn't thought of that,” he said. “You sure have a way of figuring things out, Hook.”

“Experience, Junior. Now, there's one other thing.”

“What's that?”

“After you're done in Pampa, run on over to Clovis and pick up the road-rail.”

“You want
me
to pick up the road-rail?”

“That's right. Bring it back here and call me at that number I gave you.”

“But can that road-rail make it on the road all the way from Clovis? What if it breaks down?”

“Sometimes lawmen have to make sacrifices, like we talked about before, Junior. Anyway, it's the only way to get it back here. And watch those brakes. We don't want to be tearing up railroad equipment.”

Hook watched Junior walk off toward the main line, his hands buried in his pockets. Hook turned to go back to the roundhouse just as the yardmaster pulled in. Hook waited for him to get out of the pickup.

“You the yardmaster?” he asked, showing him his badge.

“That's right,” he said, checking his pocket watch. “Is there a problem?”

“My caboose is getting new shoes over there, and there's a crate of perishables strapped on the porch. Wondered if you could have someone take it to the icehouse until I can get back?”

The yardmaster dropped his watch back into his pocket. “What kind of perishables?” he asked.

“I'm not at liberty to say,” Hook said.

The yardmaster took off his hat and rubbed at his bald head. “Well, it's against company rules to be handling personal goods. A railroad bull ought know that. The big boys would raise hell if they found out.”

Hook said, “I'm aware of that, alright. The thing is, and I wouldn't want this to go any farther, it's the big boys who have a personal interest in seeing this is delivered, if you understand my meaning.”

“Oh,” he said. “Well, I guess it wouldn't hurt nothing. I'll have the boys store it in the back of the plant.”

“Thanks,” Hook said. “I'm sure the powers who matter will appreciate it.”

*   *   *

Hook waited downline for something headed eastbound. His feet ached, and his elbow burned from having skidded down the right-of-way with that damn kid hanging on to his leg.

When an old steamer came chugging out of the yards with another engine at her back, Hook gave her a wave down. She came in slow and easy, her brakes screeching as she pulled to a stop.

Frenchy leaned out the window. “If it ain't Hook Runyon,” he said. “I thought maybe you'd gone back to bumming.”

“How about a hitch, Frenchy?” Hook said.

“You ain't got a dead man with you, do you?” he asked.

“Not yet,” Hook said.

“Well, climb aboard. I'm headed to salvage with this old battleship. She's been sitting 'til the drivers are all rusted up.”

Hook climbed up and settled in at the back of the cabin. The bakehead nodded and turned back to his business. Frenchy bled her out and eased up the throttle. The old bullgine took a deep breath and moved off downline. Frenchy checked his pressure and lit his cigar.

“Where the hell your caboose go, Hook?” he asked. “I'd figured on picking you up on my way back from the smelter.”

“Bastards towed it off,” Hook said.

Frenchy grinned. “Maybe the big boys are trying to tell you something, Hook.”

Hook adjusted his sitting place to pick up the breeze from Frenchy's window.

“Eddie put it in the hospital and failed to inform me. I about wore my legs off walking this damn track.”

“Walking's got to be a new experience for a yard dog,” he said. “Where you headed now?”

“Back to Carmen,” Hook said. “Unfinished business.”

“You haven't gotten that boy to his people
yet
?”

“It's a possibility I've been looking for the wrong guy all along.”

“Well, now,” he said. “That might come as a surprise to some what don't know the ins and outs of railroad security, but it damn sure don't to those of us who do.”

Within the hour, Hook could see the Avard elevators rising into the blue. Frenchy stuck his head out the window as they pulled into Avard, bringing her down to a crawl.

“You might want to step on it, Hook. Looks like the Frisco's making up a short haul for Carmen this very minute, and I figure it's not in your plans to buy a ticket.”

Hook swung out on the ladder and dropped off in a trot. He waved at Frenchy, who answered back with a short blast of his whistle.

*   *   *

Hook settled in on the Frisco short haul and watched the wheat fields slide by at a slow clip. Evening settled in over the plains, and the horizon simmered in an orange glow. Tractor lights blinked on in the surrounding fields, and the night smelled of freshly turned earth.

As darkness fell, Hook pulled up his collar. In the distance, he could see the orphanage, and the wink of lights from its windows. He thought about Celia, her auburn hair and widow's peak. He thought about Eagleman and Buck Steele and little Bet. Most of all, he thought about Bruce Mason and his secret life as Samuel Ash.

 

32

 

T
HE NEXT MORNING,
Hook found Skink asleep in the supply room. He fixed coffee and took him in a cup.

“Skink,” he said, pushing on his shoulder. “This is Patch. I know what you've been doing, Skink.”

Skink groaned and opened an eye. “Oh, damn,” he said. “It's you, Hook.” He rubbed at his face. “I dreamed Patch was sitting on my chest, and I couldn't breathe. He just kept on grinning and saying out my name.”

Hook handed him his coffee. “It's a bad conscience, Skink, from staying up nights doing things you shouldn't be doing.”

“What's it to hurt, Hook?”

Hook held up his prosthesis. “Just saying, Skink.”

“Ah,” he said. “Jeez, Hook, what happened to your clothes?”

Hook looked down at his britches, torn and dirty from his roll down the right-of-way.

“Yard doggin' can be a dangerous business. Now I've a question for you?”

“Okay.”

“You ever hear of a guy by the name of Bruce Mason?”

“Sure,” he said. “He used to live at the orphanage.”

“How well did you know him?”

“Not very. The older kids didn't hang out much with us younger ones.”

“What can you tell me about him?”

“They say that he got into trouble with the law and ran off.”

“What kind of trouble?”

Skink shrugged. “Robbing someone, I think. I never did know for sure, but Jimmy Weston said he saw it in the paper and everything.”

“I see. Maybe I can find something there. Thanks, Skink.”

“Oh, and Bruce Mason had a girlfriend,” Skink said. “I don't remember her name.”

“Is she still at the orphanage?”

“No. They said she ran away, too.”

*   *   *

Hook waited outside the newspaper office until it opened at nine. The lady who let him in had on compression socks. She led him to a small room in the back, which served as the morgue for the paper.

“We don't spend much time on organizing, mostly by dates,” she said. “No one hardly ever uses these except for wedding pictures and genealogy stuff.” Hook looked at the stack of yellowing newspapers. “And we close for lunch, but you can come back about one thirty if you want,” she said, shutting the door behind her.

By eleven thirty, Hook knew more about the local football team and the Future Farmers of America than he ever wanted to know. He was about to quit, when he spotted the headline: “Orphanage Couple on the Run.” He read on:

Last night Ron Bolley, of Bolley's Gas Station in Cherokee, reported that a young man held them at gunpoint and ordered them to surrender all their money. Over two hundred dollars in cash were taken by the gunman, who then apologized to the owner before fleeing on foot.

Shortly thereafter, according to the police, the Spirit of Agape Orphanage in Carmen reported that one Bruce Mason, age 18, and Lucy Barker, age 16, could not be located.

Cherokee Police interviewed Mr. Bain Eagleman, the orphanage superintendent, who said that the boy and the girl were frequently seen together, that neither had living relatives, and that few clues had been left behind as to their whereabouts.

Mr. Buck Steele, orphanage foreman, reported that he saw Bruce Mason and Lucy Barker on the grounds together at about six o'clock that same evening. No one has seen or heard from either of them since their disappearance.

Hook went outside and sat on the steps to think about what he'd just read. Now he understood why Bruce Mason had forged his name on those enlistment papers, but what he didn't know was what had happened to Lucy Barker.

*   *   *

Skink stood at the buffer putting a high shine on a pair of loafers. When he saw Hook come in, he shut down the machine.

“Patch has gone to the bank,” he said.

“Listen, Skink, you said that you remembered Bruce Mason's girlfriend. Would her name have been Lucy Barker?”

Skink set the shoes aside and picked up another pair. “Yeah, that's it. Lucy Barker. Pretty, too,” he said. “Course, she didn't pay me any mind.”

“But she and Bruce Mason were close?”

“Sometimes they held hands on the way to school.”

“Did Lucy have girlfriends?”

Skink nodded. “Lots. She was popular, you know.”

“I mean special girlfriends?”

Skink scratched his head. “Esther,” he said. “They roomed together. They talked all the time and passed notes. Sometimes they giggled a lot, you know, like girls do.”

“Is Esther still at the orphanage?”

“Naw,” she's gone. “She works in Cherokee, phone company, I heard.”

“Do you remember her last name?”

“Rice, I think. Or Reece. That's it. Esther Reece.”

“But she hasn't been back since she left?”

“No one comes back to Agape if they don't have to,” he said.

*   *   *

Hook dug the phone out from under Patch's latest booby trap and called Celia.

“Agape,” she said. “Celia Feola.”

“Celia, Hook here. I've some news about Bruce Mason.”

“Oh?”

“I need to go to Cherokee and check some things out. Do you think you could take me? I'll fill you in on the way.”

“Well,” she said, “Mr. Eagleman is back from his conference.”

“It could be important.”

“I'll try to get away. Where do you want me to meet you?”

“The back of Patch's shoe shop. I'll be waiting.”

*   *   *

As they turned on the highway headed for Cherokee, Celia looked over her shoulder at Hook, and her chin dropped.

“Samuel Ash
is
Bruce Mason?”

“I can't be a hundred percent sure at this point, but it looks that way.”

“So this girl, Lucy Barker, must have helped him rob the station so they could run off together?” Celia said.

“They disappeared the same night. And Esther Reece, being one of her closest friends at the orphanage, just might be able to tell us something.”

Hook rolled the window and let the wind blow through his hair.

“Skink told me you've been out of town,” she said.

“They hauled off my caboose,” he said. “And Samuel Ash with it.”

“Oh my.”

“It turned up in the Waynoka roundhouse.”

“And Samuel Ash?”

“Safe now in the ice plant,” he said.

Celia drove for several miles without saying anything. Finally, she turned to him and said, “Are you telling me that you put Samuel Ash in the ice plant?”

“Or Bruce Mason,” he said. “Take your pick.”

“Hook,” she said, “I consider myself as unflappable as they come, but this is crazy. You can't just haul a body all over the country and then store it on ice while you hunt down a girl you don't even know.”

“They were going to bury Samuel Ash in a pauper's grave and forget he ever existed, Celia. If Lucy Barker and Bruce Mason were married or in love, then she should know about his death.

“I set out to bury that boy proper, and that's what I intend to do, though I admit that things have gotten a bit complicated. But it's just a little delay.”

Celia shook her head and slowed for the Cherokee city limits. As they came into town, Hook spotted the phone company.

“There it is,” he said.

Celia pulled over and shut off the engine.

“Maybe it would be better if you went in, Celia. I might frighten her.”

Celia opened her door. “I can't think why,” she said, sliding out.

Within minutes they emerged from the office. Celia opened the back door and Esther, a heavy-set girl in her early twenties, got into the back. Hook watched her through the mirror.

“Esther, this is Hook Runyon, railroad security agent,” Celia said. “We appreciate you talking to us.”

“Hello,” Hook said, making eye contact in the mirror. “I hope we aren't interrupting your work.”

“We were just closing,” she said. “But I don't know what I can tell you.”