Deke’s eyes cleared slowly, like fog burning off. After a moment, he picked up the cup, drained the contents.
“Well.” He cleared his throat. “That’s something, then.”
I busied myself finding coins in my satchel, ignoring the sudden sheen in his eyes. “More coffee?”
“Black, please.” He puffed air. “This is a load off, I have to tell you.”
“I bet.” I bought two coffees at the vending machines, excused myself while I filled Clyde’s water bowl, then resumed my seat. By then, Deke was himself again.
“This have anything to do with the woman I saw?” he asked.
“That’s what we’re trying to determine.” I set my phone on the table and got Deke’s permission to record our conversation. I also pulled out a notebook and pen. First rule when interviewing witnesses: don’t count on the technology.
I began. “Why don’t you walk me through last night and this morning? Start with where you picked up the string.”
“That was yesterday, at the Bailey Yard in North Platte. The string originated in Columbus, but the Bailey was where I came in. They added fifty cars there.”
“Including the refrigerator cars?”
“Yep. All the reefers came from a local warehouse, where they’d been cross docked—trucks to boxcars. A twenty-four-hour stay at the warehouse in between. Picked up some empties, too. I ran all the normal safety checks and headed out before dark.”
“This was after you got the go-ahead from the yardmaster?”
“Sure.”
“Bailey’s a busy yard.”
“Always is.”
“Once your string was built, do you know who did the inspection?”
Deke shook his head. “Only person I talked to was the yardmaster.”
“He seem distracted?”
A shrug. “He was busier than a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest, that’s for sure. But it’s always like that.”
I made a note. An overworked yardmaster and crew could explain how an open plug door was missed. But not how the door managed to stay open long enough for all the chickens to thaw. And for our victim to get inside.
“How many stops did you make before you got to Denver?”
“Two. First was Ogallala. That’s where we picked up the fertilizer.”
“Anything unusual about the pickup?”
“Nope. Went right as planned. The second was the one you know about. The delay for the repair.”
“Tell me about that.”
“Just outside Sterling I got word from dispatch that a crew was installing a joint near Denver. When I got the first notice it was just an FYI. They expected to be finished with the repair before I came through. But you know how it goes.”
Whenever a section of rail is damaged, a repair crew has to cut a new piece to patch the gap. The workers burn or drill holes at the ends of the rails, then bolt the new joint bar in place. If the weather is bad or if the track is in worse shape than expected, delays occur.
I made a note to get a copy of the work order for our records. But joint-bar installations were common; I didn’t expect the order to reveal anything.
I said, “What happened next?”
“I got the word from dispatch that I’d definitely be making a stop. So I started keeping an eye out. Especially in the kind of fog we had last night. If you know there might be crew on the track, you have to be vigilant.”
“Is that how you happened to see the woman?”
“Yep. If not for that planned stop, I probably would have missed her. Before I saw the woman, though, I spotted lights.”
“Heinrich mentioned that.”
Deke nodded. “Up ahead, pretty dim in the fog. Couldn’t tell what they were.”
“Moving or stationary?”
“Moving. A cluster of them. Five or six, I’d guess. They were well away from the tracks, but soon as I saw them, I started braking, worried dispatch had given me the wrong location.”
“Headlights? Flashlights?”
“Could have been either. Or both. Could have been a UFO for all I know. But they were bright enough for me to pick them out over the glare of my running lights.”
The compressor on one of the vending machines clanked on, echoing in the low-ceilinged space. I took in the odor of overheated plastic wrap and warmed leftovers—a mix of tomato sauce and beans and tuna casserole. My stomach rumbled, a reminder that I hadn’t eaten since last night’s dinner.
My gastronomic bar was set pretty low.
Under the table, Clyde snored softly, oblivious. His bar was set higher.
I made a note about the lights, then spent the next few minutes clarifying timing, rate of speed, and other details with Deke. When I was satisfied with the timeline, I said, “So you had already started braking before you saw the woman. Because of the lights.”
He nodded. “Afraid it might be the crew.”
“And where was the woman?”
“Standing just north of the tracks. Out of range of the ditch lights and the event recorder. But still too damn close.”
North. That would place her on the side of the tracks where the road ran. I made another note. “It was dark. And foggy. How were you able to see her?”
“Fog was pretty bad,” Deke admitted. “But she had a flashlight. Probably one of the lights I saw. And the way she was holding it was strange.”
“In what way?”
“Well, if she was a railfan, just someone who wanted to see the train, she would’ve held the light away from her, right? Maybe pointed it toward the ground so she wasn’t half-blind.” Deke’s gaze had gone somewhere else as he slipped into the memory. “But she was holding the flashlight under her chin. Made it so it lit up her face. Put me in mind of how we used to tell ghost stories as kids.”
Interesting. “Do you think she wanted you to see her?”
“That’s for sure how it seemed.”
“And you saw her face clearly?”
“Yeah. Well, sort of. It was so quick. She was there and then gone. I was still going pretty fast at that point.”
“What else
