three times the numbers of those moving west.”
Priest added, “One or both may have traveled back through your yard.”
“It’s possible, but unlikely,” Shast protested. “This time of year, riders spend as much time under bridges and in shelters as they do on trains. Your guys could be anywhere.”
“No rail company,” she stressed, for the benefit of Shast, who did not work for Northern Union but might prove sympathetic, “wants or needs the rumor mill to get going. Am I right? We have
all
suffered enough bad publicity lately. A fight between a couple of hobos is a nonevent.”
This drew a heated look from Shast. “Another killer out there?”
“You see!” Nell Priest said. “People will jump to the same conclusion, and what’s important here—to both Mr. Tyler and me—is that we get to the truth of what happened in that boxcar just as quickly as possible.”
Tyler understood that Northern Union would have a public relations nightmare if their property proved to be where a second killer had surfaced. Priest had apparently been assigned double duty: to quickly determine the extent of the crime and to keep a lid on it. In this way, their purposes were not in line. Tyler was barely worried about the public relations aspect. A crime had occurred. He wanted a suspect in custody.
Addressing Shast, Tyler said, “The NTSB, quite frankly, has a slightly larger agenda. It involves the recent derailments of several Northern Union trains.” Priest stiffened. Tyler consulted her: “What’s it been? One every six to eight weeks? Six over the last eighteen months? They’re in the paper, on the news, all the time.”
“One has
nothing whatsoever
to do with the other,” Priest argued.
“We can’t rule out a possible connection,” Tyler replied.“The NTSB hasn’t, and I doubt very much your superiors have either, Ms. Priest.” He turned to Shast, using the man as his forum. “Why else fly an investigator out private?”
Shast looked confused.
“Listen, the experienced riders know to stay away from here. We catch ‘em, we gotta lock ‘em up. Company rules. No trespassing of any kind—it’s an insurance thing. The kids too. God damn spray cans. And, on top of that, we got the junkies trying to steal anything metal not tied down.”
“So you don’t see that many experienced riders,” Tyler stressed. “They must get on and off these trains somewhere.” If whoever had fought that fight in the boxcar had reversed directions, Tyler doubted he, or they, would have been in any condition to make it too far. The survivor was probably somewhere between here and St. Louis. But it was a lot of track to cover.
“They jump the trains west of here,” Shast announced. “They know enough to stay away from our yard. East of here, it’s flat for a long ways, and the riders need the long grades or the ungated town crossings to slow the trains to where they can make the jump.”
“Can you provide us possible locations?” Tyler inquired.
“We’ve been over that!” Priest protested.
“Some of us,” Tyler reminded her.
“Well, I, for one, am all done here,” Priest announced. She offered Shast a look that seemed to caution him against sharing much more with Tyler.
Priest stood.
“I’d like you to stay,” Tyler suggested. He didn’t want her gaining yet another head start on him. He felt they’d be more productive together; he needed to explain to her his own dislike of the feds, despite the fact that he was now one himself. And he didn’t want her thinking she could run this investigation. His boss at NTSB, Rucker, wouldn’t appreciate hearing a woman rent-a-cop had taken the case away from thefederal agency running it. Besides, he wanted this case in his win column, not hers. She already had her corporate plane and Suburban. As a detective he had rarely played second fiddle. He was in no mood to start now. But she left anyway, and he watched her go. Her brash independence stirred his