The End of the Line by Stephen Legault Read Free Book Online Page B

It measured fifteen feet by twelve, and was made of rough-hewn lodgepole pine logs, chinked with clay. Along one of the narrow walls was a heavy door, bolted now against unwanted visitors, including the biting cold of the Rocky Mountains. On the row of pegs behind the door the two constables who had policed this post would have hung their red serges and riding hats. To the left of the door as one entered was a small desk with a glass lamp atop it where he could do paperwork or prepare a wire for dispatch. Two beds flanked the walls, and between them was the table now supporting Durrant’s armament. A tiny window marked the wall above the table, but it was heavily shuttered against the cold. The potbellied stove sat in the corner to the right of the door. It now rattled as it threw off a pleasing heat. The only thing not in the room that had been there the night before was the corpse of Deek Penner.
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    The previous night, weary from travel, Durrant had responded to the discovery of Deek Penner’s cadaver with indignation. “You didn’t have no other place to put him?” he asked as they stood by the open door. The body was wrapped in heavy blankets, but Durrant could see the red stain at the head, and knew that what was beneath the shroud was not for men with weak stomachs.
    â€œBlue Jesus,” said Bob Pen. “I didn’t know that they put the body in ’ere.”
    â€œWell, he can’t stay,” said Durrant.
    Pen considered this. “I reckon we can put him in one of the storerooms at the station.”
    â€œLet’s get it done,” said Durrant. He turned to look at Charlie. “That’s you, son.”
    So the body had been moved. Frozen solid, it was heavy, and Pen had to call on two other men to help with the task. They struggled, side by side, through the deep snow, to manage the two hundred yards from the NWMP barracks to Holt City Station. Charlie’s diminutive form seemed unfit to bear such a weight as Deek Penner’s frozen remains.
    When the cadaver was finally laid to rest in a small storage room at the back of the station, Durrant turned to Charlie. “Can you get back to the barracks and see about building a fire?” The boy nodded and disappeared into the night. Durrant watched him go, his slight frame walking easily now along the snowy trenches.
    He turned to Pen. “Did Hep Wilcox say if he’d be in the station in the morning?”
    Pen nodded, wiping his gloved hands on some snow as if that might clean away any memory of the stiff corpse he had just helped transport. “I believe Mr. Wilcox is anxious to see this matter put to rest.”
    Durrant contemplated this choice of words. “As anxious as I am to see the killer brought to justice,” he said. Pen just nodded. “I understand there is a doctor who serves this location?”
    â€œThat’s right. He works the line up and down from Padmore to Holt City and on up the Kicking Horse Pass when there’s need. He’s a CPR man. Named Armatage.”
    Durrant looked up and smiled. “Saul Armatage?”
    â€œYou know him?”
    â€œYou might say that we are acquainted.”
    â€œWell, he’s in Holt City. I can have him come by to see you if you’ve need.”
    â€œI’ve no need at present, but in the morning I’ll want to do an examination of Mr. Penner.”
    â€œI’ll see about arranging for him to find you. Breakfast is served for the men at 7:00 AM . You and your boy there are welcome to join in with the meals of course.” He tapped out the contents of his pipe on the rough wall of the station. No sooner was it empty than he packed it again with tobacco he found loose in his jacket pocket.
    â€œWe appreciate that,” said Durrant, and he turned to make his way through the dark tunnel of snow to the barracks.
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    Morning found them in their cabin,