Murder and Misconception Read online

  “Same as usual, the usual thefts in the yards, and we had one switch accident. It was lethal. I bet you’re glad you’re no longer a conductor, Ben.”

  “Yeah, for a lot of reasons. I know about George. The St. Louis dicks are questioning a fellow engineer, making him nervous. Do you know why?”

  “Well, Henderson, in St. Louis, is trying to make a name for himself. He lives railroad and is a railroad buff to boot. It seems he was looking at some old switch accident photos, and George’s photo doesn’t show the same type of injury markings as the old photos. He’s also into conspiracy theory stuff. He is probably just trying to move up the ladder. Tell your friend it will pass as soon as Henderson gets it out of his system.”

  “Thanks, John. I will pass it on. Stay safe.” I texted the summary of the conversation to Indiana then went back to watching NCIS. After a half hour of NCIS I thought, No wonder some guys are conspiracy theorists. They watch too much TV.

  Soon I heard Deb call out, “You made it back! Just got back from church. Didn’t expect you this soon.”

  “We got deadheaded home. I slept the whole way and didn’t call to remind you to get rid of your boyfriend.”

  She gave me a kiss on the top of my balding head and told me about her evening. “It was a long meeting tonight, so it will be a long typing session tomorrow.”

  Then I told her about our trip. She asked me several of the same questions that I asked myself the morning following George’s death: Was he married? Did he have children? How old were they? Was he a Christian? I told her I didn’t know the answers to any of those questions. She said I wasn’t as personable as I should be or I would know these things. She may be right, but I wouldn’t admit it. I told her that she really doesn’t understand the relationships between management and union employees much. She said she would pray for George’s family and added, “Ben, I’ve got to get some sleep. It’s 10 PM, a little past my bedtime.”

  “Well, I slept the whole trip back. I can’t sleep yet, so I’ll watch some real man TV.” I started changing the channel before she was out of the room. Just then my phone whistled informing me I had a text. Probably Indiana, I thought as I pushed in the code. To my surprise, it was a text from the Mad Russian.

  “Call me when you get the chance. MR.”

  I was not up to another phone call just then, so I phased out and watched three episodes of The Virginian.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  INDIANAPOLIS,

  NOV. 9, 1300 EST

  I woke up to the phone ringing once again. This time my call was for the W333 for 1300 hours with the Mad Russian. Some trainmen boards marry the conductor with the engineer. Both respond to the same call at all times. Our board does not. The conductors follow a rotation, and the engineers follow separate rotations. So we never know who we will be working with. I worked with Evans two trips in a row. This trip was with MR, the Mad Russian. Oh well, I thought, working with him saves me a phone call. I’d talk with him at work. I walked through the house searching for my wife, who apparently was not home. I found a note on the table. “Marcia and I went garage sale-ing. Should be home about 12:30. We can do lunch. Love Deb”.

  I know she expected me to be home longer, but once again I disappointed her. I had to be at the yard by 1300 hours. I left before she arrived home. When I arrived at the yard office, I saw MR getting the paperwork ready, so I started toward the engine. Day and night in the Indianapolis yard, the ground vibrated, the smell of diesel fuel permeated everything, and retarders squealed their high pitch of metal-on-metal sound that can be heard for miles. I threw my grip up and then heaved myself up. I began my routine to get the engines ready to move west. The Mad Russian’s grip thudding on the floor startled me. He didn’t follow it, so I assumed he was walking the train. I had my own “moving out” work to do. I finished as the Russian settled into his seat beside me.

  He said, “Sure am glad you’re my engineer this trip. I have had it with Indiana. Had three trips in a row with him. I think other conductors move down on the board if they think he will be their engineer. I can’t afford to do that, but if this was going to be another trip with that short, freaking loudmouth, I would have just had to lose the trip. I’m done with him.”

  “Is that why you texted last night? Were you just needing to blow off steam?” I asked.

  “No. Indiana called me and screamed on and on about the questions he was asked concerning George’s death. He said I would be interrogated when we get to St. Louis tonight. I wanted to ask you if I should have a union rep with me and why they would be interrogating us anyway if George was smacked by the Mason-Dixon. Aren’t they just harassing us?”

  I explained to MR just what I explained to Indiana about Henderson, the overzealous cinder dick assigned to the case. There would also be a claims department investigation with perhaps even more questions.

  “We have to comply with railroad investigations, so just hang in there,” I added.

  MR got quiet except for calling out the signals. I was glad for the quiet as we passed the empty cornfields and leafless trees. I saw two deer in the fields eating stubble and was glad they weren’t on the tracks. I have hit more deer than I care to think about.

  I knew MR was going through a divorce and had two children, so I decided to stay away from asking about his wife, but I thought I’d ask about his kids.

  “They’re doing okay considering. Jeff played Pee-wee football this fall and did a good job. Ana isn’t doing very well in school. I had a parent-teacher conference two weeks ago. She is becoming very withdrawn and failing two subjects. Now that their mother is living with a drug addict, I’m keeping them, but it takes a lot of family help. When I call down on the board to take some time off, it has to be for them. I can’t afford to call down or off just because I am working with a lunatic like Indiana. I just don’t need the extra stress that he brings.”

  “I admire you for sticking with your kids through all this, Russian,” I replied.

  We stopped to get several additional cars and then continued our trip. This trip was going pretty smoothly. Yet darkness always seemed to fall so suddenly in November. The rest of the trip would be in the black of night. Trips do seem longer when they cross from day to night or night to day.

  I had bought an Arby’s chicken salad sandwich for the trip. I started eating, and so did the Russian. We continued eating and talking. The dispatcher had us pull off into another siding. It was a cold sparkling clear night in November. We don’t get too many nights in November in which the sky is brilliantly lit with stars. I decided to walk out onto the catwalk and stood admiring the night sky, one of my favorite things to do when I’m set out on rural sidings. I was surrounded by the remnant of corn, and the heavens were decorated with pinpoints of light, more than I could ever count. A few moments on the catwalk reminded me of God’s sovereignty over his creation. Soon the peaceful moment ended with radio chatter, and I realized it was time to bring the horses in.

  When we neared the yard, we were immediately given permission to move the train in.

  The Russian broke the silence. “They are probably moving us in so they can interrogate me. Can you stick around, Ben?” he asked.

  “I’ll wait, but I have no authority to come into the room with you. Just tell the truth, and don’t be concerned. I don’t think this will amount to anything.”

  We took the ponies to the barn and dismounted. The Russian was lagging behind tonight. I glanced back and saw him stop and stare long and hard at the Mason-Dixon switch. I walked into the office hoping I could speak with Jesse and get her to talk about George’s death. She still wasn’t back. Andre was working.

  “Hi Andre, how’s it going tonight?” I asked.

  Andre replied, “Same ol’ same ol’, but with extra faces. The railroad dicks and claims people have both been poking around, and I’m still working for Jesse. It’s all I can do to keep things moving. Got to go, Ben, the phone’s ringing. Did the Russian go see Henderson? He’s been w
aiting.”

  “Yes, I think so. He’s been dreading this. I’ll be sitting in the locker room killing time.”

  I sat down and looked over to see if there was any coffee in the pot. There was some, but I changed my mind about drinking a cup for fear I would stay up all night instead of sleeping. I decided to text my wife and see if she was awake. When she didn’t respond, I assumed she was sleeping.

  To pass the time I decided to text my daughter. Trish is a waitress and is often up after midnight. I got lucky. She was up, and we discussed her apartment decorations and her mother’s opinion on painting a room purple. Deb didn’t care for the idea, but Trish was going with her own decorating sense, or lack thereof, according to Deb. Facing the usual differences of opinions, I told my daughter I was ignorant on decorating matters, and she concurred. After several more rounds of texting I decided to roam.

  I could see the back of the Russian’s head and part of Henderson’s face through the office window. Henderson noticed me at the door, so I quickly crept away. I wasn’t sure what to do next, but it occurred to me that I should go back and look at the Mason-Dixon switch again. The yard is usually well lit at night. However, I noticed that there were two lights burnt out—one close by the switch and the other located at the west end of the yard. I stepped over the tracks and approached the switch. I moved it both left and right again. It worked correctly. I stopped and took a long look at the yard from the switch.

  Just what was George doing out of his office? Was he looking to set up a crew for some failure? Was he testing the switch? I was drawing a blank and started to think back when I was a conductor. I could clearly remember when I had walked the tracks, counted cars, and pulled switches. Hated it when it was 17 degrees below zero and the winds were blowing. Miserable switches would freeze up. Glad I’m not a conductor any longer. I don’t think this once-Herculean body of mine could take it now. I wouldn’t dare admit this to any of my conductors, though. I continued wondering why George was out here. That question needed to be answered. I kept wishing that Jesse was back so she could shed some light on the matter. I looked the area over one last time and still hadn’t a clue. I needed to find out if Henderson had interrogated Jesse yet and what he may have discovered.

  I walked back into the yard office just as a door slammed. The Russian was leaving. He picked up his grip and stormed toward the exit. I walked to the locker room, picked up my grip, and followed the Russian’s lead. Much to my surprise there was a van waiting for us. Looked like a new driver, at least a new face to me. The Russian slid into the front, so I threw my grip into the back seat and bent my chubby body into riding position. I could tell the Russian was in no mood to talk, so I turned my attention to the new face.

  “Hi. I’m Big Ben, what’s your name?”

  He responded, “Jake.” Suddenly, I was thrown back against the seat as Jake, the new face, accelerated from 0-50 miles per hour as if we were in a drag race. Still trying to sit upright, I thought, Either this kid doesn’t know the speed limit here, or he just doesn’t care. The acceleration seemed to mesh with the Russian’s angry mood. I decided to sit back and hold on for dear life and leave conversation for another time.

  I exhaled a dramatic sigh of relief as we pulled up to the hotel. In fact, the hotel never looked so good—a safe haven in the night. I dragged out my grip and walked toward the sliding glass doors. Once again, I was several steps behind the Russian.

  As I entered, I greeted the night desk man. “Hey Steve.”

  Steve responded, “The Mad Russian is sure living up to his name tonight. What’s up, a rough trip?”

  “No, the hours are just getting to him, and our limo driver is training for the Indy 500. I think I’m pretty beat as well. See you in the morning after some beauty sleep.”

  Steve chuckled. “Hope it works for you, Ben.”

  I entered the elevator just as Ty was leaving. Ty said he was called for the E133 and was supposed to meet with Henderson as well. “What do you think that cinder dick wants with this black man?” he asked.

  “He seems to be interviewing anyone who was in the yard office when the accident occurred. He just interviewed Indiana and the Russian. Were you and Jonesy there when the accident happened?”

  “I’m not sure what time George was killed. We were there from 0400 until we saw you guys come in. Are they interviewing Jonesy as well?”

  “I don’t know. Probably.”

  “Well, Ben, I don’t like being the only black man interviewed. Should I get the union rep?”

  “No, just answer with the truth as you know it. I was told that Henderson is just trying to move up the ladder with his theories. See you later, Ty. I need some sleep.”

  “If I need some support, can I count on you, Ben?”

  “Sure. Remember, Ty, we’re brothers from a different mother.” The elevator door slid shut.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  SAINT LOUIS,

  NOV. 10, 1200 EST

  I awoke once again to the phone ringing. This time it was my cell, and it was blaring loudly. I must have slept through some of the rings. It is set to increase in volume with each successive ring, and it was getting loud. I answered and discovered I was being summoned to breakfast by the Mad Russian. I decided to meet him and find out what Henderson had asked the previous night. Maybe the Russian was ready to talk.

  I finished up my morning routine quickly, packed the grip, and descended for nourishment. As I entered the restaurant I spotted the Russian’s noticeably large frame sipping coffee in the booth in the right-hand corner of the room.

  “Morning, Russian, how’s the coffee?”

  “Could be better, could be worse, Ben. A lot like my life.”

  I sat, and the waitress quickly brought my coffee and took my order. The staff recognized the railroaders and got us in and out rather efficiently. I appreciated them. Some of the guys acted like real jerks toward them. I looked over at the Russian and asked if he wanted to talk about the interrogation. He nodded, sipped, and listed the questions that he had been asked: What did you think of George? Was George fair with the trainmen? Was he fair with Indiana? What was Indiana’s relationship with George? Did you feel the same about the man? How long did you wait for your train in the office that day? Did you get the following day off? What did you do that day? Did you ever have trouble with the Mason-Dixon switch? On and on Henderson had droned with questions.

  I finally asked, “What were all the questions for? George got whacked with the switch. End of story.”

  The Russian frowned.

  “Exactly. Why harass me? But he did tell me George’s skull markings were not consistent with other switch accidents. He was there to make sure this was an accident, not a murder. Then he told me to stay marked up, so he could question me further if necessary. That really fried my bacon. I always work, I’m always marked up, and you know it, Ben, and you know why. I hate Indiana for getting us in this mess.”

  “When we get back I’ll call my friend in the police department and see if Henderson is really a problem. Did Henderson mention all the people he was going to talk with? Did he mention if he had talked with Jesse? I think we need to know why George was out there.”

  “He didn’t tell me anything.”

  “Maybe Jesse will be back when we get our call. I know Henderson is interviewing Ty, and I think Jonesy as well, if that is any consolation.”

  His phone rang. “We got our call, Ben, the E465 at 1200. I am going back to the room and pack my grip.”

  I nodded and began devouring my Eggs Benedict.

  When we entered the yard office a few minutes later, it wasn’t as quiet as it had been. Things appeared to be getting back to normal. I decided to see if Jesse was in. It was good to see her right where she belonged.

  “Hi Jesse, how’s it going?”

  “Don’t ask, Ben. I came in, and the first thing I am greeted with is Henderson wanting to grill me, and grill me he did. It’s hard enough to return to this trash hole.<
br />
  “Has George’s death been hard on you? Why was George out there at the Mason-Dixon switch?”

  “Don’t ask me. I have enough to do and keep track of. George is not in my job description. I’ve got to get back to work, Ben.”

  She turned and stalked off. I had been dismissed.

  I trudged out to the train. I was disappointed that I had received no more information from Jesse. Clearly Henderson was raising the hackles of, well, just about everyone he spoke with. I decided that when I got home I would again call John, my friend in the police department. I would find out if he knew anything more about the investigation.

  I was thoroughly ready to move toward home by the time we received permission to exit the yard.

  It was one of those dreary days where the blandness of the sky matches the lifeless landscape. The Russian and I both seemed lost in thought, so at least half the trip went by in relative silence. There was some radio chatter, signal calling, and the hum of the engines. All of it white noise, a noise that can draw one back into sleep if not careful. Finally, the Russian said, “Ben, I wasn’t totally honest with Henderson.”

  “About what?” I asked.

  “Henderson asked me what I did with my time off the day after our very long trip home. I really didn’t think it was his business, so I just said sleep and some housework.”

  “Well, what did you do that day?”

  “The day before with Indiana was a long fifteen-hours-plus day. I did get about five hours of sleep when I returned home. Then I drove back to St. Louis. I’ve been seeing someone in St. Louis, and we had an argument. My mom had the kids, so I went back to straighten the matter out. I am trying to communicate better and not let this relationship end like my marriage. I stayed with her several hours and drove back. I didn’t think this was any of Henderson’s business. But if he finds out I was back in St. Louis, I may be in trouble.”

  “I wish you had told him the truth. Do I know the new gal?”