Murder and Misconception Page 6

  Finally, I typed Jonesy. Jonesy had been pulled out of service twice that I was aware of. George was responsible for one of them. It could be that if he got pulled out of service again, he would be terminated in all capacities. A possible motive for Jonesy could be fear of job loss, revenge, or finances.

  Lurch asked why we were not considering others like M&W guys, family, strangers, etc. I answered, “Because more often than not the murderer will be someone who has means, motive, and opportunity. We have just listed possible suspects, alibis, and motives. The means has to involve the spike maul that I discovered in the M&W truck last night. I’m sure of it. And those with the opportunity are those who were at the yard office that night. We will stick with our list unless we find out additional facts that can implicate any others. Just keep your big ears open, Lurch.”

  We pulled out of the siding, and the rest of the trip went by smoothly. No trees. I walked into the Indianapolis yard, glad that few people were around. I left Lurch to his paperwork and hobbled to my truck. I was still thinking about suspects and opportunity as I drove home. Once home I headed immediately for bed. My wife was sleeping and once again didn’t wake. I hit the pillow and slept like the dead.

  CHAPTER NINE

  INDIANAPOLIS, NOV. 13,

  WOKE AT 1800 EST

  I woke up rather startled to be in my own home and my own bed. I opened the blackout drapes and saw that daylight was waning. It was early evening. I wandered out toward the kitchen and saw my wife reading at the table. She said, “I wondered when you would awake from hibernation.”

  I replied, “I feel like I have slept through the winter. Every part of me feels ancient. How do bears manage to move all their joints after hibernation? Is my plate in the microwave?”

  “Yes. Pot roast tonight with zucchini bread for dessert. You might as well tell me about the trainmaster’s death. You haven’t been calling me as much, so I know something is preoccupying you.’’

  “Do you feel left out?”

  “A bit. But I have been planning for Thanksgiving and Christmas, and working on a project for the college, so keeping busy.”

  I got my plate and sat down at the table. I told Deb the summary of my notes and asked if she had any ideas concerning “whodunit.”

  As I gobbled down the pot roast, she asked a few questions.

  “Why didn’t anyone else notice that the M&W truck’s tailgate was down? It couldn’t have possibly been down since the murder, too many days passed. Someone must have recently placed the spike maul in the truck. Who was it? Or was someone trying to remove it from the truck? Why couldn’t he finish the removal process? Who was in the yard office that night?”

  I thought they were all good questions. After thinking and chewing, I jotted down: Lurch, Andre, Tom, and Betty was waiting in the limo. There was another crew I did not recognize. I made a note to find out who they were. Then I made an additional note to find out if the spike maul was being placed in the truck or being removed. I thanked my wife for her good thoughts and plodded to the TV room. She finished up the dishes and came to enjoy the night in my presence, or so I imagined. It was a rare opportunity for us to just sit and watch TV together.

  After changing channels several times, we decided we would watch Magnum PI. Deb said, “I love Higgins.”

  “Should I be worried?” I asked.

  “Just be glad it’s the short guy with a rather wide part in his hair that I love and not the tall, dark Tom Selleck.”

  “It’s us short balding guys that always get our women.”

  “I think I like his British accent, his ramrod straight stance, and his sense of fair play.” As my wife was going into more detail concerning Higgins, my phone rang. I noticed it was a St. Louis area code but didn’t recognize the number.

  I answered, “Ben Time.”

  The voice on the other end was somewhat high for a man, but one that I recognized. It was Henderson’s.

  “Mr. Time, this is Everet Henderson from the St. Louis Railroad Police Department. I have several questions for you. Do you have a minute?”

  Yes, Mr. Henderson. I do,” I replied as I looked over at my wife and rolled my eyes. I had her attention now.

  “Mr. Time”—I noticed we were back to the Mr. stuff—“it is George’s blood on the spike maul. It is definitely the murder weapon. The last time the M&W truck was driven was November 5th. Joe Travis, the M&W supervisor, pulled into the east end of the yard and locked the truck at 1700 hours. There is another set of keys in the yardmaster’s office for all vehicles left here at the yard. The various yardmasters here don’t remember noticing that the keys were missing. Whoever used the maul would need to gain entrance to the truck at least two times. The yardmasters all said they were too busy to notice things like a single set of keys missing. Also, the only prints that we could definitely ID were yours. There were fragments of others, but none we could clearly ID. You have explained how your prints would be there.

  “Mr. Time, I have interviewed Joe Travis. He has admitted to knowing you and none of the other interviewees. Question number 1: Why is it only your name he seems to recognize?”

  I replied, “I started working on the railroad as a very young man swinging a spike maul, a gandy dancer, for Penn Central Railroad. I have a lot of respect for the M&W department since I was one of them, and I talk with the M&W guys when I get a chance. Other conductors and engineers don’t speak often to M&W department employees. In general, transportation employees think they are the top of the pecking order, see, we move the freight. I’m sure Joe recognized Jesse’s name as well since he has had to go in and out of the yardmaster’s office.”

  I heard the rustle of papers before Henderson answered, “Yes, Joe said that he did recognize the yardmaster’s name as well.”

  “Question number 2: Mr. Time, when you bumped into the spike maul and looked into the back of the truck, did it seem that the maul had been recently thrown into the bed?”

  I thought for a moment before I replied, “I think it was recently thrown back into the truck because Joe is a madman about keeping his tools in order. The tools in the bed were haphazardly thrown this way and that. The maul was positioned with the working end toward my behind and the handle up toward the cab. When properly stored, the ends would have been the opposite direction. Also, it was on top of the other tools. No one would place it that way if there were plenty of time to put it away. It was thrown in with enough force that the handle was toward the cab of the truck and the working end toward the tailgate. I think it was thrown there in a hurry. And either the tailgate was pushed shut without enough force to latch, or there just wasn’t enough time for the perpetrator to close the gate. It seems to me that the spike maul was thrown in shortly before I sat down. That’s my guess anyway. Any more questions, Mr. Henderson?”

  He said, “Not for the moment. Thank you, Mr. Time,” and hung up.

  Deb was looking intently at me. “Well?”

  “That was Henderson. You heard what I told him. Thanks for getting me to think about this just a few minutes ago.”

  “Does Henderson suspect you?”

  “No, I don’t think so. After all, I was on my train some twenty miles from the yard while George was getting mauled. Henderson can’t get past the fact that I didn’t have the opportunity. Joe the M&W guy was familiar with both Jesse and me. However, it really doesn’t matter who Joe was familiar with. All the suspects would have known that a spike maul would be in an M&W truck.”

  “Just be careful, Ben. Mistakes happen in these things, and I have realized through the years as a railroader’s wife that there is a lot of animosity between management and union members, and, well, you just never know.”

  I nodded my head and glued my eyes to the TV once again. We hit the hay about 2200 hours.

  CHAPTER TEN

  INDIANAPOLIS,

  NOV. 14, 1800 EST

  The next morning I awoke and checked to see if Deb was still in bed. She was not. I called my stand nu
mber and found that I was three times out. I wandered into the kitchen and saw a note left on the table. Deb was at a ladies’ Bible study and would return about noon.

  I opened the microwave looking for a hot breakfast, but no such luck. So I made a pot of coffee and put together a bowl of puffed rice, not my favorite, but it was the only box in the cupboard. That meant that diet time was just around the corner. I slathered a piece of toast with a full tablespoon of chunky peanut butter. No diet for me, not this day. I ate, showered, dressed, and looked over my notes about the case. I added that Jesse would have had easy access to the keys of Joe’s truck and therefore easy access to the spike maul. If the maul was recently thrown back into the truck, I could only surmise that someone had hidden it for a time and wanted it placed back into the truck just before Joe returned from vacation. If the culprit did know Joe, they would have realized that any tool out of order would alert him. Henderson was looking in the wrong direction. He was looking for someone who knew Joe, maybe someone who knew Joe well. I thought I would look for someone who did not know Joe well or at all.

  I heard the garage door go up and knew Deb was returning. She came in cheerfully and chatted about the study. I invited her to lunch, her choice, and she picked the local pizza pub, convenient for a little more shopping. While serving as a pack mule for more Christmas treasures, I got a phone call. It was 1500 hours and Ty’s familiar voice informed me that he would be my conductor that night. I could expect my call at 1600 hours. Deb and I decided to get home so I could repack my grip for the next trip. Sure enough, I got the call for work at 1600 hours for duty at 1800 hours for the W367, and Ty was my conductor. I left Deb with a peck on the cheek. She looked up warily. “Why don’t you leave the murder investigation to the investigator, Ben? Take better care of yourself.”

  Ty and I were deadheaded, a limo ride, to Terre Haute to pick up our train. Ty’s a pleasant guy, and the conversation was lighthearted. We agreed that the Indianapolis yard had improved recently. They were better about moving the trains into the yard in a timely manner. I told Ty that several years ago it wasn’t unusual to get the train all the way to Indianapolis in six hours only to be left waiting just outside the yard for another six. It was terrible to be so close to home and be forced to sit and wait to yard the train. Ty moaned.

  “Man, Big Ben. I waited at Cadillac Road for three hours, and that was bad enough. Six hours would be totally unreasonable.”

  “Well, that isn’t all,” I said. “We recently lost four new hires who barely had completed all the forms for their personnel folders. They couldn’t believe there were no days off, no holidays off, and no weekends off. They just quit.”

  Ty responded, “I knew about the lack of schedule before I was hired because my uncle and brother work for the railroad. It’s not easy, but if you expect the lack of schedule, then at least that’s one hump you get over quickly.”

  I asked where his brother and uncle worked and discovered that both worked out of St. Louis. His uncle was an engineer and his brother a conductor, but his brother was on the list for engineer’s school soon, probably in February. Ty said that he ran into them on occasion at the yard office. He added that since most of his family lived in St. Louis, he wanted to eventually have St. Louis as his home terminal as well.

  That’s one more question I could knock off my list. Ty did indeed have two relatives passing through the same yard in St. Louis, our yard.

  Our limo reached the train in Terre Haute. We recrewed and started toward St. Louis in the night. It was a cold night, and I was glad the engine was warm.

  We had not been under way too long when Ty brought up the murder investigation.

  “I sure hope Henderson won’t be there tonight to grill me some more,” Ty whined. The whine was noticeable in an otherwise pleasant man.

  “I’ve been questioned as well, Ty.”

  “You have? I thought they were questioning only those who were there in the yard office at the time of the murder, Ben.”

  “I think I was called in to give Henderson insight into Indiana. Indiana walked out on him and mentioned my name during his interrogation. Henderson had the mistaken idea that Indiana and I were good friends. I told him we were work acquaintances. Not friends. Did you know they found the murder weapon? It wasn’t the Mason-Dixon but rather a spike maul. That gives Henderson greater authority when questioning now. Make sure if he questions you that you speak the truth, Ty.”

  “You know me, Ben. I’m your brother from another mother.”

  Ty got quiet for a time. Called his signals. He stayed quiet until we reached Effingham.

  We were cruising. Ty finally spoke. “I didn’t like George. He was always trying to show his authority. He was a power monger. He pulled my brother out of service last year. My brother was with an engineer that ran too fast through the yard. They got sixty days out of service for being five miles over speed. My brother warned me about George and told me to stay clear of him. I tried my best. My brother got hurt pretty bad financially from that incident. He has tried ever since to get out-of-service insurance, but the companies won’t insure him for at least another year, and only if he remains without further incident. It seems rather unfair since my brother wasn’t the engineer. He wasn’t the one running the train, Ben.”

  “I know. They always pull both crew members out of service. It doesn’t matter whose fault it is. That is just the way it is, fair or not,” I replied.

  “My brother didn’t think George hated just black men, but all men. The engineer was white.”

  I nodded, and things got quiet again.

  After a few minutes, I broke the silence. “When you and Jonesy were sitting in the crew room the night of George’s murder, did either of you hear anything unusual?”

  “No, Ben, it was unusually quiet, just the two of us talking. Both George’s and Jesse’s doors were closed. There was no paperwork to be pulled. It was just quiet. I may have heard the radio, the dispatcher’s voice, in Jesse’s office. But no other sounds. When I think about it, that was unusual.”

  “Did either of you leave the presence of the other?”

  “Well, I went to the john. At some time, Jonesy went for a cigarette break, and he brought back a cup of coffee. I heard him pouring the stuff into the cup as I was finishing my solitaire game on my phone. Wait a minute, while he was pouring his coffee I heard a door open or close, because I thought after hearing the door that we would be soon on our way. That didn’t prove to be the case.”

  “How long was Jonesy gone, and about what time did he come back? What time was it that you heard the door?”

  “I think Jonesy was gone about fifteen or twenty minutes. I’m not sure. I was playing Spider Solitaire on my phone, as I said. It was about 0330, Ben. You don’t think Jonesy or I did it, do you?”

  “No, but Henderson will be asking more questions, maybe these questions. I’m certain of it.”

  We quieted once again. I thought as I watched ahead in the black of the country night that I would have several more facts for my notes when this trip was done. Ty did have a motive. George hurt his brother financially. Ty and Jonesy were not in each other’s presence the whole time that night. At least fifteen or twenty minutes were unaccounted for. I also had several more questions pop into my mind: Why were both office doors closed? Where were both Jesse and George? Was there some dispatching going on that could verify or refute Jesse’s alibi? Was the door sound one of opening or closing? Which door was being opened and why? Why do I always end up with more questions than facts? I ruminated on these problems as we were given permission to enter the St. Louis yard.

  I brought the train to a halt, a perfect four-horse stop I thought to myself. Ty jumped down with his grip, and I followed somewhat more slowly. Ty was several sets of tracks ahead of me when he turned around and yelled “Ben!” and pointed behind me.

  I turned around just in time to see a coal hopper headed right for me. I moved as fast as I could, and I barely avoided becom
ing another railroad accident statistic. As I stepped over the rail, I turned in time to step up on the ladder of the coal hopper, climbed to the platform, and set the hand break, bringing the stray car to a halt. I hadn’t performed this move since I was a yard conductor in Burns Harbor many years before. I climbed down, and Ty came running back. He huffed out, “Didn’t know you had it in you, Ben.”

  “I didn’t either. Where did that car come from, Ty?”

  “I don’t know, Ben. I turned around and there it was. Let’s look around. This gives me the chills.”

  We walked back the way we came, looking for any movement, man or beast. There were two trains on the track with the stray car. Both trains were heading west. The car must have been from the rear of the last train. I guessed it could have been improperly tied down, but still wasn’t sure. We didn’t see anyone around.

  “Let’s go into the yard office and explore this further,” I suggested.

  Ty agreed. Then he said, “Do you think we should report this? You know they will try to blame us somehow, and your heroic gesture to stop the car will be considered an illegal move, Ben. You will be in hot water.”

  “Maybe I will just explore for a while and then decide whether to report the incident.”

  We entered the yard office. As Ty walked toward the computer to finish up the paperwork, Henderson appeared and said he would like a word with him. I walked toward the trainmaster’s office. He was speaking with Indiana. I nodded and asked where was Indiana’s conductor. I only wanted to find out both who and where his conductor was. Indiana said that the Mad Russian was probably getting the paperwork or taking a smoke break. I had passed by the computer and knew that the only one getting paperwork was Ty, so I continued out the front drive entrance to the yard. Chuck was sitting there in the parked limo. He rolled down the window and asked if we were ready to board. I said, “Not yet, Chuck. Ty has to speak with Henderson.”