Chapter 18

Saturday, July 7, 1894

Malik said, “What is it about these dates? It seems odd, the timing, doesn’t it?”

Malik, Peng, Dick Schroeder, Bill McCroskey, Lieutenant Cormac Gilroy, and K&ASR Police Officer Leo Gorlitz, were seated around the dining table in the Lincoln Falls Loop. Gilroy, forty-three, was a plain-looking man of medium height and build, clean shaven, and bald from his brow to his crown. Officer Gorlitz was a slim thirty-year-old man of serious demeanor, wearing a full dark mustache and beard, of a style that was beginning to lose popularity among younger men in the big cities back East. Both of the Medicine Bow Division policemen were in the tan Kanzona summer uniform.

Gorlitz, leaning over to see what Malik was indicating said, “You’re right, Mister Malik. The time between the attacks appears to be growing shorter.”

Malik said, “That’s it.” He tapped the page in front of him. “If we can assume these two women who disappeared in Red Butte and Casper are part of this, then the intervals have reduced over time. They start out about two months apart in April of last year. By October or November, and through the winter, they seem to be roughly a month apart, but now it’s only been about two weeks since the last body was discovered.”

“We can’t really be sure, Emil,” McCroskey said. “We don’t know that we found all the bodies.”

“No, you’re right, Bill. But we do know that this isn’t slowing down.”

Schroeder asked, “You haven’t said as much, but you do reckon that this is all the work of the same man?”

Malik said, “Or maybe two men working together.”

Peng interjected, “Or women.” All the men looked at her.

Malik said, “I suppose it’s possible. Do you have a theory?”

“No,” she said. “I simply want us to be mindful that we make assumptions without being aware that we have made them. In this instance I agree that our villain is most likely one or two men. However, we might miss something that would point us toward a female perpetrator simply because we are looking only for a man.”

McCroskey said, “That was a point that Sir Geoff would make in training: don’t let your theory of the crime keep you from seeing other evidence. From what I’ve heard, Michael DeWitt preaches from the same gospel.”

At that point, Wu Jianhong -- Mister Wu, who had accompanied Dick Schroeder from Waypoint -- brought out a platter of doughnuts. Wu had been pressed into traveling service as Zou Lei was on the recently commissioned Rio Grande seeing to the comforts of Dixie and Frank Tremaine’s honeymoon while his wife, Fei Weisheng, was seeing to the Malik Family.

Malik glanced at the wall clock and said, “Let’s take a fifteen minute recess.”

There was general movement as the ad hoc group rose to various purposes. Malik went out to the “back” coach platform, to await a turn in the privies which were just inside the door. He was joined there by Cormac Gilroy, who lit a cigarette and commented on the wind.

“You know, this would be nice weather, if it wasn’t rushing around so much. Welcome to Wyoming.”

Malik chuckled. “Is it true what they say, that the snow never melts, it just blows around until it wears out?”

The branch commander groaned. “Yeah, that’s what they say, over, and over, and over again.”

“Well, “Malik said, “at least you don’t have to deal with snew.”

Gilroy turned to look at him. “Are you kidding me? Everybody on the road knows about snew. You’re known as the Johnny Appleseed of snew.”

That brought a hearty laugh from Malik. “The Johnny Appleseed of snew,” he chuckled. “Finally, a worthy epitaph for my gravestone.”

“Better than mine: ‘Chief Bungler of the Medicine Bow,’” Gilroy groused.

“What are you talking about?” Malik said, turning toward the man. “You’ve developed some excellent information on these killings.”

“Would that it were so. No, it was that young man in there, that Leo Gorlitz. He’s the one who took note of the common ages and dark hair color. He’s the one who remembered the two missing women from up north. Of course, in the latter instance, he had the advantage that he and his wife had attended the same church as those two.”

“Oh, really? Then this must’ve hit close to home for him.”

“He said his wife has been upset.” Gilroy took a slow draw on the cigarette, then released the smoke as he shook his head. “She might also be nervous because she shares some common traits with the dead women.”

“Oh?”

“Yep. She’s about thirty, dark hair, slim, and she was a pretty thing, but a rearing horse clipped her jaw a couple years ago. She recovered nicely, thanks to our Doc Penrose, but it left a nasty scar.”

“Oh, yeah, I remember hearing about that. So that was Missus Gorlitz, huh?”

“Yup, that was her.” Gilroy took a final draw on the cigarette and tossed the butt to the track ballast, below. “I think Leo’s ready to be a sergeant. He’s had the training and taken the examinations. But I reckon it all depends on whether or not this business gloom ever lifts.”

“It will. It’s just a matter of time. We’re closer to it now than we were a year ago.”

Shortly after four o’clock that afternoon, Dick Schroeder boarded an eastbound Union Pacific passenger coach. He was headed to Cheyenne, the seat of Laramie County, to visit the sheriff’s deputy who had been assigned to investigate the death of the woman whose body had been found in the damaged UP boxcar.

The male contingent of the group would ride in the Lincoln Falls Loop as part of the consist of a special train that now included the Chen Niao. Malik had lent that business car to Barbara Matheson for her travel in organizing the colleges. Matheson’s paramour, Rosario Gonzaga, the latest known victim of the Railroad Ravisher, as the murderer had been dubbed by a Denver newspaper, had traveled with her. Gonzaga had also been employed by the college trust, on a part-time arrangement, preparing publicity and recruiting notices as well as writing articles for local and regional newspapers and magazines.

Barbara Matheson and Karla Wodehouse had joined Malik and the others for lunch. Afterward, Matheson asked for a private conversation with Malik. They both walked over to the Chen Niao, which was spotted on an adjoining spur.

“Mister Malik, I would like your permission to have Rosario buried in the cemetery at Ranch Home, and I would like a plot there for myself, next to her.”

They had taken seats across from one another on two of the four couches that surrounded the low table in the coach’s main cabin. Now Malik sat up a bit straighter.

“Oh, I wasn’t expecting that,” he replied. “Technically, that permission should come from my brother, as he is the chief executive of the ranch. However, I can’t imagine he would turn you down. But, may I ask, why there?”

She looked off, out a window. “When I was organizing the school at Saint Francis of Assisi, I would walk there on that hillside, on the paths among the gravestones, as I read my daily office. It was such a peaceful place, and a lovely setting, with the trees, and the views down toward the river.” In the Roman Rite, fixed times of daily prayer are called offices, as they reference an official set of prayers, scripture readings, meditations, or other devotionals. They are read from a book called a breviary, of which there are several versions among official religious membership organizations.

Malik was nodding. Then, “Tell you what,” he said, “I’ll send Andy a telegram as soon as we’re done here. I’m sure it won’t be a problem.”

“Thank you, very much. But,” she hesitated, “there’s also something else.” She shifted nervously on the sofa, then said, “I should like to accompany your, uh, group, your ... posse, in the investigation of the murder of Rosario and these other women.”

Again, Malik looked startled. “Oh. Well, I reckon I wasn’t expecting that, either.” His face displaying a questioning uncertainty, he said, “So you won’t be accompanying Miss Gonzaga’s body to Ranch Home? I’m sure Miss Wodehouse would be happy to go with you. And Father Ramos will be here in the morning.” Ramos had been in Saint Louis, on a faculty-recruiting mission, when the news of Gonzaga’s death had finally reached him.

But Matheson had other ideas. “I’ve made arrangements,” she told Malik. “The undertaker here has sealed the coffin and has agreed to keep it in cold storage until I call for it. And, while I sincerely appreciate Miss Wodehouse’s ministrations, I do not need a nursemaid.”

Malik was taken aback. “Of course you don’t. It’s not that at all. It’s just that, well, I reckon you’re part of a large family of sorts, now -- two families, in fact, both the college trust and the Kanzona. Karla was just the best person we could think of to provide our families’ support to a newly widowed member.

“It’s not because we see you as diminished or disabled, but because Rosario was a loss to all of us and ... I’m not saying this right.” He shook is head.

Then, more deliberately, he said, “I was shocked beyond words to hear of Rosario’s death, and the manner of it made it beyond imagining. I genuinely liked Rosario, anyone who knew her, liked her. So I felt her loss as an ache in my heart, as did others. But we knew, as bad as it might have been for us, it was so many times worse for you. And you are at least as important to us as she is. So, while we grieved her, we also felt the urge to ... I don’t know, to somehow ... comfort you. At the very least we felt that you are to be supported in your bereavement. Karla can help allow you that, without interference from those who might disapprove of the loving relationship you had with Rosario.” Malik’s gaze was steady, despite his blushing reference to such intimacies.

Now Matheson seemed less certain. She looked away, then back at Malik. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I do not mean to be ungrateful. Miss Wodehouse has been a real comfort.” She sighed, shaking her head. “I have been cursed with a prideful nature. It was the bane of my confessors when I was with the Order. And it was my failure there, my inability to finally submit to the very vows of chastity and obedience that I so solemnly made to God.” She looked at him, the pleading in her eyes. “Even now, my urgent need is to reach out and take control, to find this man who so malevolently devastates lives.”

With resigned acceptance, Malik said, “I know the feeling, know it well.” He looked down, shaking his head. Then he looked up at her. “I have no objection to your participation if you think that’s what you really want to do.”

He paused, then went on, “Be aware, however, that this group is primarily made up of policemen. In their careers, they have often dealt with the most depraved criminal activity. Their speech and attitudes may, at times, seem cavalier, even crude and unfeeling. It is the nature of their work that causes them to inure themselves to it.

“Nonetheless, they are intelligent and committed professionals, but they are men, and they are men who have been forced to frequent the gutter. Please do not hold that against them, nor should your own sensibilities be allowed to interfere with their approach to the tasks at hand.”

She was thoughtful, and said, “No, of course not, I understand that. I am not expecting a catechism class. I will bite my tongue rather than interfere with the process that will bring justice for Rosario and those other wretched women.”

Malik nodded his acknowledgment, then said, “I’ll have this coach coupled to the Lincoln Falls Loop. We shall depart for Casper when it is expedient, probably later today. Father Ramos can catch up with us. Is there anything you need in preparation?”

Straightening her posture, she said, “Yes. I would like a firearm, preferably a thirty-eight caliber revolver.”

Once more, Malik’s wide eyes showed his surprise. “Have you fired a handgun, before?”

“Frequently, while growing up on a farm in Iowa. My father owned one of the first revolvers, a Walker Colt.”

“You fired a Walker Colt?” Matheson continued to surprise Malik. Theforty-four caliber Model 1847 Colt Walker, at four and a half pounds, was a notoriously heavy and powerful handgun.

She chuckled. “One-handed, even. I also milked a half dozen cows, threw fifty-pound bags of feed, hoed weeds, handled a two-mule plow, and shoveled shelled corn, silage, and manure. I wasn’t raised a nun, you know.”

“No, of course not. It’s just that, I’ve fired a Walker Colt. It’s not my preferred handgun.”

“Nor is it mine.”

He chuckled. “I suppose not. Uh, I do have a hammerless Smith and Wesson thirty eight I could give you. It’s double action.”

“Double action is fine.”

“There’s a, ah, holster that we bought with it. It’s, well, a lady’s holster, it’s worn, ah...”

“A thigh holster?” Matheson asked, with a suppressed smirk.

“Ah, yes, exactly.”

“That will suit me fine.”

(Saturday, July 7, 1894)

Sunday, July 8, 1894

Three of the Kanzona policemen were Irish Catholics, and Barbara Matheson had proposed that all attend Sunday Mass together. Under the circumstances, Malik and Peng went along, though they usually attended church only when they were with the rest of the family. As it happened, Karla Wodehouse and Dick Schroeder were nominally Lutheran, so Leo Gorlitz, who was a devout member of that church, invited them to attend services with him and his wife.

Gorlitz, who had returned to his own home when they had arrived at Casper late the night before, spoke with Malik, when he and his wife called to escort Wodehouse and Schroeder to the Lutheran church. Gorlitz extended an invitation to everyone to a breakfast buffet at their house, after church. Everyone agreed to accept the invitation. Mister Wu, like most of the Summer Lake Chinese community, was also a practitioner of the Roman Rite; said that he would bring pastries to the Gorlitz’s buffet.

And so they were introduced to Donna Gorlitz. She was, indeed, a pretty woman, save for a ragged, curved scar on her left cheek. It was an indented crease of smooth, shiny, pink skin extending from just under her eye and down to her chin. She made an effort to hide the disfigurement with an unusual arrangement of her long, black hair, allowing it to hang down over her left eye and the left side of her face, while the hair on the other side was pinned back and fell behind her right shoulder. Her demeanor seemed affectatious, though hospitable, and she laid an attractive and appetizing table.

At one point, she asked, “Mister Malik, is it true the Kanzona plans to open soup kitchens in Casper and Medicine Bow?”

“Ah, well, not exactly. We plan to provide some form of food service for destitute transients traveling on our branches. The purpose is to draw homeless people to the terminals, rather than have them scattered along the line.”

“I see. The reason I ask is to inquire if you would be needing any volunteers? I have been working with the Unified Churches Council soup kitchen here in Casper.”

Her husband said, “She’s being too modest. She actually is the head volunteer. She manages the whole project.”

Blushing, she replied, “But it’s not that large a project, after all, Leo.”

“Still,” Malik commented, “it’s true Christian work and not to be sneezed at. You’re to be commended, Missus Gorlitz. I think we can allow Leo to be proud of his wife. As to your question, it’s our intention that the work in the transient camps will be done by those who benefit. Therefor, it won’t actually be a free lunch, so to speak.”

“Oh, I see. Does that include the supervisory posts, as well?” she persisted.

“No, no it doesn’t. Those jobs will be offered first to any of our own furloughed employees. They’ll be paid in company scrip, above and beyond the basic scrip amount they all receive.”

“The scrip that’s good on the Kanzona stores trains?”

“Yes, the same scrip we give all the furloughed workers, for purchasing food and clothing and such like from those stores.”

With a barely concealed air of disappointment, she said, “Well, if I can be of any assistance, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thank, you,” Malik replied. “Right now, I don’t see how, but be assured that I will give your name to the people who are organizing our transient services.”

“Please do,” Donna replied.

Gorlitz said, “Perhaps you’d like to see how she has organized the church council’s soup kitchen.”

Malik said, “Sure. Maybe we can help you with it. Where is it located?”

“It’s only about a block from where they spotted you coach,” Gorlitz said. “It’s at the Baptist church.”

Donna added, “We chose that church because it’s closest to both the Wyoming Central and the Kanzona rail yards.”

Gorlitz said, “Rosario even helped out a couple evenings.”

“Really?” Malik said, his voice expressing a note of speculation. “What about Missus Grayling and Missus Joseph? Did they ever help out with the soup kitchen?” Grayling and Joseph were the two local women who were missing and presumed to be the first victims of the killer Malik’s group sought.

“Martha Grayling was my right hand among the volunteers,” Donna replied. “But the Josephs live in Red Butte, and were usually here only for Saturday market and Sunday church services. They’d stay over Saturday night with his mother. Missus Joseph lives here in Casper. She was good friends with my mother, before Mom died. That’s how I first knew Lydia. But she lived too far away to volunteer.”

“Has anyone interviewed Missus Joseph?” Schroeder asked.

Gorlitz said, “Maybe the town marshal did, or maybe the sheriff, about the disappearance. But I doubt anyone has spoken with her in regard to these killings. I’ve talked to the husbands when I’ve seen them at church, but I’ve not approached Missus Joseph.”

Donna said, “I’d hate to see her upset any more than she has been.”

“No. of course not,” Malik agreed. “Let me think about it. Better yet, we’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

Later that afternoon, while Matheson was with Father Ramos, who had arrived on the Kanzona passenger train, Malik, Peng, and Karla Wodehouse walked up to the Baptist church. The building was on a raised foundation, some four feet above grade at the front. The ground dropped gradually so that, at the rear, the cellar was at grade level and allowed easy access to the basement social hall and its kitchen from a door that opened onto the alley, which abutted several empty lots behind the church. This was the site of the Casper United Churches Council’s soup kitchen, and Malik’s party had come to help out. In recognition of the warm weather, and a rare slackening of the afternoon wind, the tables and benches had been set up outside, on the empty lot immediately behind the church.

While not attending as volunteers, McCroskey, Schroeder, Gilroy, and Gorlitz were observing from the second floor windows of a nearby Kanzona warehouse. They shared two binoculars and were observing forty-one people: some eight church volunteers, including Malik’s party, and those partaking of the free food: twenty-four men, six women, and three pre-adolescent children.

Peng had made the connection between the soup kitchen and the possible attendance there by the dead women. With the Grayling woman also a participant, it was decided to observe the activity for possible indications of someone’s involvement...

Schroeder asked, “What are those odd white dresses two of the women are wearing. They’re of an unusual style. Is that a uniform?”

“You mean among the vagrant women?” Gorlitz asked.

Still peering through the binoculars, Schroeder said, “Yes, except, now I see some faded colors on the dresses. And they seem rather immodest. One of the women’s ankles are plainly visible.”

“The material seems rather thin, too,” McCroskey observed.

“Yes,” Gorlitz replied, “those are made from flour sacks, turned inside out. Donna makes them herself, for the women whose own clothing has been worn to tatters. She makes them all one size, so they are a little short on taller women.”

“How does she fit them to fat -- oh, yeah. Never mind,” Schroeder said.

Gorlitz laughed. “Donna had that same concern, and made several sizes, at first. But then we discovered that there are very few fat people riding the rods.” Riding the rods referred to the dangerous practice of reclining, typically with the use of a board, across the exposed truss rods that extended beneath the floor of many freight cars. One rode beneath the car in the open air but a couple feet above the tracks and roadbed.

McCroskey said, “Dick, do you see that man in the top hat? He seems to be taking an uncommon interest in the women.” He turned to Schroeder. “Dick, could you let Leo use those glasses.” Schroeder handed the binoculars to Gorlitz.

“See the man over to the right, sort of leaning over the end of the table? Do you recognize him, Leo?”

“Okay, yeah, I see him. That’s Pastor Wright, the Baptist minister. He usually greets everyone, but he begins with those who he knows are wearing the donated clothes, as they are usually the most destitute.”

Schroeder asked, “Did he ever pay special attention to Missus Joseph or Missus Grayling?”

Gorlitz lowered the binoculars and looked over toward Schroeder. “Not that I ever heard.”

Gilroy said, “Maybe you could ask your wife.”

“Sure, I’ll do that, but I have a hard time seeing Pastor Wright as our villain. He seems a most generous man. Still, I’ll ask Donna.”

McCroskey asked, “How does he know which men are wearing donated clothing? I don’t see any men wearing flour sacking.”

“The men get cast-off clothes that are donated to the churches,” Gorlitz said. Then he speculated, “Most likely, Pastor Wright recognizes them because those clothes have been recently laundered, while most of the others are, well, filthy. Donna and Martha Grayling would launder the donated clothing before handing them out. Now Donna has an arrangement with a Celestial laundry, where the Chinks get to keep some of the clothes in exchange for doing the wash.”

Schroeder warned, “You might not want to be using that term around the boss.”

“What term?” Gorlitz sounded puzzled.

“Chink,” Bill McCroskey said.

“Oh, because of that Celestial what travels with him?”

“Oh, that’s right,” Gilroy said. “You’ve never had one of Miss Peng’s self-defense classes, have you?”

“What?” Gorlitz exclaimed. “She’s the one you’ve talked about? Throws big men around?”

Gilroy said, “She is, indeed.”

“Really? I would have expected one of those big, hefty Chinks, ah, Celestials. Miss Peng doesn’t look that tough, to be much of a boxer,” Gorlitz said, peering at her through the binoculars.

“She’s not a boxer, at least not like you’ve ever seen,” Gilroy said.

Schroeder added, “You might picture it more like falling into a steam-powered combine.”

Sounding unconvinced, Gorlitz said, “If you say so.”

McCroskey said, “The point is, the company wants us all to be more respectful of people who are not white.”

“Nobody ever told me that.”

McCroskey shrugged. “Not much need of it, out here, I reckon. It’s near lily-white, in these parts.”

Gorlitz said, “Oh, I don’t know. We see our share of redskins, and the greasers, too, especially around harvest time.”

The others voiced a collective groan.

Later, preparing for bed, Malik and his qie conversed quietly in their cabin aboard the Lincoln Falls Loop. Malik asked, “What did you think about their suspicions of Pastor Wright?”

“He is an unlikely suspect. Pastor White is more interested in handsome young men,” Peng replied.

Malik turned toward her. “What? How do you know that?”

“I was speaking with the woman from the Chinese laundry. I had noticed Wright’s attentions and I asked the laundress if she knew him. She told me about his late-night visits to the wrong side of the tracks in search of male companionship. In addition, he was bedridden during the latter part of winter with pneumonia and nearly died. He is just recently recovered. It seems improbable that he would have had the physical stamina to carry out the murders.”

“Ah. I saw you talking with her and wondered at the length of your conversation.”

“Oh, we only spoke briefly about Wright. For the most part, she was curious about Summer Lake.”

“Summer Lake? How does she know about Summer Lake?”

Peng, now fully undressed, just gave him her best inscrutable smile.

(Sunday, July 8, 1894)

Monday, July 9, 1894

At breakfast, Malik asked, “Father Ramos, what are your plans?”

“After Barbara and I talked yesterday, we decided that I would accompany Rosario’s coffin to the funeral parlor in Waypoint, rather than wait for later, simply as a matter of expedience.”

“Oh. Yes, I see what you mean. It’s a, a...”

Matheson said, “It’s a question of the decomposition of Rosario’s body and the rigors of travel.”

Malik blushed, but said, “Yes, of course. In that case, Barbara, would you be available to accompany Lieutenant Gilroy when he interviews Missus Joseph this morning?”

“I’d be glad to help out in whatever way I can.”

“Well, I’m hoping she’ll be more comfortable and forthcoming if there is another woman there during the interview. I’ll leave you to judge whether or not revealing your personal loss would be helpful. Cormac will rent a buggy and return to fetch you.”

“As I said, I’m glad to help.”

Malik turned to Wodehouse. “And I’d like you to accompany Officer Gorlitz to talk to Pastor Wright. Leo’s going to bring the station’s buggy.” He paused for a moment and then rubbed his chin with his index finger, before going on. “I want you to feel free to question Pastor Wright. I’ll let Leo know that you’re to be allowed free rein. Will that suit you?”

“Sure, boss, whatever you want. I know how to elicit information.” Apparently, Malik’s apologetic note had restored his working relationship with the nurse.

“Good, good.” He checked his watch. “I told Leo he didn’t need to show up until nine.” He reached for the coffee carafe and refilled his mug. “Meanwhile, the rest of us will be right here, seeing if we can get ahead of Mister Wu’s coffee-making.”

Shortly after nine, Malik, Peng, Schroeder, and McCroskey were back at the table, drinking coffee, or, in Peng’s case, tea.

Malik, looking at the list of victim’s names and dates, said, “I’ve been looking at this list for the last couple days, thinking there was something odd, and I think I may have put my finger on it. Look here, these are all women who were transients, except these two: Joseph and Grayling. Even Rosario was a transient, of sorts. The thing is, from all we’ve been able to discover, Joseph and Grayling were the first two.”

McCroskey with a look puzzlement, said, “Fair enough, but what is it you’re saying?”

Peng answered, “That the killer started with these two.”

His brow still furrowed, McCroskey asked, “And what does that mean, exactly?”

“It means that these two were more important to the killer,” Peng said. “These two women represent his -- or her -- first motivation.”

“But why?” McCroskey persisted.

Schroeder, realization dawning, said, in a rushed voice, “Because, in the year following, as his pace increased, not a one was a local woman. Those two are special.”

“Okay, okay,” the security chief said. “I get it.”

Schroeder said, “I’d been thinking it might be a drummer, or somebody who maybe visited here on a regular basis, but that doesn’t seem to fit.”

McCroskey suggested, “Unless it was someone who came around every couple weeks, or even once a week.”

“Yeah, but who does that, in these business conditions? I can’t think of a drummer who could afford to travel like that, nor the sales to justify it, not around here,” Schroeder said, shooting holes in his own theory.

“Something else we have yet to consider,” Peng said, “is the killer’s choice of disposal. After all, it is not as if there are not an abundance of empty places just outside of town in which a corpse might be hidden or buried. Why use the boxcars?”

Malik added, “Yes, and that raises another question we haven’t asked: where did the actual murders take place? In the boxcars? Somewhere else? If so, where?”

“You know,” McCroskey said, “I hadn’t thought of it before, but the idea of hiding your victims’ bodies in empty boxcars is rather peculiar. Plenty of folks get murdered, but have you ever heard of empty railroad cars being used to dispose of the bodies? I surely haven’t, and I’ve been in the railroad police business for close to thirty years. Oh, sure, there’ll be the occasional dead body from natural causes, or too much alcohol, or even from fights between hobos. But those from fights are easy to spot, and you can smell the alcohol, if not the vomit, on those who’ve poisoned themselves with drink. But this is,” he shook his head, “this is different.”

He looked at Malik. “And I don’t think the women were killed there, not in the boxcars where their bodies were found. There’d have been scuff marks in the dust, possibly scraps of clothing. But, according to Cormac, there were only a few bootprints in the dust, where conditions allowed them to be picked out, leading to and from the naked body. His feeling is that the bodies were already dead when they were brought to the car.”