Sarah Armstrong: Singularity Part 18

"Senor y senora" I said to the family. In Spanish, I instructed them to bring their children and follow me. The youngest, a small girl with dark brown eyes rimmed by a startling fringe of long black lashes, wrapped her arms around her mothers leg, afraid to move. But the nervous woman pried her off and pulled her forward.

Wed found them in a boxcar, sleeping on the hard metal-and-wood floor, most likely exhausted from the heat. The interior of those cars, even on a day like this when the thermometer hadnt broken eighty, must have been nearly a hundred. I couldnt help but consider what would happen to them if we sent them back and they tried to reenter the States again in a few months, when summer was in full force. By then the heat inside the boxcars would be at least twenty degrees higher, too hot for anyone, especially a child, to survive for long. There was a strong probability that theyd die of heat stroke, like the eight unfortunate illegals whose lifeless bodies wed carried out of boxcars, reeking of urine and sweat, the summer we searched for Resendiz.

To attract little attention, I brought them through a side door and, in the sunlight, escorted them to my Tahoe. When I opened the doors, the father looked at me, puzzled and wary, but he motioned for his wife and children to climb inside. He sat beside me as I drove. He looked old and tired, but I guessed he couldnt have been more than forty, his brow deeply furrowed from years of squinting in the sun, his hands thickly callused, and his expression weary.

As I drove, I glanced back at the mother in the rearview mirror. Her features wide and thick, her long black hair parted down the middle and pulled taut in a ponytail, she fussed over her little ones, pressing her finger to her lips, motioning for them to be quiet. She wore her panic openly on her face, reminding me of a red fox Bill and I once found while camping. Caught in a hunters trap, it had gnawed halfway through its tethered leg in a vain attempt to break free. Bill tried to help, but terrified each time we approached, the animal bared its teeth and snapped. We abandoned it there, bleeding and helpless.

Minutes later, I pulled into a convenience store parking lot. I lowered the windows, turned off the Tahoe, took the keys, and ordered the family to wait. Inside the store, I hit the ATM for cash then piled up candy bars, sandwiches, and drinks at the cash register. They were still in the Tahoe when I returned. Even if he had been tempted, the father hadnt risked an escape attempt with his wife and daughters. I then drove ten minutes down the road to the edge of town. I pulled the car onto the shoulder, parked it, and took two twenty-dollar bills from my pocket, handing the money, along with the bag of food, to the father. I got out of the car and opened all four doors.

"Youre free to leave," I told them in Spanish. They stared at me, the parents searching my face, unsure of my intentions. "Go, now, before someone sees. The next town is just down the road. Please, just be careful. Take care of your little girls."

A moments hesitation and the mother began sobbing. The father shook my hand until I believed my old tennis elbow might act up. I pulled myself away, got in the truck, and drove off.

Id been gone less than half an hour. Back at the yard office, no one noticed the familys disappearance, especially Preston whose line grew longer with each pa.s.sing hour.

At six that evening, Id had enough. Video footage of the task force dominated the news, and any element of surprise wed once had was lost. I left Killdeer in the hands of a sergeant with the local sheriffs department and took the chopper back to Houston. At home, the corral elm tree blazed with lights, and Maggie waited when I walked through the door.

"Our pictures in the school newspaper. Stringss and mine," she said. "Look here."

I glanced at the edition of The Armadillo she held in her hands. It was four pages of computer paper stapled together with the school mascot, a smiling armadillo in a cowboy hat, hand-stamped at the top. Accompanying a short article written by one of the seventh-grade students on Maggie, Strings, and their projects, theyd run a photo of the kids grinning proudly, Strings pointing at his exhibit.

"Thats wonderful, Magpie," I said. "You two are real celebrities."

"All weve really done is win our district," she said. "We have to go to regionals, then state, then nationals. Mrs. Hansen thinks at least one of us will probably make it through to the state level, but no one from our school has ever gone to nationals."

"However far you two go, its great," I said. "Listen, Im proud of both of you already."

With that, Maggie looked down at the newspaper again, and her enthusiasm waned. "Mom," she said, a little hesitant. "Dad would have been really proud of me, wouldnt he?"

For just a moment, I was startled, surprised that Maggie would even question how delighted Bill would be. "Of course, honey," I said. "You know Dad. Hed be smiling so big, his chest would be puffed out so far, Gram would be telling him to take a breath before he burst his b.u.t.tons."

She laughed and I realized how long it had been since wed been able to talk about Bill that way. Before he died, Mom, Maggie, and I loved to tease Bill. He called us silly girls and joked that if he didnt have us, who would keep him in line?

"Sometimes Im really mad at Dad," Maggie said, then, and I saw tears in her eyes.

"Oh, Maggie, no," I said.

"I think sometimes he should have driven better, so he didnt crash into that truck," she whispered, looking up at me. "And then I feel bad, because I know it wasnt his fault. When the captain came to the house, he said that other driver never gave Dad a chance to get out of the way. So then I feel worse, because I know I shouldnt be mad at him. But I am."

"Your father wouldnt have left us for anything," I said, slipping my arms around her. In a few years, I thought, I wont have to bend down to hug her. One day sh.e.l.l probably have to lean down to hug me. "Your father loved us as much as anyone can love. He never would have left us if hed been given a choice. You have to believe that."

Maggie said nothing, so I went on. "I understand being upset. I am too. But dont be angry with Dad."

"I forget sometimes what he was like," she said, tears running down her cheeks. "I try to remember things we did together, but sometimes I cant."

I hugged her tighter and whispered, "Ill never let you forget your father. I remember him like he just left us yesterday. Remember at the Softball games, how hed run his hands through your hair and say he was rubbing you with luck? Then when you hit the ball, hed whoop and holler, louder than any other parent in the stands."

Maggie nodded. "Yeah," she said. "I used to get really embarra.s.sed sometimes, 'cause he was so loud."

"Remember how he laughed at me when I tried to cook?"

"He really laughed," Maggie said, wiping away a tear. "He said he was going to find out what Gram was cooking for dinner."

"He sure did, didnt he?" I said, hugging her tighter. I put my hand under her chin and tilted her face back, so I could look in her eyes. "Anytime you want, you just talk to me, and well remember together."

"Promise."

"Promise," I said. "Always."

Maggies smile grew broad, and she hugged me back.

"You know, if only one of us makes it all the way to nationals, I hope its Strings," she said, pulling away and brus.h.i.+ng off the tears. "I want to go, but I think Id like it even better if he did."

Ive never been prouder of my daughter. I thought, It was a busy day, but this makes up for a lot.

Yet even at that moment when things started to seem right again, I couldnt forget-Gabriel was still out there, maybe stalking his next victim, while the public went about their business, unwarned. And unless the captain had a change of heart, I had only one day left to stop him.

Twenty-five.

It felt like Groundhog Day, that movie where Bill Murray portrays a TV-weatherman who keeps reliving the same day, over and over. The second morning in Killdeer, except for the fact that Id had a few hours sleep and breakfast, wasnt any different from the first. Our only accomplishment: slowing the entire rail system in Texas to a crawl. At our little station alone, trains backed up fifty miles out of the terminal, waiting to be inspected.

Although the captain had called in reinforcements, it seemed hopeless. Even if Gabriel lived in a vacuum, if hed missed the news reports on the task force, hed figure something was up when the trains bottlenecked. The hilly terrain around Killdeer didnt have the woods to disappear into that, say, the piney woods of east Texas offered. But there were plenty of gullies and oak trees big enough to hide a man. Not to mention barns and stables. Or maybe hed just hide out near the tracks, waiting to hop a train heading in the opposite direction.

Couple that dismal outlook with a gaggle of reporters milling outside the terminal and news choppers circling overhead, and we were just going through the motions, carrying on with what had become a charade because none of us really knew what else to do. Still, I figured we just needed the right break. The truth is, more of law enforcement than most police would like to admit boils down to luck. One of Bills old stories was about John B. Armstrong, no relation, the ranger who arrested outlaw John Wesley Hardin, back in 1877. That time the luck was in the form of a suspender that caught on Hardins gun when he tried to draw it. Those extra seconds gave Armstrong the opportunity to knock Hardin unconscious by walloping him over the head with his weapon. Thats what we needed now, a good pair of suspenders to tie this Gabriel up long enough so we could catch him.

About then, I heard Captain Williamss voice on my radio.

"Sarah, Davids apprehended a couple of gang members," he said. "He wants you in on the interrogation. Hes got them in the lockup at the Dallas County jail. The choppers waiting for you."

"Got it," I said, praying this was the break wed all waited for. "Im ready."

"You need to tell us everything you know about this Gabriel," David ordered the thug sitting before him. Pounding his fists on the jails old wooden table until I thought it might crack in two, he threatened, "If you dont, youre withholding evidence, and thats a criminal offense. Were talking a multiple-murder investigation here. You want to spend the next dozen years or so in a Texas prison?"

When the man in front of him stayed mute, I took over. "Listen, we know youre not involved in these killings. Were not trying to implicate you in any way. All we need is a little information," I said. "Tell us what you know about this Gabriel and you can be on your way. Were not looking to tie you up over the drugs. n.o.body here really cares about that."

"Unless he doesnt cooperate," David bl.u.s.tered. "Then this whole thing could take a real bad detour. You wont walk out of this jail by the door. Youll be driven out the back, in the jailhouse van."

"Agent Garrity, Im sure hes a reasonable man. He doesnt want that to happen," I said, leaning forward. "Do you?"

The focus of our attention snickered. "Listen, you two a.s.sholes can play all the games you want. Im not talking," said the tall young man with the long, greasy black hair who traveled the trains under the nickname Quaker. "Im not telling you anything. I been through this before, lots of times, and n.o.body else has been able to turn me into a snitch, and you two wont either."

With that, he crossed his tattooed arms across his chest and stared at us, defiant.

Wed already run his fingerprints and knew Quaker was a minor criminal, mainly drug charges, whose real name was Billy Joe Bobbins from Little Rock, Arkansas. David spotted him and his traveling companion, another gang member, as soon as they were taken off the train. Both were dressed as wed been told they would be, all in black. Quaker carried a backpack filled with dirty clothes, Xanax and Ecstasy pills, and a two-ounce bag of crystal meth.

"So, youre some kind of big man. Unbreakable," David said, the sarcasm dripping. "Well, were real impressed, Billy Joe. The truth is that we meet hoodlums like you every day. Youre ordinary, a smalltime druggie."

"I may be a druggie, but Im a druggie who has information you want," he said, smirking and showing off the silver cap over a front tooth. "And Ill burn in h.e.l.l before I give it to you."

"Listen, a.s.shole. I have no doubt youll burn in h.e.l.l. That day may come sooner rather than later if you dont cooperate," David said, grabbing Quaker. "Come on, get up."

"h.e.l.l, you found me with drugs. Thats nothing," he said, jerking his arm away. "I can do that kind of time without breaking a sweat."

"But youre forgetting, Mr. Bobbins, or would you rather we call you Quaker?" I asked.

"You can call me whatever you want, I aint doing real time for this. Its a penny-ante offense," he said. "Nickel and dime stuff."

"Now, see, thats where youre mistaken," I said. "Youre in Texas, and weve got this little law in the state thats called the habitual offender act. Ever heard of it? Youve got two felonies. One more conviction and its three strikes, youre out. Sentence is a mandatory-and thats the key word here, Quaker, mandatory-twenty-five years in a Texas prison. You think about that, Quaker. You think about twenty-five years behind bars. Twenty-five Julys in a Texas prison cell without air-conditioning."

The kid glared at me, eyes wide, and I knew Id hit my mark.

Wanting to give Quaker time to ponder his fate, David pulled him out of the chair, and then pushed him into an open holding cell, locking the door behind him.

"Well be back," he said. "Meantime, enjoy your new quarters. Your cell in the Texas Department of Criminal Justice wont be this big, and youll share it with three other inmates."

Across the hall we opened the door on another interview room where "Rusty" sat waiting in a cell. David unlocked the door and pulled him out by his arm, pus.h.i.+ng him into a chair.

"You ready for a little talk now?" he asked.

"Sure. Anytime you are," he said. "I told you. I know nothing about this guy Gabriel, not a d.a.m.n thing to help you."

Short, sullen, with straggly red hair, Rusty, wed learned from his record, was a high school washout named Mike OBrien from Madison, Wisconsin, whod recently been released from an Ohio prison after serving eight years on a robbery conviction. Rusty and Quaker were buddies. The two men were found riding just two cars apart, on top of hopper cars, reclining on sheets of cardboard to keep from sinking in. We had an ace on Rusty. Hed been found with a 9mm, semiautomatic handgun in his duffle bag, a clear violation of his parole.

"I dont think Rusty wants back in prison...do you, Rusty?" David taunted.

"No, s.h.i.+t-for-brains. But Im telling the truth. Ive never met this psycho youre looking for. The most Ive done is hear about him, that hes some kinda looney tunes, and that if you run into him, you hop off the train and wait for the next. If you stay in the car and fall asleep, what I hear is that you never wake up."

"What else have you heard?" I asked.

"Listen, Ive got no love for this guy. I hated jail, and I wouldnt go back to protect my own mother," he said. "But you gotta believe me. I dont know s.h.i.+t about this guy. Just what I told you, and that people say hes easy to spot, stands out in a crowd."

"How?"

"His eyes," he said. "People say youll know him by his eyes."

Our plan was to let Quaker stew for an hour and then go back at him, after hed had time to fully appreciate the prospect of a sentence that would put him away until he was well into middle age. But Captain Williams called on my cell phone, and I knew immediately from the sound of his voice that my time was up and I wasnt in line for a reprieve.

"We made an agreement," he said.

"But-"

"You gave me your word, Sarah. Three days and youd walk away. Remember?" he said. When I didnt respond, he went on, "Besides, theres something else. You got another letter in todays mail. This Gabriel guys focusing on you. Youve become a liability to the investigation. The chopper is waiting. Garrity can handle things there. I want you in the office ASAP to turn over all your files on this case to Ferguson."

Twenty-six.

The captain and Sheila stopped talking the moment I walked into the office. He looked tired and worried, but when he saw me, he smiled.

"This isnt your fault, Sarah," he said.

"No one would be able to tell that from the way Im being treated," I said.

"Come on. Lets talk. My office."

Seated among his collection of ranger memorabilia, the frame full of aged badges, decades-old prints of our Stetson-wearing predecessors, he poured me a cup of thick black coffee. Bitter enough to have been made first thing that morning, it flowed warmly down my throat and gave me something to do with my hands. At the moment, I didnt feel totally in control.

"The situation, Sarah, isnt that I believe youre mishandling this case. h.e.l.l, you and Garrity have done a great job. Looks like you two were right about this guy all along," he said.

"Then why am I being punished?"

"Its not that youre being punished. Its that between Matthewss headlines and this guys letters, attentions being diverted to you, instead of where it belongs, on the investigation." He hesitated and looked warily at me. "Plus, to be blunt, Im concerned about this guys interest in you. I dont want you visible in this investigation in any way. Heck, take some time off, a few days to spend with Maggie-you deserve it."

He picked up a plastic evidence sleeve from his desk and tossed it at me.

"Look at this," he said.

Id almost forgotten that hed mentioned another letter on the telephone, but there it was, just like the others, on ordinary white copy paper, penned by the same precise hand.

Man will never understand the will of G.o.d.

I cannot be judged by human standards.

"Looks like Gabriels given up on the guys on the train and hes lecturing me," I said, fighting to keep my voice light and calm. "This is certainly nothing to worry about. He just wants to use his newfound fame as a soapbox. Besides, hes too smart to come after me. He cant take me by surprise, unarmed, the way he did Mary Gonzales."

"Maybe so, but youre missing the point," he said. "Whether you like it or not, this guys focused on you, and I cant have that."

"So how do you propose catching him?"

"Were going to extend the train searches another forty-eight hours."

"That wont work."

"Why not?"