he picked up a blue tube the same color as the two jacks between the rails, black rubber handle
at one end.
“The lever?” Chris asked.
“Yeah,” Gavin replied, studying the lever. Like most, its bottom was shaped to match the male release screw on the jack. Looking
back at the jacks, he noticed that one of them was loose. At first he thought the loosening of the jack had been caused by
the derailment, but considering the pressure needed to split open the rail, hefit the lever onto the relief valve and turned. Nothing. The pressure had already been released. He stared, frowning at the
jack for a long moment. Confused, he fitted the lever to the other jack and turned. The jack decompressed and the train rail
followed, halving the distance it had been widened from its original alignment. Why did one jack have pressure and the other
none?
“Two more jacks over here, Gav,” Chris called from a few yards away. “They seem to be in good shape. Maybe they were extras.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, if the train threw them, I would think there would be some damage to them, bent or gashed. But they’re perfectly straight.
Then again, if they
are
extras, why aren’t they together? Why is one here and the other there? He takes all this care and leaves his hard work scattered?”
Gavin frowned, joining Chris with the lever in hand. He checked the relief valves of the third and fourth jacks. Nothing.
Each had been decompressed.
“Detective!” called a voice from below, a little farther down the track. Officer Kelly was standing just outside the treeline
of the bird sanctuary motioning a flashlight. “Down here.”
Gavin returned the lever to where he had found it, then set off after Chris, already near the bottom of the hill. The officer
waited for Chris, then led him into the trees. When Gavin caught up, Chris and the officer were standing still, looking down,
silent.
“Looks like we have a witness,” Chris finally said as Gavin stepped by his side. “How do you explain… so many… ?”
Gavin said nothing.
“I don’t know,” Kelly said as if he’d been asked. “Looks like he was fighting some Ninjas with swords. Or was attacked by
some kind of wild—”
“Stop,” Chris ordered Kelly, which was much nicer than what Gavin was about to say.
“Anyone have a wet rag?” Gavin asked.
“A wet rag?” Kelly repeated.
“No,” Chris said.
Gavin thought of using one of his wet socks, but almost immediately decided it would somehow screw up the forensics. “Let’s
see that flashlight, Kelly.”
Gavin took the handoff and moved in for a closer look. Chris followed.
“This is an
A
,” Gavin said, drawing with his finger, inches above the man’s chest.
“Is this a
T
?” Chris asked, pointing to what appeared to be another letter.
Gavin said nothing, wishing he could wipe the blood off to see more clearly. Any thought that the Feds might take over and
run away with the investigation was now seriously challenged. This was a clear homicide. A man—big, athletic, late twenties,
early thirties—leaning back on an old tree stump as if napping, six evenly spaced punctures across his neck. His gray workout
shirt torn open, and what first appeared to be random slashing and dripping red lines across his bare chest were letters with
numbers etched underneath.
“Another message?” Chris asked.
Gavin just stared, trying to differentiate between blood and gash.
“I don’t get it,” Kelly said. “Act! Two thousand, seven hundred, and forty-two.”
Gavin nodded. “Not bad, Kelly.”
“Is that
act
as in a call to action or
act
as in theater segments?” Chris wondered aloud.
“Kelly, let’s get this area taped before anyone else tramples down here,” Gavin ordered, getting down on one knee for a different
angle.
“Right,” Kelly said. But still transfixed on the sight before him, he didn’t move until Gavin glanced up at him. The officer
nodded and
at one end.
“The lever?” Chris asked.
“Yeah,” Gavin replied, studying the lever. Like most, its bottom was shaped to match the male release screw on the jack. Looking
back at the jacks, he noticed that one of them was loose. At first he thought the loosening of the jack had been caused by
the derailment, but considering the pressure needed to split open the rail, hefit the lever onto the relief valve and turned. Nothing. The pressure had already been released. He stared, frowning at the
jack for a long moment. Confused, he fitted the lever to the other jack and turned. The jack decompressed and the train rail
followed, halving the distance it had been widened from its original alignment. Why did one jack have pressure and the other
none?
“Two more jacks over here, Gav,” Chris called from a few yards away. “They seem to be in good shape. Maybe they were extras.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, if the train threw them, I would think there would be some damage to them, bent or gashed. But they’re perfectly straight.
Then again, if they
are
extras, why aren’t they together? Why is one here and the other there? He takes all this care and leaves his hard work scattered?”
Gavin frowned, joining Chris with the lever in hand. He checked the relief valves of the third and fourth jacks. Nothing.
Each had been decompressed.
“Detective!” called a voice from below, a little farther down the track. Officer Kelly was standing just outside the treeline
of the bird sanctuary motioning a flashlight. “Down here.”
Gavin returned the lever to where he had found it, then set off after Chris, already near the bottom of the hill. The officer
waited for Chris, then led him into the trees. When Gavin caught up, Chris and the officer were standing still, looking down,
silent.
“Looks like we have a witness,” Chris finally said as Gavin stepped by his side. “How do you explain… so many… ?”
Gavin said nothing.
“I don’t know,” Kelly said as if he’d been asked. “Looks like he was fighting some Ninjas with swords. Or was attacked by
some kind of wild—”
“Stop,” Chris ordered Kelly, which was much nicer than what Gavin was about to say.
“Anyone have a wet rag?” Gavin asked.
“A wet rag?” Kelly repeated.
“No,” Chris said.
Gavin thought of using one of his wet socks, but almost immediately decided it would somehow screw up the forensics. “Let’s
see that flashlight, Kelly.”
Gavin took the handoff and moved in for a closer look. Chris followed.
“This is an
A
,” Gavin said, drawing with his finger, inches above the man’s chest.
“Is this a
T
?” Chris asked, pointing to what appeared to be another letter.
Gavin said nothing, wishing he could wipe the blood off to see more clearly. Any thought that the Feds might take over and
run away with the investigation was now seriously challenged. This was a clear homicide. A man—big, athletic, late twenties,
early thirties—leaning back on an old tree stump as if napping, six evenly spaced punctures across his neck. His gray workout
shirt torn open, and what first appeared to be random slashing and dripping red lines across his bare chest were letters with
numbers etched underneath.
“Another message?” Chris asked.
Gavin just stared, trying to differentiate between blood and gash.
“I don’t get it,” Kelly said. “Act! Two thousand, seven hundred, and forty-two.”
Gavin nodded. “Not bad, Kelly.”
“Is that
act
as in a call to action or
act
as in theater segments?” Chris wondered aloud.
“Kelly, let’s get this area taped before anyone else tramples down here,” Gavin ordered, getting down on one knee for a different
angle.
“Right,” Kelly said. But still transfixed on the sight before him, he didn’t move until Gavin glanced up at him. The officer
nodded and
Similar Books
