track and let the train cut him up.”
“And you went along with this?”
“I didn’t really believe he was going to do it. He didn’t do it, either.”
“We’d better check on that.”
I released the emergency brake. The car rolled down the grade toward the crossing, which was marked by an old wooden sign with drooping crosspieces.
“Where did he put Mr. Hackett?”
“Right here beside the road.” Sandy indicated the north side of the crossing.
I got out with my flashlight and looked over the railbed. There were fresh marks in the gravel which could have been gouged by heels. Still it was hard to imagine the scene that the girl had described.
I went back to the car. “Did Davy tell you why he picked this place?”
“He thought it would be a good place to kill him, I guess. Then he probably changed his mind when I ran away.”
“Why did he choose Mr. Hackett as a victim?”
“I don’t know.”
I leaned in at the open door. “You must have some idea, Sandy. Mr. Hackett is or was a friend of your family.”
“He’s not my friend,” she said guardedly.
“You’ve made that fairly clear. What did Hackett do, if anything?”
She turned to Langston. “I don’t have to answer that, do I? I’m only a juvenile but I’ve got a right to a lawyer.”
“You’ve not only got a right,” I said. “You’ve got a need forone. But you’re not going to help yourself by keeping quiet. If we don’t head your boyfriend off, you’ll end up going to trial with him for everything he pulls.”
She appealed again to Langston, the cigarette king. “That isn’t true, is it?”
“It could happen,” he said.
“But I’m just a juvenile.”
I said: “That’s no protection against a capital charge. You already own a piece of a kidnapping. If Hackett gets killed, you’ll be an accomplice in murder.”
“But I ran away.”
“That won’t be much help, Sandy.”
She was shocked. I think she was realizing that the place and the time were real, that this was her life and she was living it, badly.
I felt a certain empathy with her. The scene was becoming a part of my life, too: the grove of trees standing dark against the darkness, the rails reaching like iron strands of necessity from north to south. A late moon like an afterthought hung in the lower quarter of the sky.
Away off to the north the beam of a train’s headlight was flung around a curve. It came toward us swinging, cutting the darkness into illegible patterns, pulling a freight train behind it. My own headlights were shining on the rails, and I could see them dip under the weight of the diesels. The overwhelming noise of the train completed the drastic reality of the scene.
Sandy let out a strangled cry and tried to fight her way past me. I forced her back into the car. She scratched at my face. I slapped her. We were both acting as if the noise had shut us off from the human race.
Langston said when the train had gone south: “Take it easy, now. There’s no need for violence.”
“Tell that to Davy Spanner.”
“I have, many times. Let’s hope it took.” He said to the girl: “Mr. Archer is perfectly right, Sandy. If you can help us, you’ll be helping yourself. You must have some idea whereDavy went from here.”
“He didn’t know himself.” She was breathing hard. “He did a lot of talking, about this place in the hills where he used to live. He didn’t know where it was, though.”
“Are you sure it existed?”
“He
thought so. I don’t know.”
I got in behind the wheel. Our brief struggle had warmed her, and I could feel her body glowing beside me. It was too bad, I thought, that her parents hadn’t been able to keep her on the back burner for another year or two. Too bad for her, and too bad for them.
I asked Sandy some further questions as we drove south. She was reticent about herself, and about her relations with Davy. But her answers established one thing to my own satisfaction: if Davy Spanner was
“And you went along with this?”
“I didn’t really believe he was going to do it. He didn’t do it, either.”
“We’d better check on that.”
I released the emergency brake. The car rolled down the grade toward the crossing, which was marked by an old wooden sign with drooping crosspieces.
“Where did he put Mr. Hackett?”
“Right here beside the road.” Sandy indicated the north side of the crossing.
I got out with my flashlight and looked over the railbed. There were fresh marks in the gravel which could have been gouged by heels. Still it was hard to imagine the scene that the girl had described.
I went back to the car. “Did Davy tell you why he picked this place?”
“He thought it would be a good place to kill him, I guess. Then he probably changed his mind when I ran away.”
“Why did he choose Mr. Hackett as a victim?”
“I don’t know.”
I leaned in at the open door. “You must have some idea, Sandy. Mr. Hackett is or was a friend of your family.”
“He’s not my friend,” she said guardedly.
“You’ve made that fairly clear. What did Hackett do, if anything?”
She turned to Langston. “I don’t have to answer that, do I? I’m only a juvenile but I’ve got a right to a lawyer.”
“You’ve not only got a right,” I said. “You’ve got a need forone. But you’re not going to help yourself by keeping quiet. If we don’t head your boyfriend off, you’ll end up going to trial with him for everything he pulls.”
She appealed again to Langston, the cigarette king. “That isn’t true, is it?”
“It could happen,” he said.
“But I’m just a juvenile.”
I said: “That’s no protection against a capital charge. You already own a piece of a kidnapping. If Hackett gets killed, you’ll be an accomplice in murder.”
“But I ran away.”
“That won’t be much help, Sandy.”
She was shocked. I think she was realizing that the place and the time were real, that this was her life and she was living it, badly.
I felt a certain empathy with her. The scene was becoming a part of my life, too: the grove of trees standing dark against the darkness, the rails reaching like iron strands of necessity from north to south. A late moon like an afterthought hung in the lower quarter of the sky.
Away off to the north the beam of a train’s headlight was flung around a curve. It came toward us swinging, cutting the darkness into illegible patterns, pulling a freight train behind it. My own headlights were shining on the rails, and I could see them dip under the weight of the diesels. The overwhelming noise of the train completed the drastic reality of the scene.
Sandy let out a strangled cry and tried to fight her way past me. I forced her back into the car. She scratched at my face. I slapped her. We were both acting as if the noise had shut us off from the human race.
Langston said when the train had gone south: “Take it easy, now. There’s no need for violence.”
“Tell that to Davy Spanner.”
“I have, many times. Let’s hope it took.” He said to the girl: “Mr. Archer is perfectly right, Sandy. If you can help us, you’ll be helping yourself. You must have some idea whereDavy went from here.”
“He didn’t know himself.” She was breathing hard. “He did a lot of talking, about this place in the hills where he used to live. He didn’t know where it was, though.”
“Are you sure it existed?”
“He
thought so. I don’t know.”
I got in behind the wheel. Our brief struggle had warmed her, and I could feel her body glowing beside me. It was too bad, I thought, that her parents hadn’t been able to keep her on the back burner for another year or two. Too bad for her, and too bad for them.
I asked Sandy some further questions as we drove south. She was reticent about herself, and about her relations with Davy. But her answers established one thing to my own satisfaction: if Davy Spanner was
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