Other than the low hum of late-afternoon traffic on I-94 and the crunch of the gravel underfoot, the train yard was quiet.
I saw no tire tracks or sole impressions on the uneven scrubbing of snow, although some stretches of the yard had only enough snow to fill in the space between the gravel, so it wouldn’t have been possible to track prints very far anyway.
I was nearly to the tankers. I still hadn’t seen a vehicle.
When I looked beneath the train cars, hoping to catch sight of a car’s tires somewhere beyond them, the view was too obscured by a stretch of tall leaning grass on the other side to see much of anything.
Just as I was starting to think that this search for a vehicle might be a waste of time, I glimpsed what I was looking for. Only the hood at first, but as I proceeded, the rest of the sedan came into view.
A Ford Taurus.
I hustled toward it, felt the hood.
Still warm.
In this weather, that meant that whoever had driven it here had to have arrived recently and the engine must have been running for quite a while to get the hood that warm.
I didn’t know if it was Hendrich’s car or not, but in either case, unless there was a way out of the yard that Ralph and I didn’t know about, someone else was in here with us.
I radioed in the plates as I jogged over and inspected the gate. The keyed padlock and chain were shiny and new.
Scrutinizing the train yard, I still saw no movement.
Even though a dusting of snow was kicked up around the car, there wasn’t enough for me to determine which direction the driver might have gone after exiting the vehicle.
Mainly it was the snow behind the car that was trampled.
Last night Colleen’s abductor transported her in the trunk of a sedan.
My heartbeat quickened.
He has someone, Pat. He’s here.
I radioed Ralph and told him what I’d found.
Anticipating that whoever had left the car wouldn’t have walked back toward the parking lot, but would’ve likely headed toward a boxcar or freight car where he could work unseen, I followed the path toward the string of boxcars, then kept going past the place where Ralph and I had entered beneath the fence.
Just to my left were the hulking, abandoned freight and boxcars. To my right, the ditch sloped down toward the perimeter fence and the darkening woods that spread out of sight.
Glancing around, I could tell that I’d been correct earlier when I guessed that this area was well hidden from view.
Yeah, this would definitely be the place to bring someone.
I knelt and scanned the tracks again, looking for movement, for signs of anyone walking on the other side of the rusted and long-abandoned boxcars beside me.
Still nothing.
If someone exchanged that lock at the main gate, he might have exchanged others as well. Especially the one to the train car he’s using. Look for new locks, Pat. New chains.
There were a lot of cars to check and I needed to inspect the sliding doors on both sides, but new locks narrowed things down. It was a place to start.
Ralph’s voice came through my radio again: “Anything?”
“No. You?”
“Not yet. Where are you?”
“Near the fence,” I told him, “a hundred meters east of the parking lot. I’m checking the boxcars.”
“Roger that. Keep me posted.”
“Ten-four.”
Then I went back to work looking for bad guys. Bodies. Clues. The usual.
Or in this case, anything that might be unusual.
Like new locks on old boxcar doors.