Death Above the Line by Janet Dawson

Author:Janet Dawson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: mystery, railroading, California Zephyr, Hollywood, movie producers, San Francisco Bay Area
ISBN: 978-1-56474-835-5
Publisher: Perseverance Press
Published: 2020-09-09T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Stuart Felton lay crumpled on the ground, a large, bloody wound on the back of his head. His suit coat was open.

The hobo looked up, staring at Jill. Then he straightened and shoved something into the pocket of his dungarees. He turned and ran into the rail yard, just as the whistle sounded again. A slow-moving freight came into view. The hobo headed for it. He sprinted past the diesel locomotive and stopped for a second, looking for an open door in one of the boxcars that were now moving past him at a good clip. He spotted one and ran toward it, putting on a burst of speed. Then he leapt for the boxcar.

But he didn’t make it. He fell heavily onto the gravel beside the tracks, dangerously close to the train’s huge wheels. Jill let out the breath she didn’t know she was holding. The man scrambled to his feet. He looked down the length of the train, which was by now moving too fast. Besides, another man had come out of the depot. He was pursuing the hobo, who ran back toward Jill.

He’s hurt, Jill thought. He’s limping.

The hobo pivoted, changing direction. He sped away from the depot, eluding the man who was trying to intercept him. Injured or not, the hobo moved fast. He ran across Front Street, dodging a couple of cars that honked at him. As he ran up I Street, Jill lost sight of him.

Now she turned and looked down at Felton. The chicken salad sandwich she’d had for lunch turned in her stomach. She certainly didn’t want to throw up and compromise the scene of the crime. But she had to be sure the man was dead. She knelt and gingerly reached for the man’s neck. No pulse.

Jill rose and backed away. She shook her head as though to clear it. Then she noticed that the clay brick she’d stumbled over this morning was no longer in place. She looked around and saw it, visible under the bushes. It was stained with gore.

She headed for the warehouse. Another scene was being shot on the dome-observation car set, this time with Leona Alexander, Neal Preston and Charles Bosworth. The actors were in their places, waiting, as the cameras were getting ready to roll. Drake was talking with Eve Stillman and the cameraman, both arms moving as he outlined what he wanted in the next scene.

Jill walked up to Drake and grabbed his arm in mid-gesture.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, annoyed at the interruption.

“Mr. Felton is dead. He’s been murdered.”

It was as though her words sucked all the air out of the room. The rest of the cast and crew stood motionless, mouths agape.

Drake’s irritation gave way to consternation. “Is this some kind of joke? It’s not funny. Felton left, he’s on his way back to Los Angeles.”

“He’s outside. And I assure you, he’s dead.”

Jill didn’t wait for a response. She crossed to the phone, the one that had rung on Thursday afternoon and set all of this in motion.

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