The Wrecking Yard

A large amalgamation of old mining equipment, as well as several railway cars on a series of tracks dominate the yard. It's set behind the church, safely enclosed and protected by a caretaker who has little desire to be social.

Night had almost fallen when the car pulled in to the front of the scrapyard, looking at the husk of a train that had once dominated the run. A small light flickered against the windows of the train as the woman got out, walking past the opened gate and up to the boxcar. There was some discussion as the rain began, and after a while, the train whistle sounded once, and the old engine sputtered to life, oddly quiet.

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The car sat still in the rain as the patrol vehicle spotlight went over it. Pulling his vehicle behind it, Officer Norm Ridgewick stepped out and walked up, leaving his lights running and turning a red and blue aura to everything. Norm had worked in Crestview for five years now, and he knew pretty much everybody's vehicles. This car was newer and unusual, and certainly worth glancing into. He paused, the flashlight beam shining in onto the passenger seat. There was a purse, discarded and spilling its contents out. He tried the door handle, finding it unlocked, and picked up the purse, reaching for a piece of ID that he could see. As he bent lower, something on the ground ahead caught his eye. He crossed to it, pulling on a pair of latex gloves before reaching down. It was a woman's wedding ring, a pretty nice one at that. Inlaid with smaller diamonds around a white gold band - had to be worth a grand at least. He shone the flashlight forward, revealing one more item that seemed odd. Attached to the gate of the wrecking yard, which was hanging open - in itself rather odd, really - was a womans scarf, flapping slightly in the breeze. He took a gulp before deciding what to do and checking the id one more time. His hand went to his radio and he spoke slowly. "Central, this is Deputy Ridgewick. I have an abandoned vehicle and possible...I'm not sure yet. Request additional cars to the scrapyard. Also, can you place a call to the Stagger and ask if they have a guest by the name of Rebekah Curran?" He spelled it out cautiously and turned to look at the scene again. Crime rarely happened here, especially to out of towners. Looking at the placement of the items, he took notes. The purse was without money, the wedding ring had rolled under a tire. Robbery might be a motive. But more importantly, where was the victim? His radio hissed on, informing him that another car was on the way and that Miss Curran was registered at the Stagger with her husband. "Central, can you send a deputy to find Mister Curran for me?

"Affirmative.

Ridgewick set to securing his scene. It was going to be a long night.

Lyam stepped out of the back entrance to church and into the cold night. It was very dark out here in the middle of nowhere Colorado. One light shown down on the entrance to the church, casting a sickly yellow hue over the snow and his figure. Outside the light, the darkness was oppressive and seemed almost tangible. He was all alone now with the night, the strangeness of the past events had left him stressed and alert. What was he getting into?

He wrapped his scarf tighter around his mouth an nose, doing the best could to shield his ears from the oppressive freeze. With a deep breath he stepped from the oasis of light into the dark, venturing out into the night.

She had left this way hadn't she? This is where he had heard the train. Lyam navigated through the ankle deep snow slowly, and he eventually found himself face to face with a fence. He grunted his disdain at the situation and peered through the chain link to the enclosed area behind.

His eyes had adjusted to the darkness and he could see the shapes of wrecked vehicles and trains scattered about. In his minds eye they were the broken carcasses of old Leviathans, forgotten in their open graves.

Curiosity overtook him once more and he followed the chain-link fence around for an entrance. Step after step he slowly trudged through the snow. He could feel the snow settling into his bones, even through his pea coat. "Bugger all." He muttered to himself quietly.

He was so preoccupied with his feet and the cold he didn't not the police lights until he rounded the fence line and was bathed in their bright alternating glow. "Fuck!" He said loudly, immediately blinded and shielding his face with his hands. Well this was not the place to be, hopefully he had not been spotted. He'd simply turn around and walk back to the church and leave the officer and his crime scene alone. With that he pivoted on his heel, lost his footing on the hidden ice beneath his feet and fell over sideways and swearing into the deep snow. "BUGGER ALL AND FUCK ME WITH A TWANKER SIDEWAYS!" He yelled in rage from his position in the deep snow.

Officer Ridgewick shined his flashlight on the loudly swearing Englishman. "Sir?" It was all he could muster with a straight face as the man yelled and thrashed. Then the realization came over him that this was a stranger to town, in a crime scene. With that fact in mind, he began to walk towards the man, switching the flashlight to his left hand. "Evening. Name, identification, and a reason that you're wandering around a junkyard tonight?" It might just be that the man had hit a few too many at the Stagger and gone stumbling, but his nerves were on high alert. But he didn't want to come across as too demanding, because that might make him seem unwilling to talk, and then....man, police work was hard. Ridgewick could swear that in another life he had been a desk clerk, and probably excelled at it. But for now, he had to do this job. At least until his transfer went through and he could be sent to boulder to push a pencil all day for more pay. It wasn't that he was bad at the current job, he just didn't want to be in it anymore. "Come on. It's freezing."

Lyam promptly picked himself up. Snow was sticking to him everywhere and he did the best he could to wipe it off. He hated coppers. "Hmm? What?" He said, doing the best he could to look distracted. "Ohh yes. Right. Sorry bout that, had a bit of a spill... sent me Arse over elbow it did. See we don't have ice in London, the dry humor of every collective Englishman keeps it melted." He fished around in his pocket and produced his wallet, his fingers were numb and uncooperative in the cold. "Ahh yes. Here's the ticket." Lyam produced the ID, a Colorado driver's license, he was an American citizen now and had been in the state for a least a year. "Sorry, just out from Yuma for a night or two. Writing me a book I am." He gave the police officer a big grin, he'd pull out his cockney with the best of them. "Threw a bit of a wobbley just now, hope it didn't bother ya none. Looking for some dodgy tossers tonight, sir?"

"We...um. It. I mean." What the hell was he saying? This guy was saying so many words that didn't seem like words. After a deep breath, Norm went about describing the situation. "So, tell me. Have you seen a pretty little half asian woman walking around through here? Or heard anything odd or unusual?" Norm leaned against the junkyard wall, watching Lyam climb. "I mean, um, a dodgy tosser? Blimey wanker crumpet tea and crackers?" He smiled a little, using every British word he could think of. He handed the ID back and made a quick note. "Because it seems odd that a woman like that could just walk off into nowhere, and then you show up. So if you saw anything, it's best for you to just tell us now. I really don't want you to get in trouble with the law." He looked at Lyam, then sighed. "But what is it that made you happen to poke along here beside a crime scene?"

Ohh this one was a prime sample of Colorado's amazing gene pool. The police officer was like something out of a 1950s comedy spoof. Lyam genuinely grit his teeth to keep smiling, his smile kind of resembling the same look a dog has when it growls at you. "Mate. You're a regular smarmy git, you are." He said, with that English tone that makes you wonder if you've been complimented or insulted. "As for the rest Mate, I was just at the church, being possessed by a spiritual craving as any God fearin' man is prone to do. 'Went outside for a fag and low and behold there's some snow. Once again, we don't have that sort of thing in London. English sarcasm destroyed the ozone centuries ago, so all it does is piss on everyone now." His face was dead straight as he spoke, as if this was common knowledge everywhere.
"So I went out for a bit of a jaunt, guess I got little lost and bumped into you. Bob's your uncle."
He reached into his jacket and produced a smooshed pack of cigarettes. He looked heavenward and sighed dramatically. "Bloody hell. I'm all sixes and sevens right now." He pulled out a smooshed cigarette a lit it with a silver zippo he materialized from his pocket. "Sorry Mate." The words spoken through a half bent cigarette in his lips. "Haven't seen your girl abouts. Though I do suppose I look a bit suspicious. A man's gotta be off his trollie to be wandering about tonight."

"Uh-huh." Norm was a little confused. Nowhere in his training had he been taught this amount of British slang, and he was having a hard time telling if the man was drunkenly rambling or actually saying anything. "Well. Um. If you should happen to see her, let the police know. And stay out of trouble." About that time, another patrol car pulled up and Jack Crenshaw stepped out of the driver side, accompanied by a leanly built officer with the nametag of Ramirez. He glanced at both men before speaking. "Norm, I'm going to take a wild guess here and say that you're busy trying to understand out foreign friend here, who probably just had a few too many. Why don't you go back and make sure we've got our evidence before the snow comes through and whites it all out. Besides, I told doctor Curran he could come look once it's finished up. Tommy'll bring the tow by shortly." Crenshaw dismissed Norm with a wave of his hand, and the man went off all too easily - picking things up was a lot easier than trying to speak British. Crenshaw walked to Lyam, then relayed what Norm had already told him. "Lyam, while you were in the church, did you see or hear anything odd? Particularly from the area of the wrecking yard? I'm going to let you speak with Officer Ramirez, he's...he's a lot better than Norm. At least at everything beside kissing ass. I'm going to take a peek around." Crenshaw left Ramirez with Lyam, then returned to the car, shining his maglite around in an effort to find more clues while he waited. He had placed an emergency call to the federal bureau after this had broke, choosing to call them before they came 'offering' their help. Better to be proactive, right? That's what his mom had always said at least.

Evangeline Savoie drove down the almost-deserted road from Denver, heat cranked up to the max. God, she hated the cold here. Even with the heat on and encased in the warmest winter clothes she could find, she could still feel it. Even if she went home to Louisiana now, she'd probably be cold for the rest of her life.

She wasn't particularly looking forward to her new case. Two women had disappeared without a trace from the tiny town of Crestview, one just today. Same circumstances; similar in age; both leaving behind husbands who were, by all accounts, devastated. Evangeline didn't like dealing with the families in the best of circumstances, and this definitely wasn't the best. Oh well. She'd just have to suck it up if she was going to be of any help in this investigation.

She'd been told that the scene of the crime was at the old train yard, next to the church, so it didn't take too long to find it considering that Crestview had like one road. She pulled in and secured all her winter accessories (hat, gloves, two scarves), scoping out the scene from the window before she got out of the car. Looked pretty empty; couple of officers, what was presumably the car of the latest woman, and a man with a cigarette between his lips who was being escorted away by one of the officers. Evangeline's lips curved into a smile as she opened the car door and stepped outside. He could be interesting.

She walked up to the officer who seemed to be in charge, who was currently searching the car, and stuck out a gloved hand. "Officer Crenshaw? Special Agent Evangeline Savoie," she introduced herself, her Cajun accent noticeably coloring her words. "The Bureau sent me out here from Denver to help you all with your investigation."

"Evening, Agent Savoie." Crenshaw shook her hand lightly. "It's actually Sheriff Crenshaw, but I'll let it slide." He grinned, then returned to a serious look. "Well, Agent, I presume you made it here easy enough. Let me set the story for you." He walked to the back of her car, leaning down on it as he spoke. "One, this crime scene. Miss Rebekah Curran, wife of a geologist. Had an argument earlier today, drives off, then vanishes. Leaves her ID, a wedding ring, a scarf, and a train ticket. Two months ago, miss Brianne Montgomery goes missing. Had an argument with her husband, a bartender at the Stagger. Left home angry. Vanished right around this yard. Left her coat, a wedding ring with no jewel inlay, and again....a train ticket. Caveat to that one, we are pretty sure we found her body outside town. Far edge of the mine. It's....it's pretty gruesome. Not certain it's her, but I have a feeling. Trying to get her shipped to the State labs, never told the husband yet - he isn't a runner." Crenshaw leaned back and gestured to the air.

"Look, I've got no clue. I told you all the evidence we have. One woman torn apart - the only thing I've ever scene like it was when the coyotes got at a stray dog outside the Gas and Dash. The other vanished. Her husband is likely drowning his sorrows, but I talked with him for a while earlier and have nothing to go on. I don't think he did it, or paid to have anyone do it, because people can place him at the mine all day. Your thoughts?"

Evangeline smiled. "My apologies, Sheriff." Crenshaw seemed easy-going enough - the perfect type of person to keep law and order in a town like this. Unfortunately for him, he'd found himself in a situation that most small-town sheriffs weren't accustomed to dealing with.

She listened to the details of the case with growing interest. There was a definite pattern to the disappearances so far; that was a good sign that they could be dealing with a serial perpetrator and not just a couple of pissed-off wives who got lost in the woods. And Evangeline knew from experience that perps with patterns were that much easier to catch. Left behind an item of clothing, a wedding ring, and a train ticket... She thought for a moment more after Crenshaw ended speaking.

"Hmm. Well, I agree that you all don't have a whole lot to go on, Sheriff. But the pattern of the disappearances so far is a good start." Always good to reassure them, even when hope was a lot fainter than it was now. "Now, this train ticket you mentioned. Was it the same type of ticket for both ladies, or just something random from a vacation or something? Because the combination of this train yard, disused as it may be, with the ticket could mean something."

"Both tickets were for the 309." Crenshaw turned and pointed at an old and beaten boxcar, dimly visible in the moonlight. "309 used to run here, about half a century back. Hasn't been used since the mine collapse and shutdown - I'm fairly sure your superiors told you, or your own research into the town told you about that, it's the only thing of note." He turned back to her. "Both were stamped, as they would be for a conductor car. Both had the victims names in fine printing on them. Both times the wedding rings were de-jeweled, which isn't an easy feat most times. Let alone if you don't carry jewelers kits with you. I've poked around the yard, but there's nothing but spiders and dead vehicles." Crenshaw paused, his quiet desperation seeming almost visible. "This doesn't happen here, ma'am. Certainly not to out of towners. And I fear Miss Curran may wind up like the last one if we can't get a lead anytime soon. I wouldn't recommend going to the husband, I'd rather deal with him myself - I think it's best that he talks to the same person every time. If you don't mind."

A warning bell went off in Evangeline's head. There was definitely nothing normal about two women ending up with personalized tickets for a train that hadn't run in half a century, let alone having the diamonds missing from their wedding rings. And they hadn't thought to call the Bureau after the first suspicious disappearance? Ugh, small towns. Always had to take care of themselves, without any "outsiders". Even if the outsiders could help them so much and so quickly that they'd hardly even be able to believe it.

"Oh, I definitely agree," she replied. "Best to have a consistent point of contact with Mr. Curran; I imagine he won't be too happy to hear about Mrs. Montgomery. Now, you mentioned the Currans were from out of town - he's a geologist, correct? Why exactly did they end up in town, do you get a lot of tourists coming around here?"

"No ma'am. He was here to look at a set of odd rocks dug up from the mine. Obsidian orbs, not normally found in this area. It's not terribly unusual for the mine to draw in people. Even know, there's researchers and doctoral candidates, reporters and businessmen up there. It's the main interest here." Crenshaw spoke slowly and professionally, his tone slightly clipped. Bureau could be such pricks. Always presuming that you missed the most basic step of investigation just because you lived in a smaller community. Still, at least she was a woman, and a pretty one at that. That made the irritations much more bearable. After a long moment, he spoke again. "We thought robbery the first time. Seemed logical enough. Then we found the body a few days ago. Then this. So now, I made the call to get you here. I recommend, Agent, that you not fall into the trap of thinking all small towns are sleepy little villages with simple folk in them."

Damn. This one was more on the ball than she'd expected. That was good, it meant that Evangeline wasn't the only one with half a brain in this town, but she'd have to be more diplomatic. "Just wondering," she said breezily, taking a cursory look inside the car. (Spot Hidden check, just in case) "I'm afraid I'm not too familiar with this area as yet, and as I'm sure you know, we don't have a whole lot of mines like yours back home in Louisiana."

She straightened up and turned back to Crenshaw. "Well, Sheriff, my first inclination - which I'm sure has occurred to you - is that there's some sort of link between the scene of the crime here and the train tickets you found on both victims. In my experience, a detail like that isn't insignificant. Is there anyone around here with a special knowledge about trains, or an interest in that era or in the history of the town?"

[[Spot 82/65]]

"Closest thing this town has to a historian is a superstitious bartender named Isaac. And while he may know every urban legend in this town, I hardly say he's anything close to an official historian. And while I agree that the connection can't be waved away, we can't explain it either. They used to sell novelty tickets for the 309, but that was twenty or more years ago. These...they look old, but the ticket design doesn't even match them. It matches the 1928 ticket print, for the most part. Some modifications. We had to find the old ticket makers press in the back office to match the first one." He kept his gaze on hers, almost seeming proud to have done that before she could suggest it. "Isaac could tell you tales about the 309, but that's hearsay. It has not run in decades, that's certain, and it is empty as it could be." Jack stifled a yawn. "But hey. Your call if you wanna hear local folklore."

Okay, she definitely had to give him credit for the printing press thing. Crenshaw seemed like a fine cop; shame he was being wasted here in Crestview. Evangeline kept her eyes locked on his, her face a perfect mask of mild interest. "Sounds like hearsay's about all we have to go on, Sheriff."

She shivered as a gust of cold wind blew by, and pulled her scarves tighter around her neck. "This weather is something I don't think I'll ever get used to. This Isaac is a bartender? Think I'll pay him a visit and warm up a bit. Where is he at again?"

"Stagger Inn. Can't miss it. Largest building in town. Probably fairly busy tonight, too. We've got a whiteout coming through tonight, meaning that our crime scene is, at best, temporary. I'm going to stay here and make sure that there's nothing we missed and poke around the wrecking yard." Crenshaw pointed out the Stagger for Evangeline. "Careful. Once you get him going on his little theories and stories he can go for hours. We'll meet up later, ma'am." Crenshaw turned and began trudging back towards Lyam and Ramirez, boots crunching in the snow.

[-end scene for Evangeline-]