Free Strong Darkness by Jon Land Page A

women we’re here about, not this here strike.”
    The man’s expression brightened immediately. He reached and shook each of their hands, clearly grateful for their presence.
    â€œCall me Su,” he greeted in perfect English. “All the Americans do.”
    â€œWe were directed to you, sir,” William Ray told him.
    â€œThe railroad does not care about the killings. They have done nothing about them, even before the strike.”
    â€œThat’s why we’re here, Mr. Su. Because we do and we will.”
    â€œJust Su,” the man corrected. “Please.”
    â€œOkay. Su.”
    â€œWhat can you tell us about the victims?” Judge Bean asked him.
    â€œFour women so far. Every few days these last few weeks. Always found dead. Always the same. Always killed at night. One found in camp, one just outside it, and two nearer the head of the tracks,” Su finished, referring to the congested temporary town set up where the rails currently ended.
    â€œWhat were they doing there at night exactly, sir?” William Ray asked.
    â€œSome of our women have taken to providing service to the workmen. To bring in extra money.”
    â€œWhores, in other words,” elaborated Judge Bean.
    Su didn’t bother to argue his point.
    â€œAnybody ever see anything at all?” William Ray asked him. “Maybe somebody who didn’t belong who might have done this.”
    Su stiffened, black paint dribbling down off his brush to stain his otherwise perfect chart. “Not who,” he said. “What.”
    *   *   *
    Su led the Ranger and the judge through a camp William Ray found surprisingly well maintained, right down to the clapboard outhouses the Chinese workers had built themselves with no assistance or funding whatsoever from Southern Pacific. The camp had a seasoned look to it, populated no doubt by Chinese who’d been in the United States and working the rails for some time. That explained the organized nature of the surroundings and why, unlike every other Chinese worker camp he’d ever been in, this one featured children rushing about, their bare feet churning through the mud that speckled their faces.
    â€œThe latest woman murdered was last seen alive hanging laundry after another storm passed. A few hours later, her body was found just like the other three.”
    â€œAnd how’s that?” William Ray asked him.
    â€œBetter you see, Ranger,” Su answered, leading them on.
    *   *   *
    Judge Roy Bean pushed a thick wedge of chewing tobacco into his mouth when they reached a lone tent set way back from the others, in the camp’s shadiest and thus coolest spot. The Chinese had built the bulk of this particular camp in the heat of the Texas sun, but that also brought them closer to the river swelling over its banks. Fetching the pails of water needed for a camp of maybe five hundred residents was no small task, making the heat better to brave than the endless succession of treks.
    Su parted the flap and held it open, eyes tilted almost reverently downward as William Ray and the judge entered. The stench assaulted them immediately, like spoiled meat spilled from a grocery wagon left to roast on the street. Enough to tell William Ray the woman had been dead for a day, maybe two at the most, as he moved ahead of the judge toward a wooden slab of a table that still smelled like fresh lumber.
    Su pinned the flap open behind him so the light could shine into the tent. Wooden shelves dominated the square structure, lined with knickknacks and trinkets that all looked handmade. William Ray’s eyes were drawn first to a series of finely stitched dolls lining the upper reaches, each unique and personal as if possessing a soul made of stuffing.
    â€œI make toys for the camp’s children,” Su explained. “Often I make too many.”
    The dolls were beautiful, the Ranger thought, but somehow sad, as if