Free Strong Darkness by Jon Land Page B

to reflect the general plight of the Chinese who’d worked the rails almost since the first tracks had been laid on the Transcontinental Railroad. Amazing how changing the placement of a few threads could create virtually any emotion in such seasoned hands. Too bad the feelings of real people, not just elegantly embroidered dolls, could be affected as easily.
    William Ray also noticed several intricate creations, including a series of train cars carved out of wood in the process of being painted. And on a table set in a darkened corner, he saw what looked like a scale model of the river and the recently completed dam.
    â€œIt was your idea,” he said, realizing. “Building the dam, I mean.”
    Su nodded humbly and bowed slightly. “I am something of an engineer. But more recently I am, how do you say, a coroner.”
    William Ray moved his gaze toward the outline of a body evident beneath a water-stained canvas blanket. He eased the canvas back, peeling it away as respectfully as he could.
    â€œHoly hell,” Judge Bean muttered, taking off his hat. “Am I seeing this wrong?”
    â€œNope,” William Ray told him, “that’s the back of her head all right.”
    *   *   *
    It was facing the wrong direction, the victim’s hair falling over the nape of her neck where her face should have been.
    â€œLooks like it was cut off and sewn back on,” noted Bean. “Backward.”
    â€œBut the way the blood settled here, here, and here tells me he broke her neck or strangled her first. Then he cut off her head and sewed it back on.” William Ray looked toward Su who’d remained by the tent flap, his eyes distant and distracted as if he was hearing what he’d already determined for himself. “Were the others found like this?”
    â€œAlmost exactly. Their bodies are in the ground now.”
    â€œBefore you reported the murders?”
    â€œWe did report them, to the chief of the Southern Pacific railroad police.”
    â€œHe do anything about it?”
    â€œYes. He told me to leave his office.”
    The stitching on the woman’s neck and throat, William Ray noted, was irregularly spaced; the thick, jagged lines marked by makeshift black thread that looked more like twine. Thick trails of dried blood ran from each stitch. Something made him want to turn the woman’s head back around the way it should be. Instead, though, William Ray peeled more of the canvas backward; bundling it over the corpse’s thighs to expose her midriff and private area, he set to examining.
    â€œWhat is it you’re doing there, Ranger?” Judge Bean asked him, his stomach gurgling audibly with distaste at the scene.
    â€œThere’s bruising here but no swelling,” William Ray reported, angling his frame to block view of the woman’s body from Bean. “That tells me the killer likely violated her after she was dead.” Then he looked toward Su. “How old was this girl, sir?”
    â€œNineteen, Ranger.”
    Bean’s features tightened enough to close his eyes halfway, mouth wrinkled in disgust. He blew out some hot breath. “What do you make of him sewing her head on backward before he stuck himself inside her?”
    William Ray smacked his lips together, thinking on that. “Only thing I can figure is he didn’t want her to see him doing it, dead or alive.”
    Judge Bean looked toward Su. “That a Chink thing or something?”
    â€œIt wasn’t a Chinese who did this,” Su told him calmly.
    â€œSon, I don’t see any other way whoever did this could move about so close to the camp without drawing notice.”
    â€œUnless it was invisible.”
    â€œIt?” from William Ray.
    â€œThe land is angry over what we’ve done to it, Ranger. The Indians you’ve been to war with left many burial grounds behind that we’ve ravaged in laying track. Maybe one of them