Riley darted a disapproving glance at Officer Lawrence. She wanted to do the talking here. With his lack of basic cop skills, he was sure to make a mess of things.
She said, “The victim’s name was Sally Diehl. Is that name familiar to any of you?”
An uneasy murmur passed among the men.
One said, “Not the nice Sally, I hope. Not the Sally we see around the train station from time to time.”
“I believe that was her,” Riley said.
Several of the men moaned sadly.
“That stinks,” said one. “Who’d want to kill a nice girl like that?”
Lawrence said, “That’s what we’re here to find out.”
Riley nudged him with her elbow, hoping he’d get the message to shut up.
She was starting to really wish she’d brought Jenn or Bill with her after all.
Meanwhile, she noticed that one of the men was sitting a short distance off from the others, facing away from everybody.
Why? she wondered.
His effort to go unnoticed was only making him more conspicuous.
She said to the men, “I understand that Sally would sometimes stop and talk with you guys.”
There was a low murmur of agreement.
Riley said, “Did she ever tell you about someone she’d met who worried her? On a train, maybe, or anywhere else? Someone who might have frightened her?”
“Not Sally,” one of the men said. “She wasn’t the type to talk about her own problems.”
“That’s right,” another said. “She was actually interested in us, hearing our stories, offering to help with a little money now and then.”
Lawrence stepped forward and said, “You guys had better not hold out on us. Start talking, right now. I’ve got half a mind to haul all of you into the station.”
Riley grabbed him by the shoulder.
“Lawrence, knock it off,” she said.
But the damage was done. She could feel a wave of anxiety pass among the men. Gone was any level of trust she’d hoped to establish with them.
“We’re not here to make trouble,” she’d said.
“I just want to talk,” she’d said.
They didn’t believe that anymore. She’d never get any meaningful information out of them now.
Even as she tried to think how to get the hobos more comfortable with them again, she saw a movement at the far side of the group.
The man who’d been off by himself was on his feet.
He was running away!
“Stop right there!” Lawrence yelled at the man.
The man was scrambling up the slope, on his way out of the ravine.
With another bellow, Officer Lawrence took off after him.
Riley stifled a groan and started after Lawrence. But she suddenly fell to the ground and her flashlight flew from her hand.
She realized that someone had tripped her.
As she tried to get to her feet, a heavy boot pushed her down. She rolled over and looked up.
Riley saw that the group of men had formed a threatening circle around her.
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
Riley moved slowly to get back on her feet, watching for any attack from the men who had surrounded her. She more than half expected to get kicked back to the ground before she could stand up.
Instead, the circle of men withdrew a couple of steps.
Their retreat wasn’t out of fear—she felt none of that in the air.
They just want to give me a fighting chance, she realized.
It wasn’t really an encouraging thought. In the dim firelight, these guys looked a lot bigger now than they had when they’d been sitting huddled around their little fire. She remembered that a large percentage of today’s hobos were ex-convicts. They would be strong, and they’d learned to be violent in the nation’s prisons.
She quickly assessed whether to draw her weapon.
No, she thought.
That wouldn’t be a good idea—not in a circle of potential assailants. One might grab her from behind, causing her to lose control of her weapon. She could easily wind up dead.
She fleetingly worried about Officer Lawrence. The aggressive young cop had disappeared out of the ravine in pursuit of the escaping hobo.
Had Lawrence drawn his gun? Did he have the sense not to fire on the fleeing man?
But she didn’t have time to worry about that now.
“I don’t want any trouble,” Riley said.
“Neither do we,” the largest of the hobos said. “That’s why we want to know—why are you guys after our pal Spider?”
“We didn’t come here after anybody,” Riley said.
“You got an arrest warrant?” another hobo asked.
“No. We just want to talk, that’s all.”
The largest guy broke into a sinister grin.
“Talk!” he said with a rough laugh. “We might just get around to that,” he said. “Or we might not. Or maybe you and me need to communicate first.”
Riley heard a murmur from the others in the circle, but couldn’t tell whether it was in support or protest of the big man’s attitude.
Then he barked out orders. “Tater, put out the fire. Weasel, grab her flashlight.”
“Right away, Dutch,” said one of the men.
The two hobos he’d addressed quickly followed their orders. One dumped a cup of water on the campfire. As the fire hissed and smoked, he threw a heavy cover over it.
The other hobo snatched up Riley’s flashlight and turned it off.
Suddenly, the darkness was total, and the sound was only that of shuffling feet. No ambient light penetrated into the deep ravine.
Riley knew Dutch was still there, somewhere in front of her. The rest of the men seemed to have stepped back.
Giving us space, she realized.
Riley deliberately slowed her breathing and considered her tactics. Although the hobo called Dutch was a lot bigger and stronger than she was, he was overconfident. His mistake was being determined to fight with her one-on-one. She knew that the darkness didn’t give him any particular advantage. She’d fought in total darkness before. She knew what to do.
Riley began to move about randomly—stepping lightly forward, backward, to the sides, ducking and dodging even though no blows were coming just yet.
She couldn’t see where her opponent was, but he couldn’t see her either. He would hear her moving about, but if she kept moving, he couldn’t predict where she’d be next. And he was likely to make more noise than she did.
Soon she heard a heavy step and felt a rush of air as his arm sliced by, then a grunt of discouragement that the blow didn’t connect. Another quick swing also missed her widely, and she heard him stumble past her.
Riley knew that she was depending on luck as well as stealth, and that luck wasn’t likely to hold out for long. But maybe it wouldn’t have to. The guy’s very size meant that he was already using more effort and energy than she was, just by flailing about. If she could just evade his blows long enough to tire him, he’d become markedly less dangerous.
She kept her feet moving until a backward step brought her into contact with a body. She’d almost forgotten—the circle of men was still tight around her. Whoever she’d bumped into gave her a sharp push back toward Dutch, who was still swinging at her.
Another blow came, and this time she felt his knuckles graze her cheek.
She heard curses as the big man blundered past her and into his companions. Then for a long moment, she couldn’t tell exactly where he was.
Riley began to worry …
Is he tiring fast enough?
She stood still, and she heard a welcome sound.
Dutch was breathing heavily now.
Those sounds were all she needed to locate the position of his head. She drew back her right arm and let fly with her fist.
She felt a sharp pain in her knuckles that shot all the way into her wrist as her fist connected with the man’s skull.
Dutch let out an outcry of pain. But Riley could tell by his voice that he was still on his feet.
She fought down a surge of discouragement.
There was a disadvantage to fighting blind that she hadn’t reckoned on.
If she’d been able to see, she’d have been able to aim her punch somewhere softer and yet more vulnerable, like her assailant’s throat.
Now it was going to take more than one strike to bring him down.