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Carlos and I look at each other, and then, having the same thought at the same time, our eyes move to the current diorama on top of the plywood.
A model of a train running alongside a river.
“Their next job,” I say, my voice barely more than a whisper, “is going to be a train robbery.”
CHAPTER 47
WE STUDY THE model train display.
The track doesn’t run in an oval shape typical for a model train. Instead, the track runs eight feet across the sheet of plywood, edge to edge. Its route passes underneath a roadway overpass, then runs parallel to a river for at least half the table. The train then crosses the river on a long, angled bridge onto a shoreline road that ends in a T, marked with a crossing gate. A spur road runs down to the river just past the bridge.
A model train stretches at least three quarters of the length of the track. There might be close to one hundred cars on it.
Now that we know what we’re looking at, it seems obvious this was never a hobby display meant for kids.
No, this is a scale replica of a real place.
I pull out my phone, look up a number, and call. As it rings, I check my watch. It’s before eight o’clock and I hope to God there’s someone there to answer. Rays of sunlight pour in through the high basement windows.
“Texas Department of Transportation,” a polite voice says on the other end of the line. “How may I direct your call?”
“This is Rory Yates of the Texas Ranger Division,” I say. “I need to speak to someone in the Rail Division. It’s an emergency.”
“Uh, okay,” the voice says, sounding flummoxed. “Do you know your party’s extension?”
“I need to talk to the most knowledgeable person about the rail lines in this state,” I say. “Someone who knows every inch of track in Texas. And make sure somebody’s there to answer. I don’t want to get voicemail.”
She puts me on hold, and I pace the basement floor while Carlos takes pictures of the diorama. I can still smell sewage, as if the stench from the smears on our clothes has attached itself to our skin.
“Alex Lloyd,” a man says, coming to the line. “I’m the deputy director here. What can I do for you?”
I tell him who I am and what I want from him.
“Mister, there are over twelve thousand miles of train tracks in Texas,” he says. “Twice as much as almost any other state. And you want me to pinpoint a particular place on a map based on your description?”
“Exactly,” I say. “If you’re not the person for the job, get the right person on the phone.” Realizing how demanding I sound, I add, “Please.”
“I’m the one you want to talk to,” he says with resignation in his voice. “I’ve been here almost forty years. No one knows these tracks like me.”
I describe the scene in the diorama.
“You don’t know what river, do you?” he asks.
“I wish.”
“Do you know if we’re talking passenger cars or freight cars?”
I look at the model. It’s hard to know if Parker just used whatever train cars he had available, or if what’s in the model is actually an accurate depiction of what they plan to rob. Judging by how intricate the other models were, I assume the latter.
“Freight,” I say.
Carlos offers to email the guy some pictures, and a few minutes later Alex Lloyd is opening the photos on his desktop computer while still on the phone with me.
“Hmmm,” he says. “There’s a branch line out past Odessa that we don’t use much anymore. There’s a road that goes over the tracks, then crosses over a river. It’s hilly country, around where the Pecos River comes in from New Mexico and starts its route down to the Rio Grande. We’re talking about the middle of nowhere.”
The deputy railroad director asks us to hang on while he pulls up Google Earth.
“I’ll be a monkey’s uncle,” he says.
