Read Online The End of the Line by Stephen Legault - Free Book Online

separated the entrance way from closed doors beyond. Two small windows flanking the single door to the platform permitted the spectacular light of the day to flood into the room.
    â€œThis here is the merchantable counter, where Tom Holt takes care of shipping and receiving for the station,” said Wilcox, taking off his glove and tapping the counter top. “Tom manages the stores here, and got the place named after him for his service. Mind, I think he did the naming himself . . .” cracked Wilcox. “Back behind is the telegraph office. John Christianson tends to the wires as well as the store. Through there,” pointed Wilcox, “is where we keep the supplies for the men to purchase with their pay.” Durrant made note of the heavy lock on the outside of the door.
    Wilcox stepped to a third door on the northern wall of the station. “This here is the CPR offices.” He pulled a ring of keys from his coat pocket, unlocked the door, and shoved it open. Durrant could see where the door had already cut a groove into the soft, uneven, pine flooring. They stepped into the room. A small stove glowed in the corner and Durrant felt the heat through his heavy clothes. Sweat began to bead on his forehead. “Take your coat off, Sergeant,” said Wilcox as he unbuttoned his own. “Would you like coffee? There’s a pot there on the stove.”
    â€œNo, thank you,” said Durrant, hanging his coat on a chair while leaning on his crutch.
    The office was small and neatly ordered. A compact desk with an oil lamp was pushed against one wall, and there were two chairs arranged near the tiny window that looked out on the rail yard. Durrant could see the men moving about with their crates of raw material to make nitroglycerine through the frosted pane of glass.
    He didn’t wait for Wilcox to finish pouring coffee for himself before he started. “Do you know who killed Deek Penner, Mr. Wilcox?”
    His back to Durrant, Wilcox quickly replied, “If I did, there would be no reason for you to be here, would there Sergeant.”
    â€œThat may be so, but nevertheless, do you?”
    â€œI do not.”
    â€œDo you have any idea who might have wanted Mr. Penner dead?”
    â€œWell, that’s another matter altogether.” Wilcox sat down next to his desk and put the tin cup with his coffee in it down next to the lamp.
    Durrant continued to stand and survey the room as he talked. “So let’s make a list, shall we? Who was it that found Mr. Penner’s body?”
    â€œThat would be John Christianson. John’s no killer, I assure you.”
    â€œThere was a card game that evening. Who was in attendance at that game?” asked Durrant.
    â€œI know that Frank Dodds was there, as it was in his cabin. And John was there, ’cause he told me that he nearly lost his shirt in the game. You’ll have to check with one of them to determine who else sat in on the game.”
    â€œYou didn’t ask?”
    â€œDidn’t see why. The boys here play cards nearly every night. There’s always a dozen games on the go. I don’t make it my business to keep track.”
    â€œGambling is illegal.”
    Wilcox smiled. “I suppose . . .”
    â€œThat being said, my concern is not with having a bet now and again. I’ve been known to play a hand or two of poker myself. It’s what nearly always accompanies a game that I’m wondering about. And what happened after this particular game was over is my principal concern.”
    â€œLiquor.” Wilcox said it in a matter-of-fact tone.
    â€œIs there liquor at any of the games you mention?”
    â€œI imagine there might be a jar here and there.”
    â€œThis doesn’t bother you, Mr. Wilcox?”
    â€œCourse it does. Liquor is illegal along the CPR . Selling liquor is prohibited in the camps.”
    â€œBut you don’t know for sure if there’s