All Aboard for Murder

by R. T. Ray

  The swaying gray curtain proved to be thousands of strands of mono-filament fishing line. Their snapped ends, no longer connected to the surface, floated above the hulk like a thin, translucent veil of hair. Even after years of submersion, each tangled line still bristled with rigging of lost lures and barbed hooks. They danced and swirled in the water, entangling the divers and snagging their equipment with their barbed fingers. Cursing with each new snare, Mardis was forced to constantly stop and cut himself free.

  The other diver, having freed himself, began franticly signaling, pointing toward an odd shaped patch of vegetation. Nodding in agreement, Mardis swam forward, joining his partner at the object's far end. His heart began to race, as he touched one of the massive, circular disk-like objects protruding from the form. There was no mistaking their purpose; they were the steel wheels from an overturned railroad car.

  Under the glare of their dive lights, the men began searching for clues to the car's origin. With only a portion of the car visible, the process proved painstakingly slow. It was not until Mardis noticed the two triangular shapes protruding from the car's undercarriage, that he recognized the true purpose of the car.

  It took several more anxious minutes to positively confirm the find as that of an ordinary hopper car, used to haul stone from the quarry. The unloading chutes, protruding through the vegetation, erased any doubt as to the purpose of the car.

  With the identification made, Mardis signaled his dive partner to surface. The younger man shook his head, pointing to his watch to indicate there was sufficient airtime left to continue searching. But Mardis persisted and again pointed upward. The two men began their ascent, breaking the water's surface moments later.

  During the brief ride to shore, the other men listened to the younger diver eagerly describe the highlights of the dive. Mardis, who usually joined in such sessions, sat alone in the bow of the Zodiac, staring silently at the rapidly advancing shoreline.

  “Nice dive,” the junior diver shouted over the roar of the outboard.

  “Thanks,” Mardis said.

  “Cold?” the junior diver asked, noticing Mardis's ashen face and his shivering body.

  “Yeah, a little,” came the reply. “Guess I'm getting old,” he added, reaching for the nearby thermos of hot soup.

  The other occupants laughed and resumed their conversation.

  It wasn't age, the coldness of the water, or the chill of the wind that caused the uncontrollable trembling in Mardis's body. In his mind's eye, he had seen the faces of each of the twenty-six souls. Their tormented cries called out to him from their graves in the dark watery depths.

  Turning away from the group, he again faced the approaching shoreline.

  “My last dive,” he repeated.

  16

  Federal Building

  Baltimore City

  September 15, 1992

  Judith Carberry had earned a reputation as a no-nonsense girl Friday, shielding Senator Victor Ewald, Jr. from the daily distractions of the outside world. The senator, a soft-spoken, amiable sort, was quick to appreciate this and contributed a large part of his meteoric rise inside Washington's circles to Judith and her fierce loyalty.

  Her clothing, straight out of the latest New York fashion magazines, clung to the curves of a her youthful body. She wore an expensive, well-tailored gray woolen skirt and white silk blouse. Her long, dark auburn hair was drawn tightly into its customary bun. She reminded Matuszak of his fifth grade teacher, Miss Fields, right down to the rimless glasses and the black, 1930s inspired shoes with the thick heels.

  Unlike Miss Fields, Judith Carberry possessed perfectly sculptured cheekbones and a flawless complexion to compliment an already attractive face. Probably in her early forties Matuszak judged as he allowed his eyes to slowly travel up the long, slender legs. Beautiful? Yes. Sensual? Again yes, but miles out of his league. Besides, any thoughts he had along those lines were squelched by her stern, businesslike manner.

  “I really don't see how the senator can help you, Agent Matuszak,” she said, bringing him back to reality.

  “It’s the senator's father,” he answered. “He is the only link to the train I’ve been able to establish. I was hoping the senator could arrange a brief interview with him.”

  Judith Carberry considered the thought, then nodded her head in agreement. “I can appreciate your predicament,” she said. “But you must realize Senator Ewald maintains an already impossible schedule.”

  Hell! I knew it, he thought. Here comes the brush off.

  Instead her response took him by surprise. “I’ll arrange an appointment with the senator. If you'll leave a number where you can be reached, someone from my staff will contact you as soon as an opening becomes available.”

  And now, after several days of waiting, the call had come. If he could be in the senator's office at eleven-fifty, he would be allowed ten minutes. Ten minutes and no more with the senator. At precisely eleven-fifty, Judith Carberry quietly ushered Matuszak in a side door to Senator Ewald's private office.

  “Remember, Agent Matuszak,” she cautioned, as she slid the pocket door closed, “ten minutes and not a minute longer.”

  Senator Ewald's office was immense, rectangular in shape with a high ceiling. A set of antique, French pocket doors served as the main entrance. Smaller versions of the doors provided access at each end of the room. The remaining wall was covered by a massive bank of windows, with an impressive view of Baltimore's Inner harbor as a backdrop.

  Senator Ewald sat behind his desk, eating his lunch while editing a document. As the doors parted and Matuszak entered, the senator rose and quickly cross the room to greet his guest.

  “Agent Matuszak, so good of you to come,” he said extending an outstretched hand. “Judith has relayed to me the nature of your request.”

  Tall, in his mid-fifties, Ewald wore a perpetual smile that never seemed to leave his face. A necessary trait for all successful politicians, Matuszak theorized, but somehow on the senator it appeared genuine.

  “Please,” the senator said, motioning toward a chair close to the huge desk, “we can discuss your case over lunch. I’ve taken the liberty of ordering for you. Sadly, mineral water and fresh fruit are all Judith allows me to eat,” he said, indicating the small tray before him. He chuckled. “She’s under the mistaken impression I'm gaining weight.”

  He placed a second tray, containing fresh fruit, various crackers and cheeses along with several small bottles of chilled, mineral water, in front of Matuszak. Accepting a bottle of lemon-flavored mineral water and settling in the comfortable chair, Matuszak thanked the senator for his time and for granting the interview.

  “No, not at all,” the senator said. “My pleasure. I’ve followed the fascinating case you’re working on in the local newspaper. Naturally it arouses one's curiosity. Still, I don't see how I can be of service to you.”

  Time was short and Matuszak got right to the point. “I believe the train's disappearance is based on Jonathan Lambert's presence on the train. I'm hoping you, or more correctly your father, could suggest some reason for Lambert to have caught that particular train.”

  “Lambert's presence on the train as the bases for its disappearance?” the senator mused. “An interesting hypothesis, but I'm afraid I can't help you there. Of course, I heard all the stories, but you must realize it was so long ago and I was only a couple of years old at the time.”

  Matuszak nodded in acknowledgment “We could start with your father. What were his thoughts on the incident?”

  “I'm not sure,” the senator said, returning his glass to the tray.

  “But surely you must have spoken with your father about it?”

  “No. To the contrary, my father refused to permit any discussion of the incident. The subject was taboo in our house.”

  “What about now?”

  “Nothing has changed.”

  “What? Even now? After all these years?”

  Senator Ewald nodded. “My fa
ther was a quiet man, Agent Matuszak. He kept his feelings bundled up inside. He permitted no discussion on the subject, but it was clear Jonathan Lambert's disappearance weighed heavily on him.” He lazily swirled the contents of his glass. “You see, as a junior partner, my father had to struggle to gain control in the firm after Jonathan’s disappearance. A good deal of dirty, corporate infighting followed. A real dogfight I'm told. Eventually it affected my father's health and he never truly recovered. My father was a frail individual and I believe it ruined him in the end.”

  “In the end? Then your father is deceased?”

  Senator Ewald shook his head. “No, but my father's health never really improved after the takeover. Then the competition with foreign yards drained him even further. Despite his best efforts, my father was unable to prevent the shipyard from going under.”

  “I’m told Lambert Industries filed for bankruptcy.”

  Senator Ewald nodded. “Sometime in the early seventies. At any rate my father's health continued its downward spiral.”

  “Where is your father now?”

  “He's a patient at Huntsmore Manor. I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t reveal that to the papers. The prognosis isn't very good I'm afraid. I would prefer his final days to be peaceful ones.”

  Matuszak nodded. “Certainly.”

  Swiveling in his chair to stare out at the harbor, Senator Ewald fell silent. “It's ironic,” he said, after a long pause. “As you may know, I am the chairman of a very powerful Senate subcommittee, negotiating what many consider potentially the most far-reaching trade treaty ever. A treaty that will lead the U.S. into the next millennium, with the country that drove my father into bankruptcy and ruined his health.”

  Only the movement caught Matuszak's eye. He had not heard the pocket door open, or the sound of approaching footsteps. Senator Ewald turned, and in a cordial tone, said, “Ah, Art, come in. I would like you to introduce you to our guest.”

  Before Matuszak stood, a thin elderly man of possibly eighty years, with a dull ashen complexion and a pair of cold expressionless eyes set deep in their sockets.

  Turning back to Matuszak, the senator said, “Agent Matuszak, may I present Arthur C. Donnley.” In a voice filled with what could be only described as admiration, he added, “Arthur is my closest political adviser and a life long friend. He has been the guiding force behind my political career.”

  The cold, gray eyes took careful measure of Matuszak. “Agent, you say? Would that be CIA or FBI?” Donnley sneered in a semi-mocking fashion. There wasn't a trace of warmth contained in the frigid voice.

  “No, Maryland DOT,” said Senator Ewald, correcting his colleague. The ghost of a frown formed on the senator’s brow, as an air of uneasiness penetrating the conversation. “Agent Matuszak is looking into that missing train affair.”

  Matuszak, who was now standing, offered his hand.

  “Glad to meet you, sir,” he said. “The name Donnley seems vaguely familiar. Have we met?” He received only a feeble, token handshake in reply.

  “No, I've not had the pleasure,” the old man half growled. “Missing trains you say? I should think the state would have better things to do with its money than to go chasing after ghosts.”

  “Chasing after ghosts?” Matuszak said in reply. The old man's demeanor and the acid tone of his remarks were unexpected and had caught him off guard. “That's a rather odd choice of words, don't you think?”

  “Well, certainly!” Donnley retorted with an impatience wave of the hand. “Everyone on that damn train's dead, aren't they?”

  “I've never thought of my assignment as chasing after ghosts,” Matuszak replied. The old man might be the senator's closest friend, but he was fast becoming a pain in the ass. Experience told Matuszak to bite his tongue. In the most civil tone he could muster, he said, “But, yes. If the passengers are still on the train, one could assume that they are undoubtedly dead.”

  Ewald, embarrassed at Donnley's irritable responses, quickly recovered. He moved tactfully, attempting to direct the conversation to a more neutral subject.

  “How did your visit with my father go?” he asked. “Agent Matuszak here has expressed an interest with speaking with him. I'm thinking of arranging a meeting. I believe my father would enjoy it. What’s you opinion?”

  “No,” Donnley grumbled, in a voice so low it was barely audible. His thin, bony finger drummed on the desktop, punctuating each word uttered. “Let the man be!”

  “Arthur,” Senator Ewald countered. “I think this would be a golden opportunity for Dad to talk with someone interested in the early days. And there's the outside chance it could be helpful in Agent Matuszak's investigation. I can see no harm.”

  “I said no!” Donnley hissed, his ashen face crimson with anger. “For Christ's sake, Victor, let the man die in peace. Who cares about that goddamn train anyway?”

  “Arthur!” the senator exclaimed. “This outburst of yours is inexcusable.” The smile was absent from his face as he rose from his chair. His voice, now lowered, mirrored the controlled rage he felt. “I believe you owe our guest an apology.”

  “I don't owe anyone an-” Donnley snapped. Then abruptly stopping in mid-sentence, he wheeled about, his eyes meeting Matuszak's searching for some sign or indication as to what Matuszak's thoughts were. Sensing nothing threatening he relaxed. His voice softened and he even smiled a little. A different Arthur Donnley was emerging.

  “You're right, Victor, of course,” the new Donnley said, his voice dripping with honey. “How terribly inexcusable of me. I don't know what came over me, Agent Matuszak. Please forgive my unpardonable outburst. You understand, of course, my only concern is that of protecting the senior Victor and his health. Do forgive me.”

  The muscles in Matuszak's jaw tightened. Asshole! he thought, suppressing the urge to speak his mind. Still, he needed the senator to arrange a meeting with his father. A sharp retort or the wrong word on his part, no matter how well deserved, would only torpedo his chances of obtaining it. “Quite understandable, Mr. Donnley,” he said.

  Donnley smiled, suggesting that he, not the ailing Victor Ewald, would be more suited in assisting Matuszak in his investigation. Perhaps a meeting in the near future could be arranged?

  “After all,” Donnley said, “I was the firm's senior legal counsel for many years and had the complete confidence of the senior members of the board. I'll call you later, perhaps next week and we'll talk,” he said, as he excused himself and left the room.

  After Donnley’s departure, an embarrassed Senator Ewald turned toward Matuszak. “I apologize for Arthur's behavior, Agent Matuszak. Totally uncalled for. I can't for the life of me understand what came over Arthur.”

  “Not necessary, Senator. It's quite obvious it was Mr. Donnley’s concern over your father's health,” Matuszak replied, attempting to ease the awkwardness of the situation.

  Returning to his desk, Senator Ewald said, “That's true. My father has suffered a series of mild strokes over the last several years. Only recently, the first stages of Alzheimer's disease were diagnosed. As you can appreciate he requires around the clock nursing care.”

  “Then perhaps it’s better I don't disturb him.”

  “No, no,” Senator Ewald insisted, “quite the contrary. That's why I feel he would savor a chance to talk with someone about the past. My father still has periods where he is quite lucid. He understands the disease will soon rob him of all memory of the past. I believe he will enjoy your visiting him.”

  The side door opened and Judith Carberry appeared. In a soft but firm voice, much like a mother correcting a mischievous child, she said, “The delegation on fair housing has been waiting, and you're running somewhat behind schedule. I'm sure Agent Matuszak will understand.” She turned, leaving the doors open.

  Rising from his desk, Ewald said, “I'm very fortunate in having Judith, she runs an excellent albeit tight ship. She'll arrange an appointment for you to visit my father. I would consider it a great co
urtesy on your part if you would agree to speak with him.”

  Again, the smile appeared on the senator's face. There was no doubt in Matuszak's mind that the interview was over and he was being politely dismissed.

  “Thank you for your time, Senator,” he said. “I'll look forward to meeting with your father.”

  In the reception area, Judith Carberry was on the telephone to Huntsmore Manor, attempting to arrange an interview with Victor Ewald. Seeing Matuszak leaving the senator's office, she smiled and waved. “I'll contact your office,” she said, “when I can arrange a convenient time for the senator’s father.”

  A warm glow rushed to her face, filling her cheeks as she spoke. She quickly turned away.

  “That will be fine,” Matuszak replied, returning the smile. “I'll look forward to your call.”

  She wasn't wearing a wedding band; he had taken special care to note that. If she didn't call, he would. He hesitated, taking one last look at the profile of the youthful body, lingering seductively under the tailored clothing. Yes, Senator, he thought, you are indeed a fortunate man.

  He retrieved the Escort from the building's underground parking garage. The Escort's engine seemed to be straining more than usual as he navigated the steep exit ramps. Perhaps LaMatta was right. Maybe it was time to shop the poor beast after all, he thought, forced to shift into a lower gear. He cleared the last ramp and exited the garage leaving a cloud of blue smoke to mark the Escort’s departure.

  He steered the Escort onto the rain-swept city streets and drove through the clogged, midday traffic. Nearing city center, traffic ground to a standstill and he whiled away the time recalling the interview, especially the bizarre encounter with Arthur Donnley. He had never met the man, but he was convinced that he had heard the name...and recently.

  Maybe Donnley's name had appeared in one of the newspapers, he thought, possibly in connection with the senator. After all, the trade treaty has been the top news story for days and Donnley was an intricate part of the senator's staff. No, he dismissed that idea, he hadn't read a paper in weeks. His newspaper reading had been confined to those on the microfilm machine at the Sun paper’s archives and the photocopied articles Billy had given him.