You know what? he said. Do you one better: I think I have his card.

Harley waited several agonizing minutes while the sheriff rummaged through his desk, finally producing a card with a picture of a mountain on one side and a hard hat on the other. The bottom left corner read: Grady Lucas, Bureau of Mine Safety.

Does that help? the sheriff asked, hitching up his belt.

More than you know, Harley answered, smiling as she shook Santiagos hand. More than you know.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The corner of the search warrant folded in Callaways pocket stabbed into his leg as he sat down on the bench beside Chuck Holstein, a trial judge who had been handing down sentences about as long as Callaway had been alive. All it would take was a flick of Holsteins pen, and Candys phone would be theirsif Callaway could convince the judge this warrant wouldnt come back to haunt him.

Before them the Union Pacific Railroad stretched off miles into the distance in both directions. Callaway didnt give a fig about trains, but Holstein loved everything about them: watching them, counting them, discussing thempretty much everything short of riding them.

Each ones different, Holstein said, popping a handful of sugar-coated peanuts into his mouth. Different builds, different loads. Even the graffiti.

The judge was a small, clerkish man without his robes. He blinked rapidly, and the corners of his lips always seemed to be turned slightly downward as if there were some terrible quality about the world he could not quite tolerate. Maybe that was why his conviction rate was so high.

Holstein turned his head toward Callaway. He didnt look at him so much as he glanced in his direction.

You know they have these on YouTube? he said.

So why dont you watch them on YouTube? Callaway said, watching a crew of red ants scavenge the corpse of a Jerusalem cricket next to his boot. He knew from past experience that Holstein wasnt a man to be rushed. He was like a cut of pork shoulder: tough if undercooked, soft and falling off the bone if given enough time.

The judge made a disgusted sound. Not the same. You gotta feel the ground shake. Otherwise you might as well be watching the Millennium Falcon.

The judge popped another handful of peanuts into his mouth. So, he said, why are you here? Come to talk shop?

Callaway leaned back in mock shock. Chuck, how long have you known me? You think Id come here just to talk about a case?

I know theyre not your passionthe trains, I mean. Not many railfans around these days, except on those online forums.

Callaway considered how to answer this delicately. I dont have to be a diehard fan to enjoy physics at work, do I?

A foamer, you mean? Thats what they call uson account of how we foam at the mouth when the trains come by. The judge grunted. Suppose its true.