A reporter had written an investigative article about individuals who ride the rails. Not only transients took the free, but often dangerous, jump onto freight cars. Young people were increasingly participating in these endeavors, and he’d interviewed two college dropouts who spoke on the condition of anonymity. “Jan” and “Tom” estimated they had ridden more than ten thousand miles on the tracks over the last two years.

“We were able to see most of the country, places most people don’t even know about,” Jan said. “We’re taking a break but are meeting up with friends later this summer.”

Jan and Tom both know Joseph Abernathy. They once shared a railcar with him from Flagstaff to Albuquerque a year ago.

“Joseph was quiet, kept to himself. He drank heavily, and when he was sober he had a hard time remembering things. He told a lot of stories, but you didn’t know if they were true or not. But he was harmless. He would yell at people sometimes, and you didn’t really know why, but he never hurt anyone.”

Serious alcoholics didn’t always know what they did when they were intoxicated. It was certainly possible to kill and not remember.

There were too many questions, and nothing in any of the official statements gave her anything more to go on. The police felt that Abernathy was their best and most viable suspect, and as her dad had indicated, they could have evidence they kept to themselves.

At quarter to seven, she headed over to the communications building where the recording studios were located. While dorms always required a card key to enter, most buildings were open during class hours, and there were many evening courses around campus. After hours, only a card key could get you in. Fortunately, the communications building was open. Lucas had texted her that he was in room 303, down the hall from the studio.

He had his door open. “You ranked your own office?” she said as she walked in. It was small—barely fit a desk and a chair, with a second chair squeezed in—but it had a door that locked.

“They had the space, and I made a pitch as part of my capstone. There was no room in the criminology building, and this is right down the hall from the studio.”

She sat down across from him. He was working on his laptop. There were binders on a shelf next to the desk, and a few crime-related books, plus one on forensics. But there was no clutter; he clearly didn’t spend a lot of time in here.

Lucas said, “I really appreciate you doing this with me. I think it’ll help.”

“Exactly what do you want from me? Yesterday you mentioned interviewing techniques, discussing how the Marshals Service looks for missing people, things like that.”