Remo turned the body over on its back. It rolled over as easily as a log. And just as stiff. Rigor mortis had set in.
The hands were frozen at his belt line, as if they had held something before he died. His fly was closed.
"My mistake," Melvis said.
Kneeling, Remo examined one thumb. It was rash red, and a slight indentation was visible in the fingerprint area.
"What's this?" Remo wondered aloud.
"His dead thumb," said Melvis, winking in K.C.'s direction.
"I mean this indentation."
Melvis got down and took a hard look. "Search me."
"Let me see," said K.C. She got down with them and looked the thumb over. "You know, way up in Big Sky country I did a photo feature on those new RC units."
"RC?'
"Radio Controlled. They got transmitters now that can move a locomotive around the switching yards without an engineer in the cab. The transmit-power switch has a little silver ball at the end of it. Makes a deep dent just like this one has."
Melvis scratched his own thumb absently. "You don't say."
"Sure. It's got the Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers union all in a lather. The freight bosses can cut the crews down to two, sometimes one, by giving a yardman one of those contraptions and have him move rolling stock around without need of engineers."
Melvis set his Stetson over his heart and looked mournful. "A way of life is surely evaporatin' when even an engineer is prone to layoff."
"Ever heard of a rotary-plow engine run by RC?" Remo asked K.C.
"No, but that don't mean it couldn't be."
Remo stood up. The others followed suit.
"Whoever killed this guy took his RC unit and ran the plow down the track," he said.
"It's possible," Melvis admitted.
"Except for one thing," said K.C.
"What's that?"
"I think that thing glinting in the sun over yonder is the RC unit in question."
They went over to the glint. It was the RC unit. It had a stainless-steel case and shoulder straps so that it could carried, leaving the hands free to work the controls.
"So much for that theory." Remo said.
"Looks like it's been busted open," Melvis muttered.
"Why would anyone do that?"
"Got me," said K.C. "Maybe he wanted to get the radio frequency."
"So where's the desperado what skragged this poor feller?" Melvis wanted to know.
"Perhaps he was in the plow engine," said Chiun.
"Suicide," Melvis said, smacking one fist into a meaty palm. "Suicide! That's it! Suicide. Drug-induced suicide. Man cut up his fellow worker and in remorse lit off with the plow engine and run smack dab into the California Zephyr, going out in a blaze of diesel glory."
"Sounds thin," said Remo.
"Maybe he had diabetes to boot."
Everyone looked at Melvis with expectant expressions.
"There was a Brit who had diabetes," Melvis explained. "Couldn't get his leg amputated for love or coal, so he lay down on a track and let a highball do it for him. Bad leg came off clean as bamboo. Maybe this feller had a terminal illness, and this was his way of goin' out."
"What manner of imbecile would commit suicide by crashing into an approaching locomotive?" Chiun demanded.
Melvis and K.C. looked at one another. Out of their mouths came the same answer.
"A rail fan!" they exclaimed.
THEY TOOK the transmitter back to the crash site. K.C. got it working and threw the train into reverse.
No one expected a reaction, but a beacon light atop the train began flashing yellow and the train lurched backward, dragging the Genesis with it. It crawled painfully for all of two feet, then stopped dead.
K.C. shut down the transmitter. "They're rigged to control only one train at a time. You got to reset it for another."
"How much of a range?" asked Remo.
"Maybe twenty miles. With repeaters, more."
"So the murderer could have stood way back at the shed and sent the rotary plow this way without having to see what was happening?"
"It's possible. All you gotta do is set the cab controls and start her up by RC. If you're looking to run it smack into the California Zephyr, all you need is the right track and the correct direction. It's not like you gotta steer anything."
"The question is, who?" said Remo.
"All we gotta do is pry them two sad-sack engines apart and maybe we'll get our answer," Melvis offered.
"An excellent suggestion," said Chiun, throwing back his silvery sleeves with a flourish.
He marched up to the mashed locomotive pile.
"What's he up to?" Melvis asked Remo.
"He's going to separate the locomotives," Remo said casually.
"You mean he thinks he's gonna separate the locomotives."
"He thinks it, too."
Reaching the wreck, the Master of Sinanju examined it carefully. He turned. "I may need assistance."
"Hah," said Melvis.
"Back up the ugly engine."
"Won't do nothin'. You saw that with your own eyes."
"Do it anyway," said Remo.
"I got it," said K.C. Raising her voice, she said, "Just call out when you're ready. Hear?"
"I am ready," returned Chiun.
Melvis turned to Remo. "Ain't you gonna stop him? He could hurt hisself."
Remo shrugged. "I learned to let him have his way a long time ago."
K.C. threw the plow locomotive into reverse.
The engine grunted, clashed backward. Tangled steel and aluminum groaned like a tortured beast.
And the Master of Sinanju inserted a hand into the tangle. He did something very quick with his hands. Abruptly, with the sound of a giant spring letting go, the plow engine backed off from the mangled Genesis, trailing thin struts and pieces of flat black blade.
"Did you see that!" Melvis exploded. His eyes were popping from their sockets.
"No," said Remo.
"See what?" said K.C., her head coming up. "I was looking at the controls."
"Nothin'," said Melvis. "But I sure heard a sprungin'."
"I heard it, too," said K.C. She grinned. "Guess we got lucky."
Melvis gave Remo a sharp eye. "A lotta that around these two. Hope it's catchin'. "
They ran up to the separated engines. The exposed noses were mashed flat. The housing containing the snow-eating fan blades now looked like a grille. The Genesis snout resembled a kicked-in loaf of bread. Crushed air hoses and power conduits drooped from the bottom, as if a hand grenade had gone off in a snake pit.
"Well," Melvis commented, "they say the Genesis is the homeliest loco since the old Union Pacific M-10000, but a head-on sure didn't improve her profile any."
Blood was streaking down the one side. It was enough to tell the Genesis engineer had taken the brunt of the impact.
Remo climbed the access ladder of the Genesis, looked in the broken window and climbed back down.
"Dead," he said.
"Too bad."
"But he still has his head."
"Why wouldn't he?" Melvis demanded.
"Never mind," said Remo, jumping down.
They circled around the other engine. The entire front end had been pushed back into the firewall, cab and all.
"If he's in here," Melvis said, "he's mashed flatter than an elephant's pillow."
"Only one way to find out," said Remo. He started up the twisted access ladder.
"Now what do you think you're loin'?"
Remo said nothing as he reached the engine roof. Kneeling there, he examined the steel roof plates under him.
"Find me a crowbar," he called down.
"Take more than a crowbar to open that sardine can. You need a can opener the size of a canoe paddle."
"Humor me," said Remo.
"Come on, little lady. We can swap lies while we look."
And when they started off for the emergency crew farther down the line, Remo got to work.
He used his fist. Bringing it down, he popped a line of rivets. Moving his fist, he popped another. He worked quickly, striking key stress points until the rivets began hopping in place like tiny animated toadstools.