It was an hour earlier there, seven o’clock Mountain Time. She sounded tired, like it had been a long day. “Ms Cruz, is there a Women’s Crisis Center in Denver?” I heard her stifle a yawn. “Yes. Why?” I told her what we’d discovered from Gail. And that she might want to speak with local women’s services centers. “It’s a long shot,” I added. “But …” “I’m going to make a call or two, Detective Ryder,” Cruz said, her voice suddenly all business. Don’t go far.” Harry took his chair across from me, Sal pulled up another. My phone rang fifteen minutes later: Cruz. She said, “No woman of that description entered the local node.” I tried to recall if I’d used the word node in my explanation. If I hadn’t, Cruz had somehow selected the terminology used within the system. “Did you know of the existence of the railroad before this?” I asked. No response. It was odd, a simple yes or no was all I was after. “Detective Cruz? Are you there?” Sal said, “Give me the phone, Carson.
