At Risk (27 page)

I moved to get up, and the cop put his foot
between my shoulder blades and pushed me back down. "Don't move."
He was still panting. "You're already in enough trouble." After a
minute or two, he squatted beside me and checked my jacket
pockets.

"What's your name?"

"Stephen Cline."

"Why'd you run, Steve?"

"I didn't think you were a cop."

He rolled me onto my side and began to empty
my jeans pockets. "Who'd you think I was? Santa Claus?"

"Funny."

"You know you could of got yourself shot?" He
checked my waistline, then felt between my legs.

I tensed.

"What? You never been frisked before?"

"No." I unclenched my teeth. "What in the
hell are you checking for."

"Guns, knives, hand grenades . . . suspicious
bulges." He chuckled at his stupid joke and rolled me back onto my
stomach. "Ever been arrested?"

"No."

When he finished his search, he grunted to
his feet, then snatched his hat off the carpet. He stood in a
wide-legged stance, his gut protruding over his belt. It had been a
long time since his police academy days. A long time since he'd
done anything more vigorous than drive around in his cruiser. He
brushed off the hat's brim and adjusted it on his balding head.
That done, he hooked his hand under my arm and pulled me to my
feet.

"Settle down, Steve. Gettin' angry ain't
gonna help you any." He tugged on his belt. "Now, what were you
doing on Mr. Drake's property?"

I told him. I told him about the horse theft
and about being beaten up and abducted and about Detectives
Linquist and Ralston. I told him about James Peters and everything
else I could think of because I had to. By the time I ran out of
things to say, Randy no longer looked pissed off, and Deputy
Thompson had been on the phone several times, running a check on me
and verifying my story.

Randy chuckled. "No wonder you looked so
scared." He was leaning against the kitchen counter, chewing on a
toothpick, and I was back in the chair I'd started out in.

Thompson shook his head as he fitted his key
into one cuff, then the other. "You could of got yourself killed.
What if you'd stumbled into the murderer. Next time, leave it to
the professionals." He jerked his head at the farmer, and they
walked over to the hallway. The deputy crossed his arms over his
broad stomach and talked quietly to Randy, all the while keeping
his gaze on me.

I rubbed my wrists and listened to their low,
indistinct voices. The dog was back in his box, asleep this time. I
glanced at my watch. Ten after ten.

Damn. Karen would be wondering where I was,
and I hoped to God, Jet was all right. I looked up as Thompson
strode across the worn floor and stopped in front of me.

"Mr. Drake isn't gonna press charges for
trespassing, son. You'd better go on home."

Press charges? I wondered what charges I
could get Mr. Drake in trouble with. "Mind if I look at the trailer
on my way out?"

Thompson's eyebrows rose. "Don't see why
not." He turned to Randy. "Got any objections?"

Randy shook his head. I made a quick call to
Foxdale and told Karen to go home, then the three of us trudged
outside.

At the corral gate, I paused and looked Randy
in the eye. "You had no right to hold me at gun point."

His back tensed under his jacket. "I got
signs posted up and down my fence line, and you kids just keep
doing what you please."

"I've never been here before," I said, and
even I could hear the anger in my voice.

"Now, son. It's over." Thompson stepped
closer. "Go on home. Mr. Drake was just protecting his
property."

Wordlessly, I turned away from them and
walked around to the trailer's back bumper. I pushed a clump of
tall weeds out of the way. The license plate had been issued in
Pennsylvania, which explained why Drake hadn't been on Ralston's
list. As I straightened, I noticed my cap lying in the grass. I
picked it up and dusted off the brim.

Deputy Thompson stood with his arms crossed
over his broad belly and his chin tucked against his neck, waiting
for me to leave, while Randy dug around his teeth with his
toothpick. By all accounts, he looked bored. And I didn't
understand it. If I wasn't mistaken, I had just found the trailer;
yet the owner was clueless.

"You have any repairs made to your trailer in
the past two months?" I said.

Randy shook his head. "I hardly ever use
it."

I jerked my head toward his house. "I got
turned around in the woods. What road do you live on?"

"Mink Hollow."

I told him I was sorry I'd bothered him, then
crossed the corral and vaulted the fence.

I found Jet where I'd left her and turned her
for home. She didn't need any encouragement. It wasn't until I
pulled her up between the barns that I realized what I felt was no
longer anger, but confusion and an overwhelming feeling of
futility.

After I untacked Jet and brushed her off, I
checked the barns. I was on my way out when I paused at the
bulletin board outside barn A's tack room. I tore down the class
schedule from the past weekend and crumpled it into a ball.
Underneath was a crinkled copy of the announcement I'd tacked up
weeks before, the one that described the rig used in the horse
theft.

The paper was discolored from being in the
barn so long, and someone had scribbled across the lower right-hand
corner in red ink. As the words registered, I felt as if I'd been
drenched with ice water.

"A cat has nine lives. You don't" was
scrawled across my name.

An image of Boris swinging from the rafters
with his throat cut crowded my mind.

No one knew about him except the cops.

And the killer.

Chapter 15

"Brian, jiggle the chain to distract him," I
said over my shoulder and hoped he'd understood what I meant.
Whether he would oblige was anyone's guess.

I had the end flap of a roll of Vetrap
between my teeth, a wad of sterile gauze coated with Betadine in my
right hand, and the gelding's hind leg wedged between my forearm
and thigh. The bandage I'd wrapped around his hoof yesterday lay on
the ground beneath his tail.

Monday afternoon, he'd clipped the bulb of
his heel, and he hadn't cared for my ministrations ever since. I
hiked his leg higher up my thigh and placed the gauze over the
gash. I felt the horse's head come up and realized that someone
must have walked into the aisle and spooked him.

I anchored the end of the Vetrap in place
with my thumb and got in four good wraps before the gelding tried
to snatch his hoof out of my hands.

"Whoa," I said to the horse and, with
irritation, to Brian, "Don't let him move forward." Like you did
yesterday, I wanted to add but knew better.

I unwound the last of the Vetrap, then
clamped my hands over the sole of his hoof to mold the bandage to
itself. When I let go of his leg, he kicked out before placing his
hoof on the ground where it belonged.

I straightened. Detective Ralston was
standing just inside the doorway, and he was watching Brian.

"Couple more minutes," I said, "and I'll be
done."

I had waited to hear from Ralston all day
yesterday, but he hadn't returned my call until ten when he'd
arranged to meet me at the farm in the morning. I had slept poorly
and had come in early to get a head start on the day's work.

I reinforced the Vetrap with duct tape and
snipped through the top margin of the bandage to alleviate pressure
over the coronary band. The horse didn't like that, either.

"Okay, Brian. Put him back in his stall." I
slapped the gelding on his rump as he moved off, and he flattened
his ears.

After I'd washed up in the men's room, I
found Ralston standing on the grassy strip that borders the outdoor
arena. Beyond the fence, a handful of riders were working their
horses. As I joined Ralston, Anne pointed Chase down the outside
line. The gelding flew the jumps, covering the six-stride line in a
ground-eating five, clearing the fan jump with a foot and a half to
spare.

I whistled under my breath.

Halfway through their approach to the next
line, Anne pulled the gelding off line. They galloped past so
close, I felt the vibrations from his hoof beats through the soles
of my boots. Ralston stepped backward. I pretended not to
notice.

Anne turned the gelding toward the center of
the ring. His hooves sluiced through the footing and spattered the
fence boards with sand. The instant Chase realized they were
heading for the diagonal line, he pricked his ears and sailed
effortlessly down the line, a streak of liquid gold.

Ralston turned and looked at me over the rims
of his sunglasses.

"Can we talk in your car?" I said. "The
office is crowded."

"Sure."

"First, there's something I want to show
you." I led him back into barn A and stopped at the bulletin board.
"I found this the other night."

Ralston read the scrawled words and looked at
me. "How long's this been up?"

"The beginning of March. I tacked it up as
soon as I started back to work."

"When do you think they left the
message?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. Marty stapled last
weekend's show schedule over top of it Friday afternoon, and he
didn't notice it, but that doesn't mean it wasn't there."

"What about the boarder who told you about
the trailer? She notice anything?" Ralston said.

"No, she'd read the copy I'd posted in the
lounge, not this one. I've asked around, but no one noticed the
writing."

Ralston went back to his car and came back
with an evidence bag and a pair of gloves. He dropped the wrinkled
sheet into the bag, and I followed him back outside. He'd parked
his car next to the office door. I guessed when you were a cop, you
got into the habit of parking wherever you damn well liked.

Ralston turned the key in the ignition and
powered down the windows. "Okay. Tell me about it."

I told him how I'd learned about the trailer
and how I'd been caught trespassing.

He listened without interrupting, his
expression unchanged, but I sensed his irritation from the
stiffness in his shoulders and his overall stillness.

I told him about the Pennsylvania tags and
why I thought it was the right trailer. "But the thing is, Drake
didn't act like he was guilty. Either he's an extraordinary actor,
or he's not involved, which doesn't make sense."

Ralston stared straight ahead, his gaze fixed
on some point beyond the windshield. "Your impulsiveness negates
your intelligence. If it is the trailer, besides the immediate
danger you put yourself in, they've more than likely moved it by
now."

I looked out the passenger window. "I didn't
think anyone would see me."

"And you went inside?"

I nodded.

Ralston turned in his seat. "Do you realize
what you've done?"

I didn't answer.

"You've contaminated any evidence we might
have retrieved." His voice was as near to yelling as I'd ever heard
it.

"How do you mean?" I said. "I didn't touch
anything."

"Trace evidence. Proving that you were in
that trailer on February the 24th was of primary importance. Now
the defense will say anything we find was left behind Tuesday, not
two months ago. Without that link, we don't have a case."

"Oh."

After a minute or two, he sighed. "I do
appreciate what you're trying to do. But if you hear something,
fine, phone it in. When it comes to chasing down leads, leave it to
us, all right?"

I nodded.

"How'd Drake act when you asked him about the
repairs?"

"It was weird," I said. "He didn't react at
all."

"Maybe it's not the trailer."

"It is." I rubbed my forehead. "What are you
going to do?"

"Get a warrant. Check it out."

Ralston popped open his briefcase and handed
me a form. Under his direction, I wrote out a statement, stating
that, to the best of my knowledge, the Wellington trailer parked on
Mr. Drake's property, 10471 Mink Hollow Road, was the trailer used
in the February twenty-fourth theft of seven horses from Foxdale
Farm. In addition, I had been held in the trailer against my will.
Ralston had me list the trailer's characteristics that enabled me
to make a positive ID. Then I signed and dated it.

Afterwards, Ralston headed north to fill out
the necessary paperwork to obtain a search warrant for the property
and belongings of Randor L. Drake.

* * *

I spent Thursday night sitting on a hay bale
in a school pony's stall. The brown mare had colicked late in the
afternoon, and when a dose of Banamine hadn't set her right, I'd
called Greg.

He had gone over her vitals, pumped mineral
oil into her stomach, and instructed me to watch her overnight in
case she got worse.

So far, she hadn't, and by two in the
morning, she was dozing in her stall with her head lowered, eyes
half-closed, ears at half-mast. I stretched, then leaned against
the stall's rough wooden planks and closed my eyes. The crickets
and tree frogs had quit their singing sometime earlier, and the
barn was deeply quiet.

As dawn approached, I watched the sky
lighten. By the time the rafters glowed red, touched by the nearly
horizontal sunlight cutting through the windows, the mare was
nosing around her stall, searching out stray wisps of hay. I got to
work, and Ralston caught me in the middle of morning turnouts. Mrs.
Hill hadn't come in yet, so we went into the office.

"Did you arrest him?" I said.

Ralston smiled, I assumed, at my naiveté and
shook his head. He closed the door and crossed his arms over his
chest. "He's on a fishing trip in West Virginia."

"What?"

"Relax. It was prearranged. I don't think
he's running yet. I talked to his neighbor. The guy feeds Drake's
cattle when he's away which, according to him, is most weekends of
the year. Drake's got a girlfriend in West Virginia, and when he
isn't up north, he's training."