At Risk (33 page)

"Steve here."

"Officer Dorsett told me you mailed out a
bunch of letters about the truck and trailer last week," Ralston
said.

"Yeah, but--"

"You shouldn't have done that," he
snapped.

"What does it matter? We found the
trailer."

There was a long pause before he said, "I
wish you'd talked to me first because I don't think Drake's
trailer's the one."

"It is. I'm one-hundred-percent certain. Have
you found him yet?"

"Maybe it is the trailer, but we haven't
found the men who are behind it, and that letter was just plain
stupid."

I clenched the phone cord in my hand. I
wanted to scream that somebody had to do something, that he didn't
know shit about what it felt like to be a target. I clamped down on
my anger and said, "What about Drake? Have you talked to him?"

"I just finished interviewing him. He has an
iron-clad alibi which I've already verified with his C.O. Every
weekend a trailer was used in a theft, he was on duty."

"What about what happened in
Pennsylvania?"

"He backed up his fishing trip with receipts
for gas, food, and lodging. He was in West Virginia, all
right."

"So," I heard the bite in my voice but didn't
care, "he's lending the trailer to a buddy."

"That's a possibility I'm working on. But I
tell you, Steve, it doesn't feel like it. In your own words, 'the
guy's clueless.'"

"Who's the trailer registered to?"

Papers rustled in the background. "Laura Anne
Covington, Drake's girlfriend. Mean anything to you?"

"No." I sat on the edge of Mrs. Hill's desk.
"But I know who owns the truck--"

"What?"

"--and I think I know why they're going after
Foxdale." After a brief pause, I said, "Do you remember a guy named
Sanders, one of the owners who had his horse stolen back in
February?"

"Yes."

"I'm pretty sure he arranged for the theft or
at least made sure his horse was targeted by the thieves." I told
Ralston how he'd owned a horse that was stolen from a Carroll
County farm, and how I suspected that the same horse had ended up
at Foxdale two years later where it was stolen again. "He's been
making a habit of scamming insurance companies, and I bet I know
who helped him. In between the Carroll County farm and Foxdale, he
boarded his horse with our hay dealer, John Harrison. Harrison's
not above pulling scams of his own."

I told him how he and his brother had
doctored the hay invoices and that their own sister had warned me
that they were dangerous. "Her name's Elsa Timbrook. I checked the
files at the library. Her husband is part owner of a land
development company called T&T Industries. Remember when you
said that the obvious is often the most likely?"

"Yeah."

"Well, Foxdale sits on five-hundred prime
acres that back up to the Patuxent River State Park, and--"

"The same park where Peters' body was found,"
Ralston said.

"Yeah. Eighteen miles northwest from here. I
checked, but I think that was just a coincidence or an indicator
that they know the area. Anyway, over the past year or so, realtors
have been pressuring Foxdale to sell. The farm next door already
sold out and is being developed by--"

"T&T Industries," Ralston said.

"Yep."

"And the truck?"

"T&T industries owns a white, dual-axle
pickup. It was on your MVA list."

Ralston snorted.

"My guess is that Mr. Timbrook, knowing full
well what kind of scum his wife's brothers are, went to them when
he needed someone to damage Foxdale in an effort to force the owner
to sell out. And if Harrison's been teaming up with Sanders in the
insurance swindles like I think he has, it would only be natural
for him to fall back on stealing horses as a way to shake up the
boarders. Only problem is, Timbrook didn't bargain on running into
an owner who couldn't care less if his profit margin went down the
tubes. And guess what?"

When Ralston didn't respond, I said,
"Harrison's father, Buddy Harrison, used to deliver hay to James
Peters' farm which, by the way, just so happens to border Piney Run
Park. John Harrison might have delivered to him as well, but I
couldn't verify that because Mrs. Peters' mind is stuck in the
past. Anyway, the farm was sold and is now being subdivided and
developed by T&T Industries."

"Damn."

"Ask Drake," I said, "if he knows John
Harrison."

* * *

The six o'clock lesson had just begun, and I
was on my way home when Mrs. Hill flagged me down.

"It looks like you were right about
Harrison," Detective Ralston said when I took the phone from Mrs.
Hill.

I turned my back to her and leaned against a
filing cabinet. "He's involved, then?"

"John Harrison is Drake's cousin."

I exhaled slowly. "So Drake knew all
along."

"I'm not so sure about that. I do think your
visit got him thinking. He admitted that his cousins borrowed his
trailer from time to time, but he never suspected it was being used
for something illegal. What is clear is that he's afraid of them.
If he knows something incriminating, I doubt he'll tell us. I'm on
my way over to the Harrison farm now. It belongs to their father,
but both brothers still live there." He paused. "Do you know where
it is?"

"No idea."

"Montgomery County, about eight miles west of
where you escaped from the trailer."

I didn't say anything.

"I'll let you know what I find out." He hung
up.

I lowered the receiver onto the cradle.

When I didn't move, Mrs. Hill looked up from
her paperwork. "How'd the guard work out last night?" she said.

I smoothed my palms down my jeans.
"Good."

She leaned back in her chair and waited for
me to continue. I walked into the lounge and stood in front of the
soda machine. My throat was dry. I fumbled the coins into the slot
and pressed the Coke button. The can rattled into the slot at the
bottom.

I didn't go home. I watched a little TV, bits
and pieces of the next three lessons, and otherwise hung around
until the guard came in at ten. When the barns cleared out shortly
afterward, I accompanied the guard on his first walk-through of the
night. Like he'd done the night before, he had ignored the sign at
the entrance to the lane and had parked his vehicle outside the
office door. That was fine by me. It was more visible there and
would hopefully serve as a deterrent.

I watched him settle into Mrs. Hill's chair,
then headed home. I turned into Greg's driveway and was halfway
down the lane when headlights flashed in my rearview mirror.

My grip tightened on the steering wheel. I
turned off the main drive and drove down the short lane that
circled around behind the foaling barn. When the car made the turn,
too, I pressed my foot down on the accelerator.

I swung the truck in a tight circle, spewing
gravel across the vacant lot, and pointed its nose toward the lane.
The Chevy's engine idled as the car moved into sight. As it entered
the last curve, I noticed the shape and position of the headlights
and realized it was Ralston's Crown Vic. I backed into my spot and
rolled up the windows while Ralston climbed out and waited by the
Ford's back fender.

"I was on my way to Foxdale when I saw you
pull out in front of me," he said, and it bothered me that I hadn't
noticed I was being followed. He jerked his head toward the steps.
"Can I come up?"

"Sure. Did you talk to Harrison?"

"That's what I want to talk about."

He seemed prepared to wait until we were
inside before he filled me in. We went up the stairs in silence. I
braced open the screen door with my thigh and flipped through my
keys.

Ralston stood behind me and fidgeted. "What'n
the hell do you have so many keys for? You need to keep your house
and truck keys separate so you can find them faster. And you should
have your key in your hand before you get out of the truck." He
glanced over his shoulder. "And you should lock your truck. I
noticed you didn't."

I quit flipping through the keys.

"And," Ralston said, "when you pull into the
parking lot, here or at work, look around before you get out. If
you think you're being followed, head for the nearest police
station, or a fire station if it's closer. Someone's always there,
day or night."

I stood with my arms stiff at my sides.

"Come on, Steve. Open the door." He bent down
and peered at the lock. "Is this new?"

I nodded.

"Good choice. But both the door and jamb are
wood. They're your weak link. It wouldn't take much to kick the
door in, even with the dead bolt." He shifted his weight. "Come
on."

I found the right key, unlocked the door, and
switched on the lights.

Ralston scanned the loft. When he walked
around the far side of the island counter, he kept his hand near
his gun. The skin on my arms tingled. I leaned against the island
counter and crossed my arms over my chest while he checked to make
sure no one was hiding on the other side of my bed. After he'd
given the bathroom and closet a once over, he walked to the far end
of the loft and looked toward the road.

With his back to me, he said, "If you feel
the least bit insecure when you walk in here, or have a feeling
that something's not right, leave immediately."

"They're gone, aren't they?" I said and
couldn't keep the tension out of my voice.

Ralston walked back into the kitchen. "Don't
know for sure. Guy who works for them said they canceled a delivery
scheduled for today. Something about the semi being out of
commission, but as far as he knew, they hadn't called out the
mechanic they use."

"Damn."

Ralston looked at my face, and his expression
softened. "Let's sit down."

He slid a stool around the corner of the
counter and settled onto the vinyl cushion. I sat with my back to
the windows, and only then did it register that he'd moved his
stool so he was facing the door. I turned and looked at the long
stretch of glass, black with the night, and felt apprehension
settle into my chest like a block of ice.

"I want to set up a protective detail here."
Ralston tapped his fingers on the edge of the counter. It was quiet
in the loft, and the sound got on my nerves.

"You think they're gonna come after me?"

"It's a possibility I'd like to use to
advantage."

"They might have been here already." I told
him about the fire.

Ralston glared at me, and I suddenly felt
like a little kid who'd been caught out.

"Why in the hell didn't you tell me about
this before now?"

"You were in Pennsylvania."

His eyes narrowed. "I wasn't there
today."

I didn't say anything, and after a minute or
two, he propped his elbows on the counter and rubbed his face. The
overhead lights reflected off his blond hair.

"How'd it go up there, anyway?" I said.

"They found her late yesterday. Got some good
trace, even DNA, but--"

"She's dead?"

Ralston nodded. "I don't think her case is
related. It felt staged. Too many differences in the MO, and no
signature. My money's on the boyfriend."

"What's a signature?"

"A compulsive behavior the killer doesn't
vary from victim to victim."

I frowned. "How could there be a signature if
Peters is your only victim?"

"He isn't. There are two other cases in the
computer that closely match the MO in the Peters' case--David Rowe
and Larry Jacob. Only difference is, they weren't part of the horse
community."

My skin felt clammy. "They sound familiar,
but I can't think . . ."

"They were on my list the first time I
interviewed you, mixed in with the grain dealers and fence
companies."

"What's the . . . signature?" I said but
wasn't sure I wanted to know.

"They were all bound with baling twine and
beaten, and their throats were cut."

I swallowed and looked at my hands. "Like
Boris."

"What?"

"The cat. They cut the cat's throat, too." I
looked at his face. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I want you to take your situation
seriously."

"Shit. I do."

"Have you still been going to the farm early,
before anyone else?"

"Yeah," I said, "but now there's a
guard."

"I mean before the guard."

I shrugged. "I can't let them run my
life."

"Just end it?"

I looked down at the counter top.

"Which security firm?"

"Eastfield," I said.

Ralston grunted.

"Was James Peters' throat cut?"

Ralston nodded.

"I didn't know."

"Only partial information's released to the
press," Ralston said. "Comes in handy when you're interviewing
suspects or flakes who confess to crimes they didn't commit."
Ralston pulled a notepad from his jacket pocket. "Go over your
schedule with me so I can start working this out."

I told him what my normal routine was like,
and he suggested some changes I could live with.

"And I'll talk to your boss and suggest they
switch to Reinholdt Security. They're more professional, and
they're armed."

Ralston picked up the phone and punched in a
number. I propped my elbows on the counter, jammed my fingers in my
hair, and rested my forehead against my palms. I listened as he
tried to make arrangements and realized from the tone of his voice
that his plans weren't working out. When he slammed down the
receiver, I flinched.

"You're going to have to stay somewhere else
until I can get a team together," Ralston said. "I don't have
enough to justify having a detail stationed here without convincing
my superiors first. I can't get it arranged tonight, but I
will."

"Is it that bad?"

"I don't know. I don't want to find out the
hard way." He looked me straight in the eye. "And neither do
you."