There was an alternative option, one that made far more sense. She would phone Dantzler, fill him in on what she had learned, and find out how he wanted to proceed. That would relieve her of having to make the decision concerning Charlie. Let it be Dantzler’s call. Besides, there was always the possibility he had uncovered some information in the murder book that would contradict Angie’s memory of not being interviewed by one of the detectives. Laurie hoped that was the case. If it wasn’t, then Dantzler had no choice but to ask Charlie about it.
For now, though, she wanted to go home, put on a sweat suit and running shoes, and go jogging. Running was her way to escape the shackles of her job while also serving as the mechanism by which she calmed the storm raging inside her. Ultimately, she ran in order to remain sane.
Charlie Bolton, Eli Whitehouse, and Angie Iler would have to wait. Top priority now was Laurie Dunn’s mental well being.
She grabbed her purse and the check, paid the bill, and headed home.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Dantzler was surprised to learn that he knew Rachel Whitehouse, Eli’s daughter. She was now Rachel Foster, wife of Kirk Foster, a former circuit judge who currently held the position of chief of staff to the governor. The Fosters also owned and operated RKF Farm, one of the most successful thoroughbred farms in the nation. They were politically powerful, very wealthy, and highly placed among the social elite. The Fosters were, in every respect, an A-list couple.
Dantzler only knew Rachel in passing; he couldn’t recall ever having had a conversation with her. He was more familiar with Kirk, although he wouldn’t include the man among his coterie of friends,. A nodding acquaintance at best. Primarily, he knew the Fosters from the Lexington Tennis Club, where they were members, and where Dantzler was part owner.
As a young man, Kirk experienced some success as a junior tennis player, having once been ranked in the top ten in several age divisions. His love for the sport carried over into adulthood. So did the confidence he gained as a youngster. Three years ago, Kirk, yielding to a burst of self-assurance, challenged Dantzler to a set of tennis. Dantzler, arguably the best tennis player in Lexington, won six-love. Like many powerful, successful men, Kirk did not graciously accept defeat. He quickly challenged Dantzler to a second set. The result was the same. It took two subsequent sets, both ending at six-love, before Kirk finally raised the flag of surrender.
“Come on, fellow,” Kirk said when the two men met at the net. “Couldn’t you at least have given me a sympathy game?”
“I would have,” Dantzler replied, “if you hadn’t been so damn sure you could beat me.”
Dantzler enjoyed few things more than humbling a cocky opponent.
*****
After learning that Rachel Foster was Eli Whitehouse’s daughter, Dantzler went to the Tennis Club in search of Kirk. Arriving at seven-fifteen p.m., Dantzler went downstairs to the courts, where Kirk was involved in a doubles match. Dantzler waited until the changeover before approaching Kirk.
When Kirk noticed Dantzler heading in his direction, he stood, and said, “Have you finally seen fit to apologize for the beating you gave me?”
Dantzler shook his head. “I never apologize for winning.” He waited until Kirk’s partner walked past before continuing. “Listen, Kirk, I need to speak with your wife. Would she happen to be here tonight?”
“No. She’s out of town,” Kirk answered, wiping his face with a white towel. “If you don’t mind my asking, why do you need to speak with her?”
“Some questions regarding Eli.”
“You know her father?”
“I don’t know him. I met him once, at the prison.”
“That’s where she’s been today, visiting him. She should be home around nine, maybe a little later. When would
you like to meet?”
“Tomorrow, if possible.”
“Is something going on that I should know about?”
“I need to get some information from her, that’s all. Clear up a few things.”
“Come to the farm in the morning. Ten, if that’s okay. I’ll leave your name with the guard and he’ll let you through. Go to the first barn on your left. That’s where she will be.”
“Thanks, I really appreciate it.”
“Still no apology, though, right?”
“Never.”
*****
Dantzler identified himself to the guard and was immediately waved through the gate. Following Kirk’s directions, he drove slowly toward the main house, his
eyes on
the lookout for the barn. It wasn’t until he crossed over a wooden bridge that the barn came into view. Turning left, he traveled another hundred yards, eventually stopping and parking behind a white Cadillac Esplanade.
Rachel Whitehouse Foster was standing just outside of the barn, cup of coffee in one hand and a clipboard in the other hand. She was dressed in Levis, a sweatshirt, leather boots, and a white baseball cap with RKF Farm on the front. A stopwatch dangled from her neck.
“My husband tells me you show no mercy on the tennis court,” she said, tucking the clipboard under her arm. “What was it, six-love times four?”
“I like bagels.”
“Probably did him some good, being cut down to size like that.” She extended her free hand. “Hello, I’m Rachel Foster. I’ve seen you around for years. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
“Thanks for taking the time,” Dantzler said, shaking her hand. “And for meeting me on such short notice.”
“Let’s go inside,” Rachel said, gesturing toward the barn. “To my grand air-conditioned office. You may not care much for the smell of horse manure, but at least you’ll be cool.”
“Fair enough,” Dantzler said, following her into the barn. Once he was seated in a leather chair across the desk from her, he said, “How long have you and Kirk owned the farm?”
“We bought it in ’eighty-nine,” Rachel said. “Back then it was known as Limestone Stables. We got it for virtually nothing, which is exactly what it was worth at the time. Took a lot of hard work and tons of money to get it back into working shape. We killed ourselves, sometimes working twenty hours a day for weeks on end. Finally, we managed to turn it around. And we were also very lucky. Not long after we got into the business, the price for thoroughbreds went through the
roof. The big American owners and
trainers began bidding wars against each other. Then the Europeans came, especially the guys from Ireland. That pushed up prices even more. And to top that off, the Saudi sheiks suddenly decided to use all that oil money they make off us to get into the horse business. Sales prices skyrocketed. It was insane. Still is, if you want my honest opinion. Our first group of foals, this was in ’ninety-six, turned out to be very successful, put us on solid footing within the industry.”
“Hard work, good luck, and timing—that tends to translate into success in any endeavor. I know it’s certainly true in my profession.”
Rachel got out of the chair, opened a small refrigerator, and took out two bottles of water. She handed one to Dantzler, then sat back down. After opening the
bottle and
taking a drink, she said,
“So, Detective, what can I do for you?”
“I’d like to talk to you about your father.”
“Kirk mentioned you wanted to talk about Eli. Well, about the only thing I can tell you is he’s terminally ill. Cancer in both lungs.”
“Yes, I know. Sorry.”
“You know my father?”
“I met him last week at the prison.”
“Did he send you to see me?”
“No. Until two days ago, I had no idea Eli Whitehouse was your father.”
“You would have had no reason to.”
“
I understand you visited him yesterday. How is he holding up?”
“Better than expected,” Rachel replied. “But . . . it’s obvious he’s beginning to go downhill.”
“Any idea how long he has?”
“His oncologist said three weeks at best. I’m hoping he is wrong.”
“What was your relationship with Eli?”
“
Was
? He’s not dead yet, Detective.”
“Sorry, I misspoke. What is your relationship with Eli?”
“I love my father very much,” Rachel said. “We’ve always maintained a close relationship, even after his incarceration. Rarely do I go a week without visiting him.”
“I understand you are his favorite.”
“Not even close, Detective. I was the baby, the only girl, so I was his little darling. His pet.” She smiled. “You know, I was what you might call a redemption baby.”
“What does that mean?” Dantzler asked.
“Eli was a man of God, but he was also a man. A flawed man in many respects. About three years prior to my arrival, he had an affair. As you can imagine, when my mother found out about his indiscretions, she was angry, hurt, and embarrassed. She threatened to leave and take the boys with her. Given Eli’s reputation and the reverence his congregation had for him, a divorce would have been devastating. He would have been ruined. So he pleaded with my mother to forgive him and take him back. She loved the man, so that’s what she did.”
Rachel laughed, as though she had just recalled some private and humorous moment.
“Some babies are accidents, some born out of wedlock. Me, I was born because a sinful man was trying to redeem himself.” She shook her head. “Eli loves me very much, but I am nowhere close to being his favorite.”
“Isaac?”
“He wishes. No, Detective, Tommy is Eli’s favorite. Always has been, always will be. It’s not even a close contest.”
“When I spoke with Isaac, I asked about Tommy. Isaac didn’t have much to say.”
“They aren’t close. Not since . . . Looking back, I don’t think they ever were close. Are you familiar with the Bible, Detective?”
“I know my way around it.”
“Do you know the story of how Jacob, with his mother’s help, manipulated his blind father, Isaac, into granting him the Blessing that rightfully should have been bestowed upon Esau, Jacob’s twin?”
“Yes, I know that story.”
“Then I’m sure you can appreciate the irony that in real life, in our house, Isaac was Esau and Tommy was Jacob. Isaac desperately wanted my father’s blessing and never received it. Tommy couldn’t have cared less yet it was bestowed upon him every day. The irony becomes even greater when you factor in how their lives turned out. The rejected son follows in his father’s footsteps, while the chosen son becomes a lost soul.”
Rachel turned away and blinked back tears. She withdrew a tissue from her purse and wiped her nose.
“Tommy truly was a golden boy, Detective,” she continued. “That’s not exaggeration, or baby sister idolizing big brother. Ask anyone who knew Tommy back then. They’ll agree. He was handsome, smart, personable, kind, the best athlete in school—there was simply nothing he didn’t excel at. And it all came so natural to him, so easy. Isaac studied diligently and made B’s; Tommy phoned it in and made all A’s. Isaac worked harder at sports; Tommy was the superstar. If Isaac wanted to date a beautiful girl, he had to keep his fingers crossed that Tommy didn’t ask her out first. You get the picture, Detective. Tommy was special.”
“Did Eli encourage the rivalry?”
“You aren’t listening, Detective. There was no rivalry. Didymus Thomas Whitehouse had no competitors.”
“Interesting name,” Dantzler said. “Both mean twin. Didymus is Greek, Thomas is Aramaic.”
Rachel applauded. “I am impressed, Detective. You’ve obviously studied subjects other than criminal investigation, police procedure, and tennis strategy. Am I correct?”
“Philosophy.”
“Wonderful field. Which brings me to the obvious question—how did a budding Jean Paul Sartre become Sherlock Holmes?”
“My mother was murdered when I was fourteen. Her killer was never caught. I knew the day after she was killed that being a detective was what I wanted to be.”
“Doesn’t take Dr. Freud to untangle that plot.”
Dantzler said, “Back to Tommy. You speak of him in the past tense. Is he dead?”
“The golden boy certainly is.”
“What happened to him?”
“You turned your family tragedy into something positive, Detective. That’s admirable. Unfortunately, Tommy wasn’t able to overcome our family tragedy. It devoured him, changed him completely, turned him into another person, one none of us knew or could every really get close to again. He became this dark, quiet, melancholy loner. His grades went from all A’s to far below average. Sports no longer meant anything to him; before the incident they were his passion. After high school, Tommy joined the Marines. Did eight years before the alcoholism got so out of control they had no choice but to discharge him. I can’t begin to explain the change, Detective. I don’t have the vocabulary for it. It was just . . . a one-hundred and eighty degree turn.”
“You’ve made it clear that Eli worshipped Tommy. Did Tommy feel the same about Eli?”
“Tommy was fifteen when it all went down. Sure, he loved Eli, but Tommy was like some solitary planet circling in his own galaxy. People gravitated to Tommy, not the other way around.”