At Risk
Page 48
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Eleven o'clock Monday night, and I was still peeling labels and stuffing envelopes with what I hoped would be an effective attempt at finding James Peters' murderer. Mrs. Hill had been wrong. There were more than a thousand names once I'd opened all the files. But like Ralston had pointed out, it only took one.
Someone out there knew who owned a white dualie and dark-colored six-horse. But that wasn't all I was after. I was looking for information from anyone who had been the victim of horse or tack theft or unusual vandalism in the last five years. Maybe a pattern would emerge. I set aside a stack of letters to give to Greg and Nick.
As I switched off the computer, light flashed across the office door. I crossed the room and peered through the glass. It was only a police car. Officer Dorsett climbed from behind the wheel as I unlocked the door.
He stepped inside and looked me up and down. "I'd've thought you spent all your time in the barns."
I glanced down at my jeans. They were filthy, and when I did get around to doing the laundry, I used the machines on the farm, which were used for washing the horses' leg wraps, saddle pads, and blankets, so whether I realized it or not, I probably smelled like a horse.
"Yeah," I said. "I generally steer clear of the office if at all humanly possible." I walked behind the desk and noticed him eyeing the cup of coffee I'd just made. I pointed toward the lounge door. "Want some, help yourself."
He returned moments later with a Styrofoam cup in his hand. Steam rose from the cup's rim and curled toward the ceiling in lazy spirals. "What're you working on?" he said. "The place is usually dead this time of night."
"Just some paperwork."
He strolled around the office, his gaze drifting over the clutter that blanketed every flat surface.
I stuffed the last stack of envelopes into a cardboard box and set it on the floor by the door. Dorsett's patrol car was parked under the glare of the sodium vapors. A nice touch as far as security went. Maybe I'd get Dave to make some official-looking signs about guards or attack dogs.
Officer Dorsett said, "Doing a little sleuthing?"
I turned around and saw he'd been reading the stack of flyers. "Nosy, aren't you?"
"Comes with the job."
I picked up the flyers and wedged them in alongside the envelopes.
"I'm serious," he said. "Have you told Detective Ralston you're doing this?"
I straightened. "Why should I?
"He's talked to everyone who has Foxdale on their post," Dorsett said. "Apparently he's frustrated with the case he's working, and frankly, I think he's worried about you and--"
"What do you mean, he's worried about me?"
"Come on, be your age. Whoever's been doing this," he gestured to my letter, "is probably going to keep on doing it until they're caught."
"Shit."
"Damn straight. You should tell Ralston about it." He glanced at his watch. "How much longer you going to be here?"
"I'm done." I pulled on my denim jacket. "I just have to check the barns."
"I'll go with you."
I lugged the box of letters outside, dumped it on the sidewalk, and locked the doors.
When we walked into barn B, Dorsett said, "Damn, I've never seen so many horses before. And they're not your ordinary plow horse, either."
I chuckled, "No, they most certainly are not."
"How much are they worth?"
"It all depends." I jiggled the tack room lock. "Anywhere from a thousand to forty thousand. Often more."
"Shit."
"Damn straight."
His eyebrows rose. "You don't miss much do you?"
"Yeah, right."
After checking both barns, we walked down to the implement building. I flicked on the lights and rattled the doorknob to Dave's storage room, then I walked around to the back of the building. We still hadn't gotten around to fencing in the lane. It was wide open to anyone who might drive in off the back road. Officer Dorsett unhooked his flashlight and switched it on. There was nothing to see.
He followed me out like the last time and waited while I closed and locked the gates, except this time he didn't follow me halfway home.