by Sasscer Hill
Anderson grilled me awhile longer, pushing me back over ground we'd already covered, forcing me to visualize the whole in Atkins’ gut, until I felt as nutty as Talbot.
My rendition of Atkins' words really frustrated the detective.
"Meh?" he repeated, shaking his head in confusion. "Was he trying to say a name?"
"I don't know!" I wanted to throw myself from the cruiser, run shrieking into those woods, until I lost myself in the night.
The detective gave me a sharp look, as if he could read my unraveling thoughts. He sighed and massaged the side of his neck with one hand. "We're done for now, but –”
Bobbing lights in the woods grew closer, until the officers holding lamps finally reached the forest's edge and worked their way onto the open grass. Anderson unfolded himself from the car and hurried to them. So did Cormack and the second detective. Lorna trailed behind.
I plunged from the tin-can cruiser, stumbled, then breathed with relief as the night air slid into my lungs, calming me as I jogged to catch up. I passed Lorna, my focus on the police ahead.
A tall young cop, with closely barbered hair, was speaking. "Lot of activity in those woods. We're gonna have to wait for daylight to complete the search. Got disturbed ground cover and broken branches. Someone's been digging with a shovel." He paused, one hand pressing into the small of his back, as if he had an ache there. "We lost the blood trail. Can we get a canine unit out here?"
"Be here at six a.m.," Anderson said. His next words to Cormack sounded accusatory. "I want to find this guy Talbot. When you're not letting that wacko run loose in your woods, where does he live?"
"He has a room in the groom's quarters, but he's not there, we already checked." Anderson seemed to intimidate Cormack, who shifted restlessly, his nervous whistle working through his teeth.
Exhaustion swept over me as the last traces of adrenaline evaporated. I'd heard enough. "Are you done with us?"
The men swung around, Anderson starting as if surprised to see Lorna and me standing behind him. I thought I saw Cormack's lips quiver in an almost-smile.
"No." Anderson turned his back on us.
"No ma'am," said the second detective, his face kinder than Anderson's. "We need you to come into the station and make your statements."
"Now?" It was almost midnight.
"Surprised you wouldn't want to cooperate, Miss Latrelle, considering the seriousness of this crime." Anderson was such a hard case.
"Fine," I said. "But can we do it soon?"
"Won't be more ‘n ten minutes, ma'am," said the other detective. "You and your buddy here," he gestured at Lorna, "can come with me. I'll drive y'all in shortly, get those statements all fixed up, and have you back in no time."
Lorna sagged to the ground, sat cross-legged and dropped her head into her hands. "What do you think they're doing with Bobby?" she asked me, her voice barely audible.
"I don't know." Instead of sitting with Lorna, I used the time to walk to Daffodil's stall, worried the commotion had upset her. I should have known better. She'd pushed her head into the aisle way and watched everything with bright curiosity as if the event had been put on solely for her entertainment. A few doors down, Hellish snaked her head into the shedrow, pinned her ears at me, then withdrew into the darkness of her stall.
"Same to you," I said.
My hand moved to Daffodil's neck, fingers stroking the satin fur. How weird that Talbot had called Bobby by the name "Catherine." Talbot must have known Bobby's mother.
Under the bright generator-driven lights, it looked like the cops were starting to close shop. Maybe I could get the hell out of there soon. I prayed Philly Wine -- Atkins – would make it. Would he be able explain what happened in those woods?
Chapter 33
I woke up a little after five-thirty, raised up on one elbow, and squinted at the bedside clock. Why hadn’t the alarm gone off? Then I remembered. The man crawling from the woods . . .
The previous night had been so long and miserable, I hadn't set the alarm, hoping to grab an extra hour of sleep. I sank back into the bed, but horses jogged in my head, nickering for food. I moaned and threw off the covers.
By the time the sheriff had driven us back to the cottage it was after one o'clock. We’d never heard if Atkins was alive or not. I sat up fast. Damn. What had I been thinking letting that cop drive us home? My car was still at the backstretch.
I got Lorna up. After lightening fast toothpaste, hot water, and soap, we struggled into our track clothes, gulped down coffee, and fed Slippers and Mr. Chicken.
"Are my eyes as puffy as yours?"
Lorna peered at me. "You ever seen a blowfish?”
“Never mind,” I said.
In the distance, a truck engine turned over and idled, probably down the hill at the main house. We were always gone before the Cheswicks got up. Maybe it was old Chucky getting ready to drive booze around for the baron. Maybe he'd give us a ride.
"Nuh, uh," Lorna said when I mentioned my plan. "Don't want to go anywhere with that weirdo."
"He might go right past the track. Won't hurt to ask."
We herded the rooster and cat out the door, grabbed our coats, and scooted down the hill, following the sound of the engine.
A barn, its double-doors folded back, lay almost hidden among a stand of cedar and holly trees near the old Victorian. Apparently it served as a garage for the big panel truck that idled inside. Exhaust fumes, heavy and acrid in the cool morning air, curled out of the building. Gravel crunched, and Cheswick's tall figure loomed through the smoke.
"What are you girls doing here?"
"Uh, there was an incident at the track last night. We ended up here without my car. Any chance you could give us a lift?"
Cheswick straightened. "Wha –" He cleared his throat. "What incident?"
Lorna and I exchanged a look. "I don't know," I said. "Some man got hurt or something."
"Yeah," said Lorna. "And in the confusion, we sort of ended up without a car."
"You gals are something." He might as well have said "bimbos." He shook his head, pursed his lips like something tasted bad. He stared at us a moment, his eyes narrowing. Mental gears were clicking. For some reason it made me uneasy.
He nodded to himself. "Okay. Get in."
Lorna stepped behind me, making sure I'd climb into the truck first, be stuck sitting next to Cheswick. I could have doe-si-doed and skipped behind her, but that would have been kind of obvious.
The truck's cab smelled of stale sweat. Overpowering that scent was the sickly-sweet stench of Gilded Baron. Lorna cracked her window as Cheswick shoved the stick shift into gear. We bounced and swayed along his pothole-ridden drive like bobble-head dolls until reaching the county road.
An uncomfortable silence filled the cab for the first few miles. Cheswick broke it.
"Who got hurt? Backstretch worker?"
"No." I said. "Some guy came out of the woods."
"What woods?" Cheswick's jaw tightened.
"Um, the ones next to our barn."
"That's descriptive."
"Sorry." I drew the word out. "The large stand of trees behind the very last barn at the far end of the backstretch."
"Jesus Christ," he muttered and grew silent.
We'd just passed through Providence Forge when the truck's radio phone crackled and a voice squawked for Cheswick. He swung his long arm forward and grabbed the handset.
"No, I got people with me. What?" He sighed. "For God's sake, that was supposed to be this afternoon. Yeah, yeah, I'll be there." Cheswick slammed the handset into its cradle. "Short detour."
The dashboard clock read almost six-thirty. Now I'd be even later. A few miles before the turn into Colonial, Cheswick made a right onto an unfamiliar road.
"Where we going?" Lorna asked.
"Just take a minute." He glanced at us, light from the glass windows reflecting off his glasses, making it impossible to read his expression.
The road rolled on and on, l
ooping this way and that. Woods crowded up to the gravel shoulder on our left. A huge golf course lay to the right. When its perfectly mown lawn gave way to a mass of evergreens, the road was swallowed by deep woods on either side. We rounded a turn and passed through a chain link fence. Razor wire stretched across the top. A two-line gold-and-red lettered sign read, "Gilded Baron Bourbon - Bottling and Distribution."
Lorna wrinkled her nose. "Smells like somebody cooked up a vat of rotten horse feed."
Long gray buildings occupied most of the large blacktop lot. A row of panel trucks lined up near the fence on one side. We rolled past a building sprouting ventilator stacks that spewed white smoke into the air. Soot and grime stained the block walls below.
"Must be that corn whiskey fermenting," I whispered.
Cheswick ignored our comments, turned the truck right and headed toward one of the last buildings with a sign that said "office."
A plate glass door flew open and Bobby Duvayne dashed out, his face red. John Duvayne pounded right behind him. The older, stockier man caught up with Bobby and shoved him hard from behind. Bobby stumbled, tried to regain his balance, but his father grabbed him in a bear hug, pinning the younger man's arms. John lifted Bobby off his feet, displaying the immense strength promised by his thick muscular body. He threw his son onto the pavement like a rag doll.
"No!" Lorna screamed.
Cheswick sped the truck forward, slammed on the brakes and jumped out. Lorna flew out her door. I scrambled to keep up.
John wielded his legs like tree trunks, kicking Bobby repeatedly. The younger man scooted along the pavement on his hands and knees. He tried to get up, but was no match for the successive, vicious blows. Bobby drew himself into a ball, protecting his head with his arms.
"Take it easy, John." Cheswick shouted, moving forward as fast as his awkward hips and exceedingly long legs would allow.
The kicking stopped, but blood smeared the dark pavement and dripped from Bobby's face. John's back was to us as he yelled at Bobby.
"You gotta step up, boy. Do your job. I tell you to drive the shipment, you drive it!"
Cheswick reached John and grabbed at his shoulder. "We've got company," he hissed.
John shook him off. "Boy thinks his car and all that just appears. Doesn't want to do the job. Thinks he's too good to – “John 's mouth clamped shut. He'd glimpsed Lorna and me behind Cheswick.
Bobby raised his head, saw us staring. His face, pale with shock, flushed a deep pink.
Lorna rushed over to him, but he turned away. "Get them out of here." His voice sounded thick. He took a long breath, then spat red saliva onto the blacktop.
"Come on, ladies. We're leaving," Cheswick said.
"Bobby!" Lorna wailed, her arms outstretched toward him.
"Leave me the hell alone!"
"You heard him." Cheswick grabbed Lorna's arm, jerking her away from Bobby.
"Get your fucking hand off her," I said quietly, surprised by the dead calm settling over me.
The tall man laughed. "Aren't you the tough girl. Tougher than this pansy." He flicked a derisive glance at Bobby. "Get in the truck." He let Lorna go with a push toward the panel truck.
I stood my ground, staring at him in revulsion. I didn't want to go anywhere with this man.
"Please, just leave." The strangled voice came from Bobby. The enormity of his humiliation overwhelmed me.
My eyes met Lorna's, and without a word, we both headed for Cheswick's truck. The three of us climbed in, the tall man cranking the engine.
He drove to the rear of the last block structure and stopped. Looked like the back end of the building was a body-shop. Some vehicles sat in bays and a man was covering a section of a liquor truck with masking tape. Nearby, a guy in a safety mask fiddled with a spray gun. Buckets of paint sat on the floor.
Cheswick climbed from the truck and spoke quietly to one of the men.
I turned to Lorna. "Are you all right?"
Her shoulders sagged, and one hand fidgeted with her watch band. "I can't believe his father did that."
"He'll be okay." Liar.
"He told me to leave him alone."
"He was upset, Lorna."
A few men walked to the back of our truck. I leaned toward the driver's side-view mirror, but all I could see was the razor-wire fence behind us and a forest of tall pines, with oaks and poplars, dressed in the same curling orange and brown leaves as the woods near our barn.
The truck swayed, then lifted up as if a weight had been removed. A moment later, the men walked by the driver's window carrying a pallet covered with a tarp. Something about the tarp and the shape beneath it seemed familiar, only Cheswick appeared outside the window and glared at me before I could work out the memory.
"What are you lookin' at?"
"Nothing." I scooted back across the seat toward Lorna.
Cheswick got in, put the transmission in gear, and drove alongside the building. Above us, the roof had ventilator stacks, and exhaust fans roared from the block sidewall. The whoosh of acrid air worked into the cab, making my eyes water.
Cheswick hit the gas, and the truck sped forward, circling back by the office. There was no sign of Bobby or John Duvayne, only a dark stain on the asphalt.
Chapter 34
Lorna and I stumbled through the rest of the morning in a daze. We arrived at the track so late, three of our eight horses never got out for exercise. Mello fussed around us like a broody hen, and I had to reassure him several times that I was okay, that the evil of the previous night hadn't hurt Lorna or me. At least not physically.
After finishing up, I took a breather on the stable bench, drinking Diet Coke and munching on prepackaged cheese-and-crackers. Nearby, Mello held Daffodil's lead shank while she grazed on grass and clover beneath the warm Indian summer sun. With the Virginia Princess Stake only three days away, I'd squeaked in a strong gallop on the filly just before the track closed.
Deciding Daffodil had grazed enough, Mello led her into the shedrow. Her chestnut coat gleamed, her bright eyes glowed with health.
Lorna stepped from the feed room with a can of soda and paused to study Daffodil. "She looks better than we do."
"Anybody would." I rubbed my neck, trying to work out a kink.
Daffodil moved past, her hooves stirring up little puffs of dust, the dry earthy scent mingling with the smell of liniment.
"Any word from Bobby?" I asked.
Lorna's lips compressed. "No. They weren't over there," she said, referring to the Duvayne barn. She twisted her watch band, then inspected a hangnail. "Groom said Bobby and the bastard never showed up this morning. Apparently Mr. Dick-Head called and said just to walk everything around the shedrow."
"So Lorna, how do you really feel about John Duvayne?" The sharp look I got told me she wasn't amused.
Across the way, a gust of wind stirred tree branches, and yellow crime scene tape fluttered at the edge of the woods. When we'd arrived earlier, K-9 dog handlers were reloading two bloodhounds into cages on a truck.
"Wonder if they ever found Talbot?" I said.
"You think he shot that Atkins guy?" Lorna stopped worrying her hang nail, and stood up.
Talbot didn't strike me as a murderer. "I don't know who shot Atkins, but –”
Lorna stepped forward and peered over the aisle rail. "Isn't that Cormack's ride?"
I rose and moved next to her. A shiny black SUV displaying the logo of the Virginia Racing Commission rolled alongside the barn. It stopped, and Cormack climbed out. Lines of exhaustion road-mapped his face. He gave us the once over.
"Everything okay here?"
I shrugged. "Did the Atkins guy make it? Who is he? I got the feeling you know him."
Cormack's gaze shifted to Lorna.
"I'll start the feed," she said.
I'd never known her to be so incurious. She'd been through so much, maybe she didn't want to know.
Cormack stood outside the railing. He leaned forward and set his hands on
the wood. The nails were dirty and one was broken. Never thought I'd see the day.
"Atkins is in a coma, and yes, I know him. He’s a good man. The rest is need to know, and you don't need to know."
So why was Cormack here? "Any luck finding Talbot?"
Instead of answering, he said, "Tell me again what Talbot said to young Duvayne."
I dragged in a breath, played the mental tape. "It's dark, just the moon. With Bobby's long hair, Talbot seemed to think he was a woman. Calls him Catherine. Like it's a question. Then Bobby yells at him. Talbot realized his mistake, sort of cried out, took off into the woods."
"Catherine Tasker. Is it possible?" Cormack glanced at the crime scene. "He have that shovel with him?"
"Yeah. Is what possible?"
"Never you mind," he said. A slight glint appeared in his eyes. He straightened from the rail with more purpose.
"You girls watch your backs. Don't go anywhere alone. I'll be in touch."
Oh, great. Like I needed further unnerving. "Why shouldn't we go anywhere alone?"
But Cormack stretched one of his short legs up to the sideboard of the SUV, hopped inside, and drove away.
#
Two days passed with Lorna increasingly frantic about Bobby's absence. She phoned him incessantly, but got no response. She even confronted John Duvayne at his barn.
"I wouldn't piss him off, Lorna. That guy's dangerous," I said when she came back to our shedrow with tears of frustration wetting her cheeks.
"Easy for you to say. You don't know what this is like!"
She had a point. "Okay. So what did Duvayne say?"
"He told me Bobby's fine, that what happened the other morning is family business, not mine. He wouldn't tell me where Bobby is. I can't stand this."
I gave her a hug. My attempt to comfort her seemed to crack what little control she held onto. She burst into sobs and collapsed onto Mello's bench.
"Is this a bad time?" Will, his green eyes dark and intense, stood outside our shedrow with the mocha-skinned exercise rider, Sable. The last few days, Sable and Lorna had taken to eating lunch in the kitchen after the morning rounds were finished. I couldn't help but notice Sable's high cheekbones and taut, muscular figure.