Portia began to cry softly.
“I could always untie you after I shot you,” Ned said, holding a piece of lead rope in his hand, frowning, thinking outloud.
Portia wept louder.
“You, in the barn! This is the police!”
The shock of the booming voice made all three jump violently. Ned whirled around to the opening of the tack room and peered out. He kept his gun, shaking wildly now, pointed back at the two women seated on a dusty tack trunk against the wall of the tack room. He saw a car parked next to Portia’s car that hadn’t been there before. He couldn’t tell where the voice was coming from.
“Drop your weapons and come out with your hands on top of your head! This is the police!”
Ned turned back to the women, his eyes wild with fear and hysteria.
“It’s over, man!” Margo said. She didn’t look as afraid now. More expectant. She was sitting on the trunk, holding Portia’s hand. Portia had stopped crying.
“I got the note!” Ned screamed. He fired in their direction.
14
“Jesus, Jack! He’s shot one of them! What took you so long?”
“I had to find a halter first,” Jack said, as he led Best-Boy up to the tree.
“Forget it, man. This ain’t gonna work.”
“It’s got to.”
15
The shot hit the foot of the tack trunk and both women screamed and jumped into each other’s arms.
“How else out of here?” Ned demanded.
Margo hesitated.
He had to know it was over! The police were here. Would he still kill them?
“How else! How else?!” Ned screamed, wagging the gun at them.
“The end of the corridor leads to the north pasture,” Margo said.
“They’ll see me as soon as I step out of this room!” Ned ran to them and held his gun against Portia’s face. “Do better than that!”
“I...they can’t sneak up to the barn without you seeing them,” Margo said.
“I’m not worried about them taking me by surprise, you stupid bitch!” Ned bellowed. “They know I know they’re here!”
“I mean...” Margo gulped and tried not to look at the gun barrel pressed to Portia’s weeping face. “I mean, the way the barn’s designed, they can’t approach without you seeing them.”
Ned lowered his gun.
“So I’ve got some time,” he said to himself.
“You could bargain with them,” Margo said. Her ribs felt like fire under her ace bandage. She wondered if she’d rebroken them with the tumble in the stall. “Make a deal.”
He looked at her.
“I could still shoot your ass,” he said. “And just say I interrupted you in the process of killing yourself and murdering Portia here.”
Portia stopped crying for a moment.
“Only,” Ned said, his humor seeming to return, “I wasn’t able to prevent your deaths, simply save myself.” He nodded. “Then, I’ve still got the note absolving me from the other murders...”
“If you’re really that stupid,” Margo said. “I guess I’ll save my breath.”
“For your prayers, lady,” Ned said, bringing the gun to her mouth. “Open wide. I want to make this look good.”
Suddenly, they heard a noise at the opening of the tack room. At the same time, the light in the room vanished.
Ned jerked around, his gun in front of him.
“What the--?” He pointed the gun at the behemoth animal standing in the doorway, who was blocking out the light, eliminating any chance of exit.
“It’s Best-Boy,” Portia whimpered.
The tack room was nearly dark now.
“What’s he doing here?” Ned asked, the frantic tenor creeping back into his voice. He looked to where Margo had been seated. He saw shadowy towers and ghostly piles of what he knew were feed sacks and grain barrels.
“Get him away from the door!” he said, firing into the semi-darkness. He heard the bullet strike wood. Desperately, he turned back to the horse in the doorway and fired his gun into its dark, looming shape.
Immediately, Best-Boy groaned and fell, allowing a burst of strong sunlight to flood the little windowless room. Ned stood in the doorway as the animal thrashed in agony at his feet. The relief at being able to see again was instantly quelled by the image of a man standing on the other side of the prostrate horse, his gun raised in both hands and pointed directly at Ned.
“Drop the gun!” The man yelled.
Ned hesitated. His own gun was already raised.
He could say he thought the cop was Margo’s accomplice!
His finger touched the trigger.
He could say he was terrified by what he had just been--
He felt the sharp sensation of the snout of a gun press firmly to his temple as a second man stepped from the shadows.
“Do it,” the man said.
Chapter Twelve
1
“You know, there are a couple of different interpretations of the statement ‘Do it.’”
Burton spoke from the large leather chair situated in the Chief’s office. It was the morning after Ned Potsak’s arrest. “I mean, it could mean, ‘yeah, do it--what my partner said, drop the gun’...or it could mean ‘do it’, as in, ‘go ahead and shoot him’.”
“Oh, for crying out loud.” Kazmaroff rolled his eyes.
“I’m just saying,” Burton continued, “...In the future...when you’ve got a suspect who’s a little agitated and not thinking straight as it is...I’d appreciate you sticking to the book a little closer....’Freeze!’ Or ‘Drop your weapon!’...something unconfusable, like that.”
“I’ll remember that next time I’m saving your life, Jack.”
Jack fought to control his temper. “Well, how about next time,” he said tightly, “you stand in the line of fire, and I’ll get the drop on the perp? That would probably solve this little insecurity of mine....”
“What ever you say, buddy.”
The Chief entered the room, clapped Burton on the shoulder--surprising both men--and tossed a pile of folders on his desk.
“Excellent work!” he said, seating himself at the desk. “I just read your report. Excellent work.”
The two mumbled their acknowledgments.
“It’s hard to believe the two of you say you can’t work together,” he continued. “I’d like you to consider seeing the department psychologist.” At the men’s horrified looks, the Chief motioned with his hands in a ‘calm-down’ gesture. “Just a little couples counseling, that’s all,” he said. “I’ll respect your decision if you decide against it, but I believe it’s for the good of the department to keep you two working together.” He grinned broadly, further convincing them that he’d slipped a cog.
“So, what do you say?”
2
It was the week before Christmas. The fog rose from the banks of the Chattahoochee in gauzy puffs. In summer, the adjacent riding trail formed a dark leafy tunnel, cool and shaded even in the blistering Southern sun. Now, the branches on the sycamores and oaks were bare, like a series of dun-colored skeletons through which one could see far down the winding trail.
“You can see all the new development now,” Margo said, as she and Burton rode in single-file down the trail. “Once, Tess and I were riding around here and we ended up right under someone’s bathroom window while they were in the shower. I honestly don’t know who was more upset, us or them.”
She turned gingerly in the saddle for his reaction.
He squeezed the sides of Tess’s horse, Wizard, and trotted up to join Margo.
“You probably just added to his pastoral-living experience,” he said. “Whoever it was could tell the people at the office that day: ‘Wow, we actually have fox hunts right outside our bathroom window!’”
“Yeah, you’re probably right.” She watched him. “You’re a good match on Wizard,” she said. “How does he feel?”
“I’m not interested in buying him,
Margo.”
“He’s for sale.”
“No, thanks.”
“Oh, well.”
They rode silently for a few minutes until they came to the edge of the river. Margo gazed at the fog hovering over the river like a layer of gray chiffon. She patted her horse’s neck.
“I’m ready when you are,” she said.
“Not much you don’t know,” Burton answered.
“Who the hell was he? I don’t know that. Why me? I don’t know that, either.”
Burton cleared his throat, watching his horse’s ears prick backward to pick up a possible order from him.
“His name is Ned Potsak,” he said. “He was a corporate accountant downtown in a Big Four firm, engaged to a copywriter in Jilly’s ad agency.”
“Well, I guess that explains it,” Margo said.
Burton grinned at her.
“Settle down, Margo,” he said. “Have you taken your pain medication today?”
“I don’t need it any more, thank you. Continue.”
“Well, Ned had slept with Jilly, it turns out.”
Margo made a noise of disgust. Burton gave her a questioning look and she shook her head.
“It’s just...I never understood why Jilly slept with everyone she ever met, you know?” she said. “God! I mean, was she looking for love, do you think?”
Burton politely didn’t answer.
“Never mind,” Margo said. “Go on.”
“The bottom line for Ned,” Burton said. “Was his engagement to Kathy Sue. Her family’s loaded and Ned wasn’t keen on upsetting her to the point where she might break off their engagement.”
“He killed Jilly to keep their affair a secret?”
“Well, it really wasn’t much of an affair,” Burton said. “More like a one-night stand. And I don’t think he would’ve been driven to such drastic measures but you know Jilly. She goaded him, it seems. Threatened to tell Kathy Sue. And, as a result, a situation that might not have seemed too unmanageable to Ned quickly turned into something --in his mind--more serious.”
“Was Jilly blackmailing him?”
“In a way, yes. I don’t think Jilly was after money. It appears that she was doing it just...you know...”
“For the sport.”
They were quiet a moment.
“I wish I could see what you loved about her,” Burton said.
Margo blinked back tears as she stared at the river, then leaned over and touched Burton on the arm.
“If it’s any consolation,” she said. “I can definitely see what Tess loved about you.”
Later, as they made their way back to the barn, Burton noticed a small red-tailed fox frozen in place behind a bush. He pointed it out to Margo. The animal’s eyes blinked rapidly several times and the two riders left it in peace.
Margo winced as she reached over from horseback to open the gate.
“Here, let me get that,” Burton said. “Ribs are the last thing to heal.” He edged Wizard to the gate, unlatched it and pushed the door forward. After the two had passed through, he shook his foot free of his stirrup and kicked the gate shut. It latched automatically but both horses jumped at the sound of the gate banging shut.
Margo laughed.
“Well, that’s one way to do it,” she said.
“That’s not the way it’s done?” Burton asked innocently.
“Let’s just say it smacks of standard police procedure,” she said, her smile fading.
“You’re thinking of Best-Boy,” Burton said, walking his horse back to her side. The trail was wide enough to afford the two to walk abreast now. “The idea wasn’t to have him get shot, you know.”
“You knew he might get shot.”
“I did.”
“He was such a magnificent animal.”
“And he’s still a magnificent animal,” Burton pointed out. “Didn’t the vet say there's a good chance he'll be okay? Big brute like that, I’m surprised one shot could bring him down.”
“I still can’t believe that guy wanted to kill us. Which brings me to my next question. Why did he poison Traveler? And why did he want me dead?”
“He thought Traveler was Tess’s horse.”
“Traveler?” Margo looked at Burton in astonishment. “Traveler is a mixed breed!”
Burton laughed.
“Yeah, well, maybe it’s just as well Tess isn’t here to learn someone mistook the elderly pasture mutt for her horse.”
Margo considered this for a moment, as if deciding how to react, and then smiled.
“Anyway,” Burton said. “It wasn’t you he was after at that point, it was Tess.”
“Did Tess help him kill Jilly?”
Burton shook his head.
“I’m always going to believe it was unintentional,” he said. “It seems she and Jilly had gotten into a bad habit of playing nasty tricks on each other. It certainly wasn’t much of a friendship.
“Anyway, she and Ned connected--we’ll probably never know how--and he offered his willingness to scare Jilly. Potsak isn’t being terribly forthcoming about what the original plan was. Portia insists Tess thought it was to be only a scare.”
“But, instead of scaring Jilly, Ned killed her,” Margo grimaced and reshifted her position in the saddle.
“You okay?”
Margo nodded. “And Tess saw it, right?”
“And so he killed Tess, too,” Burton said. “As far as your attack goes, Ned knew nothing about horses, so he got the wrong horse. And the wrong girl.”
“Ouch.”
“You know what I meant.”
The trail turned into brown pasture. A few grazing horses lifted their heads as they rode past; most ignored them. Burton could see the roof of the barn.
“What will happen to Mark?” Margo asked.
“You still interested in him?”
“You asking this professionally or personally?”
Burton shrugged.
“The case is closed, Margo,” he said. “I don’t like him. So I don’t like to see you with him.”
Margo grinned again.
“I really don’t know what to make of you, Detective,” she said. “Answer my question, please.”
“He’s being held as a result of that little involvement with a hit man. The police really do tend to frown on contract murders.” He watched Margo’s face. “I mean to get an indictment, put him away for a bit, if I can. Won’t be anything too serious if you’re intending to wait for him or something.”
“I’m not.”
“Good.”
The entered the last bracket of gates separating the pastures from the barn grounds and walked single file back to the barn to untack.
“One last question.”
“Shoot. Metaphorically, of course.”
“Poor old Bill. What was he doing with Jilly and why’d he get killed?’
Burton sighed.
“He’d obviously found Jilly soon after the murder, well, either dead or dying...and took her back to his trailer.”
“But you guys had bloodhounds all over the place! Why is it you never found her at his place?”
“He stashed her in the muck heap until the dogs left.”
“God Almighty.”
“I shot him because he shot me. I feel sorry about that.”
“Yeah, well.” Margo put a hand to her temples as if to contain a thought or caress a pressure point.
“As far as what he was doing with Jilly...”
“Never mind, Jack.”
As they neared the barn, they passed the riding ring where Burton pulled up.
“Whoa! Hey, Margo, is that who I think it is?”
Margo turned in her saddle to look in the direction of the ring.
“Oh, yeah, didn’t I tell you?” she said. “Want to go say ‘hello’?”
Burton was already trotting to the ring.
Jessie stood in the middle of the ring. She wore tight jeans and knee-high riding boots. Her long hair was caught in
a ribbon and draped down her back like a yellow plume. In her hands she held a white lunge line, the end of which was attached to the bridle of one of the barn’s larger lesson horses, a homely Appaloosa named Lightning.
Justin sat perched on the horse, his knees drawn too far up to be comfortable, his hands alternately gripping the pommel and the reins.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Burton said as he trotted into the ring.
“Hello, Detective Burton,” Jessie sang out. “Doesn’t Justin look great? And whoooooaaaaa!” Jessie spoke both to Burton and the horse.
Margo walked her horse into the ring and dismounted. She slid to a standing position on the sandy ground with an audible groan.
“Justin’s decided to keep Best-Boy,” Margo said. “After he’s recovered, and Justin’s taken a few lessons, we think they might actually be a pretty good match.”
“Really?” Burton looked at the boy with surprise. “Hey, kid. How’s it going?”
Justin patted his mount’s neck and shrugged.
“So-so,” he said.
“Bull-shit!” Jessie said, laughing. “He’s terrific. You got a great seat, Justin!”
Justin blushed and smiled.
Burton looked down at Margo.
“Looks like you got everything under control,” he said.
“Some loose ends you just can’t leave dangling,” she said, not looking at him.
“Yeah, and some people are better at tying them up, too. Good for you, Margo. You got a good heart.”
“Yeah, well.” Margo looked uncomfortable but pleased at the praise. “What about you? We going to see you ever again or is this the good-bye-ride?”
Burton ran his fingers through Wizard’s mane. The animal had been extremely responsive to him. He understood why the money added up for a horse this well-trained and obedient.
“Oh, I imagine you’ll see me again,” he said.
“Got plans for Christmas?” Margo asked, a little hopefully, it seemed to Burton. “I noticed you were free for Thanksgiving.”
“Yeah, well, my wife’s cooking dinner. You know,” Jack said.
Margo turned back to the two young people in the ring.
“Oh, good,” she said. “That’s good. You ought to bring her out sometime. Way to go, Justin!”
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