by Jean Chapman
‘Sounds simple, doesn’t it?’ Liz said.
‘It often does in theory,’ Cannon said, and the three of them sat for a moment, silently appreciating the difference between plans on papers and incident boards in procedural planning meetings, and the gory realities that often ensued.
‘I won’t be happy until you two are back in your pub, and Austin’s back in that posh London flat of his.’
‘Austin’s owed,’ Cannon said quietly, ‘we owe him, what he did for Paul … a life for a life, you could say.’
‘Sure,’ the DI agreed, ‘but I don’t want to lose any other friends in the process.’
CHAPTER 25
The Beales and Lucas were back home just before Cannon and Liz, and as Lucas went through to the kitchen, they all wandered there after him. His dog greeted them all with delight. Lucas let Lola have her moment then pointed to her basket.
Tom Beale and Babs were highly satisfied with the success of a glittering charity dinner, many thousands of dollars had been raised for riding for the handicapped.
Liz told of their very different evening studying mug-shots of the Valdes men.
‘We know a lot of those by sight, don’t we, Lucas?’ Tom Beale said.
Lucas didn’t seem to hear and Cannon realized how quiet he was. He had moved chairs, brought drinks, but seemed in a world of his own and several times had not answered when directly spoken to.
He studied Lucas as Liz was going on about how useful it would be if they could have a good look around the Churchill Downs racecourse before the big race when the police coup was planned.
Certainly Lucas had not been dressed to attend a formal dinner, and Cannon wondered if he had just waited around until it was time to bring the Beales home, but he had said his mother still lived in Louisville, and as Lucas came over with the bourbon, he asked, ‘Have you been to see your mother?’ The big man looked sharply at the Englishman he had already shared so much with.
‘I …’ he began, ‘yes, I have.’
‘She is all right?’ Cannon enquired gently.
‘It is the anniversary of my father’s death tomorrow,’ he said, ‘never a good time, and this year she says she has a terrible sense of dread. She says it’s as if she feels something even worse is going to happen—’
‘What’s this?’ Tom Beale interrupted.
Lucas tried to evade the issue, but Tom was adamant he learned what was troubling Lucas.
‘We should have remembered,’ he said apologetically. ‘Well, there is one thing. Tomorrow morning as soon as you’re up, you go to your mother and you stay there for the whole day and tomorrow night.’
‘You sure, boss, there’s the visitors …’
‘Some things are more important,’ he said, ‘don’t you think I remember what it’s like to lose loved ones?’
It almost seemed to amount to a reprimand, but Lucas had tears in his eyes as he murmured, ‘Thanks, boss.’
‘And you know she can come live here with you anytime she wants,’ Tom added, ‘but bed now, I think. Tomorrow as they say is another day, another busy day, and we should see about John and Liz going over to Churchill Downs. The sooner the better, the place gets more goddamn busy every year.’
Cannon looked hard at Lucas as they said goodnight, and Lucas nodded, half smiled, as if he understood the concern Cannon felt.
It was a concern that kept Cannon awake long after Liz slept. He remembered the trek across the Valdes land, recalled how convinced Lucas was that his father’s body was out there somewhere. The unmarked grave. No final goodbye. Lucas deserved help to find closure for his mother and himself. Cannon knew he might not have survived, and they certainly would not have recovered Jonathan Beale, without the local man’s know-how of the land he had roamed as a boy.
Liz stirred by his side, almost as if his thoughts had disturbed her sleep. She might well be saying, so we protect Austin, get him out, then we find a body that’s been buried somewhere for how many years?
‘I doubt they’d have taken much trouble burying it,’ he muttered and as she moved again, turned to curl his arm around her – and she was still, but he couldn’t quite let his thoughts go. He wondered if, in the police round-up of the Valdes gang, some clue might come. He disciplined himself not to shake his head, not to move, and risk disturbing Liz again, that gave him something else to think about. Eventually he too slipped into sleep.
The next morning Lucas was dispatched to his mother’s, with instructions to call first at Churchill Downs to leave a message with Tom Beale’s top groom.
‘My top man there is Ken Garcia,’ Tom Beale told them. ‘We call him the quiet man. He’s quiet around the horses, gives them his full attention, he loves them and they love him. He’s staying in the back side housing for the duration of the races, but I’ve told Lucas to ask Ken to meet you in the Derby Café at half eleven.’
‘I do know where that is,’ Cannon said, remembering it was possible to enter this restaurant without going through the Derby Museum and paying the entrance fee.
‘He’ll take you through to the barns, where the horses are stabled. If you’re with Ken, no one will question you, and I—’ He broke off suddenly, beaming with pleasure. ‘I am going to see my grandson. Just had a call from Babs. Charlie is coming to fetch me.’
‘Ah, that’s great,’ Liz said, ‘I’m sure he’ll soon be home here with you.’
‘After the races, that’s what I’m told,’ Tom beamed even more, ‘so just a week!’
‘And what a week that might well turn out to be. I’d say Jonathan’s best well away from the area,’ Cannon said as he drove himself and Liz out to Churchill Downs.
‘I am going to buy a new hat, whatever,’ Liz said. ‘Tom says I should get one smothered with red roses. It’s a theme. There’ll be red roses everywhere, he says, and did you know they garland the winning horse with red roses? It takes seven days for – I don’t know how many florists – to make that.’
‘Good time to be a rose grower,’ Cannon commented drily.
He found himself nodding at the truth of that as they walked into the Derby Café at exactly eleven thirty; the bourbon bottles on the bar were all lavishly interspersed with red roses.
Automatically he looked towards the table where he had met Geoff for the first time. There was no one there, but a well-built, well-weathered man with the look of an athletic farmer about him, excused himself from a group, who looked as if they were settling in for an early lunch, and came over.
‘You looking for…?’ he asked.
‘Ken.’
‘You’ve found him. You OK to come to the track now for a chat? I need to be there,’ he said. ‘You can drive a bit nearer, then we’ll walk, on site parking is always sold out real early.’
‘Right,’ Cannon noted that information.
The barns were stable blocks where many stable lads were attending the needs of high-spirited, superbly fit looking horses. Much of the activity was familiar now to Cannon, horses being saddled, some being grazed on long reins, some being led back to their stalls.
As they reached the canopy of a huge oak, Ken pulled a couple of white plastic chairs together in the shade.
‘Would you mind waiting here for me for a moment? I had a bit of trouble earlier between my exercise rider and my hot walker. The walker wasn’t the man we were expecting, not the one we hired, and I didn’t like his manner.’
Cannon and Liz exchanged glances. ‘Suppose we can guess what most of that means,’ he said as they watched him go.
‘Sure he’s doing his job, but instead of both sitting here, we should split up, see where things are, and hear as much as we can. You could stay with Ken while I find my way to this shop, buy a hat or something, make myself look less like the landlady of The Trap. We can compare notes later.’
Cannon looked doubtful.
‘I’ve got a tongue in my head, I’m not going to get lost!’ Liz emphasized.
‘I’ll just ask where the shop is, and
… there’s a lady with a bag from the shop over there.’
She was on her feet and had approached a tall blonde with a bag, before Cannon could give any opinion. He noted the two were equal height, both blonde, and it seemed on immediate best terms. The bag was opened, both peered into it and both were equally delighted with the contents.
‘You go look, honey,’ Cannon heard the American enthuse, ‘you’ll love it all!’ She pointed the way Liz should go, adding, ‘It’s off the paddock, inside Gate 17.’
‘You sure about this?’ Cannon asked as Liz came back.
‘Of course,’ she said, holding out her hand. ‘I haven’t brought any money.’
‘So the handbag is just show,’ he said, but got out his wallet. She took a small wad of notes. He raised his eyebrows. ‘Is that enough?’ he asked but she was not given the chance of a second dip.
‘Listen,’ he said seriously, ‘if anyone gets awkward with you, tell them you’re with Ken Garcia. I’m getting the impression a lot of people know and respect him, and wait for me to come to you at the shop. Right?’
‘Right!’ she said.
He watched her go, disappearing quickly into the crowds of gathering race enthusiasts, while he sat on, minute after long minute, then he got up and strode to the entrance to the stable block. The horses looked the most relaxed, while the stable lads were fetching buckets of water, hay nets, wheeling barrows, wielding hay-forks. There was no sign of Ken. He turned to go back to his chair when there was a sudden outcry from the far end.
‘Loose horse!’
‘Look out!’
‘Stand back!’
A large, panic-stricken black horse in a confined area was a terrifying sight, but a party of race-goers, men, women and children, had stopped to stare in at the barn entrance as if it was all part of the day’s entertainment. One of them, a boy, pointed and was allowed to wander in, as if it was no more dangerous than a game on a screen.
‘Get back!’ Cannon roared, and realizing the boy’s peril, one of the stable lads violently banged and rattled a metal bucket, which made the boy run terrified back to his parents and the horse to rear, turn and career back the way it had come, causing much shouting and uproar from all directions.
Then he saw Ken, and as various lads tried to grab the horse’s head collar, Ken called for them to leave it to him. Cannon dropped back with the others, as Ken began to talk.
‘Blackie! What are you doing?’ His voice quiet, authoritative. ‘Come on, my lad, this gets you nowhere.’ He held out his hand, palm upwards, and took a slow step nearer.
The horse stood trembling, but his ears, which had been flat back, gradually lifted as Ken went on quietly talking.
‘Come on, fella, I’ll take you back to your stall. Safe. You know me. You trust me. Yeah! We trust each other.’ He slowly spread his arms and waited, and for a moment Cannon thought he looked like a messiah.
In the next breath-held moment, they all watched as the horse shuddered, then lowered his head and walked towards Ken. The man waited for him to come, kept his arms spread.
Cannon felt his mouth fall open as the horse literally walked into Ken’s arms, lifting his head so that the quiet man was up against its chest and could curl his arms around its neck. Ken whispered a few words then reached up and took hold of the head collar, and walked the horse out the far end of the stable block. The stable lads clapped and shouted their admiration.
Cannon followed, but stood back as Ken talked to the animal, undid its girth, slipped the saddle off. Some of the lads now brought buckets of water and huge sponges to begin the process of cooling the horse down, lowering its heart rate, generally helping.
‘Can I do anything?’ Cannon asked.
Ken glanced at him. ‘The exercise-rider, he should have been with this horse. It’s not like him, this, the horse just came galloping in alone. If you could have a look all around the exercise area. No one seems to have seen him,’ he shook his head. ‘His name’s Kurt, quite a dapper chap. He’s wearing black jeans and a dark green top with the Two Spires emblem on it, matching the green on his riding hat. If you can find Kurt, or someone who saw what happened. I can’t leave this horse yet.’
Cannon nodded and walked on into the exercise area.
‘You going somewhere, fella?’ a belligerent looking man with a face like raw mince called.
‘I’m helping Ken Garcia,’ he said.
‘Ah, righto.’ The man immediately came over to him. ‘I saw the horse gallop in, been to look for Kurt,’ he indicated the expanse of the exercise area behind him, ‘but there’s no sign. Reckon he’s done a runner knowing his boss’ll be furious, upsetting his best horse this near the big day.’
‘Could he have fallen, been hurt?’ Cannon asked.
The man shook his head. ‘He could have, but he ain’t lying about anywhere, that’s for sure.’
There was a sudden burst of cheering in the distance. ‘I’ve a horse in the next race,’ the man said, ‘I’ll have a word with Ken on the way.’
Cannon watched him go, realizing the noise levels must be concentrated in the huge tiers of seating and the standing areas around the track – and as the level of excitement grew, it seemed even quieter here, just one or two horses being exercised, one or two riders on foot, but no one in black and green.
Cannon kept on walking slowly, looking for anything that might be a pointer to what had happened. He reached the far end of the green area where the grass had grown longer, and was about to continue his circuit when he frowned, there was something certainly green, but more like a solid mound – not just grasses. He picked his way carefully to it and was stooping over the object before he realized it was a riding hat with a green cover.
It was scuffed, soiled, looked as if it had been heavily trodden, the green silk twisted to one side. He put on gloves and carefully levered it up. Turning it over, he wondered if this was one more reprisal. Valdes knew his prisoner had been resurrected from the food bin in his barn, did he also now know who he was, how important he was to Tom Beale?
Cannon carried the evidence carefully back. Ken’s alarm mirrored his own as he turned to show the bloody stains inside the reinforced hat and on the twisted green silk.
To Cannon’s relief, it was Geoff who answered his call, and arrived with another officer from the police department. It saved a lot of explanations, and it seemed to Cannon he and Ken Garcia were treated with grave respect, and there was no delay. They made their statements, Ken was allowed to go back to his responsibilities and Cannon covered the ground again with the officer, then explained about Liz, and was allowed to go.
‘Be seeing you again soon, I reckon,’ the officer said, nodding him on his way.
That was entirely possible, Cannon thought as he walked as quickly as the crowds of laughing, elated, racegoers allowed. There were many parties of people: the men in pale summer suits; the women in flowery dresses, and roses everywhere on hats, shoulders, handbags, in buttonholes – the whole atmosphere was of glorious holiday.
Then Cannon felt as if he had been hit hard in the chest, taking his breath, as through the crowds came two men, one an undersized officious looking man who walked expecting all and sundry to skip out of his way, and the other? The physique of a well-endowed rugby player did not go well with a light, check, fawn suit, even though it was impeccably made and probably cost a fortune.
For a fraction of a second their eyes met, then Frank Austin, head of Spracks’s security firm, turned to his boss, and said, ‘So you’re not wearing your new suit until Derby Day?’
Spracks mumbled some reply as Cannon and Robert Auguste Austin very nearly rubbed shoulders.
Cannon walked on in a state of some shock, forcibly reminded of the reason he and Liz were there – to familiarize themselves with this place so they could assist Austin escape and disappear – though perhaps what he felt most of all was just admiration for his friend’s ability to use an unexpected moment to pass on information. Austin had been wear
ing a very distinctive suit, the one he would also have on when Derby Day came. So how to use the knowledge, exploit it, to the utmost advantage?
By the time he reached the shop, an idea had come – though whether it would be thought serious, or was even possible, he was far from sure.
He looked around for Liz, walked along the shop facade and back, peering in, began to feel anxious. A woman standing near the door spoke as he passed.
‘Proves a point,’ she said, ‘you’ve walked past me twice.’
She had on a board-brimmed hat with sprays of rosebuds festooned on one side and her shoulders were swathed in red silk.
CHAPTER 26
Disguise, it seemed, was to be part of the whole Derby Day operation.
Cannon’s suggestion that a couple of well-built men, and he, might wear suits of the same material as Austin’s, and act as decoys, had been agreed to, after Tom Beale had volunteered to pay. The expensive overnight tailoring, Cannon guessed, would never have been authorized by any official body anywhere in time.
No one had anticipated that Charlie Brown, who had come back to White Picket Ranch to drive Jane out to see her nephew, would volunteer to be one of them, but as he said, he was the right build, on the spot and willing. So it was that Charlie, Geoff and Cannon were the ones who went to be measured, and Lucas would pick up the suits on Derby Day morning.
These last days before the big race were full, fraught with chilling information.
Betterson came with Geoff to tell them that the body of the exercise rider had been found.
‘It was—’ He broke off to suggest Tom Beale sit down. ‘It was found this morning on the lakeshore opposite the Valdes property …’
‘The pike lake,’ Charlie muttered, ‘where I stopped to drop John and Lucas off on their mission.’
‘Right,’ Betterson said, but there was a falling note in his voice which made Cannon look sharply at him. He shook his head and ran his hand into his hair, grasped it and pulled it sharply back.