by Toni Leland
Like, what difference of opinion would have been strong enough to make Natalie leave Knight’s?
Would the woman answer the question honestly? Somehow, Kim doubted it.
She pulled off at a truck stop outside Indianapolis to grab a snack and call Natalie.
“I’ll be in late this afternoon. Can we set up a meeting for tomorrow? I want to spend some time on background material and get that security camera data from you.”
“I can meet you at the theater about ten. Come to the loading dock, as before.”
“Okay, and I’ll need a retainer check from you before we go much further.”
“Not a problem. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Kim toyed with the straw in her water glass, thinking about Natalie’s apparent willingness to spend whatever it took to get to the bottom of the mystery. Kim still couldn’t fathom what transgression Natalie might have committed that would make someone want to destroy her. I wonder what ideas Quaid will have on this. She glanced at her watch, then reached for her wallet. She’d give him a call right after she arrived in Chicago.
Quaid stared at his laptop. He had a few hours before Ferguson would emerge from his meetings and maybe meet up for lunch with the woman in question. Quaid couldn’t do a damned thing about Mrs. Ferguson’s directives unless he could find out more about the mystery woman. How would he do that? Just ask her? Hah, not likely to be the best approach. But if she returned to the hotel, then Quaid could follow her when she left and possibly find out where she lived. That would open up a lot of information territory.
But right now, Quaid had plenty of time to start digging for Kovak. He looked at the list she’d sent:
Victim: Natalie Danseur
Contacts at Knight’s Horse Theater:
• owners (husband & wife)
• barn help (3 or 4 people)
• performers (4 men, 2 women – one new acrobat from Ukraine took ND’s place)
Contacts at Dream Horse Ballet:
• race barn workers?
• ND’s own staff of grooms (3)
• performers (don’t know how many)
• architect who renovated the downtown theater
Quaid let out a low whistle. That was one helluva lot of people who might have been out to “get” Danseur. Did that make any sense? What could she have done that would have caused such a treacherous reaction?
Quaid pulled up the web sites for both theater companies and mined those pages for the names of the principal contacts. He wouldn’t bother with barn help at this point – most horse people wouldn’t do something to endanger the life of a horse just to get back at an employer they didn’t like. Then Quaid gulped, remembering one instance where just such a horror had happened, and all because a horse owner was mad at the trainer. Shouldering away the vivid memories of a barn fire, Quaid began matching up names to Kovak’s list.
Going through the list one more time, he realized he didn’t have a name for the architect. That should be fairly easy, since most building construction or remodeling required permits. He searched Google for the City of Chicago and found the phone number. Jotting down the name of Charles Lane, Quaid sat back to ponder the next step. Based on experience, he knew that the list would dwindle to only a few names as he researched. He frowned. If he knew more about Natalie, it would be easier to narrow down the search parameters and not spend time on dead ends. The alleged victim was the key starting point here. He opened his Tracer Database and typed in her name. Nothing important leapt out at him, but he knew better than to make a judgment based on the first flush of information.
His watch pinged and he jumped up. Time to head downstairs to check on Ferguson. This time, he took the laptop with him.
Just as he’d hoped, the mystery woman sat with Ferguson in the restaurant. Quaid checked to make sure there was no other way out of there, then settled into a chair in the lobby to wait. Forty minutes later, the woman walked slowly past the lobby toward the elevators. Quaid followed, watched her push the “down” button to the parking garage one floor below. Leaping down the stairs two at a time, he made it to the garage in time to see her walking toward a row of cars. His truck was parked close by and he hurried to it, keeping her in sight the whole time. She climbed into a lime green Toyota and carefully backed out, then turned and drove toward the exit. Quaid followed about a car length back. Because he didn’t know the city, he didn’t dare let her get too far ahead of him, but he doubted that she would notice him. Not once during the whole time had she or Ferguson acted as though they had something to hide.
Quaid followed her out of the city and onto the expressway. Twenty minutes later, she took an exit and cruised into a sedate old neighborhood with tidy yards and mature trees. Quaid stayed way back, then hit the brakes when her right turn signal came on. He pulled over to the curb while she drove into the garage attached to a yellow two-story house with green shutters. Five minutes passed before he pulled out and drove slowly by, making a note of the house number. A red tricycle sat by the front stoop. Not much chance that this wasn’t the right house. He let out a long breath. The next steps would most likely destroy Kenneth Ferguson’s marriage.
Driving back into the city, Quaid’s stomach protested a skipped lunch. Spotting a McDonald’s, he cranked a hard right into the parking lot. A few minutes later, installed at a corner table with a giant cheeseburger and his laptop, he took a bite of the burger while he waited for the computer to connect with the Internet. Technology sure made his life a lot easier, but it also opened up private lives and raw wounds that might be better left alone. Setting the sandwich aside, he wiped his fingers on a napkin, then opened a search window on Switchboard. Once only available to telephone personnel and law enforcement, reverse address and telephone searches were now part of the public’s growing access to private information. It was the easiest place to begin a search for the identity of Ken Ferguson’s female companion.
Two names appeared as living or having lived at the address of the yellow house – both women. Mary Spencer, age 67 and Katherine Graves, age 38. Mother and daughter? Age difference was about right. Using another trick that had served him well in the past, Quaid did a search for Chicago area obituaries with the name Spencer. Fifteen popped up, and he painstakingly read each one. He absentmindedly chewed a cold, soggy French fry. The twelfth obituary sounded promising: Charles Spencer, age 58, had died of a sudden heart attack nine years ago, leaving behind, among others, wife Mary Spencer (58) of Chicago, and stepdaughter Katherine Spencer (29) of Cleveland, Ohio.
“Bingo.”
Quaid jotted down the information, then did a further search for Katherine Spencer. His reward was a wedding notice dated three years after her stepfather’s death. Katherine had moved back to Chicago, most likely to be with her widowed mother, and had married a man named Graves. Quaid grinned. The trail was warming up and he loved this part of tracking people down – except when he hit a dead end. But today, that wasn’t the case.
But how to determine if Katherine Graves was really Ferguson’s daughter? Spencer had apparently adopted her, which would mean that Mary had a child when she met her future husband. On the surface, it looked obvious, but Quaid knew better than to trust the obvious.
Chapter 18
In deference to her precarious financial situation, Kim opted for a hotel outside the city. According to Google, she was about halfway between Natalie’s barn and Knight’s Horse Theater, an easy drive in either direction. Thinking about Knight’s, she shook her head. Ludicrous to even think they would jeopardize their reputation over some disagreement or petty jealousy, but something urged her to pursue it a little further. She called Quaid and got his voice mail. Left a callback message, scooped up her camera, and headed for her car.
Thirty minutes later, she parked on the street next to the Knight’s horse pasture. Several blanketed horses stood near the fence, taking no notice of her as she strolled along the sidewalk. At the corner, she started taking photographs, trying
for interesting angles with the urban background. One close-up, in particular, framed a regal head against a dumpster and red brick walls.
“Nice afternoon, isn’t it?”
Kim started at the close proximity of the voice, then smiled at a tall man with shaggy gray hair and a bushy moustache.
He grinned. “Sorry to sneak up on you. Gotta get these guys in for the night.” He opened a large, new-looking padlock on the gate. “Big day tomorrow.”
“That’s a serious lock.”
He shook his head. “Had some excitement yesterday. Someone let them all out of the pasture – it was a regular circus around here for a while. Good thing these horses are so tolerant, or we’d never have caught them.”
Kim frowned. A coincidence? Or something more meaningful?
“Do you work for the horse theater?”
“You might say that.” He wiped his hand on his jeans and held it out. “Mark Knight. I own it, but I wear lotsa hats.”
Kim shook his hand. This is just too good.
“How interesting. I’ll have to come to one of the shows while I’m in town.”
The horses were now crowding around the gate, eager to go in for the night.
Knight stepped inside the gate. “If you want to come a little early, I’d be happy to give you a tour of the place.” He glanced at Kim’s camera. “You could maybe take some pictures for us. We’re always looking for good advertising shots.”
“Thanks, I’ll have to see how my time works out. I’m here on business, so–” Her phone chimed. “Sorry, I have to take this, but I’ll definitely try to get back down here.”
Knight nodded and waved, then snapped a lead rope onto the first horse’s halter. Kim turned away and headed back down the sidewalk as she answered her phone.
She’d missed the call, but Quaid had left a message. “I’m back at my hotel now, so give me a call.”
She climbed into her car and dialed, watching Mark Knight lead the horse across the street. The loose horses were an interesting twist. Was someone targeting both companies?
Now that she had an invitation to talk to Knight directly, did she dare show her face at the theater again? With her luck, she’d run into someone who remembered her visit last week. Would they think it strange that she’d visited three times to see performing horses? And was Knight the man she had seen in the parking lot the first day she’d been here? From what she remembered, the man was about the same height and build, but she hadn’t seen his face. If Knight was the owner – and she had no reason to doubt it – he would have information Kim needed. But would he give it up?
Her phone rang. “Kovak? Hey, sorry I keep missing you.”
“No problem, I know you’re busy and on the case.”
“Uh, well about that...I haven’t had a chance to do anything yet, but I finished up here today. I’ll start checking your list tomorrow.”
Kim had the sudden urge to not reveal her whereabouts, to revert to the game playing she’d participated in when they’d last worked together – the cat and mouse ploys they’d both used as they tried to out-sleuth each other. Remembering how unsatisfying that had been, she opted to be up front.
“I’m actually here now.”
“Here where? In Chicago?”
“Yeah, I just kept thinking about stuff and decided to come back to see Natalie. And collect some retainer money and a contract.”
Quaid chuckled. “Good move. You’re starting to act more like a P.I. than a camera geek.”
“Minor detail of needing income. Since you haven’t checked anyone out yet, maybe we should divide the list and conquer it together.”
“Yeah, good idea. We could do that over dinner.”
Kim blinked. Why was she surprised? She’d come up here fully intending to meet up with him. Why the sudden trepidation? This was just business. Wasn’t it?
“Okay, sounds good. Where and when?”
“I’m staying in the city at the Chicago Mart Plaza.” He chuckled. “But not after tonight. My gig’s finished and this place is a little pricey for my wallet.”
Kim laughed. “I hear you. Where shall we meet?”
“There’s a famous German restaurant on West Adams called The Berghoff. I’m in the mood for Wiener schnitzel, and since I’m still on the time clock, I’ll treat.”
“Sounds fabulous. I’ll be there.”
Kim hung up and exhaled slowly, suddenly remembering the black Morgan horse back home. She had more than Natalie’s list to share with Quaid.
Pulling away from the curb, she glanced at the clock on the dash. She had at least thirty minutes before she was to meet Quaid. Since she was fairly close, just for the heck of it, she’d drive by the Dream Horse Ballet theater building, just to refresh her memory. As she drove, she thought about the dark-haired young woman whose life had been turned upside down, perhaps by someone with a grudge. How could Kim find out more about the dancer’s past? Surely, Quaid would have some suggestions.
The Dream Horse Ballet theater building looked as imposing and beautiful as it had the first time Kim saw it. The only difference was the time of day. Now, at dusk, soft lights shone from behind the elegant tall windows, illuminating the angles of the interior space. A black Lexus was parked by the loading dock and the security light near the door was on. Kim tried to remember if she’d seen the car at Natalie’s barn, but it was one of those details that never imprinted itself on her brain. But one detail that remained was Natalie’s body language when they talked about the renovation. The “brilliant architect” had constructed more than an ingenious ramp, of that Kim was sure.
Fifteen minutes later, Kim locked her car and took the elevator to the street floor of a city parking garage, muttering to herself about the rates. The evening temperature had dropped and a breeze came off Lake Michigan, making it seem colder. Kim pulled her jacket close and hurried the three blocks to the restaurant, glad to see the massive sign on the front of the three-story building.
Stepping into the warmth, Kim immediately felt transported back in time. The place was cavernous with twenty-foot ceilings, and black and white checkerboard squares covering the floor. The aromas were heavenly and the noise level high. Suddenly, Quaid stepped into her line of vision, her pulse jerked, and she felt a brief flash of annoyance at the reaction. He looked as good as ever. His sandy hair was a little longer, not quite so military now.
His hazel eyes twinkled. “Isn’t this place great? Come on, I got us a good table in the back.”
He lightly touched her elbow, guiding her through the maze of tables.
“You look good. How’s that leg?”
“Much better, thanks. I’ve been riding a little.” Darn little, mostly falling off.
Quaid’s face brightened. “Really? That’s great. Isn’t Bandit fun?”
Kim narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m not sure what you mean by fun, unless you mean his secret racing career.”
Quaid burst out laughing. “Oh, that. Yeah, he likes to go fast.” His expression sobered. “Did you have a problem with him?”
The last thing in the world Kim was going to admit to this guy was that she – a seasoned mounted police officer – couldn’t control a horse.
“No problem, I just didn’t know he had it in him.”
Quaid’s expression softened. “I really miss him. We had some great times together.”
Kim’s chest tightened. This was perfect, the exact time to tell him about Commander.
She tilted her head and met Quaid’s gaze. “Have you thought about getting a horse of your own?”
He pressed his lips together. “Yeah, I have. Timing’s not right, though. Too much going on in my life to try and figure out how to include a horse.”
Kim swallowed hard. “Well, about that...I sorta, well, here’s the deal.”
A minute later, Quaid sat back hard in his seat. “You did what?”
“Jeez, you sound like Dixie. But this horse is gorgeous. He’s a purebred Morgan, almost black, real
ly neat. You’d love him. He was a fancy driving horse during his show career.” She saw Quaid ready to protest and she hurried on. “I’ll bet I could even get the farm to trailer him up to your place.”
Quaid blew out a long breath. “Yeah, well, about that...”
Chapter 19
Kim watched Quaid’s body language as he told her about the job transfer to Columbus. Whereas the promotion should be a positive thing, she could see that he was not onboard a hundred percent.
She leaned forward. “I’d think this would be a great opportunity to expand your own business into new territory, but I’m seeing some uncertainty...”
“I just don’t want to lose the flexibility I’ve always had, but more important than that, I can’t afford to lose the insurance company business.” He straightened up in his chair. “Anyway, it’s a done deal and I’ll be moving in a couple of weeks.” He ran a hand through his hair and rolled his eyes. “Guess I’d better start looking for a place to live.”
Kim smiled sweetly. “And Commander could continue living at Running Brook.”
Quaid started to protest, but Kim interrupted. “At least come and see him. I know you’ll love him, and I know how much you miss Bandit.”
“And what if I don’t take him? What happens then?”
Kim swallowed hard. “I don’t know, but I’ll burn that bridge when I get to it.”
Quaid’s laughter rang out in the cavernous room. “Fair enough. Now let’s talk about your case.”
Watching Kovak remove half the sauerkraut from her Reuben sandwich, Quaid thought about her bold move with the Morgan horse. Act first, think later was totally in character for her, probably ingrained from her years as a police officer. Her current involvement with an unofficial investigation proved that she still had blue blood running through her veins. As she outlined what she knew about Natalie Danseur, Quaid recognized a methodical and precise train of thought emerging through the confusion of the details.