Jerry set aside the pitchfork and came to stand well within my personal space. I stood my ground, unwilling to let him intimidate me with his size, proximity, and worst of all, his smell.
“Who sent you?” he asked.
“Miss Hightower.”
“How could that be if she’s missing?”
“Suppose I ask the questions and you provide the answers,” I replied, having taken enough of his guff.
“Shoot,” he spat in my face.
I was surprised by his response but eager to take advantage of the fact that he was actually willing to talk to me.
“Where were you the evening that I was here for dinner, afterward?”
“I was here in the stable looking after Soft Spoken Hal.”
“Can anyone corroborate that?”
“Any one of the stable hands.”
“Do you mind if I ask one of them?”
“Be my guest.”
“So, at no time was Soft Spoken Hal left alone the night before the race?”
“No. Someone was always looking after him.”
“More than one person at a time?”
“Always.”
Why was this man talking to me? I asked myself. For one thing, the more he talked the more I felt that he may be innocent of any wrongdoing. I wondered if that was his ploy.
“What about previous nights?”
“Someone is always here in the stable, twenty-four hours a day.”
“Looking after Soft Spoken Hal?”
“Not necessarily.”
“And not necessarily two at a time?”
“No.”
“How much to you know about horse doping?”
“No more than anyone else who’s spent their life around racehorses.”
“How long would evidence of a stimulant remain in the urine?”
“I would imagine no more than a week.”
“And to the best of your knowledge, would someone be able to dope a horse without drawing the attention of someone watching over the stable?”
“Not likely,” he said with a suspicious smile.
“Then the doping incident involved someone here looking after the stables?”
“I think that I’ve answered enough of your questions.”
I was sorry he’d decided to clam up but felt that I’d found out what I needed to know. I watched as he picked up a glass from the floor and filled it with water from a portable cooler. He downed the beverage in several large gulps and placed the glass on the edge of the stall. He looked surprised to find me watching him when he was done.
“What? You’re still here?”
“I was wondering if you’d mind if I examine this stall.”
“Be my guest,” he replied. “Just be gone by the time I return.”
While Jerry walked away to talk with one of the stable hands, I unlatched the stall door and let myself in. I looked back to see Jerry pointing at me before he left the stable. After he left, the stable hand he’d been talking with set his broom aside and stood watching me.
I was disappointed to find that the stall had been recently cleaned. I was sure that any evidence it might have held would be long gone, but spent several minutes poking around through the fresh straw covering the floor. I was about to quit when I saw something sparkling in the corner. I bent to find something wedged between the boards of the stall. After I pried it loose, I was surprised to be holding an elaborate diamond earring in my hand. I knew that none of the stable hands could have lost the earring, and also that Miss Hightower never wore such elaborate jewelry. There was one person who could have left it. I even thought I recognized the piece of jewelry from when I’d last seen it worn. I slipped the earring into my fanny pack.
Standing, I looked to ensure that the stable hand assigned to watch over me was shirking his responsibility. Sure enough, he was using a pocket knife to clean his nails while leaning against one of the stalls rather than looking in my direction. Quickly, before I could be seen, I grabbed the glass that Jerry had been drinking from off the edge of Soft Spoken Hal’s stall, being careful to only touch it around the lip. I slipped it into my baggy cowboy shirt.
I left the stall and was walking toward the stable doors when I spotted Detective Phillips coming my way. The stable hand who was assigned to watch over me shoved himself away from the stall he was leaning against to challenge the newcomer. The detective simply flashed his badge as he walked past, only stopping when he’d come face-to-face with me.
“I heard you were here,” the detective stated.
“Do you have any news on the whereabouts of Miss Hightower?” I asked, feeling uncomfortable facing a lawman with a stolen water glass beneath my shirt.
“None.”
“Then you’re here to continue your investigation.”
“I am, but first I wanted to have a word with you.”
“About what?”
“I did a little research,” he explained. “I know about your background, Ms. Boston.”
“And?”
“As a result, I thought I might find you here today.”
“And so you did.”
“I hope that you aren’t planning on investigating my case.”
Uh-oh, busted! I thought. I decided the best course of action was to come clean.
“As a matter of fact, I am.”
“I thought that might be the case,” he said. “You realize that you are not a trained police officer and that I can have you arrested if you interfere in any way with my case.”
“Come on, Detective, isn’t that a little heavy handed?”
“Perhaps. But still, I will not have you underfoot while I work on this case. Now, I understand that you’ve been ordered to leave this property.”
“Which I was about to do.”
“Good.”
The detective said no more and I could think of nothing else to say, so I walked away to my car. I felt as if all eyes were on me as I slipped the purloined glass from my shirt and set it on the passenger seat. I looked up to see that Detective Phillips was watching from just inside the stable entrance. I started the rental car, backed up, and pulled away. As I drove from the property I consulted my map for the nearest fair-sized town. I saw there was one no more than ten miles away and made for it in a hurry.
Once in town I cruised the strip malls until I found a UPS Store. Once inside I set the glass on the counter and waited for a clerk to address me. I was pleased to see that the store was empty, considering the unorthodox procedure I was about to perform.
“How can I help you?”
“First, you can let me clean a little toner from one of your copy machines,” I told the clerk.
The clerk looked baffled by the suggestion, but didn’t stop me when I removed my blush and a makeup brush from my fanny pack and walked over to a copier to dust a small pile of toner out of the edges of the paper return tray into the lid of the blush container. I carried my find back to the counter and began sprinkling toner onto the outside of the glass. All the while the clerk watched and inhaled a gasp when I held the glass up in the light to reveal several fingerprints highlighted by the toner.
“Gosh, are you some kind of detective?” the clerk asked.
“Something like that,” I replied. “Could I bother you for some Scotch tape and a sheet of clean white paper?”
The clerk dutifully produced the goods and I used the Scotch tape to remove two of the clearest fingerprints from the glass and tape them to the paper. The prints couldn’t have been clearer if they’d been taken at the station. I just hoped they weren’t mine. I used my cell phone to make a call and hit pay dirt on the third ring.
“This is Bryce, I thought you were on vacation, Boston,” a voice answered.
“I am, but I have something I’d like you to do for me.”
“Not another case.”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Alright, what do you need?”
“I need you to ID a set of fingerprints for
me.”
“Easy enough. Just fax the prints to the station and I should have an ID for you in a couple of hours if they’re in the database.”
“You’re a lifesaver, Bryce. Literally.”
“Just tell me that you’re not stepping on any toes down there in Florida, Boston.”
“I’m stepping on toes, but they’re not sore yet,” I assured him before hanging up.
Next I filled out a fax form with the Hope Falls police station fax number on it and handed it and the paper containing the fingerprints to the clerk. The clerk handled the pages as if they might explode if she moved too fast. She fed them into the fax machine and returned with a transmission confirmation. The whole operation had taken under fifteen minutes and cost me little more than a sawbuck.
“Is there anything else I can do for you, Detective?” the clerk asked.
“Yes,” I replied, pulling my map from my hip pocket. “You can help me find the ranch of a Mr. Angus Harrigan.”
The clerk didn’t recognize the name, but a quick consult of the phone book produced an address which we then spent several minutes locating on the map. I now had the next location in which I would be continuing my investigation. I thanked the clerk and said my goodbyes.
When I was done I climbed back into my rental car and threw the now useless glass into the backseat. I drove back out of town into the country and, though I consulted my map frequently, made several wrong turns. I tried to ease my mind with the fact that there was still time to find Miss Hightower alive and well and that I now had several strong leads. Eventually I came upon the entrance to the Harrigan Ranch. Again, there was a large arch over the entrance to the property announcing the place.
The ranch was smaller than the Hightower estate and it didn’t take long before I pulled up in front of a lavish new home which lacked any of the charm of the Hightower mansion. Exiting my vehicle, I stepped onto the porch and knocked on the door. I was surprised when Wayne Harrigan answered the door rather than some menial.
“Why, Ms. Boston. What a pleasure to see you again,” Wayne said, flashing what appeared to be a genuine smile at my unexpected appearance.
“Hello, Wayne. Is your father in?”
“He’s out in the stables, but if you’ll come in and have a seat I’ll call him for you. I’m certain he’ll be happy to see you again.”
Personally, I rather doubted this.
I stepped into the foyer and couldn’t help but have a look around. The place was well attired, but I recognized the furnishings as antique knockoffs rather than the real thing. The entire place reeked of new money applied without the guidance of a woman’s hand.
“Please, have a seat,” Wayne said, leading me into a sunny parlor.
While I made myself comfortable on the sofa, Wayne retrieved his cell phone and made a call. During a brief exchange he explained that I had just arrived out of nowhere and terminated the call.
“Father said he’ll be right here,” Wayne assured me. “So, tell me, Chloe, what brings you out here to visit us?”
“I’m looking into the doping of Soft Spoken Hal and the disappearance of Miss Hightower.”
“Yes, that is quite upsetting. Tell me, how is Sissy holding up through all of this?” he replied with genuine concern in his voice.
“She seems … scared,” I said, telling him of my true reading of her state of mind the last time I saw her.
“Scared? Why would she be scared?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps she’s afraid she may be the next to disappear.”
“That’s just silly,” Wayne said, casually brushing aside this obvious conclusion.
“Perhaps you could provide a better explanation,” I suggested.
“Me? Why me?”
“The two of you seem to be close. I thought you might have a better idea of any fears Sissy might be harboring.”
“I’m afraid that I don’t. I’ll have to call her later today and see what I can find out.”
“It would be good if you did that.”
We slipped into an awkward silence which was broken when Wayne’s father exploded into the room.
“Chloe!” he bellowed, striding across the room and embracing me in a suffocating bear hug the moment I stood.
“Hello, Mr. Harrigan,” I managed to choke out, though my face was crushed against his chest.
“Angus to you, lassie,” he replied as he released me from his clutches. “So, tell me, have you any word on the whereabouts of Miss Hightower?”
“None, and I’m growing concerned.”
“I am as well. What can I do to help?”
“You can begin by telling me where you and your son went after the dinner we attended at the Hightower estate.”
For a moment he looked confused, then he looked aggrieved. I was afraid that he might flee from the room or even worse manhandle me again. Then he began to smile before bursting out in a vociferous guffaw.
“So, it’s come down to this, has it? You naturally suspect me in both the doping incident and her disappearance.”
“Not necessarily,” I clarified. “I’m just covering all the bases.”
“As you should be,” Harrigan replied, clapping me painfully on the knee. “I can tell you definitively that both Wayne and I were at our favorite bar in town, Hooligan’s, until early the next morning when we returned to fall into bed.”
“I suppose I’ll find many people who can corroborate your story.”
“A whole bar full.”
“So, you were both together, all night?”
“With the exception of a brief period during which the young lad here slipped away for a midnight rendezvous with his lassie.”
“Oh?”
“Before you ask, I’ll tell you now that I’m not one to kiss and tell,” Wayne said with a smile.
“In any case, I assume the young lassie would be able to vouch for your whereabouts while you were away from your father.”
“Positively.”
I sat and scrutinized my hosts for a good long while and came to the conclusion that they were most likely telling the truth based solely on their body language. I know, that’s not a good basis for a thorough investigation, but I was in a hurry and therefore needed to depend on my gut.
“Damned strange happenings going on of late,” Harrigan offered. “On top of it all, I just found that someone has been embezzling funds from my business.”
“You don’t say,” I replied, actually rather disinterested in his statement.
“I assure you it’s true.”
“Then there’s the disappearance of Miss Hightower to consider,” I said, redirecting the conversation back on point.
“Aye, there’s the rub,” Harrigan agreed.
“If that is indeed the rub, then I suppose that neither of you would mind if I had a look around your home,” I suggested.
“Now, there I’m afraid I can’t oblige you. You see, a man’s home is his castle and if I was to allow you free rein of my castle, well, I’d might as well drop my trousers and let you poke around my nether regions.”
I was trying to drive from my mind any visions of performing such a disgusting act when my cell phone rang, saving me from having to respond to such a suggestion.
“Excuse me,” I said, rising from the sofa and stepping into a corner of the room to take the call.
My phone indicated that the incoming call was from Bryce. I felt my heart leap at the prospect of my first real lead in the case.
“Bryce, what have you got for me?”
“Pay dirt, I’d say.”
“Tell me about it.”
“The fingerprints you faxed me belong to a man with a lengthy record—everything from numbers running in his youth to embezzlement in the last case.”
“And his name is Jerry Dietz?”
“I’m afraid you missed with that guess. His name is Herman Lutz.”
“And he’s been involved in racehorse doping cases.”
“On the money. How
did you know that?”
“Lucky guess.”
“Yeah, right. Anyway, this guy doesn’t work alone. He has a buddy named Jose Gonzales, works as a jockey between con jobs.”
“Right,” I said, putting the pieces together.
“They both report to a suspected leader of the ring, one Gordon Simms. I say suspected because Mr. Simms has never been convicted. He seems to be able to keep his hands clean while allowing his underlings to take the rap for him.”
“Bryce, this is all great information, and I think I have everything I need. I’m going to go shake things up a little with what you’ve already told me.”
“Alright, I should have photos soon.”
“Good. I’ll call you if I need them.”
“Right. Good luck and keep safe. These don’t sound like the individuals you want to be messing around with.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I have a strong detective type who will be backing me up.”
“Right.”
I ended the call and turned back to my hosts in excitement.
“I’ve got to go,” I announced.
“Have you got a lead?” Harrigan asked.
“A big one.”
“Then go already!”
I flew out the door of the house and tumbled into my rental car. I was so excited to be on my way that I fumbled my keys and dropped them to the floor. Awkwardly bending forward, and crushing my breasts painfully against the steering wheel in the process, I was eventually able to retrieve my keys and slot them with vigor into the ignition. I then cranked the engine hard and sped away from the Harrigan home at an excessive rate of speed.
Wrangling the map as I drove at a breakneck pace to the Hightower estate, I eventually sped below its arched sign and came to a skidding halt before the main stable. Jumping out of the car I raced into the stable, fully prepared to confront Mr. Herman Lutz. There was no one in the stable. Looking around to make sure I was alone, I decided to use this alone time to have a further look around Soft Spoken Hal’s stall. The moment I opened the gate and stepped inside the stall I froze. There was something wrong. Then I clearly recognized the smell of fresh blood in the air.
Glancing to the center of the stall I noticed that there was a pitchfork sticking straight up out of the straw on the floor. The pitchfork had been driven into the back of a body which lay barely concealed beneath the straw. The face of the deceased was turned to one side and clearly visible. It was the face of Herman Lutz, aka Jerry Dietz, former head trainer for the Hightower horse breeding and training facility. I frowned, more annoyed than shocked or horrified.
Lucky Thirteen Page 8