Kit Ehrman - At Risk

I whistled under my breath.

Halfway through their approach to the next line, Anne pulled the gelding off line. They galloped past so close, I felt the vibrations from his hoof beats through the soles of my boots. Ralston stepped backward. I pretended not to notice.

Anne turned the gelding toward the center of the ring. His hooves sluiced through the footing and spattered the fence boards with sand. The instant Chase realized they were heading for the diagonal line, he pricked his ears and sailed effortlessly down the line, a streak of liquid gold.

Ralston turned and looked at me over the rims of his sunglasses.

"Can we talk in your car?" I said. "The office is crowded."

"Sure."

"First, there's something I want to show you." I led him back into barn A and stopped at the bulletin board. "I found this the other night."

Ralston read the scrawled words and looked at me. "How long's this been up?"

"The beginning of March. I tacked it up as soon as I started back to work."

"When do you think they left the message?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. Marty stapled last weekend's show schedule over top of it Friday afternoon, and he didn't notice it, but that doesn't mean it wasn't there."

"What about the boarder who told you about the trailer? She notice anything?" Ralston said.

"No, she'd read the copy I'd posted in the lounge, not this one. I've asked around, but no one noticed the writing."

Ralston went back to his car and came back with an evidence bag and a pair of gloves. He dropped the wrinkled sheet into the bag, and I followed him back outside. He'd parked his car next to the office door. I guessed when you were a cop, you got into the habit of parking wherever you damn well liked.

Ralston turned the key in the ignition and powered down the windows. "Okay. Tell me about it."

I told him how I'd learned about the trailer and how I'd been caught trespassing.

He listened without interrupting, his expression unchanged, but I sensed his irritation from the stiffness in his shoulders and his overall stillness.

I told him about the Pennsylvania tags and why I thought it was the right trailer. "But the thing is, Drake didn't act like he was guilty. Either he's an extraordinary actor, or he's not involved, which doesn't make sense."

Ralston stared straight ahead, his gaze fixed on some point beyond the windshield. "Your impulsiveness negates your intelligence. If it is the trailer, besides the immediate danger you put yourself in, they've more than likely moved it by now."

I looked out the passenger window. "I didn't think anyone would see me."

"And you went inside?"

I nodded.

Ralston turned in his seat. "Do you realize what you've done?"

I didn't answer.

"You've contaminated any evidence we might have retrieved." His voice was as near to yelling as I'd ever heard it.

"How do you mean?" I said. "I didn't touch anything."

"Trace evidence. Proving that you were in that trailer on February the 24th was of primary importance. Now the defense will say anything we find was left behind Tuesday, not two months ago. Without that link, we don't have a case."

"Oh."

After a minute or two, he sighed. "I do appreciate what you're trying to do. But if you hear something, fine, phone it in. When it comes to chasing down leads, leave it to us, all right?"

I nodded.

"How'd Drake act when you asked him about the repairs?"

"It was weird," I said. "He didn't react at all."

"Maybe it's not the trailer."

"It is." I rubbed my forehead. "What are you going to do?"

"Get a warrant. Check it out."

Ralston popped open his briefcase and handed me a form. Under his direction, I wrote out a statement, stating that, to the best of my knowledge, the Wellington trailer parked on Mr. Drake's property, 10471 Mink Hollow Road, was the trailer used in the February twenty-fourth theft of seven horses from Foxdale Farm. In addition, I had been held in the trailer against my will. Ralston had me list the trailer's characteristics that enabled me to make a positive ID. Then I signed and dated it.

Afterwards, Ralston headed north to fill out the necessary paperwork to obtain a search warrant for the property and belongings of Randor L. Drake.

I spent Thursday night sitting on a hay bale in a school pony's stall. The brown mare had colicked late in the afternoon, and when a dose of Banamine hadn't set her right, I'd called Greg.

He had gone over her vitals, pumped mineral oil into her stomach, and instructed me to watch her overnight in case she got worse.

So far, she hadn't, and by two in the morning, she was dozing in her stall with her head lowered, eyes half-closed, ears at half-mast. I stretched, then leaned against the stall's rough wooden planks and closed my eyes. The crickets and tree frogs had quit their singing sometime earlier, and the barn was deeply quiet.

As dawn approached, I watched the sky lighten. By the time the rafters glowed red, touched by the nearly horizontal sunlight cutting through the windows, the mare was nosing around her stall, searching out stray wisps of hay. I got to work, and Ralston caught me in the middle of morning turnouts. Mrs. Hill hadn't come in yet, so we went into the office.

"Did you arrest him?" I said.

Ralston smiled, I assumed, at my naivete and shook his head. He closed the door and crossed his arms over his chest. "He's on a fishing trip in West Virginia."

"What?"

"Relax. It was prearranged. I don't think he's running yet. I talked to his neighbor. The guy feeds Drake's cattle when he's away which, according to him, is most weekends of the year. Drake's got a girlfriend in West Virginia, and when he isn't up north, he's training."

"Training?"

"Yeah. He's with the Guard.

"When's he due back?"

"Monday. I'm on my way to see his C.O. now. What were you wearing when they put you in the trailer?"

I thought back. "Jeans, T-shirt, a flannel shirt, boots-"

Ralston held out his hand. "I mean, do you remember specifically which flannel shirt? And can I have it?"

"Well, no. I was hypothermic, and my clothes were wet. The medics cut them off, and when I got them back, I threw them away."

"Damn."

"You found something?" I said.

Ralston shook his head. "It'll be weeks before results come back from the lab, but I needed your clothing so they can try to match it with any fibers they do find." He rubbed his face. "What about a coat?"

I nodded. "I still have that."

Ralston lowered his hand and looked at me with interest.

"And it's got a fleece collar."

"Perfect," he said. "When can I have it?"

"Now. I'll go get it."

"I'll drive," he said.

Ralston pulled out onto Rocky Ford. "I've been thinking about what I said yesterday, about your contaminating the scene. I think we still have a chance, even though we messed up."

I noticed his use of "we" but didn't comment on it. "How?"

"Let's say the techs find a couple of strands of hair they can prove came from you. The defense will say their presence has nothing to do with any alleged abduction back in February. Well, there's this forensics guy in Anchorage who performed an experiment that demonstrates the gradual deterioration of hair left in the environment. In that case, it was the opposite scenario he had to prove, but that doesn't matter."

"How do you mean?"

Ralston slowed the Ford as he approached the sharp curve at the entrance to the future housing development. "In that case, the defendant was accused of murdering his ex-girlfriend in her apartment. Forensics found hair and other fibers that linked him to the scene on the bed where the woman was strangled, in the bathroom, in the living room carpet. He used to live there, so the defense simply claimed that any of his hair found in the apartment was old."