Kit Ehrman: At Risk

He glanced at his notes. "What about the two feed suppliers?"

"I've heard of them, but we haven't used either company, not since I've worked here."

"How long's that been?"

"Two years in June."

"And the fence company?"

"We buy supplies from them." I shifted in my seat and leaned my back against the door.

"Do they deliver the supplies?"

"Yes."

"When were they here last?"

I thought back to our last project. "In October."

"Where do they unload? Would they know the farm's layout?"

"Yeah, probably. We have them unload different places, depending on what we're working on."

"And Gregory Davis?"

"He's Foxdale's vet." I handed Detective Ralston the sheet. "And my landlord."

He tossed the printout into his briefcase and scribbled something in his notebook. "He'd know Foxdale's routine, then?"

"I guess so. He has a whole slew of clients, so I wouldn't say he's an expert on what goes on here." I gestured to his briefcase. "You don't think they have anything to do with what happened, do you?"

He glanced at me over the rims of his glasses. "I'm checking everyone."

Ralston shifted in his seat and looked toward the barns, and I couldn't begin to guess what he was thinking. When he said nothing further, I leaned my head against the vinyl headrest and stared unseeingly at the sun visor. After several minutes, I looked over at him. He was jotting down notes in a neat, controlled script. His fingernails were clean and well manicured, his hair cut military short. Everything about the man was neat and tidy, right down to his expertly-polished shoes.

I looked at my hands. Dirt was permanently ingrained in skin that was mostly chapped, and my fingernails weren't too clean, either. Come to think of it, my clothes were filthy, and I was certain I smelled like a horse, or worse.

I cleared my throat. "Why has the case been referred to you? I thought someone else was handling it?"

He shifted in his seat so that he was facing me, rested his arm on the backrest, and absentmindedly turned the pencil over in his fingers. With effort, I kept still under his gaze.

Finally, he said, "The detective who interviewed you in the hospital, Gary Linquist, he responded to a teletype I'd sent out to surrounding counties in the hope of connecting with anyone who's investigating a case similar to one I'm working."

"What kind of case?" I asked.

He gestured to the indoor. "Is that where the assault took place?"

I glanced at the huge building. "Yes."

"I need to look at the scene." He stopped fiddling with the pencil. "And I need you to walk me through what happened that night."

I looked out the windshield.

"I also want to see each stall a horse was taken out of and the location of the fuse box."

"Fuse box?"

"They didn't break the security lights," Ralston said. "Shooting them out would have made too much noise. Turning all of them off would have attracted attention. Based on Howard County's report, it looks like they just flipped the circuit breakers for half the security lights and nothing else."

I nodded. The light behind barn A and the one down the side lane to the implement building had been on. I remembered seeing them from the road.

I showed him each stall and, for the first time, realized that all of the stolen horses had been housed in barn A. Next, we went into the utility room. The fuse boxes were covered with a layer of black dust and smudges that I assumed were the result of fingerprinting.

He examined both boxes, then stooped down and angled the beam of his flashlight across the floor, even going as far as peering behind the water heaters and heating unit. "Was this room locked?"

"I don't know. It should have been." I looked at the floor. From one end of the room to the other, hoses snaked across the cement. We had stepped over them when we'd first walked into the room. "I guess the door could have been left unlocked. The crew's always coming in here to get the hoses since we can't keep them in the barns this time of year without them freezing."

"Do you remember locking it that night?"

"No."

He straightened and glanced at me but said nothing. After he examined the entire floor of the small room, I showed him where the truck and trailer had been parked between the barns, then we walked toward the parking lot.

As we neared the southwest corner of the indoor, I turned around and looked down the lane. "I was about here when I saw the rig."

"How much time passed from the time you pulled off the road until you first saw the truck and trailer?"

I glanced toward the road and shrugged. "I wasn't in a hurry. Five minutes. Probably not that long."

Ralston jerked his head toward the indoor. "You went in there to use the phone?"

"Yeah."

"Through there?" He pointed to the entry door by the bleachers.

"Yes."

"They moved fast." He crossed his arms over his chest and rubbed his chin. "Probably had a lookout posted. When he saw you turn off the road, he signaled the others, and they moved into position behind you. Except you walked into the building and surprised them. It still worked, but their strategy was risky. There's no other entrance to the farm?"

"No."

"Okay, show me what you did after you saw the truck and trailer."

I looked across the grass to the door. "Lessons are going on right now," I said. "We'll be disturbing them."

He looked me in the eye. "We won't actually be standing where the horses are working, will we?"

I shook my head.

"Well, come on then. Let's go."

I wiped my face with the sleeve of my coat, then strode across the grass. When he followed me into the arena, I said, "I left the door open, but I'd better shut it so we won't distract the horses."

"All right."

Across the arena, the school horses were lined up, waiting their turn while a cute bay pony with a naturally well-balanced stride negotiated the course of fences with ease. I pulled the door inward until the latch clicked.

"I was standing here." When I pointed at the pay phone, I was dismayed to see that my finger was trembling. I jerked my arm down to my side and stuffed my hands in my pockets, hoping he hadn't noticed. I cleared my throat. "Anyway, before I could pick up the phone, someone hit me over the head."

"Do you know what they used?"

"No… except it was hard."

Ralston's head shot up at the tone of my voice, and the corners of his mouth twitched. "Did it feel like wood, metal?"

"Oh. Wood."

"Then you fell?"

He had his flashlight out again, and if he could make anything of the jumble of footprints in the dirt, he was Sherlock Holmes incarnate.

"No. I lost my balance, but one of them shoved me against the wall there." I made a conscious effort at keeping my hand steady and pointed to the space between the door and pay phone.

Ralston stepped closer and angled the beam across the siding. Even though we kept the arena floor watered down, the horses kicked up a lot of dust. Except for a few smudge marks at shoulder height, it looked like ten-years' worth of dust and dirt coated the walls, and the spiders had been busy, too. I backed out of his way and pulled my coat collar up around my neck.

After a moment, he straightened and pocketed the flashlight, then walked behind the bleachers and paused alongside the large sliding door the students used to bring their horses into the arena. Because of the cold, it was open only a foot or two, just enough for a person to squeeze through.

He looked around. "Notice anything missing? Out of place?"

I scanned the area. Except for the bleachers and two fifty-five gallon drums we used for trash, the spectator space was empty. "No. Everything looks the way it always does."

Ralston peered into one of the drums. "When were these cans emptied last?"