Tom Wallace - Gnosis

Despite her concerns, Laurie decided to reserve judgment until she spoke with Charlie. At the very least, Charlie and Dan deserved to be accorded the benefit of the doubt. Both were decorated, celebrated cops. They had earned that much.

“Sam Spade-you have the look of a very troubled woman,” Angie said, softly, breaking nearly a minute of silence.

Laurie nodded. “As the prison warden said to Cool Hand Luke, ‘what we’ve got here is failure to communicate.’”

Sitting alone in O’Charley’s, her thoughts racing a hundred miles an hour and in fifty different directions at the same time, Laurie felt like she was being beaten up by some invisible force inside her. An inner tornado had been unleashed, resulting in a war among competing options, possibilities, and scenarios, none of which were positive or pleasant to contemplate. ‘What should be her next move?’ she silently asked herself. Her instincts said she should call Charlie and have him verify Angie’s recollection of what happened that night. She should also ask him to explain why neither he nor Dan had spoken to Angie at the crime scene. Her curiosity screamed the same thing. That those two excellent detectives had not done so was more than puzzling; it went against everything she knew about both men. Until that puzzle was pieced together to her satisfaction, she could not-would not-allow herself to believe that Charlie Bolton and Dan Matthews committed such a bonehead rookie mistake.

She speared a piece of lettuce from her Caesar salad, held the fork suspended above the plate for several seconds, and put it down. Her appetite had vanished, a victim of the swirling mass of thoughts and emotions ripping through her. She drank some water, took out her cell phone, and began to punch in Charlie’s number. Halfway through, she closed the phone and dropped it back into her purse. The voice in her head told her that calling him now would be making that rush to judgment she wanted to avoid.

There was an alternative option, one that made far more sense. She would phone Dantzler, fill him in on what she had learned, and find out how he wanted to proceed. That would relieve her of having to make the decision concerning Charlie. Let it be Dantzler’s call. Besides, there was always the possibility he had uncovered some information in the murder book that would contradict Angie’s memory of not being interviewed by one of the detectives. Laurie hoped that was the case. If it wasn’t, then Dantzler had no choice but to ask Charlie about it.

For now, though, she wanted to go home, put on a sweat suit and running shoes, and go jogging. Running was her way to escape the shackles of her job while also serving as the mechanism by which she calmed the storm raging inside her. Ultimately, she ran in order to remain sane.

Charlie Bolton, Eli Whitehouse, and Angie Iler would have to wait. Top priority now was Laurie Dunn’s mental well being.

She grabbed her purse and the check, paid the bill, and headed home.

Dantzler was surprised to learn that he knew Rachel Whitehouse, Eli’s daughter. She was now Rachel Foster, wife of Kirk Foster, a former circuit judge who currently held the position of chief of staff to the governor. The Fosters also owned and operated RKF Farm, one of the most successful thoroughbred farms in the nation. They were politically powerful, very wealthy, and highly placed among the social elite. The Fosters were, in every respect, an A-list couple.

Dantzler only knew Rachel in passing; he couldn’t recall ever having had a conversation with her. He was more familiar with Kirk, although he wouldn’t include the man among his coterie of friends,. A nodding acquaintance at best. Primarily, he knew the Fosters from the Lexington Tennis Club, where they were members, and where Dantzler was part owner.

As a young man, Kirk experienced some success as a junior tennis player, having once been ranked in the top ten in several age divisions. His love for the sport carried over into adulthood. So did the confidence he gained as a youngster. Three years ago, Kirk, yielding to a burst of self-assurance, challenged Dantzler to a set of tennis. Dantzler, arguably the best tennis player in Lexington, won six-love. Like many powerful, successful men, Kirk did not graciously accept defeat. He quickly challenged Dantzler to a second set. The result was the same. It took two subsequent sets, both ending at six-love, before Kirk finally raised the flag of surrender.

“Come on, fellow,” Kirk said when the two men met at the net. “Couldn’t you at least have given me a sympathy game?”

“I would have,” Dantzler replied, “if you hadn’t been so damn sure you could beat me.”

Dantzler enjoyed few things more than humbling a cocky opponent.

After learning that Rachel Foster was Eli Whitehouse’s daughter, Dantzler went to the Tennis Club in search of Kirk. Arriving at seven-fifteen p.m., Dantzler went downstairs to the courts, where Kirk was involved in a doubles match. Dantzler waited until the changeover before approaching Kirk.

When Kirk noticed Dantzler heading in his direction, he stood, and said, “Have you finally seen fit to apologize for the beating you gave me?”

Dantzler shook his head. “I never apologize for winning.” He waited until Kirk’s partner walked past before continuing. “Listen, Kirk, I need to speak with your wife. Would she happen to be here tonight?”

“No. She’s out of town,” Kirk answered, wiping his face with a white towel. “If you don’t mind my asking, why do you need to speak with her?”

“Some questions regarding Eli.”

“You know her father?”

“I don’t know him. I met him once, at the prison.”

“That’s where she’s been today, visiting him. She should be home around nine, maybe a little later. When would you like to meet?”

“Tomorrow, if possible.”

“Is something going on that I should know about?”

“I need to get some information from her, that’s all. Clear up a few things.”

“Come to the farm in the morning. Ten, if that’s okay. I’ll leave your name with the guard and he’ll let you through. Go to the first barn on your left. That’s where she will be.”

“Thanks, I really appreciate it.”

“Still no apology, though, right?”

“Never.”

Dantzler identified himself to the guard and was immediately waved through the gate. Following Kirk’s directions, he drove slowly toward the main house, his eyes on the lookout for the barn. It wasn’t until he crossed over a wooden bridge that the barn came into view. Turning left, he traveled another hundred yards, eventually stopping and parking behind a white Cadillac Esplanade.

Rachel Whitehouse Foster was standing just outside of the barn, cup of coffee in one hand and a clipboard in the other hand. She was dressed in Levis, a sweatshirt, leather boots, and a white baseball cap with RKF Farm on the front. A stopwatch dangled from her neck.

“My husband tells me you show no mercy on the tennis court,” she said, tucking the clipboard under her arm. “What was it, six-love times four?”

“I like bagels.”

“Probably did him some good, being cut down to size like that.” She extended her free hand. “Hello, I’m Rachel Foster. I’ve seen you around for years. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Thanks for taking the time,” Dantzler said, shaking her hand. “And for meeting me on such short notice.”

“Let’s go inside,” Rachel said, gesturing toward the barn. “To my grand air-conditioned office. You may not care much for the smell of horse manure, but at least you’ll be cool.”