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?'
'I don't know. Dave empties them when they get full enough to bother with.'
'Dave Wade?' Ralston said, and I saw he'd done his homework.
'Yeah.'
'Into the Dumpster out front?'
'Yes.' I looked at the accumulation of empty soda cans, paper cups, and candy wrappers. Someone had even tossed a frayed crop into the trash. 'The truck comes every Friday.'
'It's been here already?' Ralston said.
'Uh-huh. Around one o'clock.'
'Could you get Mr. Wade over here?'
'He's already gone home.'
Detective Ralston compressed his lips in annoyance. When he couldn't get Dave on his cell phone, he pulled on plastic gloves and carefully emptied both drums into a large plastic bag that he'd dug out of the trunk of his car. Dressed in a suit and tie, he looked as incongruous rooting around in the trash as he had earlier walking through the barn.
He taped the mouth of the bag shut, scribbled on a label, and chucked it into the trunk. When he noticed my expression, he said, 'If Mr. Wade hasn't emptied them since the theft, it's worth a closer look.'
I nodded and tried to smother a grin as I followed Ralston back into the indoor. When he asked to see where I'd collapsed, I pointed out the spot alongside the bleachers. Ralston unhooked his flashlight and flicked it on. He scanned the ground and angled the beam under the bleachers near the metal uprights. I pulled my cap off and yanked my coat open. At the sound of the snaps popping apart in quick succession, Ralston glanced up from where he was crouched. I crossed my arms on one of the planks at shoulder level, rested my head on my arms, and wondered what was taking him so long. My skin felt clammy, though the air temperature was close to freezing.
'What happened next, Steve?'
I squinted at him, then reluctantly lifted my head and told him the rest.
Ralston folded his arms across his chest. 'And you don't-'
A sharp crack split the air and echoed off the metal walls. I jumped as if I'd been shocked with a cattle prod. It was just one of the horses rapping the top rail of a jump.
Just one of the horses.
I rubbed my forehead.
'Okay,' Ralston said. 'I think we're done in here. Let's finish up in the car.'
'Finish up?' I mumbled.
'Yes. I have a few more things to go over.'
Back outside, the white metal siding glowed pink as the sun neared the horizon. It wouldn't be long before it disappeared behind the tree line, and as so often happens, the wind had died down with the sun's descent. I climbed back into Ralston's car and wondered when I'd be getting back to work.
He slammed his door and flipped through the ever present notebook. 'I have a list of the owners of the stolen horses. I want you to tell me what you know about each one, okay?'
I nodded, and he started checking off names. I hesitated when he got to Sanders.
He looked over at me, his pencil poised, waiting. 'What's the deal with him?'
I shrugged. 'Nothing. I just don't like him much.'
'Why?'
'No particular reason. It's more a personality conflict than anything.' I sighed. 'I don't really know why I don't like him… He's not a good horseman.'
'What do you mean?'
'Oh, stuff like not cooling out his horse after he's worked him, being too aggressive when he rides. Things like that. It's more like he uses his horse, treats him like an object instead of a living, breathing animal.'
Frowning at my explanation, Ralston switched on the engine and slid the control levers into position for maximum heat output. I listened to the purr of the engine and thought about how Sanders used his horse as a bizarre sort of aphrodisiac.
Ralston must have seen something in my expression because he said, 'What are you thinking?'
'Nothing… Nothing to do with this.'
'Tell me anyway.'
He'd said it like I didn't have a choice. Like I wouldn't be getting out of his car if I didn't tell him what he wanted to know, which kind of pissed me off. But it wasn't any big deal, so I told him.
When he checked off the last name, he said, 'The evidence clearly shows they were familiar with the farm's layout and routine.'
'Um.'
'Tell me about the employees. Anyone have a gripe with management?'
I thought about Brian and decided that his grumpy attitude didn't make him a suspect. 'No. They're a pretty good group.'
He shifted in his seat and leaned against the door. 'And you didn't recognize their voices?'
I shook my head. 'The guy with the ball cap,' and a whine in his voice I thought but kept to myself, 'I've never seen him before. I'm sure of that. As for the other two, far as I remember, they always spoke in a whisper. I don't know whether I could have recognized them under those circumstances.'
'Maybe you do know them, and they were trying to disguise their voices.'
I didn't like that thought one little bit. That someone I knew could be so callous. Could hate me so much. Someone I knew, maybe even liked and trusted. I didn't believe it. I turned in my seat to face him and said, 'So. What similarities?'
'What?'
'You said there are similarities between the case you're working on and this one.'
He looked at me with an expression that would have served him well in a high-stakes poker game. When he spoke, his voice was flat. 'Six months ago, seven horses were stolen from a farm in Carroll County. Not far from here, actually. The owner was murdered.'
