'They might have been here already.' I told him about the fire.
Ralston glared at me, and I suddenly felt like a little kid who'd been caught out.
'Why in the hell didn't you tell me about this before now?'
'You were in Pennsylvania.'
His eyes narrowed. 'I wasn't there today.'
I didn't say anything, and after a minute or two, he propped his elbows on the counter and rubbed his face. The overhead lights reflected off his blond hair.
'How'd it go up there, anyway?' I said.
'They found her late yesterday. Got some good trace, even DNA, but-'
'She's dead?'
Ralston nodded. 'I don't think her case is related. It felt staged. Too many differences in the MO, and no signature. My money's on the boyfriend.'
'What's a signature?'
'A compulsive behavior the killer doesn't vary from victim to victim.'
I frowned. 'How could there be a signature if Peters is your only victim?'
'He isn't. There are two other cases in the computer that closely match the MO in the Peters' case-David Rowe and Larry Jacob. Only difference is, they weren't part of the horse community.'
My skin felt clammy. 'They sound familiar, but I can't think.. '
'They were on my list the first time I interviewed you, mixed in with the grain dealers and fence companies.'
'What's the… signature?' I said but wasn't sure I wanted to know.
'They were all bound with baling twine and beaten, and their throats were cut.'
I swallowed and looked at my hands. 'Like Boris.'
'What?'
'The cat. They cut the cat's throat, too.' I looked at his face. 'Why are you telling me this?'
'I want you to take your situation seriously.'
'Shit. I do.'
'Have you still been going to the farm early, before anyone else?'
'Yeah,' I said, 'but now there's a guard.'
'I mean before the guard.'
I shrugged. 'I can't let them run my life.'
'Just end it?'
I looked down at the counter top.
'Which security firm?'
'Eastfield,' I said.
Ralston grunted.
'Was James Peters' throat cut?'
Ralston nodded.
'I didn't know.'
'Only partial information's released to the press,' Ralston said. 'Comes in handy when you're interviewing suspects or flakes who confess to crimes they didn't commit.' Ralston pulled a notepad from his jacket pocket. 'Go over your schedule with me so I can start working this out.'
I told him what my normal routine was like, and he suggested some changes I could live with.
'And I'll talk to your boss and suggest they switch to Reinholdt Security. They're more professional, and they're armed.'
Ralston picked up the phone and punched in a number. I propped my elbows on the counter, jammed my fingers in my hair, and rested my forehead against my palms. I listened as he tried to make arrangements and realized from the tone of his voice that his plans weren't working out. When he slammed down the receiver, I flinched.
'You're going to have to stay somewhere else until I can get a team together,' Ralston said. 'I don't have enough to justify having a detail stationed here without convincing my superiors first. I can't get it arranged tonight, but I will.'
'Is it that bad?'
'I don't know. I don't want to find out the hard way.' He looked me straight in the eye. 'And neither do you.'
The loft was so quiet, I could hear the second hand on the stove clock clicking like a metronome.
'Is there somewhere else you can stay?' Ralston said.
'It's almost midnight. I'll be back at work in five hours. In the morning, I'll ask a guy at the farm if I can stay with him. I'm sure he'll let me, at least for a while.'
He frowned, then lifted the phone off the hook and held it out to me. 'Wake him up.'
I called Marty, and he said he would unlock his door and that I was damn lucky he didn't have company. I smiled as I hung up and said, 'It's arranged.'
'Do you have my card?'
I shook my head.
He fished a card out of his wallet, wrote down his pager number and Dorsett's, and handed it to me. 'Call either one of us directly if you're worried about something, even if it seems insignificant, okay? And key in 911 after your number if you're in trouble.'
I nodded.
Chapter 19
I closed the door quietly behind me and waited for my eyes to adjust to the dark. The whir of a fan drifted from the half-opened door to Marty's bedroom. After a minute or so, I dumped my duffel bag on the floor by the sofa and walked into the kitchen. The sink was cluttered with dirty dishes, and a collapsed Budweiser 24-pack and Domino's pizza box lay on the floor by the trash can. Chocolate ice cream from the bottom of an empty half-gallon carton had seeped across the counter and puddled on the floor. The room smelled of onions and beer.
My muscles were tense, and a dull ache had settled behind my eyes. I snagged two beers from the fridge, downed one, then set the empty on the counter. I flicked off the light switch and carried the unopened can into the darkened living room.
I slumped down on Marty's sagging sofa. After I polished off the second beer, I wedged a pillow against the armrest and lay down. I hadn't eaten since lunch and already had a buzz going.
The phone's ringing brought me slowly back to consciousness, like mist rising off the surface of a lake. I had been dreaming. A nice dream, too. I opened my eyes and at first couldn't remember where I was, or why. Couldn't tell, from how I felt, whether I had been asleep for minutes or hours.
Marty's voice, thick with sleep, drifted through the open bedroom door. 'Steve, it's for you.'
I reached over the armrest and picked up the phone.
'This is Larry Oaks from Eastfield Security. There's something wrong with one of the horses.'
His voice sounded hoarse, and I wondered if he'd been asleep. 'What do you mean?' I mumbled.
'It keeps trying to get up but can't,' he said, 'like it's stuck.'
'Shit. Which horse?'
'I don't know. A brown one.'
Each stall was numbered, information cards hung on every stall door, and he didn't know which one. It figured. 'Which barn, then?'
'The one with the arena in it.'
'Okay, I'll be right there.' I hung up. If the horse was simply cast, it would probably be up and fine by the time
