'First Pud, now him,' I said to Martin.
'Southern hospitality,' Martin said absently. His mind was still on the horses.
'Just so we're clear,' I said. 'I'm not after your wife. I won't tell you how to train horses.'
'My wife will be sorry to hear that,' Martin said.
'But the horses won't give a damn,' I said.
'They never seem to,' Martin said.
SIX
I WAS SITTING in an office at the Columbia County Sheriff's Lamarr substation with a man named Dalton Becker. He was a big, solid, slow black man. He had short graying hair. His coat was off and hanging behind the half-open door. His red-and-blue-striped suspenders were bright over his white shirt. He wore his gun tucked inside his waistband.
'You care for a Coca-Cola?' he said.
'Sure.'
'Vonnie.' He raised his voice. 'Couple Coca-Colas.'
We waited while a young black woman with bright blond hair sashayed in, chewing gum, and plopped two Cokes on his desk.
'Thank you, Vonnie,' Becker said.
She sashayed back out. He handed one to me, opened his, and took a drink.
'Here's what I know about this horse business,' he said. 'First of all, there's been three horses attacked. Not counting the alleged attack on Hugger Mugger. One of them died. All three attacks were here at Three Fillies. Far's I know, there have been no other attacks on other horses.'
'Alleged?'
'Yep. We only got the groom's word.'
'You believe the groom?' I said.
'I been at this awhile. I don't believe or not believe. I just look for evidence.'
'Anything wrong with the groom?'
'Nope.'
'Just native skepticism,' I said.
'You got any of that?'
'Some,' I said.
Becker smiled. I waited.
'First one was about a month ago, at the training track, here in Lamarr. Stable pony got plugged with a.22 caliber slug. Bullet went into the brain through the eye socket. He died. You know what a stable pony is?'
'I know he's not a racehorse.'
'That's enough to know,' Becker said. 'I don't know squat about horse racing either.'
'The other two were Thoroughbreds, one shot from a distance, probably a rifle with a scope, while he was walking around the training track. Hit him in the neck. I guess he'll recover. The other one was shot in the shoulder-he's all right, but I guess his racing days are finished. Both bullets were.22 long.'
As we talked Becker sipped on his Coke; otherwise he didn't move at all. He wasn't inert, he was solid. It was as if he would move when he chose to and nothing would move him before.
'Same weapon in all the shootings?'
'Far as anybody can tell,' Becker said.
'One bullet each?'
'Yep.'
'Is there a case file?' I said.
'Sure. Why?'
'Just wondered if you bothered,' I said.
'Always had a good memory,' Becker said. 'You can look at the file, if you want to.'
'Suspects?' I said.
'Well, so far I'm pretty sure it ain't me,' Becker said.
'Think it's the same person?'
'Could be. Or it could be one person shot the first one and a copycat shot the others. They're always out there. Could be somebody with a grudge against Clive.'
'Any evidence that it's either?'
