by Glenna Mason
Elizabeth and Millie Kay reported their exciting news to Sir William. He was amazed at the swiftness of with which Elizabeth made progress on her project to find someone who had seen the horse van. He invited the two back at two-thirty. “Let’s give the Chief and the Taylor boys a chance to have Sunday dinner with their families,” he sensibly planned.
When Elizabeth and Millie Kay reached the coupe with the intention of making another stop or two, Elizabeth reassessed the situation. She glanced at the dashboard clock, which was just moving to ten forty-five. Pretty late for a Sunday morning call. She had expected to see the Andersons and the Taylors both by this hour.
Church bells pealed in the distance.
“Let's go to church, sweetheart,” Elizabeth suggested. “We're dressed for it.”
“Baptist?”
“Episcopal!”
So the morning ended as it began for the two ladies—in song. This time as the cross processed up the aisle, Elizabeth and Millie Kay joined the choir and the congregation in a rousing, glorious rendition of Handel's “Hallelujah Chorus” from the Messiah.
CHAPTER FIVE
When Elizabeth arrived at two-thirty on the dot at Sir William’s, the family room was already alive with activity. Clancey, just released from the hospital, was comfortably ensconced in Sir William's favorite leather arm chair, a fire blazing in the fireplace at his elbow. The Taylor boys were seated across from Clancey on a cushy leather sofa, leaning forward in earnest conversation with him. The three were comparing notes and etching a more precise description of the “big bruiser”, by honing their respective remembrances.
“Scruffy lookin' is how I'd describe 'em,” Clancey insisted.
“Brownish hair, scraggly and fairly long and unkempt,” said Jonathan. “And mean lookin' too.”
Elizabeth lingered near the door, listening to the three guys. Then Cameron abruptly opened it and announced, “Chief Clem, Sir William.” Cameron immediately stepped aside in true butler fashion, and Chief Clem's broad frame filled the doorway.
Sir William, already standing and not involved in the conversation by the fireplace, moved across the room to welcome the chief of police. “Good afternoon, Chief. We are so glad to see you, but sorry to impose on your Sunday.”
“Part of the job, dear boy.”
“Coffee? Tea? A little water with a dash of bourbon?” Sir William offered, with a wink.
“Coffee with cream would be fine, Sir William. And a glass of that water you mentioned too, if I may,” the Chief answered with a wink of his own.
“Cameron, could you please see to the chief's beverages?”
“Certainly, sir, with pleasure,” the butler said, as he moved toward the sterling coffee carafe and the cut glass crystal decanter with a silver bourbon label around its pretty neck.
Chief Clem, his hands full of drinks, headed across the oriental to the leather chair adjacent to Clancey's. Dropping himself heavily into the low seat, the chief began to concentrate on the witnesses beside him.
“Well, lads, I understand that you all are our eyewitnesses.” He stared at them with serious, but nonthreatening intent, a policeman at work-on-a-crime countenance. “You three may just be the key to solving a very brash crime. What do you say to that?”
The three sank deeper into their seats, overpowered by the magnitude of their position.
“What a feather in our caps, my boys, if Richmond and tiny Claysmount nail the perpetrators and outdo all central Kentucky, even the princess city of Lexington, don't you think?”
“Wow!” said Junior. “I hadn't thought of that. Would our names make the paper? Would Princeton perhaps find out?”
“Princeton, Kentucky?” asked Chief Clem, nonplussed.
“No, sir. I'm sorry. I meant Princeton U. Forget it! Just a little wishful thinking!”
“Oh, I see. Well, we could probably arrange for Princeton University to hear about it, young man.”
“Now, Sir William has offered a substantial reward—$100,000 wasn't it, Sir William?—for information which leads to the direct arrest of a guilty party or the direct return of Alexis and Junie, if he does not have to pay a ransom. Nice price tag.”
“I already got a raise. Stantonfield doesn't owe me another dime,” Clancey declared firmly.
Kitty, who had entered the room during the exchange, said, “Jonathan and Junior have already earned a spot at Princeton, if Dr. Jane and I have any alumni influence there.”
“Oh, Miss Bennet, thank you! That is my dream school,” Junior said.
“You have both earned a stellar recommendation!”
“What have you got for me, gentlemen?” Chief Clem inquired, trying to refocus the conversation.
“We have been comparin' impressions, Chief,” Clancey said. “The big oaf is the only one any of us saw.”
The next several moments were spent retracing Clancey's encounter with the “big blockhead” and with the chief getting a specific description of the van and its driver from the two teens.
“Sounds like we have the makings of a fairly specific identification on the co-conspirator. You even say, Jonathan, you may have seen him before. I'd appreciate it if you could just let your mind float over that for a day or two and see what surfaces. I will have you look at some mug shots to see if that can loosen your memory, but it may just be that he resembles an actor or singer you have subconsciously latched onto in your psyche”
“I don’t think so, Chief Clem. I feel it is someone local, but not someone I know, just someone I've seen around I think.”
“Someone local! Amazing! I will need for all three of you to accompany me after today's meeting to the police station for an official statement and a meet-up with our artist.”
“Official statements! Wow!” Jonathan exuded excitedly.
“Artist's sketch! Cool! Can I get a copy of each for my portfolio? I'll probably write my college essay on this happenstance,” said Junior. “One needs something different to get Princeton's attention.”
“Naturally you get a copy of anything you sign and may certainly have a photocopy of the sketch, when it is complete. But I will say one thing, if Princeton turns you two fine young men down, then they are not as smart as I think they are.”
The boys beamed.
Cameron reappeared at the door. “Lieutenant . . .” Before Cameron could finish his introduction, Lt. James burst past him into the room. Excited, he headed directly for the chief.
“Chief,” the lieutenant blurted out as he crossed the room, “I tried to call your cell, but I guess you have it off again. I took the liberty—oh, hello, Sir William. I'm sorry for the intrusion.”
“It is quite alright, Lt. James. Your business is my business right now. Do you have any news?”
“Well, as I was about to tell the chief, we have nailed down the license plate—oh, hi, Miss Kitty, Dr. Elizabeth—I'm afraid it is a dead end.”
“How so, James?” asked the chief.
“Chief, the license plate was a stolen one, taken off a truck at the back of a car lot in Lexington. We ran the plate as soon as Sir William called in the numbers. The Lexington police paid the owner a little friendly visit, but the poor guy was totally taken aback—in shock, according to my compatriot at the Lexington Police Department. He sent his staff scurrying and within a half hour the call came in. The vehicle was at the very back of his lot, near the fence and minus a license plate. Anyone with a screwdriver could have lifted it by simply scaling the wire fence.
“The Lexington police will interview all the employees, as well as all the past week's customers. But, Chief Clem, we all know this is a dead end.”
“Any other news, Lt. James?” requested Sir William. “That little bit is a balloon buster.”
“Sir William, our station is a madhouse. The fax machines are whirling nonstop, with mostly useless clues. Lt. Davenport is organizing all the data we receive. He’s charting it on a big board, thereby keeping us abreast of the latest info and assigning the prope
r people follow-up duty.” Lt. James paused for his first breath. “Policemen have begun interviewing everyone, owner and worker, on Pope Road, as well as the residents and businesses along the Richmond By-pass and the Berea and Lancaster corridors.”
“It will be a long, slow process, as you know, Sir William,” the chief said.
“I know, Chief. I am not worried. I know you will all do your best.”
“Cameron,” petitioned the chief, spying the butler unobtrusively standing near the doorway, “could I have just a little more of that flavored water?”
A replenished bourbon in his hand, the chief reported, “Sir William, the state police are also heavily involved in this investigation. And they have equipment that we in Richmond can only dream of. Yet there are so many communities involved that despite their incredible resources, they too are overwhelmed.”
“Are we the only community with witnesses?” inquired Maria, who had arrived a few minutes earlier and wrapped her arm around her father's. Her husband Gage entered the room just at that moment.
“Apparently so far, Mrs. Webb, but then it is early days yet. Most of the calls purporting sightings are more trouble than they are worth, but the man hours it takes to follow them up will be expended. They have to be,” Lt. James said officially.
“Our two were exceedingly unlucky. No one else was actually observed at the scene of the crime,” the chief said. “An amazing circumstance when one considers the magnitude of security at the farms and the number of horses stolen.”
“We have Clancey to thank for that, Chief Clem,” Maria responded, moving to the chair where Clancey was seated and patting him lightly on the back.
“Nonetheless, it bodes ill for the inquiry,” Chief Clem said. “However, we do have a substantial and verified description of one of our perpetrators. It is a significant start.”
“It is amazing, Chief Clem,” Gage said. “I mean who would imagine such an audacious crime could succeed with such ease.”
“Yes, the security at the farms is comparable to most federal buildings, and yet succeed it did.”
“It seems impossible that this could be an inside job—our staff are not only hired very carefully, but also most are longtime employees, with many years of faithful service—often second and third generation. And yet what other explanation can there be?”
“I have no answer, sir,” the chief replied. “It is a matter of legwork now.”
“By Monday we’ll need a detailed list of all Stantonfield employees, as well as the names of their family members, who live on the property,” Lt. James informed Gage. “Miss Kitty and Dr. Elizabeth, it would not hurt to have yours also, since your farm is in such close proximity to Sir William's. We will interview the whole street, but a detailed list is useful.”
“This is a big enterprise,” said Jonathan, his mouth slightly agape with awe.
“Yes,” interjected his brother, “with all the police tied up all over central Kentucky with the horse kidnappings, I hope nothing else criminal happens.”
A sudden wave of shock passed over the group. They had been so entwined in the local theft, they had not thought of the ramifications, if another big crime happened to occur at this precise time.
“You bet” was all the chief could muster in response. The others were all momentarily speechless.
“Now, friends,” Sir William interposed into the stunned silence, “the police do not have to expend every waking moment on this misadventure. Relax! Sure, it is such a big hit that only a terrorist attack on Churchill Downs on Derby Day could surpass the theft of seventeen thoroughbred horses in the state of Kentucky. But what is it really? Only a ransom ploy! Brilliant in execution to be sure! But, nevertheless, it is only money we speak of.”
“Only money,” the boys repeated quietly in unison.
“Mark my words! There will be a ransom call—probably tonight or tomorrow. Why call when no banks are open and when the owners can stew a little longer? Their hardest work is over. They have gotten away with it. Now they can sit back and reap the rewards,” Sir William said confidently.
Pouring himself another bourbon and topping off the chief's water, Sir William continued, “Now if you will excuse Kitty, Gage and me, we need to discuss a way to convert a few million in assets into ready cash before the call comes in. Gentlemen,” Sir William ended, bowing to the chief and the lieutenant.
Gage quickly crossed the room to join his father-in-law at the door. “Off to the races then, Sir William,” Gage said, trying for a joke, not his forte, obviously, as nobody laughed. Kitty exited with a sigh.
“Maria, you are in charge of our guests now,” her dad said. And to the others he said in retreat, “Thank you again for spending part of this lovely spring afternoon helping me.”
Lt. James and Chief Clem stood, as if on cue. “Mrs. Webb, you are a hostess of the first magnitude, but I must get these three fine citizens down to the police station to meet with my artist. The boys have a hankerin' to get back to their baseball, and I must get back to my grandson.”
“Of course, Chief. My best to Mrs. Clem. And to young . . .”
“Thomas, ma'am.”
“Why, Thomas was almost my son’s name too, for Dr. Thomas Bennet. He delivered Trey just before he retired.”
“Oh? A great name and a great man. My Thomas is named for Dr. Bennet., you know. Doc delivered him and his mom, my daughter.”
“I admire both Dr. Thomas and Dr. Francine. They were my mother’s best friends. The work they do for animals is beyond admirable. I hope my son Trey and your grandson will become friends.”
“Yes, Mrs. Webb, I feel they very well may,” Chief Clem said.
“Clancey? Jonathan and Junior? Shall we?”
“Yes, sir,” the teens responded, obviously quite fascinated with the prospects ahead. “Then can we tell our girlfriends?” Junior asked.
“I do not see why not, my fine young men, but do swear them to secrecy. The less who know what you know right now, the better.”
Clancey too rose, if somewhat begrudgingly, from his wonderfully seductive chair by the intoxicating fire. In a far corner, Patrick O'Shaunesey also got up to accompany Clancey on the errand to the police station.
Elizabeth likewise took her leave. Elizabeth, having walked over, started the trek back across the extensive lawn and various fields, climbing fences, waving at the lads and the new security recruits and singing “My Old Kentucky Home” at the top of her lungs. Even some of the horses stopped eating long enough to stare.
A subtle, but undeniable euphoria was invading Elizabeth's psyche. The volumes in her library called to her. There must be a directive there somewhere. She thought about Edgar Allan Poe's C. August Dupin, the now famous detective of “The Murders at the Rue Morgue,” and his library's designation as a “book closet.”
“How apropos for my purposes tonight.” Elizabeth decided. “I am going to ‘closet’ myself with my books, until I find an answer.”
A new direction did indeed await Elizabeth, but its mystery was only incidentally in Elizabeth's library.
CHAPTER SIX
Just as Sir William had predicted, Monday morning around nine fifteen, he received the ransom call. When the ten owners finally conferred around noon, they learned that all of them had been contacted between nine and ten-thirty and had received identical instructions.
The instructions were simple and straightforward: (1) two million dollars in cash in unmarked bills was to be transported in a two horse van with no markings, which was to be driven south on I-75, commencing at the most direct route from the locale of each owner's hometown; (2) no police notification of the ransom call; (3) no publicity of any kind; (4) owner to carry cell phone for directions, which would be given in route; (5) any suspicious behavior by any owner and no horses would be returned; (6) individual cell phone numbers would be obtained in a final call between eight and nine on Friday night; (7) delivery to begin exactly at nine Saturday morning; (8) the penalty for not maint
aining absolute secrecy and privacy until such a time as released by a final call en route home would result in future and unspecified damage to owner's home, barns and livestock.
*****
Although a little disappointed that the license plate did not lead directly to the villains, Elizabeth, was not actually surprised. On reflection, and Elizabeth had done a lot of it last night in her book closet, she understood that an individual or syndicate, or somewhere in between, clever enough to engineer such a masterful heist would be highly unlikely to be undone by a simple license plate, a clue so simple to avoid.
“At least we have a description and an artist‘s sketch of one of the kidnappers,” Elizabeth consoled herself. And today was a brand new day of detection. Elizabeth was encouraged that although she had only gone to only one of her assigned visitations yesterday, she had hit proverbial pay-dirt. Perhaps today would be equally successful. She had four more houses to visit.
So it was with renewed purpose and definitive expectation that Elizabeth once again drove the short route to Jackson's Retreat at nine that morning, exactly fifteen minutes before Sir William received his ransom demand. Dressed comfortably in jeans and a sweater, Elizabeth, having called ahead this time, arrived at the Anderson home a few minutes past the hour.
Allison Anderson was waiting on the front porch, her Scotch terrier on a leash beside her. “Hi, Lizzy. It's been too long. It was good to get your call.”
“Hi, Allie,” Elizabeth said. “It is wonderful to see you. My two jobs keep me so preoccupied that I do not get around much. Horses and students predominate my life, I'm afraid.”
“You look wonderful. I love those jeans. They fit you to a tee.”
“Do you think they are too tight? I have gained some, since I bought them.”
“Lizzy, you have a figure to die for, dear. Come on in. Iced tea or coffee?” asked Allie Anderson, as she led the way into her entry hall, where the sun was already streaming through the two-story Palladium window onto the black and white marble floor. A baby grand piano was tucked into the curve of a spiral staircase. An immediate impact of elegance and the expectation of further grandeur greeted the visitor in this spectacular setting.
