by Otto Penzler
Eric finally locked the folders away in his safe again and went to bed.
Sleep eluded him.
Mark changed the will for a reason, did what he did with the sale of his horses for a reason. He must have suspected Shackel or someone connected with Shackel of arranging Carlotta’s fatal accident. Did Mark commit suicide?
Again the nagging doubts arose, but this time they were based on something more than his inability to believe that Mark would abandon Jimmy. If Mark was planning suicide, he would not leave those photos of Carlotta’s death behind, not if there was any chance that Jimmy might find them. And suicide did not fit in with his apparent drive to discover what happened to Carlotta.
Or did Mark feel guilty about her death?
Not for intentionally causing it, but bringing her closer to someone who did… that might have been hard for him to bear, but would he kill himself before seeing her killer brought to justice? Leave Jimmy behind, unaware of what had happened?
Then he wondered if Jimmy were so unaware after all. He remembered the way he had talked about Shackel, warning Eric to be careful.
He dozed off, but awoke well before dawn. He showered and dressed and made a phone call to a security company he had used on other occasions. The regular staff wasn’t in yet, but he was promised a call back as soon as possible.
He put on a warm jacket and wrote a note for Jimmy, who would be up soon. He walked across the road to Copper Hills, his breath fogging in the chill air. Despite the cold and the darkness, grooms and others were already at work in the barn area. He found Donna talking to an exercise rider. He waited out of earshot, not wanting to intrude, but she saw him, smiled, and came over to where he stood.
“You’re up early this morning,” she said.
“Or up late, depending on how you look at it.”
“Hmm. That doesn’t sound good.”
“It’s not. I need to talk something over with you—I know this is the worst time of day—”
She waved this off and invited him into her office. He poured out his story. Although her face registered shock, and then sadness, she listened quietly, not interrupting. She stayed quiet for long moments after he stopped talking. He wondered if he sounded crazy to her, but nothing in her manner indicated that she was withdrawing from him. This was simply the way she dealt with any crisis—she stayed calm, reflective, and did not shout out the first thing that came to mind.
“Where’s Jimmy?” she asked.
He glanced at his watch. “He’ll probably be over here in a few minutes.”
“Then let’s talk again after he goes to school. I don’t want him coming in on the middle of this, do you?”
“No. In fact—let me call this detective. Maybe I’ve made something out of nothing.”
“Maybe, but all of it taken together—I think there might be something to this. And I can understand why it kept you up last night.” She paused, then said, “You need help getting Mark’s car from the impound yard?”
“Yes, but I’ve already taken up so much of your time—”
“I wouldn’t offer if I couldn’t do it. Besides, we’ll have a chance to talk on the way over. Bring that envelope with you— maybe I’ll recognize some of the numbers in Mark’s notes.”
Jimmy soon came into the office, holding up his wake-up bot and controller. “Not going to use them here, I promise. Just want Uncle Eric to know I’m amazed. The first morning…” He looked more closely at Eric. “What’s wrong?”
“Couldn’t sleep, that’s all.”
Jimmy exchanged a quick glance with Donna, then said, “I think you should wait a little while before going back to the other house.”
“Might be a good idea. By the way, I wanted to mention something else to you.” He told them he was going to hire security for Zuppa Inglese, and—although they objected—for each of them as well.
“Humor me,” he told them. “I can’t take any more loss.”
That had ended all protest.
After Jimmy got on the school bus, Eric called Detective Wade. He explained that Mark had died.
“Died! He was in his thirties, right?”
“Apparent suicide,” Mark said, and explained the circumstances of his brother’s death.
There was a pause, then Wade said, “What aren’t you telling me, Mr. Halsted?”
He hesitated. “I have absolutely no proof of my suspicions—and those suspicions are not centered on any individual. I’m just less and less certain that my brother committed suicide.”
“I’ll tell you this, I wouldn’t think it of him. Not with the boy to look after. And he was on a mission.”
Eric felt an overwhelming sense of relief. “Perhaps we could meet a little later today, Detective?”
Wade agreed to this, and they set an appointment for one o’clock. Wade then asked, “Who handled the case in Osita County?”
Eric recalled the taciturn man who had dealt with him in the “let’s get this over with” manner in the days after Mark’s death. A heavy-set, gray-haired man who seemed to know his business without demonstrating any real enthusiasm for it. He had not been cruel, he had not been kind. “Detective Del-more,” Eric said.
He heard Wade swear softly. “Well, that explains all kinds of things. Your brother’s case must have been the last one he handled before he retired. And I’m sorry—I was on vacation around the time your brother died, so I didn’t get word.”
“Because he died in another county,” Eric said.
“That’s probably part of it. But I suppose it was in the news here?”
“A small item in the local paper.”
“Hmm. Listen, I know a good guy over there in Osita. Fellow by the name of Pearsley. I’ll give him a call and see if he’ll take another look at it.”
On the way to the impound yard, Donna identified the names on Mark’s lists. “If I’m not mistaken, those men all work for Shackel. Jimmy will know for sure, if you can come up with a way of asking him.”
“I’ve been wondering when I should talk to him about this.”
“Hard call. I can see why you’d hesitate. But he’s a sharp kid, and it would probably be better for you to be up-front with him. I think the worst thing that could happen would be for him to find out about it on his own.”
“True.”
“He’ll also know who was present during the foaling.”
She knew only three of the numbers Mark had scribbled down. The number of a veterinarian. The number for the state horse-racing board. “The other is for that attorney who drew up the contract about Zuppa. Shackel likes him. I don’t think much of him. We can check those other numbers against my computer records, though.”
At the impound yard, he told her not to wait for him, but she insisted on staying. “After all this time sitting here, it may not make it back home. I’d better follow you.”
At the front counter they were greeted by a squat, balding sergeant who smiled at Donna and then frowned as he studied his computer records for the car. He scrolled down a bit and whistled. “Long time—oh, I see, it was Delmore’s case.” He muttered something under his breath about Detective Delmore. He read for a while, his frown deepening. “Your brother?” he asked Eric.
Eric nodded.
“Sorry for your loss…” This was said absently as he continued to study the monitor, apparently unable to find something he was looking for. “Tell you what, let me see if I can get the fines lowered, since just between you and me, it was really our detective that caused the thing to sit here all these months.”
While they were waiting for him to return, the security company called. Eric told them what he wanted. “Can you get someone to start as early as tomorrow?” he asked. They said they could and gave him the names of the members of the team they would send.
The sergeant came back, pleased to give him the news that all fines were waived. He led them toward the Corvette, rolling a portable battery starter as he went. Seeing the car saddened Eric—he thought
of how much Mark had loved riding around in it. Although Eric had never been one for status symbols, he knew Mark was not quite so averse to them. Here was the first status symbol his brother had bought, now covered in dust and bird droppings.
The sergeant released the hood and hooked up the starter, then asked Eric to get in and give it a try. As Eric got into the driver’s seat, he found himself in a novel situation—sitting too far back from the wheel and pedals. He started to reach for the seat adjustment, then stopped himself an instant before his hand was on the lever. He got out of the car, much to the sergeant’s consternation.
“Pardon me, Sergeant, but can you tell me if the officer who drove the car here from the place where my brother was found is a very tall person?”
“The car wasn’t driven here. It was brought here on a flatbed tow truck and lowered right into that space there. Not even the lab guys have been near it, ’cause from all I can tell, Delmore never asked them to take a look. So except for whatever rain and dust and guano might have landed on it over the months, this car is just the way your brother left it, mileage and all.”
“That can’t be true.” He held up a hand as the sergeant bristled. “What I mean is, my brother was shorter than I am. The seat is now so far back, it seems that someone much taller than either of us was the last person to drive the car.”
After a moment’s pause, he said, “You sure he was shorter than you?”
“Absolutely positive.”
The sergeant swore under his breath.
Remembering his conversation with Detective Wade, Eric said, “If you don’t mind, Sergeant, would you please contact Detective Pearsley about this? A detective from Copper County was going to try to talk to him about a case that might possibly be related to my brother’s death.”
“You know Pearsley?” he said, brightening. “Oh sure.” He unhooked the charger and lowered the hood. “Let’s get in out of this cold.”
Within a few minutes, they were introduced to a lean man whom Eric guessed to be in his early forties. Eric liked Pearsley immediately—his manner, his attentiveness, his obvious intelligence all made Eric wish that he had been the one to get Mark’s case in the first place. The detective had already spoken to Wade, although he hadn’t had time yet to pull the file on the case. Eric showed him the second folder, and Pearsley asked to keep it. Eric was reluctant, until Pearsley agreed to photocopy the materials in it. As he handed the copies to Eric, he smiled and said, “Mind if I have a look at the other folder you have in that envelope?”
“Uh, that might be a little bit ticklish.”
Within a matter of minutes, though, Pearsley had not only reassured him, but managed to talk him into handing the copy of the Copper County investigation over, too. Pearsley won the argument by saying, “Better if Wade hears the explanation about how you got it from me than from you.”
He asked if Eric would be willing to leave the car there a little longer. “I don’t know what the lab will be able to do at this point, but I’d like to have them take a look at it.”
Eric agreed to it.
Pearsley gave him a talk about leaving the investigation to law enforcement.
Eric stayed silent. He understood what Pearsley was saying, but he also couldn’t bring himself to promise not to try to find out who killed his brother.
Pearsley tried again.
“I understand,” Eric said.
The detective sighed in frustration.
• • •
By the time they finished talking to Pearsley, Eric realized he was nearly late to meet with Wade.
“I’ll take you,” Donna said. “Easier to go straight there without going back for your car.”
“I’m tying up your whole day.”
“This is important to me,” she said, then added, “Unless you’d rather meet with him alone? I can wait outside—”
“No, no—I like—I mean, I always want…” He stopped, took a breath, and said, “I’m glad you’re with me today. And not just because of the moral support factor. And I sincerely hope my saying that doesn’t make you feel uncomfortable.”
She smiled. “No, it doesn’t.”
“Well… good,” he said. He looked out the truck window as they passed rolling pastureland, wondering how three words could make a person feel so relieved, excited, and anxious at the same time.
The meeting with Wade went smoothly—just as he had paved the way with Pearsley, Pearsley had obviously paved the way with Wade. Although Eric wouldn’t like to be whatever member of the department had copied the case file once Wade caught up with him or her (a clerical volunteer seemed to be his chief suspect), Wade didn’t seem to be inclined to take it out on Eric or Donna.
Wade showed them photographs taken by the lab of a number of fragments of plastic and metal objects, and enlarged views of the microscopic particles of paint.
“When the two vehicles made contact, they damaged each other in ways that caused pieces to fall off each of them. They dented and scraped each other, and each took some of the paint from the other. They tell me the level of impact, and marks on the SUV show that her vehicle was hit from behind, on the left rear side. So we looked at the pieces that this other vehicle might have dropped. It lost most of a headlamp, and our lab guys painstakingly put those pieces together. It’s a right-hand side—passenger side—Ford headlamp, could fit either a Ranger or a Bronco, from years 1989 to 1992. So we’ve got someone in an older truck or Bronco, that limits it somewhat, but then we are still looking at a hell of a lot of vehicles. Rangers are popular. You’ve got one, right, Ms. Freepoint?”
“An F-250.”
“Lotta truck for a gal. But you’re a horse trainer, and doing towing. Besides it’s blue, and we know that this truck was white.”
“I’ve got a white truck, too,” she said, “bigger than this one.”
Eric couldn’t help smiling.
“An old Ranger?” Wade asked.
“No.”
“Well, see, if all we had was white and a truck, or even a Ford truck, you’d be in the pool of possible suspects, along with all the other folks who owned or had access to similar vehicles. But all these little bits of info from the forensic guys add up, and as they add up, they also narrow our pool of possible suspects. White is not an unusual color for trucks, but this one also had paint on it that didn’t come from the factory. Now, this is a big break for us, because it was probably custom painted on a vehicle, and we may be able to find the place that did it, if it was done nearby.”
“What color?” Eric asked.
“Red,” Wade said.
“So the truck was red, not white?”
“It was both, but the red was probably added on later.”
“Red and white—those are Shackel Farm’s colors.”
Wade’s brows went up. “Shackel Farm? The place where Mrs. Halsted was going that night?”
“Yes, and the place my brother was watching through field glasses the day he died.”
Eric showed him his copies of Mark’s notes. “Detective Pearsley has all these as well.”
Wade made a set of them, too, muttering something about it being a shame that he hadn’t seen him before Pearsley got hold of the originals.
“Detective Wade,” Eric said, “I think it’s clear that Shackel was involved in both deaths. He was one of a handful of people who knew that Carlotta was on the way to the farm. I’m not saying he forced her off the road himself.” He paused, taking a deep breath to try to calm himself. “Well,” he added bitterly, “he had a great alibi, didn’t he?”
“Mr. Halsted—”
“And while you were on vacation, my brother got copies of your files, and it just confirmed what he had been thinking—that the only people who knew that Carlotta was on that road worked for Shackel—”
Wade tried again. “Mr. Halsted—”
“Mark probably wasn’t even watching the horses that day. He was probably spying on Shackel, looking for that truck. And somehow Shack
el saw Mark, or maybe Mark confronted him, and then—I don’t know, drugged him. Then loaded him into the Corvette and drove him out to the woods and shot him—”
“Mr. Halsted!”
Donna reached over and put a hand on Eric’s arm. He fell silent, but he could feel himself shaking with anger.
“Mr. Halsted, you have every reason to be upset, and every reason to let law enforcement professionals handle things from here.”
“Like hell. Delmore was a law enforcement professional! He convinced me my brother’s death was a suicide! All these months—!” He drew an unsteady breath.
“Let’s say,” Wade said, his voice low and quiet, “things went just as you theorize—and I must emphasize that it is a theory, and yours, and at the moment completely unproven. But let’s say you’re right. First, if your brother hadn’t tried to play detective, you probably wouldn’t be raising his son right now.”
Eric looked away.
“Second, as long as Mr. Shackel has no idea you are catching on to him, you’re much safer. And Jimmy is safer. Do you understand?”
Eric nodded, miserable.
“Third, if we are going to put this bastard away, we need to build a case that will convince a jury, not just the people who loved Mark and Carlotta. I can’t do that if you get in my way. Neither can Detective Pearsley.” He paused. “You got a bad deal with Delmore, but he’s out of the picture now. Do you trust Pearsley?”
“Yes,” Eric said.
Wade’s phone rang. He answered it, then said, “Speak of the devil. Yeah, they’re still here. You and I need to talk, oP buddy. Okay, hang on.” He handed the phone to Eric. “It’s Pearsley.”
“Hello?” Eric said.
“Mr. Halsted, I have the autopsy report on your brother here. I’m just wondering, did he have a prescription for Valium?”
“Yes,” Eric said, surprised. “I just saw the bottle yesterday.”
“Did Detective Delmore ask you that same question?”
Eric thought back. “I think he did ask if Eric was taking any prescription drugs, and I might have mentioned that he had a prescription for sleeping pills, but didn’t like taking them. Delmore never said anything more to me about it.”
