by Chris Carter
‘That’s what I thought, so I told them they had a deal and we’ll be dropping by to collect the file this afternoon.’
‘That’s fine.’
Hunter felt his cell phone vibrate once again followed by its ringtone.
‘Hello, Detective Hunter speaking.’
‘Hello Robert.’ Hunter’s throat knotted and he immediately snapped his fingers twice at his partner to get his attention. Garcia knew exactly who was on the other end of the line.
‘I’m gonna give you a chance to make a difference today.’
‘I’m listening.’
‘I’m sure you are. Are you a gambling man, Robert?’
‘Not if I can avoid it.’ Hunter sounded calm.
‘Well, I’m sure you’ll find someone to help you. Maybe your new partner.’
Hunter frowned. ‘How do you know I have a . . .’
The metallic voice cut Hunter short. ‘In about four minutes there will be a greyhound race starting at the Jefferson County Kennel Club. I want you to pick me the winner.’
‘Greyhounds?’
‘That’s right, Robert. I’m putting someone’s life in your hands. You pick the wrong dog and he dies.’
Hunter exchanged a tense and confused look with Garcia.
‘I will call you back twenty seconds before the race starts to get your selection . . . be ready.’
‘Wait!’ but the line had already gone dead.
‘What did he say?’ Garcia demanded anxiously even before Hunter had a chance to close his phone.
‘Do you understand anything about greyhound racing?’ There was a desperate tone in Hunter’s voice.
‘What?’
‘Dog racing . . . do you know anything about it, do you bet?’ he shouted nervously.
‘No, never have.’
‘Shit!’ Hunter scratched his forehead in thought for a moment. ‘We’ve gotta go downstairs.’ Hunter raced to the door, not a second to spare. Garcia followed him. They made it down the six flights of stairs that took them to the main detective floor in record time. The floor was almost empty, only Detective Lucas and Detective Maurice were at their desks.
‘Do you guys know anything about greyhound racing?’ Hunter shouted as soon as he was through the door. The puzzled look on the detectives’ faces was uniform.
No response.
‘Dog racing, does anyone in here bet on it?’ The desperation in Hunter’s voice was alarming.
‘Dog racing is illegal in California,’ Detective Lucas said calmly.
‘I don’t give a damn, I just wanna know if any of you two know anything about it. Do any of you two bet?’
‘What the hell is going on in here, Hunter?’ Captain Bolter had come out of his office to check what the yelling was all about.
‘No time to explain it now, Captain. I need to know if anyone bets on the dogs in here.’ Hunter noticed a slight uneasiness about Detective Lucas. ‘Lucas c’mon, talk to me,’ Hunter pressed.
‘I bet every now and then,’ Lucas said shyly.
All eyes were now on him. Hunter checked his watch. ‘In two and a half minutes there’s a dog race starting at the Jefferson County Kennel Club. I need you to pick me the winner.’
The puzzled look that had graced the detectives’ faces turned into laughter. ‘Well, if it was that simple I wouldn’t be working here, would I?’ Lucas replied.
‘You’d better do your best or else someone is gonna get murdered.’ Hunter’s urgency sent a cold shiver around the room.
Captain Bolter immediately realized what Hunter’s impatience was all about. ‘How do you get the race card?’ he shot the question at Lucas.
‘Over the internet.’
‘Do it, now,’ the captain ordered, moving towards the detective’s desk.
Lucas turned to his PC and fired up his browser. He enjoyed gambling, mainly dog and horse racing and he had several racing links saved into his favorites. Hunter, Garcia and Captain Bolter were already by Lucas’s side. Detective Maurice was the last one to join them.
‘Let’s see, you said Jefferson County Kennel Club right?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s in Florida.’
‘Do I look like I give a shit where the hell it is? Just get the race card will you?’ Captain Bolter’s irritation was exploding.
‘OK, here we go.’ With a few more clicks he had the race card in front of him.
‘What does all that mean?’ Garcia had never seen a dog-racing card before.
‘Well, these are the dog-trap numbers, these here are the dog names and these are the betting odds,’ Lucas replied pointing to different sections of the card on his screen.
‘How about all these other numbers?’ Hunter this time.
‘Sectionals and number of wins, but that’s too complicated to explain now.’
‘Fine, how do you usually make your selection?’
‘I analyze the form but in this case I just don’t have the time.’
‘So what’s the second option?’
‘I don’t know, maybe go with the market.’
‘And that means what?’ Captain Bolter asked annoyed.
‘In short, wait for the odds on the dogs to start moving and bet on the favorite. The market is usually a very good indication of the probable outcome of the race.’
‘It wouldn’t be that easy,’ Hunter said, knowing the killer would never set him off on an easy task.
‘That’s the thing, it’s not easy at all, look at these odds.’ Lucas pointed to his computer screen. ‘We have co-favorites of four, traps 1, 2, 4 and 5 all with the exact same odds, three-to-one, and the other dogs aren’t that far behind. This is a very hard race to predict. If I had the choice I would never place a bet on a race like this.’
‘You don’t have the choice,’ Garcia said.
‘Your guess is as good as mine then.’
‘You’re supposed to be the gambler here.’ The conversation was starting to turn into yelling. By now everyone realized the gravity of the situation and nerves were starting to get the better of everyone.
‘OK, everyone calm the fuck down,’ Hunter ordered. ‘Lucas, just do your best.’
He turned his attention back to his computer screen. ‘At first glance, the sectionals of the dog in trap five look better, but by no means is that a confident guess.’
‘I like the name of the dog in trap seven,’ Detective Maurice offered.
Captain Bolter’s look was enough to shut him up.
‘What do we do?’ Garcia asked nervously.
‘Maybe we should go with the five dog then,’ Hunter said, quickly analyzing the numbers on the race card.
‘The sectionals from the dog in trap two look pretty good too.’
‘I don’t understand what you are talking about . . . sectionals? Just pick a goddamn dog,’ Captain Bolter demanded.
‘Captain, this is gambling, if it were that easy we’d all be making a living out of it.’
‘We are running out of time here,’ Hunter snapped.
‘Just pick the one you think has got the best chance of winning.’ Garcia this time.
Hunter’s cell phone rang, making everyone in the room jump. He looked at the caller display – withheld. ‘It’s him.’
‘Him who?’ Lucas asked curiously.
Garcia placed his index finger over his lips telling everyone to keep quiet.
‘Detective Hunter speaking.’
‘What’s your selection?’
Hunter locked eyes with Lucas’s, raising his eyebrows as if asking ‘Which one?’
Lucas thought about it for a quick second and then raised his right hand, all five fingers spread apart. Hunter could see no conviction in his eyes.
‘Three seconds, Robert.’
‘Five, the dog in trap five.’ The line went dead.
Silence took over the room. Hunter knew nothing about greyhound racing and he was sure the killer was aware of that.
‘The result, how do we know whi
ch dog won? Can we watch the race?’ Garcia’s voice broke the silence.
‘It depends if the track has its own website and if they do live broadcasting.’
‘Can we find out?’
Lucas turned to his computer to search for the Jefferson County Kennel Club website. He found it within seconds and just a moment later he had it up on his screen. He checked the links on the home page and clicked on the Program & Results one. ‘Shit.’
‘What?’ Captain Bolter asked.
‘We can’t watch it. They don’t have live broadcasting. But they will display the result about a minute after the race has ended.’
‘How long does the race take?’
‘Only about thirty or forty seconds.’
‘So that’s it? We just wait here like idiots?’
‘There’s nothing else we can do,’ Hunter said, taking a deep breath.
Twenty-Two
Lucas refreshed the web page on his screen. ‘That’s it, they are racing.’
‘How do you know?’ Garcia asked.
Lucas pointed to the top of the page ‘Race status: racing’.
Everyone stood motionless; all eyes fixed on Lucas’s computer screen as if they could all see the race track. For an instant it felt like no one was breathing. Garcia shifted his weight to his left leg, but no position was a comfortable one. The tension inside the office was palpable.
Hunter was starting to get restless. He didn’t like this. Why was the killer playing games now? Did the killer know that one of the detectives was a gambler?
The silence in the room was broken by Detective Maurice’s voice. ‘Refresh it,’ he said excitedly.
‘It’s only been about ten seconds since they started racing.’
‘Refresh it anyway.’
‘OK, OK.’ Lucas clicked the button on his browser. The webpage refreshed in less than a second. Race status: racing. ‘See? No result yet.’
The anxiety was making everyone uncomfortable. People were starting to get fidgety, but all eyes were still on Lucas’s computer screen. The seconds went by like hours. Garcia started massaging his forehead and temples. Maurice was done biting his nail on one thumb and had now moved to the other one. Hunter hadn’t said a word since the race started.
‘Can’t we call the track and explain that someone is gonna die if dog five doesn’t win,’ Detective Maurice offered.
Garcia laughed. ‘Yeah, of course we can, they won’t just think you’re some crazy gambler who has bet all your life savings on that race. Think about it.’
Maurice realized how stupid his suggestion sounded.
Lucas refreshed the webpage once again. Still no result.
‘This is taking quite a long time, isn’t it? It’s been about two minutes since the race started,’ Garcia said with a worried look.
‘I know, and I don’t like that,’ Lucas replied.
‘Why not, why not?’ Maurice asked, unable to contain his concern.
‘Usually when it takes too long it means the result went to the judges, two or more dogs crossed the finish line together so they have to look at a photograph to decide who the winner is. If they can’t tell the dogs apart, they might call a dead heat.’
‘What the hell is a dead heat?’
‘You know nothing about races do you, Garcia? It’s like a draw, two or more dogs are declared winners.’
‘What happens then?’ Garcia’s question was directed at Hunter who had no answer.
The room fell silent again and everyone turned back to the computer screen. Maurice had stopped biting his nails and had placed both of his hands in his pockets in an attempt to stop them from shaking.
‘Let me try one more time.’ Lucas clicked his mouse and waited. The page reappeared on the screen and this time they finally had a result.
Twenty-Three
Darkness – that was all that surrounded George Slater as he regained consciousness. An unbearable pain shot up from his groin. His head was throbbing, making him dizzy. Everything was unsteady. His legs. His body. His memory. He tried to remember what had happened, but his brain wasn’t cooperating.
Where the hell am I?
How long have I been unconscious?
How did I get here?
Very slowly his memories started to form. The knock on the door. The excitement of seeing Rafael again. The strange intruder that had shown up at his rented apartment. The one-sided struggle, the confusion, the pain and then – the syringe.
He felt dizzy, weak, hungry, thirsty and scared. His hands were resting over his chest, but they weren’t tied. He tried to move them, but there simply wasn’t enough space. They touched what felt like unplaned wooden planks, his fingers feeling the splintery texture. He made an effort to scream but the gag in his mouth kept him from making a sound.
George tried moving his legs, but he could only manage one inch or so before they hit another wall in front of him.
A box, I’m inside a wooden box, he thought as panic started to take over.
I’ve gotta get out of here.
He jerked his body violently from side to side, his legs trying to kick out, his hands scraping away on the wood until all his nails were broken, but his efforts were not rewarded. He started to feel claustrophobic, making him more desperate.
He knew panicking wouldn’t help. He needed to work with whatever little knowledge of the situation he had. He took a moment to calm himself down. Concentrating on his heartbeat he took deep breaths. After a minute it started to work. George urged his brain to think. He tried to gather all the information he had so far. He’d been attacked, drugged, taken hostage and placed inside some sort of wooden box. He could feel the blood flowing normally through his body, and that told him the box was in an upright position instead of lying down. That brought him some relief. If the box had been in a horizontal position it could mean he was underground – buried alive inside some kind of coffin, and that petrified him. From a very young age George had been terrified of confined spaces. He was only ten when his mother beat him senseless and locked him inside a wardrobe for twelve hours with no food and no water. His crime – falling off his bike and tearing his brand-new pair of trousers at the knee.
He kicked his legs against the wooden walls again. They felt solid, as if the box had been nailed shut.
‘Would you stop making all that noise?’
The voice took George by surprise. Someone else was there. George’s heart started beating faster. He tried to scream once again, but the gag in his mouth was too tight and he produced only a muffled grunt.
‘It won’t be very long now.’
George could feel the panic coming back. What wouldn’t be long? Until he was freed or until he was dead? He needed to get rid of the gag in his mouth. He knew that if he could speak he would be able to reason with whoever else was there. That’s what he knew how to do – talk to people. As a lawyer he had negotiated million-dollar deals. He had convinced juries and judges that his side of an argument was the correct one. If he was given the chance he was sure he could reason with his captor. If only he could speak.
He jerked his body once again, making even more noise, hysteria starting to take over.
‘That won’t help you.’
Suddenly George froze. He knew that voice, he was sure he’d heard it before, but where? He made more noise.
‘Suit yourself, if you wanna make noise, go right ahead.’
There was no doubt in George’s mind anymore. He knew that person. He closed his eyes in an effort to search his memory. Where had they met before? In the office? In a court of law? Where? George implored his memory to help him.
‘Jesus!’ he said, shivering and reopening his eyes. It had been at a party, a BDSM party. It all came back to him. He could clearly picture the person’s face in his mind.
‘I know you . . . I know who you are . . .’
Twenty-Four
Lucas stared at the race result on his computer screen. Garcia was trying his best to look over e
veryone’s shoulders and get a glimpse of it. Hunter kept his eyes shut, too nervous to look.
‘We lost,’ Lucas’s voice croaked. ‘Trap two won it, trap five got second.’ He had to force himself to look at Hunter.
‘No,’ Garcia said, his voice barely audible. He made an effort not to be sick and tasted his breakfast rise in his throat.
Captain Bolter pushed Lucas aside so he could get a better look at the screen.
‘Shit! I should’ve picked trap two, I was between two and five – I should’ve gone for two,’ Lucas said, collapsing onto his chair.
Captain Bolter’s eyes were still on the screen. The result read: 1st trap two, 2nd trap five, 3rd trap eight. ‘It’s not your fault,’ he finally said, placing a friendly hand on Lucas’s shoulder.
Hunter was still silent. His eyes closed, his hands tucked inside his pockets. After a few more seconds he looked at Garcia and mouthed the words ‘I can’t believe this.’
Everyone stood motionless. No one knew what to say. Hunter wanted to scream and punch Lucas’s computer screen, but he kept his anger locked inside.
Hunter’s cell phone rang once again startling everyone. He snapped it out of his pocket and checked the display. A gentle nod towards Captain Bolter indicated that the caller was who they expected it to be.
‘Yes,’ Hunter said in a defeated tone of voice.
‘Unlucky.’
‘Wait . . .’ Hunter pleaded but it was too late, the line went dead.
‘Turn it off,’ Captain Bolter pointed to Lucas’s computer screen. ‘There’s no need for any more dog racing today.’
Lucas closed his browser and glanced at Hunter. ‘I’m sorry, man, if I’d had some more time . . .’
Hunter knew Lucas had done his best. As he’d said, if it were that easy, everyone would be making money out of gambling.
‘Hunter, Garcia, we need to talk,’ Captain Bolter’s voice was firm. This was not going to plan, at least not to the plan he had in mind. He walked back to his office, his heavy footsteps echoing throughout the silent room. Hunter and Garcia followed him in silence.
‘What the hell’s going on?’ Captain Bolter said, even before Garcia had closed the door behind him.
