Double Exposure: Kovak & Quaid Horse Mystery Series (Kovak & Quaid Horse Mysteries Book 1)

by Toni Leland

  Ricky nodded, his eyes wide. “’Kay.”

  They walked toward the building where Quaid had spent almost four years. Would anyone he knew still be here? Not likely, and maybe it was just as well. He’d been a mess by the time he’d retired.

  The clang of metal against metal rang out and Ricky craned his neck toward the open double doors of the blacksmith’s workplace.

  “Can we go in there?”

  Quaid nodded and they walked into the large space where a brawny man was hammering a glowing horseshoe. Sparks flew like fireworks with every stroke. He glanced up and nodded, then plunged the horseshoe into a tub of water, filling the air with a hiss of steam that rose in a cloud.

  “Cool!”

  Ricky moved quickly toward the anvil and the farrier held up a hand.

  “Watch it, son. This is no playground. Better go back over there with your dad.”

  The look on Ricky’s face slammed through Quaid’s chest. This whole idea had been wrong from the beginning.

  The farrier stepped closer to Quaid. “Say, weren’t you with the platoon a few years ago?”

  Quaid stuck out his hand. “Yessir, Garrett Quaid. I’m surprised you remember me.”

  “Every single man and woman who’s ever been part of this battalion is worth remembering.” He turned to Ricky. “I’m gonna put this shoe on that horse. You wanna watch?”

  Ricky nodded eagerly and followed the farrier to where a muscular black Percheron gelding stood patiently, ears flopped, hip cocked.

  The farrier ran his hand down the back of the horse’s left front leg. As his fingers touched the fetlock, the horse immediately lifted his foot. Ricky kept his distance, but maneuvered around a little so he could see everything the horseshoer did. Quaid watched in wonder at this boy who was so resilient at such a young age. Quaid wasn’t yet ready to think about their visit to Ben’s grave a short while before, but just the fact that Ricky seemed able to move on was a great comfort.

  Once the shoe was secured, the farrier patted the horse’s shoulder and turned to Ricky.

  “The Heinz ketchup people donated six of these big beauties to the platoon a few years back.” He looked at the horse fondly. “Yep, those horses pulled 30,000-pound Rose Parade floats without even breakin’ a sweat!”

  He turned back toward the anvil. “Here, let me give you a souvenir. What’s your name?”

  “Rick Quaid, Sir.”

  The farrier grinned, then handed over something small.

  “You enjoy your visit. I gotta get this guy back to his stall.”

  Quaid nodded. “Thanks. Nice seeing you again.” He steered Ricky toward the door. “What did he give you?”

  The boy held up a horseshoe nail that had been twisted into the letter “R”. The blacksmith probably went through hundreds of those alphabet nails a year, but it was a nice touch for young visitors.

  As they stepped outside, a soldier barked, “Heads up! Horses!”

  From the direction of the base gate to the cemetery, the clip-clop of hoofbeats danced a familiar and poignant rhythm. The white team approached, the uniformed soldiers walking beside them, the caisson empty. Quaid glanced at his watch. These animals were done for the day and could look forward to hay, fresh water, and a long snooze. Then tomorrow, they’d do the whole thing over again.

  Once the procession passed, Quaid guided Ricky toward the doors to the stables. The soldier who’d been directing traffic came over.

  “Good afternoon. Welcome to the 3rd U.S. Infantry Caisson Platoon. The stables are open, but please be careful of the horse traffic.” He looked at Ricky. “These guys are pretty tuckered out. They won’t hurt you on purpose, but they’re big and thinking about grub right now.” He looked at Quaid. “If I can answer any questions, don’t hesitate to ask.”

  Before Quaid could respond, Ricky piped up. “We saw two different teams in the cemetery this morning. How many funerals do you guys do?”

  “Right now, we’re doing eight a day. We work six days a week.”

  Ricky’s eyes widened. “Wow, that’s a lot,” he whispered.

  The soldier’s eyes clouded. “Yes, it is. These are tough times for our service men and women.”

  “I know. My dad’s buried here.”

  The soldier’s armor cracked for just an instant and he glanced quickly at Quaid, apology and sympathy softening the lines of his youthful face.

  Ricky moved toward a stall, then reached up to pet an inquisitive nose. The rubbery lips flopped and nibbled at his fingers, sending him into fits of giggles.

  The soldier moved up closer to Quaid and murmured, “Thank God for the resiliency of youth.”

  Ricky called out, “Can we look at the wagons?”

  In the next building, the soldier’s commentary held Ricky’s attention.

  “These wagons are called caissons. They were originally built to carry cannons, but they’ve been modified to accommodate the caskets.”

  Ricky blinked. “Cannons? Don’t we use tanks now?”

  The soldier chuckled. “The caissons were built in 1918.”

  “Oh. Duh.” Ricky ran his hand along one of the spokes on the great wheels. “I can’t wait to tell my teacher I touched a military vehicle from ancient times!”

  Quaid grinned, then turned to their host. “I retired from the platoon four years ago. Greatest job on earth.”

  The soldier looked embarrassed. “You could have answered all his questions.”

  “Nah, this is better.”

  As they left the base, Quaid felt a tug in his chest. He really missed military life, the precision and order of it all. He’d been comforted by the fact that time would soothe Ricky’s pain, but had he thought about the same salve for his own turmoil? Had he made a mistake bailing out as a knee-jerk reaction to Ben’s death?

  Ricky’s voice broke into the self-defeating thoughts. “I forgot to ask that soldier why some of the horses have riders.”

  “It’s one of those things that carried forward from the earliest war years. The horses pulled the caissons with the artillery, but instead of having a teamster, or driver, like with a regular wagon, the soldiers rode the left horse in each of the three positions to guide them. The horses on the right side of the team carried supplies and feed, like pack animals.”

  “Those wagons must be heavy to need six horses.”

  “Oh yeah. The cannons were huge. The caskets don’t weigh that much, but the tradition is what’s important.”

  “1918, huh. Was your platoon around back then?”

  “The Old Guard is the U.S. Army’s oldest unit, formed in 1784 as The First American Regiment.”

  Ricky nodded solemnly. “Cool.”

  He turned and gazed out the window as they passed over the Memorial Bridge and between the massive bronze horses on the other side.

  A minute later, he said, “You know, I’ve been thinking about that transmitter.”

  “Oh, yeah? What about it?”

  “It wouldn’t have to be stuck under the skin. It could be on something else, like maybe the horse blanket or that leather thing they wear on their heads.”

  Quaid’s jaw dropped. “You’re right! Now how could I have missed thinking of that idea?”

  Ricky grinned. “You’re just too close to the situation. Takes an outsider to see what’s really going on.”

  Quaid’s brain was on fire. A tiny transmitter could be easily attached to a halter or blanket or even shipping boots, and it would never be noticed. However, the persons involved in the switch would know, making the horse accessible at any time. Once the thieves hooked up with the horse, they could remove the device, then disappear forever. Ricky’s idea didn’t preclude the owners being involved, but it certainly gave wider latitude for peripheral individuals to be involved. Stall cleaners, barn staff, even farriers or veterinary staff. The idea opened up endless possibilities.

  “Uncle Garrett?”

  Quaid blinked. “Yeah?”

  “Wasn’t that our motel ba
ck there?”

  ~~

  Quaid stuffed the last of his clothes into the duffel bag, then turned to Ricky.

  “You got everything, Sport? We can go get some dinner, then get on the road.”

  Ricky pouted. “Yeah, but I thought we were gonna stay the whole weekend.”

  Quaid walked over and squeezed his shoulder. “I know, but you basically broke my case and now I gotta get back and work on it.”

  “Did I really? Boy, wait’ll I tell Mom!”

  Quaid thought about how un-thrilled Jenna would be when they showed up two days early. Couldn’t be helped. Whether Jasper Martin’s claim was paid or not, Quaid now had Kovak’s same burning desire to root out the theft ring. There were a lot of scumbags that needed handling.

  Chapter 37

  Heavy dark clouds hung low in the sky, the thick air hard to breathe as Kim moved along the brick walkway toward the New Albany police station. She glanced up at the limp flag, proof there wasn’t a breeze anywhere. The burnished brass door handle felt cool and the door swung open easily. Her thoughts sharpened as she entered the reception area. They’d found her computers, but no one had shared what condition they might be in. She was hoping for a miracle, but not with much confidence.

  The officer who’d called was working the desk. He checked her identification, then buzzed her through to an interview room.

  “Have a seat, Ms. Kovak. I’ll get someone from Evidence.”

  Kim sat down and checked her phone for voice mail or text messages, anything to distract her from the worst scenarios racing through her head. The door opened and a woman in uniform pushed her way in with her hip, her arms full of equipment.

  Kim jumped up. “Here, let me help.” She slid her hands under the desktop computer to help balance the weight. “You need a cart or something for hauling this stuff around.”

  The officer set the machines down and smiled without humor. “Yeah, along with a lot of other stuff that costs money.”

  “May I look at these?”

  “Before you do, would you confirm they are definitely yours? And you’ll need to sign this release.”

  Kim scribbled her name, then gazed at the woman. “How were they found?”

  “Believe it or not, some nine-year-old kid clear over in Springfield found them in a dumpster behind a school. Took them home and showed his mom. She called the local PD and they called us. Apparently, the boy didn’t mess with them, but we’ve no way of knowing what happened before he found them.”

  Kim ran her fingers over the laptop, finding the dings and scratches from being thrown around. She lifted the cover and pressed the start button. Nothing.

  “Oh, the battery was missing when we got it.”

  “Well, that’s a relief. Easy to replace, but I’m more concerned about what was on the hard drive.” She turned her attention to the Mac G5 she’d used as her main computer. The screen was cracked. “Looks like I’m going to be spending some serious money.”

  “I’ll help you get these out to your car.”

  “Did you get any prints off them?”

  The officer shook her head. “Only those of the kid who found them. They’d been wiped clean.”

  As Kim drove away from the station, she thought about that statement. Only a professional would go to the trouble of removing fingerprints from stolen goods. But why had the computers been thrown away? They’d only been missing for three days. Her heart sank. Almost without question, once a computer lab tried to recover the hard drives, she’d find out that fingerprints weren’t the only things wiped away.

  Later that afternoon, Kim called Teri’s farm, hoping Reggie Fortune had returned. The answering machine picked up immediately and she disconnected without leaving a message. If she couldn’t connect with someone by five o’clock, she’d drive up and feed Bandit. The thought of him standing in a stall all alone in that big barn sent a wave of sorrow through her heart. The poor guy had been a pawn in the plans of unscrupulous people and now he’d been abandoned.

  Her phone chimed and Dixie’s cheerful voice came through. “Hey, you got a minute? I called a friend in Columbus about that situation with the Delaware unit, and I was right. They’ve had terrific funding cuts, have been forced to downsize and reduce personnel hours. For sure, Quaid’s contact is one unhappy deputy right now.”

  Annoyance prickled Kim’s neck. “That doesn’t mean you stop doing your job. Sorry, I don’t buy the ‘poor me’ syndrome.”

  “I agree, but not everyone does. Your friend’s death is still under investigation, it’s just not a high priority with all the other stuff going on day to day. The drug dealers don’t know there’s a recession, violence is increasing, and theft is at an all-time high.”

  “You’re telling me?”

  “Sorry, that wasn’t a good example. Did you pick up your stuff?”

  “Yes, I have an appointment this afternoon with a computer lab to see if my data is still there.”

  “Good luck with that. Say, you have any idea when Garrett will be back?”

  “He didn’t say. In fact, I have no idea where he went, just that he was upset that I didn’t get his photographs before he left. Now I wish I had. What a mess.”

  Kim paced the living room a couple of times, not sure what to do with herself until her appointment. She glanced at her watch, then called Teri’s barn. Still the answering machine. Remembering Reggie Fortune’s business card, she dug into her pocket. A minute later, a woman’s crisp voice answered.

  “R. W. Fortune’s office, may I help you?”

  “Hi, I met with Mr. Fortune this morning and forgot to ask him something important about a horse I’m buying. May I speak to him?”

  “You must be mistaken. He’s been in Mexico all week for a monthly meeting. You may leave a message, if you wish.”

  “No, that’s okay. I’ll call back next week.”

  She disconnected and stared at the phone. Why would Fortune tell his office he was going one place, but actually be in another?

  She picked up the business card again and gazed at the handwritten number on the back. On impulse, she dialed. Four rings, then a man’s voice.

  “Victory Farms.”

  ~~

  After leaving her computers at the repair shop and calling her insurance company, Kim wondered briefly if her insurer would entertain the possibility that the computer theft was bogus. She grinned, thinking about having to dance around Quaid’s questions. Nope, she didn’t want to be on the wrong side of that guy. Of course, she’d already been there several times, but it wasn’t that bad. Underneath all the gruff stuff, he was actually okay.

  She pondered the implications of Reggie Fortune’s connection with Victory Farms. Until now, she hadn’t considered him connected to anything illegal. She glanced at the clock. She hadn’t heard back from him, wherever he was, and it was too late to go home if she planned to drive up to Delaware. She dialed Dixie’s number and left a message.

  “Hey, just so you know, I’m going up to Teri’s barn to feed Bandit. No one’s been around all day and I’m worried about him. I should be home about seven.”

  When she pulled into the entrance to Fortune Farm, she frowned at the “For Sale” sign. Reggie certainly hadn’t wasted any time. She drove onto the property and climbed out of the car, standing for a moment to absorb the stillness of what had once been a busy, vibrant facility. The empty pastures in the dull evening light lent even more sobriety to the picture. The place was a prime piece of real estate and that knowledge sent Kim’s mind into another round of what-if’s regarding Teri’s death. Suppose someone had orchestrated all the misfortunes that had befallen the girl, simply to destroy her business to make the real estate accessible. Not too far from believable. Jasper’s horse, then the mare stolen off the trailer. Loss of clients followed by loss of revenue. It would have been only a matter of time before Teri had closed down and the bank seized the property. But someone had accelerated the process by taking her out of the picture.

/>   Who would benefit from that? Was Reginald Fortune’s business the one holding the note? Would he inherit? Would he really have murdered his own sister for a piece of real estate?

  Kim walked into the barn and took a deep breath. “Bandit?”

  The horse hung his head over the stall door and whinnied. She hurried toward him, tears burning her eyes. She had to get him out of this place, and soon.

  While she fed and watered him, she thought about how easily Reggie had gone with the supposed detective. Could that have been a charade? But Why? He wouldn’t have known she would be there. Maybe that was the problem—she’d arrived at an inopportune time. Was the man who showed up, in fact, collaborating with Reggie in some way?

  Kim sucked in her breath. The Victory Farm phone number connection was too much to be coincidence. She’d bet money that Reggie was involved with the theft ring. Maybe he’d gotten in the murderer’s way. Quaid seemed to think Wade Warren played a big part in this, and it stood to reason that with his wife’s association with Teri, Warren might have connected with Reggie at some point. Maybe Reggie threatened to expose whatever Warren was doing. Or vice versa. Kim’s head swam with ideas. Right now, a good brainstorming session with Quaid would be helpful.

  His number went straight to voice mail and she left a message for him to call her back as soon as possible. She set the phone to vibrate and stuck it into her pocket. After spending a couple more minutes with Bandit, she wandered along the aisle, looking into the empty stalls. They were all in disarray, having been simply abandoned in the past few days. She stopped in front of the stall where the stolen palomino mare had once lived. The mare that had mysteriously disappeared out of the trailer. Stepping inside, Kim moved slowly around the perimeter, trying to imagine the scenario of the mare’s theft. Kim kicked a mummified horse apple, then stopped to peer at something white sticking out of the shavings. She toed the bedding aside, then picked up a glass vial marked “Buscopan.”

  Closing her hand around it, she gazed out the window. “What was going on here, Teri?”

  Kim left the stall and walked toward the office. There might be something in the file cabinet that would answer some of her questions, or at least point her in the right direction.