by John McEvoy
“Good to hear your voice, Jack. In fact, good to know you are still around to have one.”
The horses were coming onto the track for the afternoon’s first race. He didn’t spot any bettable items among them. “Thanks, Karen. Obviously, I’m quite happy to have survived the attempt to erase me from life’s entries. I’m out here sitting in Ralph Tenuta’s box trying to shake off the aftereffects.”
“Yes, and Jack, all kidding aside, we’re happy you’re still alive.”
Doyle said, “Have you heard anything from the Sheriff’s Department about this jerk who was firing at me from his Harley?”
“Sergeant Monroe asked the Bureau for help and we gave it. So far, we know your attempted killer was from Kansas, was going to school there at the university. Social loner. Premier student. Supposedly interested mainly in computers, cycles, and guns.”
Doyle said, “It’s that last part that interests me.”
Karen handed the phone to Damon, who had finished his Italian beef, wiped his chin, and burped with quiet satisfaction.
“Jack, it’s me.”
“I recognize your dulcet tones.”
“Jack, I’m ignoring all of your usual sarcasm past this point. What you might want to know is the preliminary investigation has tied this Wiems to the Kansas City Outfit.”
Doyle got to his feet as the field of thoroughbreds charged across the first-race finish line. “The Outfit?”
“That is correct, Jack. What I am going to tell you now is something you may never, ever tell anybody you got from me. Okay?”
Jack said, “Damon, you know my word is good. What’s the deal here?”
“FBI wiretaps conducted in Lexford Prison yesterday have your old enemy Harvey Rexroth arranging to have you killed. He was working through a fellow inmate, a lawyer belonging to the Kansas City Outfit. The lawyer, I can’t tell you his name, decided to lessen his Lexford sentence by turning over to the government Rexroth’s plans to kill you. The incarcerated lawyer wore a wire. He got Rexroth on tape promising to pay to get you killed. This earned the lawyer a reduction of his Lexford time by fourteen months. Great deal for him.
“But,” Damon said, “Rexroth, trapped on tape caught ordering a fifty-thousand dollar hit on you, will get his stay in Lexford extended another five years for conspiracy to commit murder.”
Doyle sat back down in his box seat. “Rexroth? That crazy fucker? Man oh man. But wait. Who did the hiring of the guy who took those shots at me on Willow Road?”
“The imprisoned lawyer says he never knew the identity of the killer hired by Kansas City people,” Damon answered. “He claims complete ignorance of that. Well, of course, he’d have to. And maybe that’s actually true. The Outfit top guys always use as many cutouts as they can. But we’ve learned that the cyclist was a young man named Wiems. Student at the University of Kansas. Some kind of a computer phenom, according to his school records. Parents both deceased. And no criminal record whatsoever.”
“The bastard’s got one now,” Doyle said. “I hope they inscribe it on his headstone. Thanks for the information, Damon.” He hung up.
Chapter Fifty-five
Next morning Doyle was in conversation on his cell phone when he heard the click of an incoming call. But he delayed picking it up as he talked with Ralph Tenuta about Mr. Rhinelander, the once ailing, now almost completely recovered colt. Finished with Tenuta, he clicked on his answering machine and was surprised to hear the normally placid Damon Tirabassi almost frothing during his message. “Jack, I think we’ve caught a break on the horse killer case. Call me sooner than ASAP. Wait! Call me before that.”
Pleased by Tenuta’s report on Mr. Rhinelander’s progress, Jack hoped Tirabassi would provide more good news on this rainy, late August evening. He quickly phoned the FBI agent.
“I am returning my government’s call,” he said solemnly.
Tirabassi grunted. “No time for your idea of comedy, Jack. Hold it. I’m going to put this on speaker phone for Karen. We’re in my office.”
Karen said, “Here’s the situation, Jack. We got a tip earlier this afternoon from Rockland College, up close to the Illinois-Wisconsin state line. Ever heard of it?”
“Barely. Didn’t they have a good Division Three football team a couple of years ago?”
“Yes, they did. And one of the linemen on their current team, a kid, or a young man I should say, Randy Meier, contacted our office today. He’s working as a night watchman at Rockland’s veterinary school in the Large Animal Division to help pay his tuition.”
Doyle’s lifted his one working eyebrow, the left one having been rendered immobile years before in the bloody course of his final Golden Gloves bout. “Aha.”
“Randy Meier said that last night, during his four–to–ten shift, he was patrolling the school grounds. Evidently on these summer nights, the staff there turns the horses they are in charge of out in a paddock. Randy knew all about the other vet school killings and about the fifty thousand reward. So he came to attention when he saw a dark pickup truck pull up on the far side of the paddock on the road that runs along there. It parked, lights out, even the interior light off. Somebody got out of the passenger door and walked over to the fence. A young gelding named Saint Lester, a recent contribution to the school program, was standing in the middle of the paddock. But he started to move toward this figure.
“According to Randy Meier, it looked suspicious to him why the person was calling Saint Lester over to him. Or her. He couldn’t see clearly. The figure had on dark clothes including a dark sweatshirt and hoodie. Just about when Randy thought about hopping the fence to go see who this was, he heard a couple of cars loudly, rapidly, approaching from the east. Coming on the road near the paddock area. Their horns were blowing, they had music pumping out, raising hell. I guess this is not uncommon for the American youth living in that area. Anyway, once the two noisy cars had passed, Randy saw that the person who’d been summoning the horse had ducked back into the truck and started to quickly pull away in the opposite direction of the speeding kids. He wondered to himself, as he put it, ‘Who the hell could that be out there talking to Saint Lester like that?’ Then he remembered the other vet school horse killings and the advertised reward. So he called us.”
Doyle said, “This was last night?”
“Correct,” Karen said. “And coming right from the sort of out-of-the way veterinary research facility that you wouldn’t think would draw any nocturnal visitors. Unless they were there for a purpose.”
“Look,” Doyle said, “I’m not much for tossing wet blankets about. But what makes you think this was an appearance by the horse killer? Shoot, it could have been some old coot on his way home from a country tavern stopping to take a leak and say ‘hello, nice horsie.’”
Damon said, “Randy Meier in his months on his shift there had never seen anything like this happen before. We think it might be our killer. Interrupted by happenstance and some joy riders on that rural patch. But maybe planning to return.”
“Did your Junior G. Man get a description of the truck? A license number?”
“No,” Karen said. “It was too dark, and it all happened too quickly.”
Doyle shrugged. “So, what are you going to do with this sketchy info?”
“We’re going to stake out Rockland College starting tonight. Remember, we haven’t had the hint of a lead in this case since the first of these killings. Finally, we’ve got something to take action on. Maybe we are grabbing at straws,” Karen said. “But we’ve got nothing else to grab at. Do you want to come with us?”
Chapter Fifty-six
The agents collected Jack early that evening outside his condo. He came out carrying a small portable cooler. “Hi, folks. I’ve provisioned us with a few necessities. Bottled water, some nice Italian subs from my favorite deli around the corner, a thermos of caffeinated coffee, and a can of bug
spray.” He put the cooler next to him on the backseat.
Damon drove. Dealing with the rush hour traffic, it took them nearly two hours to reach Rockland College where they met their eager informant Randy Meier outside the Large Animal Barn. He was a strong-looking young man, biceps bulging in his cut-off Rockland Athletic Department tee-shirt. He told them where to park and walked them to where he suggested they set up observation posts around the perimeter of the paddock. The only horse in that enclosure was Saint Lester. The tall gray gelding paid them no attention.
“I have to bring Saint Lester back into his stall in the barn right before it gets dark,” Meier told them.
Karen said, “Just do what you usually do, Randy. Follow your ordinary routine.”
Damon had quickly made a small sketch of the paddock area in his notebook. The first tentative drops of rain splotched it. He’d marked positions in the trees for each of the three of them. “Randy, don’t come out to take that horse in for a couple of hours, okay? Just wait in the building and keep your eyes open.”
“Yes, sir.” Randy jogged away.
“Ah, Damon, sir,” Doyle said, “perhaps I should position myself back in the car. Next to the cooler. Guarding the sandwiches and coffee.”
Tirabassi didn’t bother to reply. He walked to where he had planned to be. Karen said, “C’mon, Jack. Let’s get this done.”
Shortly after eight-thirty, the rain clouds let loose lightly. Doyle was belly-down on a plastic sheet partly under a dripping blackberry bush, some thirty yards from Karen to his left, Damon to his right. He’d used his cell phone to check his e-mail, the Cubs score (another heart-breaking loss in the ninth inning), the day’s racing results from Heartland Downs. Then the rain picked up and there was the sound of distant thunder. “Oh, great,” he muttered. He pulled his ball cap farther down on his head. Felt raindrops starting to hit his jacket.
At nine thirty, the three of them watched as Randy, wearing a yellow rain poncho, came out from the barn, put a lead rope on Saint Lester’s halter, and led him back. Doyle and the agents stood up, stretched, and left their hiding places.
“What now, Damon?” Doyle said.
“I’m thinking that the person Randy saw reconnoitering here yesterday afternoon may well come back. Not for a paddock kill, like that last one over in Michigan, but maybe sneaking into the Large Animal Barn. We know that’s been done before. I say we wait here for a couple of hours. Somebody’s been here that Randy saw. I got a feeling about this. I think we should stick here. What do you think Karen?”
“As long as we’re out here, why not? Jack, you okay with this?”
“What if I weren’t? I haven’t seen any cabs going by here.”
Damon said, “Let’s get out of this rain.” A few minutes later, Randy Meier joined them in Damon’s car, seated in the backseat with Jack. “My shift is through now,” he said, “but if it’s okay with you I’ll hang around for awhile.” Doyle offered him the last of the sandwiches, which was gratefully received and rapidly consumed. Between bites, Randy said, “Harry Schwartz, the old guard who replaces me, is already in the barn, probably asleep in the little office. Like usual about this time.”
Karen said, “Randy, you didn’t tell him we were going to be here tonight, right?”
“No, no.” He grinned. “If you think old Harry might be involved, and I can’t even imagine that, I didn’t give him any heads up. Just like you told me not to do.”
Damon turned to look into the backseat, nodding in approval.
It was almost ten when Randy said, “If you don’t mind, I’ve got to bail. And…”
Doyle poked him in the ribs. “Bail. Oh, my young friend, not a word to be using in the presence of law enforcement personnel.”
Meier grinned, but Damon snarled, “Cut the humor, Doyle. Go on, Randy. You can leave. Thanks for your help.”
“It’s just that I’ve got to be in the football team’s weight room at six tomorrow morning.”
Karen said, “Understood, Randy. If we get anything out of this, we’ll surely let you know.”
“Even about, like, that possible reward?”
Damon grunted, “Yes, son, even about that.”
Doyle grinned his approval. “Randy, keep your eye on the prize. So long.”
“Thanks for your help, Randy,” Karen said. “Good luck with your football season.”
As Meier opened his door he said, “Can I suggest something? Pull your car over there in that real dark tree-covered spot next to the back fence. You’ll be able to see both the north and south barn entrances from there. Even through this rain.”
Damon got out and shook the young man’s hand. Back behind the wheel, he slowly drove to the spot Meier had recommended.
The rain persisted. Doyle dozed off a couple of times as the hours went by, always to awaken and see the agents intently peering at the barn. Just after one-thirty, Karen suddenly sat forward. “Did you see that?”
“See what?” Doyle said.
“Looked like a flash of light on the north side the barn.”
“Saw it,” Damon said. “Let’s go. Karen, take the south door. You’ve got one of the keys Randy gave us. Jack, come with me to the north door. I’ve got the key to that one.”
Chapter Fifty-seven
Karen entered the barn first from the south side. Opening that door, she startled the napping guard Harry Schwartz who almost fell off his chair. She flashed him her badge. “Quiet,” she whispered. “Everything’s all right. Just stay right here.” She didn’t look back as the old fellow struggled to his feet.
Damon keyed open the barn’s north door. He hesitated for a moment and pulled out his Glock 22 before entering. Jack yanked his arm. “What are you doing with that weapon? You think some armed maniac is in there?”
Damon brushed aside Doyle’s hand. “Standard procedure, Doyle. Bureau’s rules in situations like this. Shut up. Let’s go in quietly.” Damon carefully stepped inside, Jack at his back. Some thirty yards from them down the concrete corridor that led between stalls they saw a slim figure clad in jeans and jeans jacket and dark ball cap pulled down low standing directly in front of Saint Lester’s stall.
“Hold it right there,” Damon shouted as he ran forward. The invader jumped back from Saint Lester, dropping a syringe onto the concrete floor. Karen sprinted forward from the south door, the old guard Harry stumbling along behind her.
Doyle put his hand on Damon’s pistol arm and the agent lowered the weapon as they neared Saint Lester’s stall with his visitor before it. Jack stepped forward. He saw a frightened, familiar face.
Well, I’ll be damned, Jack thought.
“Well, hello, Esther Ness,” he said.
Chapter Fifty-eight
Esther Ness slumped to her knees, head down in her gloved hands. Karen ran up to join them, stopped, and said, “Jack, who is that?”
“None other than Ms. Esther Ness, well-known heiress and animal rights activist.”
Karen turned to the half-awake and completely bewildered guard standing behind her. “Harry, please take a break for awhile. Go outside. It’s stopped raining. We’ll handle this.” Harry shuffled away.
Esther finally looked up at her three captors and stopped her brief sobbing. Her face was streaked with tears, but her eyes were defiant. “I’m not sorry about what I did,” she said, looking directly at each of them. “You’ll never understand that.”
Doyle stepped forward, took Esther by her elbows, and gently lifted her to her feet. She shook off his hands.
Damon holstered his Glock. He took latex gloves from his jacket pocket, bent down, and picked up the syringe Esther had dropped. Karen handed him a baggie. Jack watched Esther, head down, trembling, suddenly deflated, being led by Karen to the office at the south end of the barn. He shook his head as if to clear out the conflicting thoughts he had, the joy of disco
very, tempered by his surprise at the person discovered. “I never figured Esther for this,” Jack said to Damon. “Thought that even if she was involved in this campaign, she’d be too smart to be hands-on.”
Jack noticed the broken window on the right wall that allowed Esther to gain entrance to the barn. A trio of observant Holsteins watched him walk past, then residents of a two-sheep pen on one side, a pair of curious Kinder goats on the left. Back at the other end of the barn, as rain now pounded down on the resonating roof, Saint Lester let out a series of loud whinnies as Doyle passed him.
Chapter Fifty-nine
Esther was placed in a chair in front of the guard’s desk, Damon seated behind the desk, Karen and Jack on the sides. Damon said, “It was you all along and you all alone, wasn’t it? All five previous horse-killing crimes. Will you admit to them here and now? Now that we’ve caught you trying to add another one to your list?”
Esther sat up straight, eyes blazing. “You consider them crimes. I do not. I love horses. Throughout my whole life, they’ve been what I’ve gone to in order get relaxation, peace of mind, no matter what was happening to me otherwise.” She paused, took a deep breath. “Horses have given me so much! But what is being done to defenseless horses in places like this, in these so-called research facilities, that’s what I consider to be crimes. That’s what I wanted to stop!”
“Well, Ms. Ness,” Damon said, “that’s not what the law says.”
There was a rap at the office door. Karen opened it. Harry the guard stood there, hat in hand, with a question. “Can I get off duty now?” Karen nodded before ushering him back out the door. Watching them leave, Doyle said, “With that lazy old dolt on duty, I’m surprised rustlers haven’t come in here and emptied the place.”
Damon assumed command. “Ms. Ness, stay right where you are. I am going to consult with my colleagues.” He motioned Karen and Doyle to follow him out into the corridor.
