Jockeys and Jewels

Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Back in the privacy of his motel room, Kurt entered his password and tapped some keys, waiting as the laptop downloaded a glut of information. Archer’s office had forwarded a summary of the cases Connor had been involved with, including call history and a timeline of his activities.

Kurt scrolled down, choosing two pages for scrutiny—persons of interest in Connor O'Neil’s murder. The list was short, only two, and one he now considered as more of a witness.

WEST, JULIE A.: Female Caucasian, Age 23, Green Eyes, Blond Hair, Weight 48.9 kg/108 lb, Height 1.5 meters/5 ft 2 in. Occupations: university student. Distinguishing Features: none. Prior Convictions: none.

He skimmed her history. No siblings, mother deceased. Plain vanilla. He wished for more. Was rather curious about Julie. He’d request a more comprehensive report in the morning, more pictures too. This one was rather blurry. She wasn’t smiling and it didn’t do her justice, not one bit.

He flipped the page over and turned his attention to Otto. Ah, now this page wasn’t as pretty, but it was definitely more interesting:

LAING, OTTO P.: Male Caucasian, Age 36, Brown Eyes, Brown Hair, Weight 109.7 kg/242 lb, Height 1.8 meters/5 ft 11 in. Occupations: trucker, metalworker. Dual U.S./Canadian citizenship. Distinguishing Features: scar on right shoulder. Prior Convictions: assault and battery. Prior Charges: robbery, drunk driving, resisting arrest, spousal abuse, rape. (See Report B0T-1826-1)

Kurt reached into the bar fridge and pulled out a can of beer before tackling Report B0T-1826-1. He snapped open the can and turned to the glowing screen.

Otto's adult record had begun in Montana. Convictions included drunk driving and assaulting a police officer. He’d spent time in jail for various misdemeanors, but a rape charge had been dismissed when the alleged victim disappeared.

The man's history was extensive, although one omission was gaping. It didn't include drugs.

Kurt tilted in the wooden chair, propping his feet on the bed as he tried to draw a link between Connor and Otto Laing. The room was an ideal thinking spot, silent except for the drone of the laptop and the occasional ticking of a pipe. However, he couldn’t find anything to connect the two men. Couldn’t imagine what Connor had seen on the highway.

Dispatch records showed he’d stopped to help Laing with a flat tire. A racehorse had been reloaded; everything appeared routine. But something had trigged Connor’s suspicions, enough that he’d run the man’s license plates and followed him to the track. It had to be something noticeable, something other than Otto’s abrasive personality.

The trailer had been unremarkable. Had to be the animal.

There were no races tonight. In a few hours the backside would be empty, the perfect time to poke around the barn. Kurt tilted the beer can and took a speculative swig as he wondered what he’d find on Otto’s horse.

“Good evening, sir,” the guard said. “You keep long hours.”

The same young guard watched the horsemen’s gate, but now he was lonely and slightly more talkative. Short hair emphasized his skinny neck, and a lumpy Adam's apple rippled when he spoke.

Kurt flipped open his trainer's license. “One of my horses is prone to colic. Have to make regular checks. Many people around?”

“Just a few guys.” The guard scanned his credentials and returned them with solemn authority. “Should be quiet the rest of the night.”

Excellent. Kurt slid his license back in his pocket and followed the dark path to G barn.

He eased into the barn and paused, stopped by insolent eyes. A black cat with a sagging belly sprawled in the aisle, a squeaking mouse pinned beneath its claws. The cat picked up the mouse, glaring at Kurt as it chewed. The squeaking stopped as the mouse disappeared, tail last, but the cat lingered in the aisle, licking its paws.