Repent, p.3
Repent, page 3
Nikki eyed the patchwork of black, pink and white skin. “It must have been horrible,” she said, feeling another well of sympathy for this sweet horse. And another rush of anger at Billy.
“Yes. At first we wanted to throttle the kid. But honestly he seemed to feel bad. He certainly wasn’t what we expected.”
“How so?” Nikki said, still fighting her own ambivalence.
“He was polite, thoughtful,” Lara said. “He often brought carrots for the horses. He lives east of the city and I think his grandmother has a vegetable garden. But how many fourteen-year-old boys would even think of hopping on a bus, lugging carrots for a horse? And he kept Radar’s stall spotless. Always careful about infection.”
Nikki rubbed her forehead. Maybe Mrs. Tanner hadn’t been completely wrong with the glowing description of her grandson. But if so, that raised a more troubling question. Like what had really happened to Billy after he left the barn last Saturday?
Her mouth tightened in thought as her gaze swept beyond the aisle to a locked door. “Was there any theft that night?” she asked. “Did he have access to the tack? What else did Billy do here?”
“Anything we told him,” Lara said, following Nikki’s gaze. “He didn’t just pick up manure. He cleaned tack, mixed feed, even groomed our horses. When he first came, he didn’t know much but he quickly turned into a good stable hand. But he didn’t have a tack room key, and he was always supervised.”
“So nothing was missing? No drugs or anything?”
“No.” Lara scowled and it was obvious her patience was running short. “And we don’t keep drugs here. If we make a street bust, it’s turned in immediately.”
“What about equine drugs?”
“Well, naturally we have horse drugs here.”
“And they’re all accounted for?” Nikki knew for a fact that horse tranqs could put users in quite a stupor and were a cheap alternative to more expensive street drugs.
“Yes,” Lara said. But her gaze flickered, and Nikki suspected the woman wasn’t really certain.
“Billy didn’t steal anything,” Lara added. “We don’t know why he left. But he saved us a lot of work so we all want him to come back and finish his hours.”
“Even Smitty?”
“Especially Smitty. Looking after a burn victim is labor intensive. Radar’s wounds require a lot of care, along with antibiotics and drugs for pain and itching. Billy worked weekends, nine to five, but he always stayed a few extra minutes to help Smitty.”
“Is Smitty here now?” Nikki glanced around the barn, already knowing the answer to that question. The tack room was padlocked and Lara’s truck was the only vehicle in the lot.
“Sorry, but you missed him.” Lara’s flippant tone showed she wasn’t sorry at all. “Besides, Smitty doesn’t know anything more than what I told you.” Her voice hardened. “The police will find Billy. I suggest you forget this witch hunt and let his grandmother keep her money.”
“And I suggest you give me Smitty’s number,” Nikki said. “So I can finish the job I was hired to do.”
“Then leave a message at the office,” Lara snapped. “Or if you have a business card, I’ll give it to Smitty and ask him to call.”
Nikki pulled out a card, wishing she’d arrived earlier. She wanted to question Smitty in person, preferably when he wasn’t expecting her. But he was a cop. If he wanted to avoid her, he could. And would.
Lara took Nikki’s business card, holding it at arm’s length from her face, as if it might be tainted. “Nikki Drake Investigative Services,” she sneered. “Licensed and bonded. Wow, a real PI. And here I thought you mainly tagged around after Justin.”
The woman had been much nicer when she thought Justin and Nikki were only friends. And Nikki was tired of her attitude. She’d worked hard on controlling her temper but she’d never been one to ignore insults. And she wasn’t in the mood to start now.
“No,” she said. “I don’t tag around after Justin. Mainly I sleep with him.”
Lara’s creamy complexion turned a mottled red. She turned on her heels, stomped to the tack room and unlocked the door. She stepped inside and stuck Nikki’s card on an ancient fridge where it joined scores of business cards and takeout menus, held in place by an oversized Disney magnet.
She yanked open the fridge door and grabbed a bottle of water from beside a row of motley horse medications. Tilting her head, she guzzled half its contents. Clearly she was thirsty; it was hard to take breaks on a horse. And clearly this interview was over.
It had been helpful though. Lara’s statement that Billy was a likeable kid and an excellent worker supported Mrs. Tanner’s claim. Nikki hadn’t expected to hear that. It changed her investigative process. She’d been planning to troll the streets, flashing his picture to some of her more reliable street contacts and asking them to put out the word that Billy should contact his family.
But the fact that Smitty had been the last person to see Billy—the officer whose innocent horse had been injured—was a red flag that couldn’t be ignored. It also left her with a niggling sense of unease. She certainly didn’t intend to wait until next week for Smitty to call. Understandably, the mounted police unit was a tight group and Lara wouldn’t give out a co-worker’s phone number. But there was always a way around road blocks. Maybe they shared a ritual Friday night drink and it would be possible to track Smitty down during his off hours.
“Thanks for your time,” Nikki said to Lara’s stiff back. “I appreciate it. Hopefully you can finish feeding the horses in time to join the others for a drink.”
If Lara wouldn’t reveal where their meeting spot was, Nikki thought, she’d simply follow the woman’s silver truck. She hadn’t been expecting to sit surveillance tonight, but fortunately she’d parked her Subaru out of sight. As far as she knew, Lara didn’t know the make of her car. And the little compact was unobtrusive, perfect for staying unnoticed.
“I’m not joining the boys tonight. I have other plans.” Lara twisted, tossing Nikki a cool smile. One that said she knew exactly what Nikki was planning. “But don’t worry. I’ll make sure Smitty calls you next week...if he has time.”
Her words underscored that Smitty wouldn’t be calling any time soon and Nikki stepped into the tack room, frustration clipping her words. “Hopefully he’ll find the time,” she said, “Because my client doesn’t believe Billy ran away. If she’s correct—and it’s beginning to look as if she is—then Billy might need help. And a few more days could make a big difference. A critical difference.”
“Don’t play the guilt card,” Lara said. “I’m not giving you Smitty’s personal number. No way I’m stepping on his toes. I know you want to make a paying case out of this but you should leave him alone. Besides, the police are on top of it.”
“But they haven’t found him yet,” Nikki said. “And we all want the same thing. I assumed Billy chose to leave too. But the more I hear, the more it seems possible it wasn’t his choice to disappear.”
Lara crossed her arms. “Smitty thinks he ran away,” she muttered. “So do I.”
“But we aren’t certain. So until his grandmother knows he’s safe, I plan to keep looking. Because he might have been abducted.”
“Good God,” Lara snapped. “Not every missing kid has been abducted. Don’t be so stubborn. You don’t know the police stats. I do. And you’re affected way too much by what happened to your sister.”
Low blow. Pain twisted inside Nikki’s chest, accompanied by an angry flush that heated her entire body. But she wasn’t going to be deterred by personal snipes. Persistence was an investigator’s biggest asset. She intended to keep poking, even if she was dealing with a bunch of cops closing ranks. And the police stable was the logical starting point.
She pulled in a calming breath then forged on. “Smitty was the last known person to see Billy,” she said. “Likely he had nothing to do with Billy’s disappearance. But he might know something that could help. And I do know the stats. I also know what it feels like to have a family member go missing. Billy’s grandmother is frantic. So I’m going to help—and I don’t really care whose toes I step on.”
“Well, I care,” Lara said. “It’s hard enough being low on the totem pole. Always getting the green horses. Smitty’s my boss. He’ll decide if he wants to call.”
Now it was “if” not “when” he called. Nikki sighed. Clearly Lara wasn’t going to pave the way to talking to a fellow cop but her resentment wasn’t entirely work related. And Nikki wasn’t above using that knowledge.
“Justin admires you,” Nikki said. “Says you’re a good cop. He thought you’d be able to help me, any way you can.
Lara groaned but lowered her arm, the water bottle still hanging from her hand. It was silent in the tack room, except for the ticking of the struggling fridge. Lara looked torn but Nikki didn’t feel much sympathy. She was on Mrs. Tanner’s side.
“You’re wasting your time,” Lara said, but with much less conviction. “It wasn’t Smitty. He had nothing to do with it.”
“Probably not. But I have to talk to him.”
Lara pivoted and slammed the bottle into a nearby bin, splashing water over the side of the can. “Smitty’s at the Rusty Nail,” she muttered, her words escaping in a rush, as if fearing that they might not come out at all if she paused to reconsider. “He drives a black Ford pickup and lives outside the city. He has supper at the Nail and generally leaves around eight. If you hurry, you can catch him. Don’t let him know I told you.”
Nikki raised her hand in a grateful salute. “I won’t,” she said.
CHAPTER FIVE
Billy rolled onto his side, scraping the hay beneath him into a fluffier pile. A few stalks pricked through his shirt, yet it was surprisingly comfortable. There wasn’t much hay, maybe a couple flakes, but it was sweet and fresh. A couple colder nights, he’d layered the hay over his chest for warmth. However, the naked prisoner in the adjacent stall had no hay whatsoever. It hurt to see the man constantly shivering.
“Hey, mister,” Billy whispered, cautiously averting his head, hiding his mouth from the watchful eye of the surveillance camera. “You awake? It’s a little warmer now.”
He didn’t expect an answer. The man barely moved and his groans had slowed over the last few days. Billy wasn’t sure how long the man had been chained in the stall. He’d been there when Billy first woke, yet he always seemed too afraid to speak.
That first day, Billy had yelled and screamed and cursed. But the stun gun had quickly silenced him. He was terrified of the gun and how it made him piss his pants. Now low whispers were his only form of rebellion. It wasn’t much, but it gave him some satisfaction that he was breaking the “no talking” rule. One tiny little thing still under his control. It didn’t even matter that the man never answered. It was just comforting to have someone else in the barn.
“Don’t give up, mister,” Billy said. “I have forty-three kernels of corn. You can have them all.”
He studied his piles of grain with a stab of wistfulness. He’d separated the mixture, assuming the corn and molasses would have the most food value. The tedious process gave him something to do these long hours when daylight filtered through the dusty window.
“But you have to eat them,” Billy added. “Don’t leave any on the floor where he can see and get mad.”
“No use,” came a faint voice.
“What? Did you say something?” Billy jerked to his feet so fast he stumbled over his jeans as they slid below his hips. He tugged them up with an impatient hand and hurried to the wall, desperate for companionship. “Want me to push the corn through?” Billy asked. “Then maybe we can figure a way to get out of here.”
“No use,” the man repeated, his voice eerily clear after not speaking for so long. “Tomorrow’s Saturday...feeding day.”
“But you can eat this now.” Billy bent and scooped up the precious corn, cupping it in his hand. “And I’ll give you more tomorrow when he feeds me.”
The man remained curled in a ball. It was impossible to guess what he needed most: food or water. Billy had stopped shitting days ago but he still peed regularly in the far corner, as far away from his hay bed as his chain allowed.
This man’s stall though was bare and dry, devoid of food or human waste.
Billy dropped the corn and scooped a handful of water from his bucket, flicking it through the steel mesh and into the adjacent stall. Drops scattered on the wood around the man’s lank hair but a few hit his neck. One even pooled in the middle of his back, where his spine protruded in rounded knobs.
The man jerked as if shocked. He rolled over, staring up at Billy, his expression turning from fear to resignation. His cheek bones were the most prominent part of his face, his eyes sunken. Earlier Billy had pegged the guy as being in his thirties. Now his dull skin was so cracked, he looked older than Billy’s grandmother.
“My dog died like this,” the man said. “Only God can help me now.” Ignoring the droplets of precious water, he curled back into a tight ball.
“Don’t give up, mister,” Billy said. “Please. Lick up the water. Then I’ll throw some food.”
But the man had retreated back into his silent shell, his curled form reeking of hopelessness. And Billy sank to the floor beside the scatter of yellow corn, confused, afraid and very much alone.
CHAPTER SIX
Nikki whipped her Subaru into the last remaining spot of the Rusty Nail’s cramped parking lot. She preferred to back into spaces. One never knew when it would be necessary to leave quickly. But it was almost eight o’clock, and according to Lara, Smitty didn’t usually stay past that hour.
She scanned the parking area, hoping that he was still here. Several pickups were jammed in the lot, including two Fords. The one closest to her car had some hay bales stacked in the back. The truck was too dusty to tell if it was black or blue. But the parking decal on the windshield matched the one on Sgt. Lara McCullough’s silver truck.
Satisfied, Nikki slid from the car and strode toward the entrance, phone in her hand as she pulled up the publicity page of the Mounted Police Unit. Lots of horse pictures, a few of Lara, and finally she found Sgt. Aaron Smith, aka Smitty.
She paused on the walkway, taking the time to enlarge Smitty’s image, hoping it was a recent photo. Smile lines around blue eyes, straight nose, stubborn jaw. Not a bad-looking guy. The accompanying blurb stated he’d been a member of the police force for twelve years and was an active volunteer with the local 4-H Club. He also helped maintain the county fairgrounds, organize youth shows and assisted in horse rescue.
That last tidbit was revealing. Obviously Smitty was an avid horse lover, not the type who would view Radar as simply a tool for policing. And every day Smitty had to go to work where he was reminded of how Billy had hurt his horse. It must have been frustrating, despite what Lara had said. Had Smitty lost his temper last Saturday? Maybe smacked the kid a little too hard?
Nikki shoved her phone back in her pocket and hurried to the entrance of the Rusty Nail. The wooden door swung open, almost hitting her. She stepped sideways. Two men spilled out, their voices jovial, thick with the smell of beer and testosterone.
“Come on in, beautiful,” the first man said, theatrically pulling the door back.
“I see the clientele here just improved,” the second man said. “One hundred percent.”
“It’s mostly cops in there now,” the first man added. “That’s why we’re headed for the Midtown. But we could stay for another drink. Keep those stiffs away from you.”
“Thanks,” Nikki said with a grin. “But I’m meeting one of them.”
They guffawed, still filling the doorway. She brushed past, feeling their leers but unbothered by them. Much of her work involved solitary work in bars much seedier than this one.
Once inside, she cut to the right, moving as if she knew where she was going, barely turning her head as she checked out the clientele, mostly men dressed in sweats or jeans with a couple wearing off-the-rack suits. Probably lawyers, she decided, hoping to find some loose tongues. The Rusty Nail was a real guys’ bar, the type of place where one could enjoy a drink, play pool or pick up company for the night. A few years ago it had been frequented by sports fans. Now it appeared to be a magnet for law enforcement.
It took a moment to spot Smitty, seated at a square table with two other men. One of his tablemates had such a baby face, she wondered if the guy was even legal. Their plates were pushed to the side, topped with a scatter of fries, ketchup smears and balled-up napkins. Good, they were finished eating. She’d learned not to get in the way of a man and his appetite.
“Hello,” she said, pausing by Smitty’s chair. “My name is Nikki. Could I speak with you for a moment? Perhaps by the bar?”
Smitty’s head jerked up, his eyes widening. “Certainly, darling,” he said, scooping up his beer. He scraped back his chair, shot his buddies a triumphant grin and sauntered to the bar.
“What would you like to drink?” he asked, pulling out her stool and signaling the bartender.
“Not a thing, thank you.” She flicked open her credentials and passed him a business card. “I’m a private investigator and just want to ask some questions about Billy Tanner.”
Smitty’s smile faded, replaced with a scowl. “Fine,” he said. “But what’s your stake in this? You think the police can’t handle it?”
“They’re treating Billy as a runaway. His grandmother isn’t so sure. I just need your impression of his state of mind when he left your barn last Saturday.”
“His state of mind was okay. Like always,” Smitty said, waving away the bartender. “He’s a very level kid.”
“Billy picked up manure in front of the mall that afternoon,” Nikki said. “Was there much interaction with other teens? Anything different?”
“He was always hassled a bit,” Smitty said. “Sometimes I felt sorry for him. But dammit, he deserved it. Did you see what he did to my horse?”
