It wasn't until I opened an older Equifleet pamphlet that I spotted a trailer that was a possibility. As I studied the trailer's floor plan, memories of that night unexpectedly crowded my mind, and the walls in the small, windowless room seemed to close down on me. For the first time, I thought about James Peters being in there, too. In the dark, alone. Tied to one of the metal partitions. And I wondered what it had been like for him. Maybe he hadn't been able to untie his hands, or maybe he had been unconscious. Or it simply could have been that I was the lucky one. The one who had found the old bolt.
The hum of the ventilation system seemed to grow louder, but the room felt airless.
Ralston opened the door, dropped the MVA list and a notepad on the table, and paused before handing me a Coke. "What's up?"
I shook my head and looked back down at the brochure. "Nothing."
Ralston hitched his chair up to the table and grabbed another envelope out of the box. After a few seconds, I sensed that his attention was on me and not the packet in his hands. I looked up and saw that he was watching me, a slight frown on his face. When I leaned back in my chair and popped the tab on my Coke, Ralston opened his envelope and dumped the contents on the table.
"What are we looking for?" he said. "I don't know the first thing about trailers, or horses for that matter."
I rubbed my forehead and sat up straighter. "First of all, the trailer has to have a steel shell. Most if not all of the companies are using aluminum nowadays, but their older models, like the trailer I was in, were steel. It's gotta be a gooseneck, too, with a loading door and ramp on the right side-"
"Right side? You mean the same side as a car's passenger door?"
"Yeah. The escape door's across from that and a little toward the front, on the driver's side. And see this?" I swiveled the Equifleet pamphlet around and pointed at the diagram I'd been studying. "The layout's very much like this one. It's called a six-horse head to head. The loading door accesses a wide central aisle, and the horses are brought up the ramp and are either backed into one of the three stalls in the front of the trailer or into one of the three in the back. The horses face each other as they travel, and it's easy to unload them. You just lead them out of their stalls and down the ramp."
"Okay. Could that be the one?"
"I don't think so. It's fancier than the trailer I was in, and it has a rear tack room. I'm pretty sure the one I was in didn't." I looked up from the diagram. "But I'm not one-hundred percent certain."
Ralston drew two lines down the top sheet of his notepad and labeled the resultant columns "unlikely," "possible," and "positive."
I opened the last pamphlet Equifleet had sent and scanned the diagrams. "This is the same layout. The same floor plan, anyway."
Ralston stepped around the table and looked down at the diagram.
"But the windows are in the wrong place," I said.
"What about the escape door? Is it the same kind?"
I studied the photograph of their oldest six-horse. "I can't tell."
"Wouldn't details like the style of the escape door and window location be optional?"
"I suppose so," I said.
"And they might make minor changes to the design without going to the expense of printing a whole new batch of pamphlets. I'll list them as a positive for now."
"Sounds good to me."
I was on my third packet from a company named Kennsington, when the door opened.
"Delivery." The detective who'd directed me to Ralston's desk laid a pizza box on the table and began to back through the doorway. There was a look of amusement in his eyes that Ralston picked up on immediately.
Ralston yanked up on the lid. Several slices of pizza were missing. "Schnauz, what's this?"
The detective grinned and began to pull the door closed. "Delivery perks."
"You're a shyster, you know that?" Ralston yelled as the door clicked shut.
We worked steadily for the next two hours. By the time we'd finished, the packets from the trailer manufacturers were separated into three piles that matched the columns on Ralston's list. Thirteen names on the MVA list were now highlighted in yellow. The only positives. I commented on the low number.
"It only takes one," Ralston said. "And don't forget, I haven't heard back from all the companies yet. He lowered the "unlikely" pile into the box.
Phase one completed, now we actually had to look at the trailers in person, and I had the impression Ralston would have been happier if he could proceeded without a "civilian" in tow. But it couldn't be helped.
"I hope the companies sent us all their old pamphlets," I said. "Otherwise, we could have missed it."
"We'll start with the positives and work our way down the list. If we don't get a hit, I'll contact the companies again." Ralston rubbed the back of his neck. "Or, if it comes to it, we could resort to checking all the names on the list in person and hope we don't have to widen the search to the counties I haven't run off."
I groaned. "It's going to take forever."
Ralston grunted. "Contrary to the public's perception, detective work's ninety-nine-point-nine percent tedium. Speaking of which, when can you start?"
I thought about the next two days. Besides the usual workload, Foxdale was hosting a party Saturday to kick off the show season. I told him the earliest would be Sunday morning, late, and we agreed to meet at the farm.
Lunch time Friday, I spent at a nursery, watching the bumper of my pickup sag closer to the ground as an assortment of shrubs and flowering plants were loaded into the bed.
On the trip back to Foxdale, I braked as I approached the sharp curve on Rocky Ford. A pickup was half in the road. I slowed even more and saw why the driver had parked where he had. Three men were unloading a fancy wooden sign for what would soon be the new housing development. A flatbed with a hoist had delivered a load of bricks the week before, and decorative columns already flanked the entrance.
As I pulled into Foxdale, I saw that a crew from the local rental company had erected a huge yellow and white striped canopy between the indoor and barn A. I bumped the pickup across the grass, toward the rows of banquet tables and folding chairs that had already been set up.
Marty and I unloaded my truck. Afterwards, I gestured toward the potted plants that we'd positioned to keep the guests from walking into the guy wires. "We'll use them around the jumps next weekend if it's not too cold."
"Don't tell me. The first A-rated show of the season."
"That it is."
Marty hung his head. "Man. The winter break was too damn short."
I wiped the sleeve of my shirt across my forehead. "Awh, come on, Marty. Think of all the overtime."
"What overtime?"
"Oh, yeah." I grinned. "Being salaried's the pits, isn't it?"
"Got that right."
We both turned around when a heavy vehicle rumbled down the lane.
"Damn it." I stood and peeled my shirt off the back of my neck. In the last two weeks, the weather had gone from winter to spring. "I forgot about the hay delivery."
Marty lifted the Chevy's tailgate and slammed it home. "Want me to count and weigh the bales?"
"I don't know." I sighed. "Let's take a look at the load and paperwork, then decide."
"Why don't you find another supplier?" Marty said.
"Harrison might not be the most honest guy around, but he's got the best quality hay in the area, and he was only shorting us thirty-five bales or so. I'm hoping random checks will be enough to keep him honest." I sighed. "I don't know. If he tries it again, I'll dump him."
"I have no doubt."