When Ralston didn't respond, I said, "Harrison's father, Buddy Harrison, used to deliver hay to James Peters' farm which, by the way, just so happens to border Piney Run Park. John Harrison might have delivered to him as well, but I couldn't verify that because Mrs. Peters' mind is stuck in the past. Anyway, the farm was sold and is now being subdivided and developed by T amp;T Industries."
"Damn."
"Ask Drake," I said, "if he knows John Harrison."
The six o'clock lesson had just begun, and I was on my way home when Mrs. Hill flagged me down.
"It looks like you were right about Harrison," Detective Ralston said when I took the phone from Mrs. Hill.
I turned my back to her and leaned against a filing cabinet. "He's involved, then?"
"John Harrison is Drake's cousin."
I exhaled slowly. "So Drake knew all along."
"I'm not so sure about that. I do think your visit got him thinking. He admitted that his cousins borrowed his trailer from time to time, but he never suspected it was being used for something illegal. What is clear is that he's afraid of them. If he knows something incriminating, I doubt he'll tell us. I'm on my way over to the Harrison farm now. It belongs to their father, but both brothers still live there." He paused. "Do you know where it is?"
"No idea."
"Montgomery County, about eight miles west of where you escaped from the trailer."
I didn't say anything.
"I'll let you know what I find out." He hung up.
I lowered the receiver onto the cradle.
When I didn't move, Mrs. Hill looked up from her paperwork. "How'd the guard work out last night?" she said.
I smoothed my palms down my jeans. "Good."
She leaned back in her chair and waited for me to continue. I walked into the lounge and stood in front of the soda machine. My throat was dry. I fumbled the coins into the slot and pressed the Coke button. The can rattled into the slot at the bottom.
I didn't go home. I watched a little TV, bits and pieces of the next three lessons, and otherwise hung around until the guard came in at ten. When the barns cleared out shortly afterward, I accompanied the guard on his first walk-through of the night. Like he'd done the night before, he had ignored the sign at the entrance to the lane and had parked his vehicle outside the office door. That was fine by me. It was more visible there and would hopefully serve as a deterrent.
I watched him settle into Mrs. Hill's chair, then headed home. I turned into Greg's driveway and was halfway down the lane when headlights flashed in my rearview mirror.
My grip tightened on the steering wheel. I turned off the main drive and drove down the short lane that circled around behind the foaling barn. When the car made the turn, too, I pressed my foot down on the accelerator.
I swung the truck in a tight circle, spewing gravel across the vacant lot, and pointed its nose toward the lane. The Chevy's engine idled as the car moved into sight. As it entered the last curve, I noticed the shape and position of the headlights and realized it was Ralston's Crown Vic. I backed into my spot and rolled up the windows while Ralston climbed out and waited by the Ford's back fender.
"I was on my way to Foxdale when I saw you pull out in front of me," he said, and it bothered me that I hadn't noticed I was being followed. He jerked his head toward the steps. "Can I come up?"
"Sure. Did you talk to Harrison?"
"That's what I want to talk about."
He seemed prepared to wait until we were inside before he filled me in. We went up the stairs in silence. I braced open the screen door with my thigh and flipped through my keys.
Ralston stood behind me and fidgeted. "What'n the hell do you have so many keys for? You need to keep your house and truck keys separate so you can find them faster. And you should have your key in your hand before you get out of the truck." He glanced over his shoulder. "And you should lock your truck. I noticed you didn't."
I quit flipping through the keys.
"And," Ralston said, "when you pull into the parking lot, here or at work, look around before you get out. If you think you're being followed, head for the nearest police station, or a fire station if it's closer. Someone's always there, day or night."
I stood with my arms stiff at my sides.
"Come on, Steve. Open the door." He bent down and peered at the lock. "Is this new?"
I nodded.
"Good choice. But both the door and jamb are wood. They're your weak link. It wouldn't take much to kick the door in, even with the dead bolt." He shifted his weight. "Come on."
I found the right key, unlocked the door, and switched on the lights.
Ralston scanned the loft. When he walked around the far side of the island counter, he kept his hand near his gun. The skin on my arms tingled. I leaned against the island counter and crossed my arms over my chest while he checked to make sure no one was hiding on the other side of my bed. After he'd given the bathroom and closet a once over, he walked to the far end of the loft and looked toward the road.
With his back to me, he said, "If you feel the least bit insecure when you walk in here, or have a feeling that something's not right, leave immediately."
"They're gone, aren't they?" I said and couldn't keep the tension out of my voice.
Ralston walked back into the kitchen. "Don't know for sure. Guy who works for them said they canceled a delivery scheduled for today. Something about the semi being out of commission, but as far as he knew, they hadn't called out the mechanic they use."
"Damn."
Ralston looked at my face, and his expression softened. "Let's sit down."
He slid a stool around the corner of the counter and settled onto the vinyl cushion. I sat with my back to the windows, and only then did it register that he'd moved his stool so he was facing the door. I turned and looked at the long stretch of glass, black with the night, and felt apprehension settle into my chest like a block of ice.
"I want to set up a protective detail here." Ralston tapped his fingers on the edge of the counter. It was quiet in the loft, and the sound got on my nerves.
"You think they're gonna come after me?"
"It's a possibility I'd like to use to advantage."
"They might have been here already." I told him about the fire.
Ralston glared at me, and I suddenly felt like a little kid who'd been caught out.
"Why in the hell didn't you tell me about this before now?"
"You were in Pennsylvania."
His eyes narrowed. "I wasn't there today."
I didn't say anything, and after a minute or two, he propped his elbows on the counter and rubbed his face. The overhead lights reflected off his blond hair.
"How'd it go up there, anyway?" I said.
"They found her late yesterday. Got some good trace, even DNA, but-"
"She's dead?"
Ralston nodded. "I don't think her case is related. It felt staged. Too many differences in the MO, and no signature. My money's on the boyfriend."
"What's a signature?"
"A compulsive behavior the killer doesn't vary from victim to victim."
I frowned. "How could there be a signature if Peters is your only victim?"
"He isn't. There are two other cases in the computer that closely match the MO in the Peters' case-David Rowe and Larry Jacob. Only difference is, they weren't part of the horse community."
My skin felt clammy. "They sound familiar, but I can't think.. "