Even though the track wouldn’t be open for another fifteen minutes, there was already much activity in the barns with horses being readied for their morning exercise.
‘I’m going closer,’ I said to Tony.
‘But Norman said you were to wait on the bus.’
I looked at him with my head cocked to one side as if to say, ‘So what?’
I went down the steps and moved slowly past the first barn in the line, stopping close to the second one. Hayden Ryder’s barn was the next one down and appeared quite normal, with several internal lights visible through the open sides.
All was still quiet.
‘Listen up,’ Norman’s whispered voice said in my earpiece. ‘Anyone not in position?’
There was no responding call from the agents.
‘Good. Count down — three, two, one — go!’
The stillness of the dawn was suddenly broken by seemingly all nine armed agents shouting at the same time.
‘Armed federal officer! Stand still with your hands up.’
I watched as Steffi Dean made her way towards the northeastern corner of the barn, her two arms stretched firmly out in front of her, her right hand locked around the grip of her Glock 22C, with her left hand holding her right wrist for added stability.
No silencer, I noted. This was not a covert operation.
Back in the offices in Arlington, she had told me that she’d never fired her gun other than on a range, but now she looked more than ready, moving her whole torso from side to side with her head so that the barrel always pointed directly where she was looking.
As I crept closer, there was more shouting from within the barn and then, quite suddenly, a series of shots rang out — at least ten in rapid succession.
‘Man down! Man down!’ was shouted loudly through my earpiece by a high-pitched female voice.
Oh shit!
Even I knew that ‘Man down’ meant that one of the special agents had been injured, or worse.
I inched forward and peered around the side of one of the huge steel skips that were dotted around the site for the collection of manure.
I could see Steffi Dean standing in the exit at the corner of the barn, her gun held out straight in front like a natural extension of her arm.
‘Who’s down?’ Norman asked in my ear.
‘Bob Wade,’ came the reply. It was Trudi Harding who spoke.
I watched as Steffi buckled at the knees and almost went down to the dirt floor.
Her gun dropped to her side and, even from my hiding place some ten yards away, I could clearly hear her gasp with despair.
‘I think Bob’s fine,’ Trudi went on. ‘I shot the assailant. He’s down too.’
From somewhere over my right shoulder I could hear the rhythmic raising and falling siren of an approaching ambulance.
‘Are we secure?’ Norman asked. ‘Anyone else need assistance?’
There was no reply.
‘Suspects?’ Norman said.
‘Only the one down here,’ Trudi replied.
‘All others lying face down in the dirt and cooperating,’ a male voice added. ‘Secure on the south side.’
‘And on the north,’ chipped in another agent.
‘All clear,’ called Norman. ‘But stay vigilant, everybody. Conduct a full search.’
In front of me, Steffi Dean had recovered her composure somewhat and again had her Glock 22C up at the ready. She moved into the wooden building and started to move forward, looking into each horse-stall in turn.
Hayden Ryder’s barn was identical to most of the other barns at Churchill Downs. About seventy yards in length, it contained twenty-four wooden-built horse-stalls, arranged in two rows of twelve, situated back to back, with wide, open walkways running along in front, bounded on the outside by a half-height wall. At either end were more substantial, two-storey, block-built structures containing the trainer’s office, equipment and feed stores, together with the stable dispensary.
The whole thing was covered by a green shingle-covered roof that stretched from the structures at either end over the total length and width of the barn, supported above the half-walls by white-painted vertical wooden beams.
From the direction of the shots, it seemed that all the action had taken place at the far end of the barn.
I walked up alongside and went in.
Three of the special agents, Larry Spiegal, Cliff Connell and Mason Rees, stood looking down at a man who lay in a crumpled heap on the ground.
No one made any attempt to help him, because he was beyond help.
The back of his head appeared to have been entirely blown away.
Norman appeared from the far side of the barn. He took in the scene, together with the fact that I was standing there. He pursed his lips.
‘Anyone know who it is?’ he asked.
None of the agents replied.
‘I think it’s Hayden Ryder,’ I said. ‘The trainer.’ They all looked at me. ‘I did some research on the Internet. I think that’s his face, or what’s left of it.’
We all looked down again at the mangled bloody mess at our feet.
‘Cover him up,’ Norman said to no one in particular.
Larry Spiegal took a horse rug that was hung over the half-wall and draped it over the body.
‘Where’s Bob?’ Norman asked.
‘Down there,’ Mason Rees said, pointing.
I glanced to my left. Bob Wade was sitting on the floor with his back up against one of the stall walls and his legs stretched straight out on the dirt. Trudi Harding was crouching down next to him.
‘What happened?’ Norman asked.
‘This guy came at Bob with that fork,’ Mason said, indicating the long-handled, two-pronged pitchfork lying close to the body. ‘I saw it happen. He came out of that door, ran straight at Bob, and stabbed him in the chest.’ He made a two-handed stabbing motion. ‘Trudi took him down.’
Norman walked over towards Bob.
‘You OK?’ he asked.
Bob Wade looked up at him and nodded. ‘A bit shaken up but I’ll be fine. One of the prongs hit my badge.’ He fingered the groove that the fork had made in the metal.
‘You were lucky,’ Norman said. ‘How come he got close enough to stab you?’
‘He came from behind me. I heard him and turned but he was too close. He was on me before I had a chance to react.’
Norman was far from happy.
It was clear that Trudi was still shocked by what had happened.
‘He would have killed Bob,’ she said, speaking with a nervous timbre in her voice. ‘I’m sure of it. He was lining up for a second attempt with the fork so I shot him.’
‘You did the right thing,’ Norman said.
Two uniformed paramedics ran into the barn weighed down with medical kits. They took a brief look at the body under the rug, and then went over to Bob Wade. They could only help the living.
Norman walked a little bit away and signalled for me to follow.
‘I told you to remain on the bus.’
‘I heard you say “all clear” over the radio so I came forward.’
He didn’t like it but there was little else he could do.
‘Go back to the bus now,’ he said firmly. ‘I will try to sort out this damn mess. It might take some time as I have to call in the Louisville Police to investigate the shooting.’
‘Can I help in any way?’ I asked hopefully.
He shook his head. ‘Get back on the bus and wait for me there, or else I will have you arrested.’
That seemed to be a fairly definite no, then.
I went back to the bus.
9
I sat on the bus for the next two hours, by which time the whole area round Ryder’s barn had been cordoned off with bright yellow ‘POLICE — DO NOT CROSS’ tape by the Louisville Police.