Part 28 (1/2)
The Mercedes was gone.
I decided to get back to the subject at hand.
”Why are you so interested in Disaway?” I asked.
”He was two horse in the third race Sunday.”
”Is that good luck or something?”
”Remember the tape Sunday night?”
”How could anybody forget it?”
”You forgot something,” Callahan said. ”Tagliani told Stinetto it was a fix for the four horse in the third heat.”
”I still don't get the point.”
”The four horse was Midnight Star. He went off as place favorite, eight to one, won, paid a bundle. The favorite was Disaway. Wasn't set up for Midnight Star to win, was set up for Disaway to lose. No sense any other way. Sunday, everything was A-one for him, up against a weak field, track was soft, he went off a five-to-two favorite. Strolled in eighth.”
”Eighth!”
”It can happen. We all have bad days.”
”So the trick was to slow Disaway down?” I said.
Callahan nodded. ”Midnight Star romped first, paid $46.80. You bet Midnight Star, you got $46.80 for every two bucks you put down. Figure it out, bet a thousand bucks, go home with $23,400 smackers-not a bad day's work. My way of thinking, Disaway wasn't just having a bad day Sunday.”
”Supposing Midnight Star had a bad day?”
Callahan smiled. ”That's horse racing,” he said.
”How did they do it? Make him lose, I mean?”
”Lots of ways. Legal ways.”
”You think the jockey was in on it?”
”Maybe, not likely. Scoot doesn't like Thibideau or the trainer. He's a straight-up kid; like to think it wasn't him.”
”How about the trainer?”
”Smokey? Maybe again, but he was p.i.s.sed because he thought the boy booted the horse early. Didn't know Thibideau told him to.”
”So that makes it the owner?”
”Looks that way. Thing is, Tagliani knew about it. Tagliani got wasted couple of hours later. Maybe there's no connection, but got to think about the possibilities.”
”So what do we do about it, go to Raines?”
”Can't. Illegal wiretap. Dutch can't afford to have anybody know about it. No tape, all we got's guesswork.”
”So we forget it?”
”I don't forget it,” he said ominously. ”Happens once, it'll happen again.”
31.
INVITATION.
I was tired of the track and anxious to get back to town. There were a lot of loose ends that needed tying up and I suddenly felt out of touch with things. It was pus.h.i.+ng noon, so I told Callahan I needed to make a phone call or two and then I'd grab a cab back to town.
”Stick's on his way out,” Callahan said. ”Back gate, fifteen minutes. ”
”How do you know that?” I asked, wondering whether Callahan was psychic in addition to his other talents.
”Arranged it last night,” he said, and added in his cryptic dialogue, ”Due at the clubhouse. See ya.”
”Thanks for the education,” I said.
Callahan stood for a moment appraising me and then nodded. ”Disaway runs again Thursday afternoon. Ought to be here.”
”It's a date,” I said.
He started to leave, then turned back around and offered me his hand. ”You're okay,” he said. ”Like a guy who listens. Thought maybe you'd turn out to be a know-everything.”
”What I don't know would fill the course.”
”You know plenty,” he said, turning and heading across the infield toward the clubhouse.
I went looking for a phone to check the hotel for messages. By daylight, I had started having second thoughts about the night before. I knew some of the phone calls had been from Dutch. I wondered whether any of them had been Doe calling.
I was walking past the stables when I heard her voice.
”Jake?”
The voice came from one of the stalls. I peered inside but saw nothing, so I went in cautiously. I could hear a horse grumbling and stomping his foot and the pungent odor of hay and manure tickled my nose, but my eyes were slow adjusting to the dark stable after leaving the bright sunlight.
”Are you going blind in your old age?” she said from behind me. I turned around and she was standing in the doorway, framed against the brash sunlight, like a ghost. My eyes gradually picked out details. She was all dolled up in jodhpurs, a Victorian blouse with a black bow tie, and a little black derby. Twenty years vanished, just like that. She looked eighteen again, standing there in that outfit, scratching her thigh with her riding crop. My knees started bending both ways. I felt as awkward as a schoolboy at his first dance.
”You could have called,” she chided, as if she were scolding a kid for stealing cookies.
”I got tied up,” I said.
She came over to me and ran the end of the riding crop very gently down the edge of my jaw and down my throat, stopping at that soft depression where the pulse hides.