Bullet Work (23 page)

The My Lassie Stakes was Saturday, and he
didn’t think it would ever get here. Dan had learned that, with an
improving two-year-old, the time between races seemed to stand
still. When an owner had a common horse, the time flew by,
accompanied by frequent training and vet bills.

Beth had been around some good horses, but
her connection with Aly Dancer was something he’d never seen
before. She spent all her free time with the horse and, according
to Jake, had started sleeping at the barn to be around her. If the
guy attacking the horses had any honor at all, Aly Dancer should be
safe, since Jake was now off the list, but Beth wasn’t taking any
chances. All the better for Dan.

Aly Dancer was eating well, and her coat
shone like stained glass. Jake was going to work her on Wednesday
to blow her out in preparation for the stake. Beth was finishing
the last of the wraps on her hind legs. Two-year-olds were so
brittle and still growing, so all the tender touches and special
attention would add to her chances to become a stronger horse when
she matured and grew up a little. Dan held a couple of peppermints
in his extended hand, and Aly Dancer gratefully chomped them up.
She crunched and threw her head around, apparently pleased.

“Don’t spoil her,” Beth said, laughing. “She
has a job to do. We don’t want her getting soft on us.”

“You’re the one spoiling her,” Dan said. “And
I really appreciate it. She does, too. You take care of our girl
here. We have to be in some pictures come Saturday.”

“We’ll be there,” she said.

As he rounded the back of his car, his eye
caught something shiny on the ground. It was a cell phone. There
was no vehicle parked next to him. Whoever had parked beside his
car had dropped a cell phone on the way out.

Dan picked it up and examined it. After
scanning the contact list, he realized this phone didn’t have a
hi-tech owner. No names in the contact list. He turned the phone
off and turned it back on. If it was the same as his phone, the
cell number would appear as it logged on.

Dan got into his vehicle as the phone was
logging on. Sure enough, the number appeared. He pulled out his
cell phone and dialed the number. It was odd to be dialing a number
in one hand and holding the ringing phone in the other, but he
wanted to see whether he could identify the owner from the voice
mail message.

After five rings a voice came on. “This is
Hank Skelton. Leave a message.”

Dan opened Skelton’s phone and clicked open
the page for received, placed, and missed calls. He was hoping to
find a clue in the received calls about who had placed the
extortion calls to identify the drop.

There were several 312 numbers—could be
friends in Chicago or owners. Hank had raced there. Dan also
noticed a few 410 numbers—Pennsylvania, another state where Skelton
raced and probably had owners. Some 703 numbers, but that was local
and didn’t tell him much. He clicked over to placed calls, again a
smattering of 312, 403, and 703 numbers.

There was one 703 number that came up
repeatedly. He checked the received calls again. There it was.
Seven of the last ten calls received were from 703-544-8180.

He opened the missed calls. The 703 number
was there as well. Three times. Could be his vet or could be a
local owner. Dan dialed the number, this time using Hank’s
phone.

It rang three times, then a voice came on the
line. “Belker. What’s up, Hank?”

Dan snapped the phone shut, disconnecting the
call. He flipped the phone back open and powered down the phone.
Belker would be calling back. Why so many calls with Belker?Skelton
was all over Belker and his staff over the kidnapped mare.

Belker’s response was unusual as well.
“What’s up?” It could be just a common greeting. Dan didn’t know
Belker well enough to know whether he said that all the time. If
Belker knew it was Hank, he wouldn’t ask “What’s up.” He’d know he
was going to be questioned about the kidnapped horse, maybe be
asked for an update on the investigation. “What’s up” seemed too
casual.

Dan dialed the number again, this time with
his cell phone. After two rings, the same voice came on the line.
“Tim Belker, Fairfax Security.”

“Hey, Tim, this is Dan Morgan. You know, the
guy keeping the kid AJ at nights.”

Belker grunted. “Oh yeah, you.”

“Anyway, the reason I’m calling is, if I can
be of any assistance in the investigation or provide any contacts,
whatever, just want you to know I’d be willing to help.”

“Well, uh, thank you. Dan, was it?”

“Right, Dan Morgan.”

“Look, I appreciate the offer, but we’ve got
a full team locally as well as investigations ongoing with the
local sheriff’s office and the FBI.”

“Okay, just wanted to make the offer.
Anything to help out. But I do have one question. I heard that Hank
Skelton gets a call about where to drop the money. Is that a local
number or any luck on a trace?”

“That’s part of an ongoing investigation, so
I can’t discuss that.”

“I understand. Just seems strange that we
can’t get a hit on the phone being used.”

“The call is coming through some switchboard
in the Caribbean. It’s being bounced and coming through a Skype
account, but it changes each time. It’s become kind of a wild goose
chase.”

“Okay, let me know if there’s anything I can
do.” Dan snapped off the call. He sat and thought for a few
minutes, then powered up Belker’s phone. He clicked on the received
call page and deleted the history. Then he clicked over to the
placed call menu and deleted those calls.

He got out of his car and walked toward
Crok’s. He could have simply walked to Skelton’s barn and handed
someone the phone but opted to be an anonymous Good Samaritan and
just turn it in to Crok’s and let them find its owner.

On his way back to the car, he pulled out his
phone again and dialed a familiar number. “Mom? I need a big
favor.”

Chapter 42

the horses flew past the finish
line, and Milt shouted, “Yeah, baby. I got the exacta ten
times.”

“Not bad,” said Lennie. “With the top two
favorites, you’ll be lucky if it pays twenty bucks.”

“I’ll take two bills,” said Milt. “That race
was like stealing.”

Lennie had passed the race, as had TP and
Dan.

“A little too chalky for my tastes,” TP said.
Chalk referred to the betting favorite. Astute horseplayers
perceived the odds of a favorite winning were less than the
potential return on a winning bet. Such that even if handicapping
said a horse would win, they wouldn’t bet on it because over time
the gambler would lose money. In that situation it was better just
to watch.

“Can’t win if you don’t play,” said Milt.
“I’m gonna roll ’em today. I can just feel it.”

Lennie smiled to himself and turned his pages
to the next contest. He looked over at Dan and said, “Hey, when you
gonna run Hero’s Echo?”

“May not find a race until the last month of
the meet. Jake said he didn’t lose that much conditioning as a
result of the surgery, but we’ll need a few weeks to get him on top
of his game.”

“Going to run in allowance company?”

“Yeah, he’s still eligible for ‘non-two other
than,’ and they have a pretty fair purse for those here.”
Non-two other than
referred to an
allowance, or non-claiming, race where the horses haven’t won two
races lifetime other than maiden or claiming races. Horse racing
was based around grouping horses of similar experience and success
through “conditions.” Once a horse ran through its conditions, it
would only run in open stakes, allowance or claiming events, where
the competition was much stiffer.

“A lot of horses come back from that throat
surgery and tear up the track,” said TP.

“I guess before the surgery it’s like running
the hundred yard dash while holding your breath,” Dan said.

“Emilio would fit your horse perfect,” said
TP.

Lennie shot back, “Teep, you’d say your boy
could fit a lamppost perfectly if it could get him a mount.”

“Kid can ride the hair off a goat,” TP
said.

“I leave all that to Jake, Teep. Talk to
him.”

“Wouldn’t kill you to put in a good
word.”

“I will, but you know Jake,” Dan said,
laughing. “He does only what Jake wants. I just keep my mouth shut
and pay the bills. It’s worked well for me so far.”

“Pardon me, boys,” said Milt as he got up to
move out of the box. “But I’ve got a date with the cashier’s
window.”

“You mean you’ve got a date with a funnel
cake and a corn dog,” said TP.

Undeterred, he moved past them with the
excitement of cashing a handful of tickets. Lennie studied his
pages, and TP focused on the program in front of him, calculating
jockey percentages and thinking of pitches and strategies to get
his guys more rides.

“Lennie, you know anything about Skype?”

He looked up at the tote board to check some
odds. “Yeah, I have a couple of pals from the U.K. and Australia
who call me on their Skype accounts. We keep an eye on large
carryover pools—pick sixes, twin tris, you know. If we see one
getting really large, we go in on tickets together.”

“You’re a real global enterprise,” said
TP.

“I do what I can. These damn tracks conspire
against the everyday gambler. If there’s an overlay out there, we
gang up to take advantage of it, from anywhere in the world.”

“What kind of caller ID information do you
get?” Dan asked.

“You mean the ID on the phone?” Dan nodded.
Lennie fished his cell phone from his pocket and clicked a few
buttons, then handed the phone to him. “Here’s Graham, my virtual
track buddy from Edinborough.”

The caller ID was a series of numbers but
didn’t resemble a U.S. area code and number.

“So, do they ever appear like a U.S. phone
number?”

“I think they can, but my calls come from
overseas, so they usually appear that way.”

“Can you dial them back?”

“Sure, just hit call when the number is up,
and it dials right back. Why? You trying to move into the twentieth
century? Upgrade your technology?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Can you trace the number?”

“I suppose. The number links to an account or
a computer, so it has to tie to something or someone.”

Dan handed the phone to him, and Lennie went
back to his sheets.

“How’s the filly doing?” TP asked.

“Doing great,” Dan said. “Can’t wait for
Saturday. Don’t think it’ll ever get here. Excited and scared
shitless at the same time.”

Chapter 43

“Mom, I really appreciate it.” Dan
leaned back in his office chair with his feet up on the desk. It
was just after noon on Monday, and she was filling him in on what
he had asked about after finding the cell phone.

“You know, things were supposed to have
improved in the aftermath of 9/11, but the agencies don’t share
more now than they did then. I had Frank Matthews make a few
inquiries since he’s been on some interagency task forces and knows
people well at the FBI. I don’t like doing this.”

“I know, Mom, I’m just trying to piece some
things together, and I need to buy a clue about the investigation
going on at Fairfax Park.”

“Frank said there’s no investigation on file
with the FBI. Now, he said that could mean a file is being created
or that they’re seeking more information to decide whether to bring
an investigation—but for now there’s no formal action.”

“How quickly do they typically move?”

“Well, if it’s like here, pretty fast. The
speed of criminal enterprise doesn’t wait for bureaucrats to catch
up. If they had valid information, they’d move on it in a
heartbeat,” she said.

Dan sat upright, elbows on his desk. “What
about the local sheriff?”

“Now, they do have a file, but they aren’t
actively investigating,” she said.

“What do you mean, they aren’t actively
investigating?”

“What Frank told me is that where
jurisdiction overlaps the related agencies can make one primary and
the other secondary. It appears that the private security has taken
primary responsibility, so the sheriff’s office is standing down.
Providing resources when asked but not leading the
investigation.”

“How can that be?” Dan stood, pacing behind
his desk, unknowingly testing the strength of the telephone cord.
“Why would the local sheriff’s office defer authority to a private
company?”

“Well, they’re a private company, but they
have jurisdiction over park security. Fairfax Park is legally part
of Manassas Park, which is federal property.”

“I still don’t get it,” he said.

“Think about going to the airport. The
security is provided by a private company, hired by the government.
Even though they’re private, they have jurisdiction over security
in the airport. Now the fibbies or sheriff don’t take over the
responsibilities at the airport, even though I suppose they could.
In deference, they wait to be asked to help. Otherwise, they stand
down.”

“But if an ongoing criminal enterprise was
underway, wouldn’t they get involved?”

“They certainly could. I suppose it depends
upon the information provided by the agency with jurisdiction and
how much support the local agency requests.”

“Okay.” His mind raced through the
possibilities. “Thanks a lot, Mom. I’ve got to go.”

“Dan, have you talked to Vickie?”

“Mom.”

“I just think if you—”

“Mom.”

“—talked to her, you know—”

“Mom.”

“You might—”

“Mom. Enough.” He softened his tone. She
couldn’t understand the divorce, he thought. Her marriage ended
with an Arlington police officer standing on her doorstep. The idea
of ending a marriage by agreement must appear unfathomable.