Trotting in three quarters time (a novel), Part 3

by A.J. Lencroy

Chapter 1 ishere.

Chapter 2 ishere.

CHAPTER 3

The video

Detective Jerry Hooley watched the race replay on a flat-screen mounted on the wall in the media room at the station.

Rosemarie Foster, a quiet, petite woman with a haircut similar to the one on Old Dutch Boy paint cans, was the unofficial technical expert for the Florence police department. After listening to his outline of the potential case, Rosemarie quickly opened her personal horse racing wagering site, logged onto a replay section, and typed the name Assets Accepted.

Before watching the video, Rosemarie, who was usually all business, mentioned she was a fan of the sport. She patiently explained that Assets Accepted was a trotting filly, which meant that she lifted her knees high, almost as if she were pulling Cinderella’s coach.

She said the horse of interest would be the one in the yellow saddle pad with the number six. She pushed the play button. The horses approached a starting car. Rosemarie offered commentary during the replay. Most of her commentary was indecipherable to Hooley.

To the surprise of nobody, Assets Accepted won, finishing about six feet in front of the horse in the white saddle pad.

The race was interesting.

The post-race ceremony was astonishing.

The camera angle was from the racetrack towards the grandstands. Assets Accepted jogged back to the area of the finish line, made a U-turn, and Spit Kendricks entered the scene.

Spit unplugged some buckles and a stick from the horse’s neck, then urged the horse forward, tugging at the halter. The camera view showed a profile of the horse, the driver standing behind the horse holding reins, and Spit holding onto the horse’s head by the halter. A low red brick wall was behind them. There was no audio.

Behind the low wall, watching the little ceremony was a woman in a red wig, almost six feet tall. She was very animated, with both arms extended like a referee signaling a successful field goal.

Slightly behind the red-haired referee, on her right, was a middle-aged woman, at least a foot shorter, wearing a green shawl and a black bonnet, who applauded daintily.

The referee dropped her right arm to her side, but for some reason, in her euphoria, she kept her left arm held high and changed the gesture into a we’re-number-one signal. Then she turned her raised finger into an invisible pistol and, using a piston-like motion, began spraying invisible bullets. Hooley read her lips due to a previous discussion – TOLD YOU.

The key event happened in an instant. The referee woman pivoted toward the woman in the black bonnet who was taking a step forward. Somehow, the celebrating woman accidentally launched her fingertip barrel directly into the right eye socket of the lady in the bonnet.

The bonnet lady dropped like a bag of rocks. The video went to a black screen.

Rosemarie was the first to react, “Holy crap, her finger went in up to the second knuckle.”

Hooley, eyes bugging, did not say a word.

Rosemarie pushed pause and said, “Thank the Lord the pointer woman did not have Bitch Blades; she could have killed the bonnet woman.”

“What kind of blades?”

The question was as if Hooley had touched a treadmill button that sent Rosemarie from a walk to a wild sprint.

“Bitch Blades, super-long fingernails – they’re ridiculous. Women can’t even pick up a quarter, and then some women slap on those eyelashes like tarantulas, stiletto heels, and pouty painted lips that look like Venus flytraps, and don’t get me started on the body work.”

Rosemarie suddenly realized she was ranting and tried to land the plane softly, “The wasted time and money could go to better use.”

Hooley, still reeling from the video, wondered what sent Rosemarie off the rails, but he did not pry. He looked back at the frozen screen and just said, “Good point.”

Composing herself, Rosemarie asked, “You want to see the video again?”

“No, can you save it and send me a copy?”

“Sure.”

“Did the woman lose her eye?”

“I don’t think so. We called, and they said she was released from the ER. It’s early days of the case, but it was clearly an accident.”

“I agree, but it looked bad. On the other hand, the trotting filly looked terrific and raced very smoothly. She won that race for fun. Why wasn’t the tall pointing woman inside the winner’s circle?”

“It’s not her horse. It’s her husband’s horse, at least for now. It’s all divorce BS.”

“Hooley, that’s why you and I are better off single. Marriage can turn a stupid comment into a civil war.”

He smiled, “Oh, one more thing. How much did the horse earn in that race?”

She scrolled the tape back to the start of the race and looked at the heading as the field approached the starting gate.

She said, “The purse was $20,000. The winner gets half, but the trainer and driver get a slice. The owners cleared a little under $10,000, but by the looks of that filly, that money will be small potatoes in the future.”