Trotting in three quarters time (a novel), Part 5

by A.J. Lencroy

Chapter 1 is here.

Chapter 2 is here.

Chapter 3 is here.

Chapter 4 is here.

CHAPTER 5

FaceTime from Kansas

Hooley sat at his desk, leaning back in his swivel chair, feet propped on an empty, brown, upside-down metal wastebasket. He was waiting for a senior citizen from Topeka, KS, to accept his request for an interview.

Fifteen minutes earlier, a kindly female voice answered his phone call with a chipper “Hello.”

He asked, “Is this Adele Elison?”

“Not if you are selling something like extended warranties or need me to send bail money to a nephew stranded in a Kurdish prison.”

“Um, no, I’m a police detective from Florence, KY.”

After a pause, Adele ventured a guess. “This has to be about Alex Pettigrew and racehorses.”

Hooley was caught off guard. “Um, yes. I want to conduct an interview using FaceTime. If you are afraid this phone call is a scam, you can call the Florence Police Department, and they will connect us.”

“No, I trust you. Give me about 15 minutes. I will FacePlant you at this number. That will give me time to round up my neighbor, Doreen Thwaite, who is involved. Sit tight.”

She hung up without another word.

Exactly 15 minutes later, the faces of Doreen Thwaite and Adele Elison appeared on the screen of Hooley’s laptop. Hooley saw the heads and shoulders of two tidy retirees, perfectly framed and lit, their gray hair carefully tended. They looked like they were ready to film a commercial for a retirement home that offered hot yoga and pickleball.

The woman on the right, with gold spectacles sitting on a strong, straight nose that belonged on a Roman coin, got down to business. “I’m Adele. Doreen is my BFF and collateral damage in this caper.”

Doreen, who for some reason wore an aqua-blue headband with a silver circle the size of a quarter on her forehead, chuckled and chimed in, “I feel like we are in an episode of Dateline or one of those dreadful television shows where they drag out a simple murder through endless commercials.”

Adele asked, “Are you recording this? We are. You have our permission. This is much more exciting than book club.”

Hooley was rattled. He wasn’t expecting a grilling. He tried to restore order.

“Okay, let’s get some clarity. Are you both involved in the ownership of a racehorse named Assets Accepted?”

“Yes, with the Pettigrew cousins,” said Adele.

Doreen added, “Absolutely. We ponied up $15,000 for 25 per cent ownership of a filly racehorse.”

“Do you know the cousins you share the ownership with?”

Adele nodded. “Yes, since they were teenagers. Peter, the younger cousin, used to mow our lawns. A great kid. Instead of attending college, which we all expected, he moved east to live with his grandfather and work with racehorses.”

The lady with the tiara added, “Alex is a piece of work, a real snake. He stayed in the area until he got into money problems, then he left town under questionable circumstances.”

Hooley gave his partner, Bones Marchais, a “come over here” wave with his off-camera hand. Marchais rolled his chair over to watch and listen from the side.

Hooley asked, “If you believe, as you stated, that Alex is a shady character, why would you agree to go into partnership on a racehorse?”

Adele took the reins. “We didn’t at first; we took a few days to do our due diligence.”

“On horse racing or Alex?”

“Both.”

“And then you gave him the okay, and the money?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Mostly for entertainment, with the possibility of a comeuppance. We thought a racehorse sounded like a lot more fun than another mutual fund.”

“I don’t follow.”

Adele sighed, “Let’s go back to last fall.”

Hooley nodded. “Okay.”

“Out of the blue, like a black cloud, Alex showed up at my husband’s funeral to pull one of his shady deals. He probably believed I was senile and an easy mark.”

“He read about your husband’s death.”

“Yes, no doubt he saw my husband’s obituary. He showed up with some bullshit story about having a relationship with my husband, said they had a special bond from their lawn mowing days, and he felt compelled to pay his respects.”

“Were you suspicious?”

“Oh yes. Alex would never drive over 400 miles for old times’ sake. My husband didn’t even like the kid. He referred to Alex as a weasel. No, he came to run a game on an elderly widow with money.”

“What was the scam?”

“It was quite clever. He represented himself as a…”

“Financial planner?” Hooley felt he should contribute something.

Adele smiled, “Yes. When you investigate Alex, if you find any degrees, they will be from a college for grifters. But he did have a decent grasp of investments and taxes. To make a long and amusing story short, he claimed that I would be facing large taxes on my husband’s estate. Alex claimed that his specialty was placing the money in places where it would not be taxed.”

Hooley nodded, “A racehorse?”

“It took him a while to get there, but yes. Alex worked hard. Several visits, fake spreadsheets. A fake business card. And of course, he knew a guy who knew a guy.”

Hooley asked, “Why didn’t you just tell him to get lost?”

She smiled. “Sitting and watching a scam that you know is a scam is a novel form of entertainment, very much like a personalized theatrical production where the audience participates.”

“But the ticket price for his show was $15,000 each, not to mention a big monthly upkeep for the horse.”

“Detective, everything is under control, especially after a conversation with my connection in the horse racing business.”

“What connection?”