Trotting in three quarters time (a novel)

by A.J Lencroy

Chapter 1

Hooley and Marchais

Detectives Jerry Hooley and Richard Marchais watched a leaf skitter across the hood of their unmarked black Range Rover. The Rover idled near barn 6, on the backstretch of Pioneer Downs Racetrack, two miles south of Florence, KY. As they drove slowly through the stable area, dozens of horses leaned out over half-doors and watched them pass.

Hooley, the older and rounder of the duo, sat in the driver’s seat and asked, “Bones, you ever investigated a racehorse?”

“Nope.”

“Neither have I.”

“You ever been to a racetrack?”

“Nope. There are no racetracks where I grew up.”

“Where was that? “

“Fairbanks, AK. We raced dogsleds and snowmobiles, and don’t call me Bones.”

“C’mon, just a couple of weeks until my pension day. Bald white guys built like Ethiopian marathon runners are a tough nickname.

“How about just Rick, or Richard, or Ricardo?”

“Nah. So, what’s this all about?”

“Divorce insanity.”

“Murders are quieter, less friction. So why are we at a racetrack looking at a barn?”

“I caught a case last night around 7.”

“What were you doing at the station at 7?”

“I left my iPad in the breakroom; I went back to get it. On the way out, a distraught woman, I’d guess early 50s, tall, red wig that should only be seen on Halloween, was screeching at LaVern, who was on duty as desk sergeant.”

“LaVern? The one with the 24-year-old son who pretended to be a 15-year-old gender-fluid girl on TikTok to ramp up his following and is getting sued by a pack of enraged moms?”

“Yep, LaVern is under a lot of stress. I thought I’d help her out by easing the crazy woman out the door.”

“How did that go?”

“Not bad, she calmed down,” Bones said, looking at his iPad for notes as he spoke. “The woman gave me one of those hyphenated names, Martha Pettigrew-Conklin, said she was at the station to file a complaint. She claims her short-term husband, who is soon to be her ex-husband, is hiding assets, including a racehorse, and is responsible for her best friend, Frieda Slotnik, being injured and hospitalized.”

Hooley shook his head slowly, “I’m telling you, people going through ugly divorces go insane. I think it’s a chemical imbalance from the pituitary gland or something. Everything is drama. “Suddenly, the rusty tea kettle in the basement, something neither of them cares a hoot about, is an Egyptian relic that they cling to like a barnacle.”

“A racehorse getting caught in the crossfire is a new twist.”

“How do we know the accused husband is in that barn?”

“She told me his cousin is the trainer of the horse in question, and the cousins have a meeting scheduled,” He glanced at his watch, “Right now.”

Hooley sighed, “Okay, so we got a horse in a divorce. Put on your lanyard, let’s go slow, just a friendly chat. Maybe we will learn a little about horse racing. Did you see the horses pull carts? I like that. I would never climb on the back of a horse, but I would ride behind one, but not so close. I’d move the ride back, slap on a couple more tires, let the horse pull a miniature Cadillac convertible.”

“You can work on that during your retirement.”

They exited the car and walked into barn 6.

Twenty minutes later, the detectives walked out of the barn and returned to the Rover. Hooley pulled the lanyard over his salt-and-pepper head and set it on the dashboard.

“Whadda ya think?”

Bones sighed, “Well, cousin number one, Peter, the horse trainer, was a deer in the headlights with only short answers. He looked a little like Tom Hanks at the beginning of that movie, where he gets marooned on an island with a beach ball.”

“Castaway.”

“Yeah, that’s the movie, with Wilson, the soccer ball.”

Hooley looked at his notebook. “Cousin number two, his first name is Alex; the cousins have the same last name, Pettigrew. Alex is the one with the bad divorce proceedings and nifty combover. Says he is a financial planner, rambled on so fast I was afraid he would hyperventilate. His whole spiel was, ‘I don’t know anything, didn’t see anything, my wife is a delusional maniac, and she has no ownership in any horse.’”

Bones followed up, “If you ask me, his anger directed at his wife was forced. Who uses a phrase like, ‘I’d sue her red-headed ass for harassment, but I’m already up to my elbows in lawyers from the worst divorce in recorded history.’”

Hooley smiled. “Colorful.”

“And he admitted he knew the injured party, Frieda; he referred to her as his wife’s dingbat sidekick. Who are the other two owners of the horse?”

Hooley looked back at his notebook, “Elisson and Thwaite, out-of-staters, from Kansas.”

“What the heck is a financial planner? Do they have to pass a test?”

“No idea, I know less about finances than I do about horse racing.” Hooley took a pause, then added, “It was a blizzard of BS from cousin number two, but I’m not sure we have a crime here.”

Bones looked at his notes, “According to the semi-hysterical, soon-to-be ex-wife of cousin number two, part of her rant was that the crime is theft and falsifying records to defraud. I’d let it slide, but we have someone in the hospital.”

“Ya know, this is refreshing – horses, racing, the fall weather, and nice to get out of the city. Hey, you smell something funny?”

They sniffed like foxhounds. Bones whined, “Ah, horse shit, it’s on my shoes, the floor mat, and now my hand.”

“Throw everything in the trunk, maybe climb in with your hand. No, wait, over there is a hose, go spray everything off.”

“Can we do that? Is a racetrack private property?”

“We’re investigating. If anybody asks, flash your badge and pull out some yellow tape. Tell them you’re checking the water pressure. I’ll be here for backup.”

Bones squished back to the Rover with the floor mat pinched between his fingers and replaced it.

Hooley started the Rover and handed the iPad to his partner.

“Let’s get these names and places on the pad. You can try using your new BFF, artificial intelligence, to sort the stuff and make a report. I’ll go slow.”

“Hang on a second, I need to open a new file. I’ll name it – Down on the horse farm.”

Hooley flashed a thumbs-up, “Okay. Location, Pioneer Downs Racetrack, barn 6, two cousins, a raving redheaded wife with a hyphenated name, a racehorse named Assets Accepted, two out-of-town owners, a woman named Frieda in the hospital, and a working water faucet on the outside of barn 6.

“Got it. I’ll upload our notes and contact information. Then we will see how AI generates our daily report; maybe we can get it to help with the case.”

Hooley asked, “Is that legit, using artificial intelligence? Are we encouraged to use it, or is it a no-go?”

“It’s a gray area. At first, they said no, stay away from artificial intelligence, but Arnold, from Vice, uses it all the time. The superintendent knows that he uses it. Hey, if we use AI, when we screw up this horse case, we’ve got a scapegoat.”

Hooley made a face like he had a cramp. “Leave the wit to the senior officer.”

“My bad, so where to now? The hospital?”