Trotting in three quarters time (a novel), Part 2

by A.J. Lencroy

Chapter 1 is here.

CHAPTER 2

A revealing return

The second visit to barn 6 was almost an instant replay, but with more drama. The detectives again sat in the Range Rover, looking at the barn door as horses clomped back and forth from the racetrack. The only difference today was a steady drizzle pinging against the roof.

Hooley set the Styrofoam cup of coffee in the armrest and said, “I got your email and attachment. AI made our frigging daily report a masterpiece. It doesn’t feel right. It’s like we hired a nerdy kid to do our homework, like we cheated or something.”

Bones clicked his fingers together and said, “It made that report faster than I could sharpen my pencil.”

“You figure this AI stuff is a tool or a time bomb?”

Bones hung his lanyard around his neck, waited a beat, and said, “Not sure, but the bad guys won’t be shy about diving into the pool.”

Hooley sighed, “Yeah, my time is almost up, but the world of cops and robbers is going to be different with this bizarro technology.”

“I agree. But tell me, how is AI going to step in horse shit, drink coffee, eat doughnuts, chase a perp around, or give me a nickname? Plus, it couldn’t give me the ownership papers on the horse or phone records. It suggests where to look, but we still need warrants and stuff. Where is the AI stuff going to end?”

Hooley shrugged, “Today, we’re back to boots on the ground. Watch where you step. I’ll take the lead and lean on Alex, cousin number two. Let’s go.”

They covered their heads with clipboards and sprinted through the rain to the barn. When they got inside and shook off the rain, the detectives were surprised to see the cousins had set up four aluminum-framed lawn chairs with red and blue webbing in the aisle of the barn. It was like a campfire without a fire.

Before they sat down, Hooley asked, “Which of these horses is Assets Accepted?”

The trainer pointed to a stall behind the campfire.

Hooley walked to the stall and stroked the nose of the horse. “All the horses look great, but they’re all brown with shiny black eyeballs the size of golf balls. How do you tell them apart?”

The trainer took over the horse racing part of the meeting. “The name is on the halter, but every horse gets a chip in their neck. We don’t need them because we spend more time with them than our own children, but judges or vets can wave a wand and keep track.”

Hooley gave a thumbs up, “Nice, I like it. I’ll tell you right now, chips in the necks of people would be a good plan and make our work a hell of a lot easier. Thirty-one years of asking names and addresses that are fake half the time, boom gone, and…”

Alex, cousin number two, interrupted the civil conversation with a nasty bark, “Let’s cut the bullshit. What do you want? Ask your questions, stop the harassment. You’re not going to find anything. You cops get one phone call from a crazy bitch, and all hell breaks loose. I have a lawyer and…”

This was Hooley’s time to interrupt. He flashed his palm like a school crossing guard stopping a kid at the curb, “Alex, Alex, relax, nothing is breaking loose. We can move this meeting to the station, where you are welcome to bring your lawyers with you. We haven’t nudged. We haven’t made a single accusation. However, that may change, because your tone is off-putting.”

At the word – off-putting, Bones gave a hiccup of laughter and covered up with a pretend clearing of his throat.

Hooley purred on like a therapist, “Now it is understandable that people in the midst of a messy divorce are under strain and prone to lashing out at others, but let us not take an adversarial posture. Let’s sit in our chairs and get a few facts on the record.”

The air went out of Alex like an inflatable kiddie pool hit by a lawn dart. They sat around the invisible campfire.

Later, Bert, Hooley’s nickname for Artificial Intelligence, typed up the results:

JULY 23, 2026, 9:49 A.M.

Field Interview Transcript

H: (Detective Gerald Hooley)

“When did you purchase Assets Accepted, the racehorse?”

A: (Alex Pettigrew, husband of the complainant)

“Last October.”

H: “From whom?”

A: “A horse auction. All the horses in the sale are yearlings, which means they are a 1-year-old. They won’t race for about eight months. We have the receipt, bill of sale, and papers.”

H: “How much did you pay?”

A: “$60,000.”

H: “That’s a lot of money.”

A: “It was about the average price for a horse at that sale.”

H: “And you divided the purchase four ways: you, your cousin, and two women from Kansas?”

A: “Yes, we settled the ownership within a week. There are four equal owners. I have copies of the ownership and receipts for all the monthly expenses.”

H: “What are the monthly costs?”

A: “When you add in all the costs, for staking, vets, training, trucking, and other stuff, the total is more than two grand per month.”

H: “Divided by four?”

A: “Yes. Peter doesn’t pay the training bill. Training horses is his job. He pays his portion of other bills, but the three of us pay training bills.”

H: “Alex, do you work with this horse?”

A: “No. I don’t have a trainer’s license, just an owner’s license. I’m an owner and do some of the paperwork.”

H: “Now we get to some new territory. You are involved in a rather difficult marital situation.”

A: “No. I am involved in a spousal cage match, lashed to a screaming, finger-pointing fanatic with her lawyers and a woman named Frieda prodding her to spectacular depths. She wants everything, including my sanity.”

H: “And she wants your horse. Which leads us to an important question. During property settlement discussions, did you list the racehorse Assets Accepted as shared property?”

A: “No, she isn’t interested in the sport. When we began divorce negotiations in January, it didn’t occur to me that my hobby was fair game for her claws. And here is an important point that her lawyers can verify. I told her that if we were going to list the racehorse, she needed to pay her share of the purchase price and catch up with all the training bills, which would probably be doing me a favor because most horses don’t make a profit.”

H: “And what happened?”

A: “She had a two-minute sidebar with her lawyers, and one of the lawyers said they would keep the horse decision in abeyance, which is legal talk for we are thinking about it. I thought it was over. But nothing is over in this divorce.”

H: “When the horse began to make money, did she want to revisit the ownership situation?”

A: “Yes, first qualifier, she starts ranting and poking.”

H: “And you deny inflicting any physical or emotional damage to Frieda Slotnick.”

A: “One hundred per cent.”

H: “The alleged incident happened near the winner’s circle after the winning race on Monday. Were you aware that an incident took place?”

A: “All I know is my lunatic wife and her crazy friend Frieda showed up before the race and tried to get to the backstretch to see the horse and me. They called from the gate to ask if I could verify them. I said I could only verify that the women were insane and that they don’t have any licenses or legal right to get into the backstretch, so I said my answer was no.”

H: “Did you see her in the winner’s circle?”

A: “No, my cousin and I did not go to the winner’s circle, because we knew they would be there and cause a scene. We sent Spit, one of the grooms who works in the barns, to hold the horse for the cameras. Spit told us that someone fainted or something behind the winner’s circle.”

H: “What is Spit’s last name, and is that his real first name?”

P: (Peter Pettigrew, horse trainer)

“His last name is Kendricks. I don’t know his first name. He is called Spit because he walks horses to what is called the spit box, which is a barn where horses are held to be tested for illegal substances. He is like a horse babysitter while the testers pull vials of blood samples.”

H: “Could you point out Spit?”

P: “No problem, I saw him a few minutes ago.”

H: “Thank you, gentlemen. We will be in contact.”

End Transcript.

Spit Kendricks was weathered, black as a raven, with a single gold tooth that accented his friendly smile. He was steering a wheelbarrow of straw and humming to himself when Peter Pettigrew shouted, “Yo, Spit.”

Spit stopped, set down the handles, and turned.

“These guys are with the police; they want to talk to you.”

Spit cocked his head, “That can’t be good.”

The detectives had noticed Spit as they drove towards the guard gate an hour earlier. He was outside the racetrack premises, smoking a joint under the no-smoking sign in the open door of an abandoned equipment garage.

Hooley held out his hand and said, “I’m Detective Hooley. This is my partner, Detective Marchais. Mind a few questions?”

Spit shook their hands, “Is there a camera somewhere? Is this a reality show? Do I get paid?”

Hooley chuckled, “No. No cameras, but his phone is recording.”

JULY 23, 2026, 10:12 A.M.

Field Interview Transcript – (Addendum A)

H: (Officer Gerald Hooley)

“Just a few quick questions about the winner’s circle when you attended the racehorse Assets Accepted last Saturday.”

S: (Spit Kendricks, groom)

“Aw, man, did his blood come back dirty?”

H: “No, not that we know of. We are interested in the commotion.”

S: “Oh, that, well, I didn’t see much cause me and the horse were facing the racetrack. Jimmy T, the driver, and I were the only ones in the circle, and the horse was being a handful. The action was behind us, behind that four-foot-tall brick wall that keeps the audience apart from the horses and people watching the races. So, all I can say is what I heard.”

H: “What did you hear?”

S: “A lady’s voice, real loud, hollered, “TOLD YOU.” Then there was a long wailing AYEEEEEEE. And then more wailing AYEEEEE. I had to get the horse back and saw a few people running, and a person seemed to be on the ground, behind the brick wall. So, I hopped on the fender of the race bike and hitched a ride back with the driver.”

H: “Thanks.”

S: “I know what might help you find out more about the kerfuffle – get the video of the race, you know, the replay. They film the races. Most gamblers only watch the race, but if you watch it all the way, the camera follows the horse and driver back to the circle until the picture is taken.”

H: “Where do we get the replay?”

S: “Lotta ways. The USTA people can help out, or you can open a betting account. You can watch any race you want, and the little trips to the winner’s circle after every race that most people don’t watch.”