20
“I resent that. I resent this whole damned line of questioning!” Mickey Townsend roared in Rick Shaw’s face.
Rick, accustomed to such displays, calmly folded his hands as Cynthia Cooper, behind him, took notes. “I don’t think there’s any way to make this pleasant. Nigel Danforth rode for you and—”
“Rode for me for two months. How the hell did I know he was, uh—a non-person?”
“You could have checked his green card.”
“Well, I didn’t. He was a decent jock and I let it go, so call down the damned bloodhounds from Immigration on me. They’ll harass me for hiring a skilled Brit, yet they let riffraff pour over the border and go on welfare and we pay for it!”
“Mr. Townsend, I wouldn’t know about that,” Rick Shaw replied dryly. “But you are a successful trainer. You have knowledge of the steeplechase world, and two jockeys have been killed within a week of one another under similar circumstances. You knew them both. And they both rode for you at various times.”
His face reddened. “Balls! Everyone in the game knew Coty Lamont. I don’t like your line of questioning, Shaw, and I don’t much like you.”
“You’re accustomed to having your own way, aren’t you?”
“Most successful people are, Sheriff.” Townsend folded his burly arms across his chest. “So I’m a prick. That doesn’t make me a killer.”
“Did you owe Nigel Danforth money?”
“Absolutely not. I pay at the end of the day’s race.”
“Easier when you don’t have withholding taxes and Social Security to worry about, isn’t it?”
“You’re damned right it is, and taxes will destroy this nation. You mark my words.”
“Did you owe Coty Lamont money?”
“Why would I owe Coty Lamont money?” The bushy eyebrows knitted together.
“That’s what I’m asking you.”
“No.”
“Did you like Coty Lamont?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“That’s my business. He was a talented son of a bitch. That’s all I’m prepared to say.”
“We’ll get a lot further along if you cooperate with me.” He swiveled to exchange looks with Coop, who frowned. This was part of their routine before recalcitrant subjects. They could play “good cop, bad cop” but Mick was too smart for that game.
“Well, let me try another tack then. Did either Nigel Danforth or Coty Lamont owe you money?”
“No.” Mick rolled his forefinger over his neat black mustache. “Yes.”
“Who and how much?”
“Nigel owed me three hundred forty-seven dollars, a collection of poker debts, and Coty owed, oh, about one hundred twenty-two dollars.”
“You didn’t like Coty but you played poker with him?”
“Hey, there’s down time in this business. I don’t have to love a guy to let him sit in on a poker game.”
“You’re a good player?”
Mick shrugged.
Cynthia chimed in, “Everyone says you’re slick as an eel.”
“They say that because they don’t remember which cards are out and which ones are still in the deck. If you’re playing stud, that’s all you gotta do.” He shrugged those powerful shoulders again. “I’m not so smart.”
Rick rubbed his receding hairline. It was almost as if he were searching for the hair. “Coop, can you think of anything?”
“One little thing—Mr. Townsend, do the card suits have a special significance?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, what if—crazy, I know, but what if I had a royal flush in hearts and you had one in spades. Who would win?”
“I would. The suits in ascending order are clubs, diamonds, hearts and spades.”
“But wouldn’t most people declare it a draw?” Rick puzzled. “I mean most people wouldn’t know the significance of the suits. At least, I don’t think they would. If a situation like that occurred, wouldn’t you draw off the deck, high card takes it?”
“In a situation with two royal flushes, you’d both have cardiac arrest and it wouldn’t matter. The odds are impossible.”
“But you know the significance of the suits,” Rick pressed.
“Yes, I do.”
“Isn’t there another way to look at the suits, a non-poker way?” Cynthia asked.
He leaned back in his chair. “Sure.”
“Can you tell me what that is?”
“You’ve done your homework. You tell me.” He stared at her.
“All right.” She smiled at him. “Clubs represent humans at their basest. Spades is a step up. Instead of clobbering one another, they work the earth. Diamonds is a higher level than that, obviously, but the highest type of human would fall into the heart category.”
“Well put.” Mickey smiled back at the young officer. He couldn’t help himself. She was nice-looking.
“A club and a spade have been used,” Rick drawled.
“So next comes a diamond. Somebody rich.” Mickey folded his arms across his chest. “Won’t be me. I’m not rich.”