Weekend Reading!

5/11/2024

All Val could do was nod and sit at the kitchen table, wondering how he was supposed to concentrate when the only thing his brain wanted to focus on was being caught by this man.

Wyatt retrieved his briefcase, which he’d left sitting near the kitchen door. He sat back down and opened the case, pulled a thick folder out, and set it on the table between them.

“I was wrong when I said the Nottings were in the wrong place at the wrong time and that they were innocent victims,” Wyatt said.

Val nodded. “Carol Notting and Marcus Paulle were half siblings.”

“And remember Janelle saying Charlie was into gambling?”

“Yes,” Val said. “He wasn’t very good at it.”

“That was just an act. The reality was he was very good at it. Or more to the point, very good at cheating when he gambled.” Wyatt began spreading papers out on the table as he spoke. “In a way I’m glad what happened last night happened. It’ll just reinforce what I want to do. Tomorrow I’m going to talk to the manager of the apartment I—”

“If you’re hinting at moving in here, yes. Bring your things and move here,” Val said.

Wyatt laughed. “I have to say I’m happy for the invite. When Charlie grabbed Janelle, I don’t think she was his target. I think you were.”

“Me? What would Charlie want with me, and how is he connected?” Val asked. “How am I connected?”

Wyatt rearranged the bundles of paper in a line. Val could see each stack had photos stapled to it. The first one was a few pieces of paper with a picture of a horse farm attached. “It starts here; this farm owned by a woman with the last name of Sayers. She’s Marcus Paulle and Carol Notting’s mother. The farm has her name.”

“Breeds Thoroughbreds, but doesn’t race them,” Val said.

“Yes. That filly whose body was dumped in the field traces her pedigree to that farm. How does someone who breeds Thoroughbreds but doesn’t race them build their business, and why would their horses be wanted for breeding?”

“Progeny of those horses have good racing or showing records,” Val said and shrugged. “That one was easy—you already knew the answer. It’s not so unusual to breed the horses but not compete them in all the sports they’re used for.”

“Carol Notting was a steady, though not top, competitor on the show jumping circuit for a while. It seems it was more of a hobby for her,” Wyatt said.

Val snorted. “Expensive hobby.”

Wyatt nodded and pointed out, “Not nearly as expensive as racing, but that’s beside the point. So, how do you bump your horses to the top of the ‘must have’ pile?”

Val opened his mouth, but never got the chance to speak.

Wyatt held up one finger and smirked. “I’ll tell you how. Get other horses to lose. Winning is hard, losing is easy.”

“Yeah, all of them but one loses. How does that matter? And why do that?” Val asked.

“You don’t gamble, do you?”

Val shook his head. “No. Well, I play the lottery when it gets up to ten quadrillion dollars sometimes. We have a pool at work.”

“That’s not gambling, that’s giving your money away. You know the basics though, right? Horse wins; the odds of winning again go up. If that horse starts to lose a few, win a few, the odds go down… more money, the horse is more of a long shot. There are a lot of variables of course, trifectas and placing and showing as opposed to the win, but the basic idea is the same.”

“You’d need a jockey for that.”

“Yes, you would.” Wyatt pointed to other pictures. One photograph was Marcus Paulle, the other Charlie Mills. “Charlie worked for the Sayers farm—he knew plenty about horses. They’ve pulled this scheme on and off all over this country and Canada for a decade. It’s not that uncommon. Doing it on such a scale and for so long is. Janelle wasn’t Charlie’s girlfriend, she was his mark.”

“Then why treat her the way he did?” Val asked.

“Because his first tactic didn’t work out. You said he was slick and smooth and different at first. He found out he couldn’t con her into what he wanted, so he changed his approach. He also couldn’t hurt her or she wouldn’t be able to ride in races. What he could do was establish a pattern of violence,” Wyatt said.

“Why?”