Nightchild

Chapter 51

Detective Leonard asked his fellow officer to step out of the library and pushed the door to after him. "We have a few things to talk over, Mr. Stevens," he said coldly, staring at Nate as if taking stock and not particularly caring for what he saw. "Off the record," he added meaningfully.

There was a terse threat of animosity running between the two men and Nate boldly challenged the look, his eyes not wavering from the finely featured black face. Finally casting his eyes down, Leonard took a chair and motioned for Nate to do likewise.

"We've done some checking. Your story pans out. The studio of course is covered with your prints...sink, faucet, headboard, clock radio. But according to you, you spent the night there three nights ago, so that's to be expected. We also located the young couple that saw you on Ms. Sanders' porch that next night and the half empty bottle of tequila next to a recliner, both with your prints and on the teleph—"

"What's your point?" Nate asked impatiently.

"My point is that from what we can tell, everything you told us is true. But it's what you haven't told us I'm interested in. It seems you forgot to mention Eddie Vega being at Mr. Conners' when you were. Seems like you got one more alibi than you bargained on."

"I didn't bargain on having to have an alibi."

"And it looks like you won't either. Things are out of my hands. Seems like you got some pretty fine friends in high places, Mr. Stevens. I've been ordered to back off you...permanently.

No surprise registered on Nate's face so he went on. "There's somethin' I gotta do though before I let it go. I have to know what you were doin' back. Why you didn't let that sweet little gal know you'd been home for two whole days."

Nate gave him a shrewd sidelong glance. "I don't have to tell you anything, do I?" Leonard shook his head. "Interviewing my wife was a ruse to get to talk to me one last time, wasn't it?" The other man nodded. "Then do you really expect me to sit here and answer your questions?"

"No, sir, I guess I don't." The detective ran a large hand over his smooth ebony head. "But I'd appreciate it if you did. You see, there're some things similar here to what happened in your wife's case some twenty years a—"

"My God, you didn't bring that up when you questioned her, did you?"

He waved a big hand. "No, sir, didn't mention the past at all...anyone's." There was an unmistakable emphasis on the last word but Nate chose to ignore it as the detective continued. "Let me backtrack a little here. The original attack took place in the bedroom part of your studio at approximately two-thirty a.m. The bodies were partially dragged, partially carried to the stable. From what we can discern, the empty stall next to your wife's horse was used to hogtie Tupelo before he was thrown into the stallions stall. We believe he was already dead and it was a symbolic gesture.

"At first, we thought Ms. Sanders might have been sexually molested but the only semen we found, in or on her, was Mr. Tupelo's. She was somehow slung under the railing and her foot tied to the front post. What's the matter, Mr. Stevens?"

Nate was distracted. "Nothing...at least nothing important. It just struck me that I'd been meaning to enclose the sides of the stalls."

"I don't understand."

"It's nothing. Just something I'd intended on doing for breeding purposes."

"Well, let me assure you, it wouldn't have stopped the attacker."

"I know, but none of it makes any sense. Thunderboomer wouldn't let just anyone near him. He's too high-strung."

"That's something that's been bothering me, too. And how did those bodies keep from getting trampled. Your boy, Dennis, said the horse was real calm-like when he opened the gate and started to bridle him. That he only got away when Dennis saw the bodies and panicked, leaving the place wide open."