Sarah Armstrong: Blood Lines Part 9

"So Sarah, one more question," Bobby said, peering at me over the tops of his gla.s.ses. I realized that he looked worried. "If someone did murder Billie over these wells, and I was her bidding partner, am I in danger? Since Billie died, Im in negotiations to buy this field solo. The deals supposed to go through late next week."

Perhaps I should have thought of that, but I hadnt.

"Im not sure," I admitted. "If Billie died because of this scam, I think its because she figured it out. The best advice I can give you is not to say anything about any of this to anyone."

"But Ive gotta pull out of the Stanhope deal, and maybe the Century Oil buyout," Bobby said, alarmed. "If Wagners involved in all this, Im dealing with a crook, maybe even a murderer."

"Dont pull out. Stall," I suggested. "Say youre running into some issues at Barker Oil, freeing up the cash. Make something up. Delay but stay in the deal, so no one guesses that you know whats going on. At least until I have Billies murder sorted out."

"Okay, I can do that," Bobby said. He considered it all for a moment, and then slapped his palms on his knees and stood up. "Now Im going to see if that beautiful mother of yours needs any more help with those dishes."

_____.

Before long, Bobby had left for his home in Houston, while Mom got ready for bed. Meanwhile, Maggie and I got wrapped up in our sleeping bags on the cots. It was a cool night, predicted to drop into the high forties by morning, but our gear was thick and warm, and we wore our clothes inside. At ten, as they do every night, the corral lights clicked off, and the night turned a rich dark with the stars piercing brightly overhead. The world was quiet, while inside the shed all was ready. Emma Lou had fresh straw and everything needed in place for the delivery. Now, all we could do was listen and wait.

"Mom, are you seeing Mr. Garrity again?" Maggie asked, as I flirted with sleep.

It took me a moment to answer, mostly because I wasnt expecting the question. "No, Im not," I said. "Were just working a case together. Why?"

"Do you want to see him, like date him?"

"What makes you think that?" I asked.

"No reason," she said. "I was just thinking that you used to act like you liked him. Sometimes, you looked pretty happy when you were with him."

Its amazing how easily a kid sees through a parent. Poor Maggie. She had Emma Lou to worry about, but she was still trying to figure out David and me, a relations.h.i.+p even I couldnt make sense of. I unzipped my sleeping bag, and pulled my legs back out, got up and stood over her. Squatting on my haunches, I looked into her hazel eyes, so much like Bills. I briefly wondered what shed look like in thirty years, if shed have crows feet around those eyes. I had a hard time remembering being so young.

"Lets not worry about anything tonight, Magpie. Emma Lous peaceful, and its beautiful out here. Look up at the stars, say your prayers, and sleep," I said, giving her a soft kiss. I pushed her sleeping bag in tight around her, the way I swaddled her in blankets when she was a baby. "Ill be right here with you, listening for Emma Lou if she needs us."

"Okay, Mom," she said. "But about Mr. Garrity, I-"

"Shush now, Maggie," I ordered. It had been a long day, and we both needed sleep. "Theres no reason to be concerned about David Garrity. I dont want to talk any more about him. Right now, all I want to hear is you sleeping."

Maggie still looked worried, but I gave her a hug, and she nodded. Fifteen minutes later, she slept softly, and I stared up at the canopy of stars above me, closed my own eyes, and drifted to sleep.

Sixteen.

At first, I wasnt sure where I was. I woke in the darkness, to the sound of Emma Lou stirring in the shed. I found her lying on the straw, restless and agitated. She stood up, then immediately lumbered her bulging body back down. Contractions rippling her belly, the horse got back on her feet and stomped at the floor. This wasnt good.

I shook Maggie, and when her eyes opened, handed her my cell phone. "Call Doc and wake Gram," I said. "Emma Lous foaling."

"Now?" Maggie said, her voice rising.

"Calm down," I warned. "The worst thing you can do is spook that mare."

Eyes wide, Maggie nodded.

While Maggie ran to the house, I slipped a blue nylon halter and lead on the horse, and then walked her toward the yard, talking softly, soothing her. Mom and Maggie rushed out, but slowed before reaching us.

"Somethings not right," I said.

"Docs on his way," Mom said, warily looking over Emma Lou.

"Im going to keep walking her. You talk to her, Maggie," I said. "Keep it calm."

Maggie nodded, swallowed hard, and then said, "Its okay, Emma Lou. Its all going to be okay. You and your baby will be just fine."

We stayed like this, pacing the yard, comforting the horse, until Docs pickup pulled in. "Give her to me, Sarah," he instructed. "I need light."

Relieved, I handed over the lead. We followed as he walked the horse to the shed. After examining her, he said, "She hasnt dilated. Contractions, but unproductive."

"Is the foal okay?" I asked.

"As far as I can tell," he said. "Lets leave the mare alone and see what she does."

Doc slipped off the gear and stepped back. Emma Lou grunted once, twice, and then lowered her bulging body onto the thick blanket of straw. One, two, three contractions, then they subsided. As each wave hit, the mare instinctively panted.

Maggies arms tight around my waist, we watched, waiting. Soon the edge of the milky placenta could be seen, and then delicate front hooves, followed by spindly front legs. We held our breath as Doc coaxed the foal out with a firm yet gentle tug. Once hed freed it from the placenta, the fragile, all-black creature lay on the straw, alarmingly limp.

"Is it all right?" Maggie whispered. "Its not breathing."

"Shush," Mom scolded. "Maggie, let Doc do his work."

Absolute quiet. So quiet I heard the beating of my own heart.

Finally, the soft rustle of the foals breath ruffling straw. I smiled at Maggie, and she and Mom laughed, the first crisis past. All the while, Emma Lou lay on her side panting, as if recovering from a long run.

"Isnt the foal beautiful, Mom?" Maggie asked. "Shes so tiny."

"Not a she a he, Maggie," Doc said, down on his knees, inspecting the newborn. "You know, he looks all right, skinny but all right."

"A colt?" Maggie said with wonder.

"So, hes healthy?" I asked.

"I cant say for sure, Sarah," Doc cautioned. "We wont know for a while yet."

The colt was more delicate than any Id ever seen. So thin, its legs appeared little more than bone, too lean to support even its meager weight. Yet, Emma Lou stood and nuzzled him, and the foal stirred. The newborn pulled his head up and gazed at his mother, then about the shed, inspecting the disheveled crew gathered to welcome him into the world.

"Thats good that hes popped his head up, Mom," Maggie said. "Isnt it?"

"It is," I said. Yet weak, the tiny horse quickly lay back down. Emma Lou prodded again at her tiny offspring, alternately nudging it with her nose and licking it. But the foal lay still. "Do you have a name for him?" I asked Maggie.

Shed picked Glory for a filly but never announced a colts name. Faced with the task, Maggie stared down at the little creature. Breathing softly, he looked like a preemie, with a silky, thin, and short coat, his ears floppy. A funny little animal, but a precious one.

"Give him a courageous name, Maggie," Mom said. "One that sounds like a survivor, because thats what he needs to be."

Maggie nodded. Emma Lou pushed against the colts head, still resting on the straw, urging it up, as Doc grabbed a towel. "Get the wheelbarrow, Nora," he ordered as he worked the towel over the creatures thin frame. "I dont want him suckling off the mare until were sure shes kicked the infection. We need to move him."

Mom did as instructed, but as we lowered the colt into the wheelbarrow, Emma Lou let loose an insistent whinny. That was her colt, she seemed to say. Where were we taking it?

"Lets put him in a stall and bring the heat lamp," Doc ordered, covering the little guy with a clean beach towel. "Put it on low. Just enough to warm him."

As Mom and Doc wheeled the colt away, Emma Lous dark eyes flared and she reared up and snorted.

"Its all right," Maggie cried out. "Warrior will be okay. Ill watch him for you."

"Warrior?" I repeated.

"Like Gram said, Mom, something brave."

I reached the stable with a baby bottle of defrosted and warmed first milk, high in antibodies, that Doc had supplied, just as the little guy raised his head, peering about his new quarters. I gave the bottle to Maggie, and she cautiously put the nipple near his mouth. Disinterested, Warrior turned his head to look at us.

"Brush the nipple over his lips, Maggie," I suggested. "Let him smell the milk."

She did, but nothing. The colt made no attempt to latch on. At least ten pounds below a healthy foal, our new charge didnt appear to have the desire to feed. Doc shook his head.

"Whats next?" I asked.

"We wait and watch," he said. "The colt should stand soon and eat. If not . . ."

Doc didnt finish the sentence, and none of us asked him to. Maggie, Mom, and Doc stayed with the colt, while I returned to Emma Lou. I thought about how empty she must feel, after giving birth and watching as her firstborn was whisked away. I sat on a chair, right outside the shed door, where she could see me, and before long fell asleep. When I awoke, the sun wasnt yet up and Maggie peered at me. She had tears in her eyes.

"Oh, no, Magpie," I said. "Is it Warrior?"

She nodded, and I thought the worst, but she said, "Hes standing, Mom, and feeding, and Doc says hes small, but he thinks h.e.l.l be all right."

Seventeen.

At the ranch the following morning, Maggie slept in. There wasnt any talk of school. She was too exhausted. Considering how the previous night could have turned out, all was relatively well. Tired and fidgety, Emma Lou paced in the shed, no doubt missing her colt. Meanwhile Warrior hungrily slurped a full bottle of milk. The colts vital signs, at least so far, were promising.

As I drove into Houston, David called from his office at the Federal Building, to update me on his efforts on the Collins stalking case, following up on leads generated by the subpoenaed Internet records. He offered no more hope than the day before. Each lead the FBI traced brought them to yet another Internet resender, a Web site set up to process and forward e-mails. Each new resender had to be served with a separate subpoena, and each resulting lead took David and his computer forensic team to yet another shadowy link in a long chain. Argus had done his homework. He knew how to use the Internet to hide his ident.i.ty, and he hadnt made any rookie mistakes to help us find him.

David said hed keep following the trail, and report in later that day.

The tape on Billie c.o.xs office door appeared undisturbed when I arrived midmorning with a signed subpoena and a two-man crime-scene team. A full week after her death, we now knew shed been murdered, and I had a couple of potential motives: one, love gone wrong; the other, a complicated oil well scam. Which, if either, would lead to the murderer? I didnt have a clue.

My best shot at moving the murder case forward was finding evidence in either c.o.xs office or home. Gilberto Torres, our offices resident computer geek, went right for c.o.xs desk. There was no plan to examine c.o.xs computer on-site. Everything we collected would be taken to the lab adjacent to our offices. He got busy unhooking the printer and the keyboard from the desktop computer. "Make sure you bag and fingerprint the keyboard. And take everything, including the printer," I told him. "Well want to verify that the suicide note was printed here."

Torres nodded. Then, something else occurred to me. "While youre checking that computer out, try to figure out how it turns itself on," I said.

"Turns itself on?" Torres repeated, giving me a questioning look.

"Yeah," I said. "It has a habit of doing that."

"Oh, okay," Torres said, looking just a little doubtful. "Well take a look, Lieutenant."

Meanwhile crime-scene specialist, Kerry Adkins, an angular woman with dark brown skin and a s.h.a.ggy wig that sat just the slightest bit off-center, giving her an unbalanced look, photographed, bagged, and collected anything that looked vaguely like evidence. She and I searched c.o.xs desk, hoping for something important Id missed the day before. I instructed Adkins to watch for anything a.s.sociated with the Stanhope Field, along with calendars or business diaries, anything that would doc.u.ment c.o.xs schedule. She had to be meeting with the mystery man sometime, and she might have included something, anything on her schedule to point us in a direction.

In the back of my mind, I mulled over what if any involvement her brother-in-law, Grant Roberts, had in the murder. Early that morning, the subpoenaed information had come in from the real estate lockbox company, showing that his computerized key wasnt used the entire day of Billies death. As soon as I finished executing the warrants at c.o.xs office and house, I planned to drop in for a follow-up with Faiths husband. I was curious to find out how hed maintain his alibi, that hed previewed houses up for sale all that afternoon, when he didnt access a single key to get inside one.

"Over here, Lieutenant," Adkins called out. A meticulous woman with a reputation for being as tenacious about gathering evidence as a squirrel stockpiling for winter, she held a black loose-leaf binder in her hands.

"Copies of c.o.xs expense reports," she said.

"Log them in. Theyre going with us," I said. While Adkins worked on the desk and Torres boxed up the computer, I inspected the credenza behind the desk, pulling out books, a few office supplies, and a pair of worn running shoes. I held them up, looked at the soles, and saw dirt wedged into the tread.

"Bag these, too," I instructed Adkins. "Get the dirt a.n.a.lyzed."

Two hours later, we left c.o.xs office with seven brown paper bags and six boxes full of potential evidence. On our way to c.o.xs River Oaks mansion, I called and checked on Maggie and the horses. Mom said all three were resting well. At least for now, everything at home was under control.

Figuring it had already been a week and not wanting to get the entire neighborhood gossiping, I hadnt sealed c.o.xs house with crime-scene tape the night before. If anyone was going to clean up evidence, theyd already had plenty of time. Instead I called Faith that morning and asked her to meet us there with the keys. When I rang the doorbell, she answered.

"This is the search warrant I told you about," I said, handing it to her.

"Lieutenant, you didnt have to do that," she protested. "I would have let you in. I want you to find Billies killer."

"I know," I said, not mentioning I was less sure of her husbands motives. "This is just easier, since we were already getting one for her office."

Faith nodded, and we walked inside the house.

"I want you to show us Billies bedroom," I said. "Where she died."

We followed Faith across the white marble floor and up a winding staircase with an ornate metal banister to the second floor, where we took a walkway that overlooked the two-story entry on one side and the living room on the other. When the pa.s.sageway split off, Faith turned to the left and took us to the first door, then removed a key from her pocket and unlocked the door.

"Youve had the bedroom locked?" I asked. "How long?"

"Since the evening Billie died," she answered. "I didnt know why I wanted everyone to stay out, but maybe I knew even then that shed been murdered and there could be evidence."

"So no one has been in there?"

"Not that I know of. Not since the paramedics and police left," she said. "I have the only key."