Free High Stakes by John McEvoy Page B

problem. She knew where she had to be. Third stall from the left. Poking her head out of it, watching intently, was a two-year-old filly named Fullerton Avenue, who had been just recently donated to the Carmel vet school by her Chicago owner after being injured in training, an injury that would prevent her from ever competing on the racetrack. Thus, her retirement and donation to the school .
    She paused for several moments to speak softly to the wide awake, nervous Fullerton Avenue, who was eyeing her apprehensively until she finally settled, accepting the presence of this stranger. Perhaps happy for the unexpected late-night company.
    â€œAt least they’ve fed you well while they’ve demeaned you,” she whispered, stroking the horse’s long brown face.
    Then she reached into the pocket of her rain jacket for the loaded syringe.

Chapter Fifteen
    Feeling not a bit jet-lagged as he settled in the backseat of the taxi taking him into Chicago, Doyle dialed his home message machine. He trolled through robo-call offerings of reduced mortgage rates (he didn’t have a mortgage), “virtually free” electricity billing, offerings of life insurance rates so absurdly low that he laughed aloud. Ahmad, his driver, looked back over his right shoulder. “What you call good news, then, sir?”
    â€œHardly. Just nonsense news,” Doyle said before continuing.
    Next came a series of eight messages from the FBI, each of the last seven more urgent than its predecessor. Tirabassi and Engel alternated in asking, then pleading, then ordering Doyle to return their call ASAP. He decided he’d wait until he was home before doing so.
    Ahmed drove directly to Jack’s northside Chicago condo without further comment or question. Doyle was impressed.
    â€œAhmed, how do you know so much about the city? Where to go? According to that license pinned up on the dashboard, you’ve only been driving a cab six months.”
    A wide grin appeared under Ahmed’s impressive mustache.
    â€œI study…I am what you call a slick study, since I got here.”
    â€œQuick study,” Doyle said, immediately wanting to retrieve his automatic reaction in correcting his driver.
    Ahmed, unfazed, turned the final corner toward Doyle’s address, slowed, and pulled carefully into the No Parking space in front of the condominium building.
    Jack paid the fare and added a sizeable tip.
    ***
    After unpacking his suitcase, Doyle went to the refrigerator, grabbed a bottle of Guinness, and sat down at his desk before reaching for the phone. He quickly reviewed the FBI messages. Then he called Karen’s number. She picked up on the first ring.
    â€œJack. Where are you? We’ve been trying to contact you. We’ve got bad news. Another horse killing.”
    â€œAw, damn,” he said. “I was in Ireland for a few days. Sorry to hear this. Where and when did this killing happen?”
    â€œTwo nights ago at Carmel College over in north central Indiana. Same MO, same result. And same kind of ALWD message left behind. This creep not only has a murderous bent, but he seems to enjoy rubbing our faces in it.”
    Tirabassi came on Karen’s speaker phone. “Where the hell were you, Jack? I thought you promised us you’d concentrate on this case. And you went, where, to Ireland?”
    â€œYou know damn well I went to Ireland. Your vast organization could easily figure out my travel schedule. Damon, I had some business over there. Took a couple of days. I didn’t think I need your permission to use my passport. Remember, I’m a volunteer here.” He slammed the Guinness bottle down on the desk.
    Karen came back on. “Sorry to be so critical, Jack. It’s just that we’ve got to get to the bottom of this posthaste. Our Super is seriously on our backs.”
    â€œKaren, that I understand. But look at it from my standpoint. All I can do is use my racetrack contacts, keep