Free Dark Horse (A Jim Knighthorse Novel) by J.R. Rain

house.”
    “Did Amanda ever come to you about
Derrick?”
    “Yes. Privately, quietly. We would often talk
about Derrick. She had more than a crush on him. They had been
dating for over a year. She might have loved him, if you want to
call it that.”
    “Love knows no age.”
    She didn’t say anything.
    “So you didn’t condone her secretly seeing
Derrick?”
    “No. I encouraged her.”
    She almost lost it right then and there. Her
lip vibrated violently, but stopped when she bit down on it.
    “Mrs. Peterson, you did not condemn your
daughter to death by encouraging her to see Derrick.”
    She turned and faced me. Her eyes were full
of tears. A red splotch was spreading down from her forehead. She
was getting herself worked up. Before she could unleash some unholy
hellfire in my direction, I quickly added, “Cat, I was threatened
by an unknown killer a few days ago to stay away from this case.
The killer, I assume, represents the true murderer of your
daughter. It’s the only thing that makes sense. I believe Derrick
is innocent.”
    She blinked. The splotch receded. “But you
are not backing off the case,” she said.
    “No.”
    “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you for trying
to help. I never believed in Derrick’s guilt, but aren’t you
afraid?”
    “I am a big guy. I can take care of
myself.”
    And that’s when the front door open and Mr.
Peterson came in.
    The first thing I noticed was that both Cat
and Alyssa shrank back into themselves. Especially Alyssa. The cute
little girl disappeared. Replaced by something cold and wet, and
left out in the rain to die.
     
     
     
    20.
     
     
    He strode quickly into the living room, head
swiveling, trying to take in everything at once. He was wearing
black slacks, cordovan loafers and a black silk shirt. Sunglasses
rode high on his graying head of curly hair. His roaming, pale eyes
finally settled on me.
    “Who the fuck are you?” he said to me.
    “Richard....” said Cat, but her voice was
weak, her words trailing.
    I stood, “I’m Jim ‘the fuck’
Knighthorse.”
    I held out my hand. He didn’t take it. Little
Alyssa was right. I was bigger than her father, had the guy by
about two inches. It was clear that he lifted weights: thick chest
and small waist. But he lifted for show. I know the type.
    “What the fuck are you doing here?” he
asked.
    Richard Peterson turned to his wife, who
flinched unconsciously. Or perhaps consciously. Maybe he preferred
the women in his life to flinch in his presence. He next turned to
his daughter. She was looking down, pressed against the glass of
the sliding door.
    I said I was here to investigate the murder
of his daughter.
    “Who hired you?”
    I told him.
    “Get out,” he said. “Get the fuck out.”
    I didn’t move at first. He then turned and
looked at the little girl.
    “Go to your room,” he said. “Now.”
    Alyssa jumped and ran away, leaving her
Barbie’s where they lay, with Ken on top of Barbie. I saw that
there was a small puddle of urine where she had been sitting. A
door in the back of the house slammed shut.
    I turned and looked at Mrs. Peterson. Only
then did I notice the purplish welts inside her legs.
    “I’m sorry for intruding,” I said calmly.
    “Don’t you people have any decency?” He said
to me, then turned on his wife. “And you, Cat. You let him in. How
could you? He’s representing the boy who murdered our Amanda. He’s
trying to set him free.”
    “But Richard—”
    “Shut the fuck up, Cat. You.” He turned to
me. “Get the fuck out or I’ll call the police.”
    I looked at Cat and she nodded to me. That’s
when I saw a picture of another girl on the mantle above the
fireplace. This one older. She had her arm around her mother and
was wearing a blue and white UCI sweatshirt. A third daughter.
    I left the way I had come, and he slammed the
door shut behind me. I paused a few minutes on the porch but could
hear nothing. I had the feeling he was standing behind me,