Chapter Sixteen #2
Shutting out the distraction of the contest, he tried to concentrate on what he knew—the interviews he’d conducted, the clues he’d found.
The answer had to be right in front of him. Damn it, what was he missing?
Roper stood clear of the gate, a hand resting on his horse’s saddle as the groomer made one last pass around the arena. There were three riders left to compete—Vance Harlow, an older, seasoned veteran of the competition, Roper himself, and Berta Jansen, the Dutch national champion.
The leading score stood at 231—a daunting number. Morgan Dollarhide, from a Montana family of champion riders, was probably already counting his prize money. But anything could happen in the arena, and Roper still had hope.
Vance Harlow was out of the gate now. Roper mounted up and watched, his mind following each maneuver—slide, rollback, spin, small circle widening to full circle with a direction change, another slide, then another circle, and a full gallop to a sliding stop.
Roper could see the dejection on Harlow’s face as he rode back through the gate. His palomino horse had stumbled slightly on the direction change—enough of a penalty to lower his score to 223, but he gave Roper a good luck sign as he passed.
At last, after what had seemed like an eternity of waiting, it was Roper’s turn. No time to think of winning or losing or who might be watching, no time to think of what might happen after he was finished. One in a Million carried him into the arena.
The big roan was calm and solid beneath him, responding to the slightest touch of Roper’s knees.
His gait was sure and steady, taking his rider through each maneuver, almost as if he could have performed them with an empty saddle—a blinding spin, a flawless rollback, a final slide that sent up a fountain of dirt.
They ended to a roar of applause. Roper patted the stallion’s neck. Whatever else happened tonight, One in a Million had not let him down.
When the score—233—was announced and posted, Roper felt a wave of light-headedness. He was in the lead.
But anything could happen; and when Berta Jansen rode her husky grulla gelding into the arena, Roper could tell she wasn’t ready to give up.
Tall and plain, with her straw-colored braids flying behind her, Berta rode as if the hounds of hell were after her.
With the flashing spins, the pounding runs and explosive slides, the performance might have been a disaster.
But her horse never missed a beat and never put so much as a hoof out of place.
Even before her score—233.5—was announced, Roper knew that he had dropped to second place—which was not without honor.
The $350,000 prize would be welcomed and well used.
But it wasn’t the hoped-for million. While Berta took her victory lap, he dismounted and braced himself for whatever was to come next.
Sam left his seat and made his way down the steps, toward the area inside the gate, where Roper would be waiting with his horse.
Surprisingly, Roper’s run on One in a Million had stirred Sam’s emotions.
Knowing the history of the pair and the effort it had taken to create that beautiful performance had made it meaningful for him. But what was he to do now?
He had yet to hear about the DNA results. He’d tried calling, but there was no answer at the Bureau, and he was hesitant to disturb Nick on his cell phone. But he couldn’t delay much longer. The time had come for a decision.
He wouldn’t feel confident about making an arrest until he knew about the DNA. But meanwhile, what was he supposed to tell Roper? Should he go ahead and arrest the man when he could still be innocent? Or should he throw up his hands, abandon the case now, and risk wrecking his career?
There were no good choices.
He had reached the lower part of the arena, with most of the seats and the concourse above him.
From here, he could see that Roper’s family, as well as Lila and her daughter, had gone back into the waiting area behind the gate to congratulate him.
There would be others back there as well—Berta Jansen and her supporters, other riders, and most certainly the press, including TV cameras, hardly the setting for a discreet arrest.
He would wait, Sam resolved. He would give Roper his moment of glory and give his family the chance to share his triumph. Then, after the crowd had cleared out and Roper was putting the stallion away, that would be the time to approach him.
If he decided to make the arrest, he would need to call for backup from the local police or U.S. Marshals Service. He didn’t expect trouble, but Roper would need to be taken into custody and transported.
Heaven help him, this still didn’t feel right. It was times like this that almost made him hate his job.
Sam checked his phone again and sat down to wait. The minutes crawled past. By now, the seats were empty. The fans had left, the judges and dignitaries had cleared out, and the Jumbotron had gone dark. He was getting restless when the phone rang.
The name on the screen was Nick’s.
Sam’s pulse rocketed as he took the call.
“Sorry to be so slow getting back to you,” Nick said. “What’s happening on your end?”
“Nothing. Roper came in second, and now I’m sitting in an empty arena, just waiting. Did you hear from the lab?”
“Yes. Just now. Since the results weren’t quite what we expected, the lab folks ran the test twice, to make sure. That’s what took so long. Sorry for that. I know you’ve been waiting.”
Sam’s mouth had gone dry. “So, is the DNA a match to Roper’s?” he asked.
“Yes … and no.”
“Blast it, Nick—” Sam muttered a curse.
“I’m no expert, but I’ll try to explain. It was a partial match. Some of the markers in our sample were a perfect match to Roper’s. But not all of them.”
Sam exhaled the breath he’d been holding. “So the DNA you found isn’t Roper’s. So whose DNA is it?”
“It didn’t match any of our other samples. I’d say it belongs to a relative of Roper’s. A close relative, likely a family member.”
“But that doesn’t make—” Sam’s jaw dropped as the truth struck him like a thunderbolt. “Oh, my God!” he muttered. “I’ve got to go, Nick. I’ll fill you in later.”
He made a quick call for backup. Then, taking time to think, he walked around the side of the arena toward the gate.
With each step, a missing piece from his mental puzzle crashed into place.
The two matching stories. The barking dog.
The skunk. Roper chasing the animal away, putting the dog in the barn, returning through the dark kitchen and finding his mother there, clad in her full-length chenille robe—the robe she’d flung on over the clothes she’d been wearing when she returned home by way of the front door.
The skunk had been a wild card. Roper wasn’t supposed to have been awake. But in the end, his presence had furnished Rachel with an alibi. All she’d needed to do was tell the truth.
Only one question remained. Why would a religious woman like Rachel risk her immortal soul by murdering her neighbor?
Hopefully, Sam was about to find out.
Glancing up toward the concourse, he saw the two uniformed officers who had just come into the arena. They’d been patrolling the crowds outside, so they’d been close by. Sam gave them a nod and continued toward the space inside the gate, where most of the crowd was still gathered.
Berta Jansen had already gone, and the TV crew was packing up, but Roper, still in the saddle, was doing a last-minute interview with a blond female reporter. She stood next to the horse, smiling up at him as if she were hoping he’d ask her out.
Sam could tell that Roper had seen him. His expression froze before he glanced away. Sam avoided making eye contact. Roper would welcome the news that he was no longer a murder suspect. But how would he take the discovery that his mother was about to be arrested?
At first, Sam couldn’t see Rachel. Then he spotted her and her two children at the rear of the crowd.
Separated from Roper by a jam of people, they were waiting for a chance to get through.
Sam stayed back, biding his time, sizing up the emotionally charged situation.
Making an arrest was one of the most dangerous parts of his job.
The wrong move at the wrong time could touch off a tragedy.
With the interview finished, the TV crew retreated, and the crowd began to thin out. Sam could see Lila now, waiting with her daughter, back toward the entrance to the barn.
Roper had noticed the two uniformed officers coming down the steps.
His mouth hardened. His shoulders tensed.
For a moment, Sam feared that he might panic and try to make a break on the horse.
But Roper held firm, sitting tall astride One in a Million, with the stallion’s hooves planted solidly on the sawdust-covered floor.
Rachel broke away from Stetson and Cheyenne and pushed through the crowd toward him, her arms outflung as if to embrace her firstborn son. Roper shifted in the saddle, preparing to dismount. Sam moved in closer.
At that moment, something happened to the stallion.
One in a Million snorted. His nostrils flared. His ears went back. A scream of rage erupted from his throat as he made a lunge for the woman in front of him.
Caught off guard, Roper was nearly thrown from the saddle. As he flung himself against the reins to pull back the horse, Sam caught Rachel by the waist, yanking her off her feet and dragging her to safety.
It was over almost before it began. Roper had the quivering, snorting stallion under control, and Sam was helping Rachel to her feet. Her face was pale. She was unhurt except for a shallow gash where a hoof had grazed her cheek. Sam handed her the clean handkerchief from his pocket.
As she dabbed at the blood, her gaze flickered toward the horse. “He remembered, didn’t he?” she said in a quiet voice. “I was wondering if he might.”
Sam unhooked the handcuffs from his belt. “Rachel McKenna, I’m arresting you for the murder of Frank Culhane. You have the right to remain silent—”
“Never mind those fancy words, Agent.” Her demeanor was one of icy calm. “And you can put those cuffs away. I’ll go peaceably. And I waive my right to silence because I have something to say, and I want these good people to hear it.”
Sam could see the two officers closing in. He nodded.
The crowd fell into a hush as she began to speak. “Yes, I killed Frank Culhane. But I didn’t just kill a man. I killed a monster—a creature who preyed on young girls and women—a creature who took advantage of my pure, innocent daughter and stole her virtue.
“The Good Book says, ‘Thou shalt not kill.’ But he had to be stopped—and I’m not sorry I stopped him. My family’s honor demanded it. Now I hope to live my life in a way that will atone for my sin and earn God’s grace.”
She turned to Sam. “This isn’t how I wanted things to end, Agent Rafferty. I was hoping you would just go away and leave us in peace. That was not to be. But I would never have let you arrest my son. I would have come forward and confessed first.”
“I understand.” Sam nodded to the two officers. They took their places on either side of her. One took out a pair of cuffs and linked her wrists behind her back. “Ready?” he asked Sam.
“Ready. I’ll go with you, make some calls, and take care of the paperwork. She’ll need to be extradited to Texas. Let’s go.”
They’d started for the exit when Cheyenne caught up with them. Flinging her arms around her mother’s neck, she sobbed like a child, murmuring words that Sam couldn’t make out.
“Enough, girl.” There was steel in Rachel’s voice. “It’s time to be strong. Dry your tears. Go home and take care of your dad and brothers. They’re going to need you.”