"Rain, Anthony Vincent - Three Palms" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rain Anthony Vincent)

"Shot to death."

"That's a damn shame." He looked at me with lifted eyebrows. "I told Ellen to mention him to the police when she lost Odyssey."

"Odyssey?"

"A racing dog that was stolen two weeks ago."

"You think Jackson was involved?" I had forgotten about it, but now I remembered the dog food in his car.

"Son, I'm saying I think he may have. Look, he was sniffing around down here for something. Pardon the pun. A week later, a dog is stolen."

He pointed toward a woman leaning by the first row seats on the outer lip of the oval track. She was talking on a cell phone. "That's Ellen Gay Newport. Her dog was the one stolen. You should talk to her, son."

"Odyssey was a three year old male from a long line of runners," said Ms. Newport. "He won a puppy stakes that netted twenty-five grand. That's when I knew he was special, that he inherited a bit of that genetic magic. He was one of my top earners, and his future earnings potential was significant. He liked the inside lane and he had early speed. And he loved to run. Lord, that dog could run all day."

Newport wore large black sunglasses, with a pair of binoculars hanging around her neck. Her hands were rough and the nails bitten down.

"So whoever stole Odyssey plans to race him?"

She shook her head. "Impossible. There are safeguards within the industry. All the dogs are tattooed for identification. And you can't race a dog without the right paperwork. They would be extremely foolish to try and race him."

"So why steal him?"

"I have no idea." She took a folded racing form from her shirt pocket and fanned herself. "I was going to retire Odyssey and breed him in another two years. I've started to freeze some of his sperm for just that purpose already. He certainly could go on racing past four, but that's the normal time to start thinking about breeding."

"How much can you get for his pups?"

"I estimate between two and five thousand each. That's based on his winnings. His sperm I can sell for a thousand dollars a sample."

"So whoever stole him can sell his pups?"

"Again, that's really not possible. Most buyers want proof of lineage. A racing dog is an investment. A potential owner wants to maximize that investment. You don't want to spend that kind of money and wind up with a house pet."

"What about selling on the black market, or over the Internet?"

Newport's cell chirped and she looked at the caller ID before responding. "I can't speak for the morals of everyone involved in this sport. Sure, there are unethical people and sure, maybe someone would look the other way. But that's going to be the rare case, I think. If you're trying to sell a litter, you can't make money on one sale or two. You can only make money on multiple litters. That can't be supported by black market alone."

"So Odyssey is no good to them?"

"Not for making money. I don't see how."

"Did you mention Mr. Thomas's theory to the police?"

She laughed. "Sure, when they first interviewed me. The police just listened and said nothing. The insurance company didn't believe me at all. The claims adjuster thinks I had something to do with Odyssey's disappearance."

"An insurance scam?"

She nodded. "I bought a lot of insurance. Odyssey earned a lot. His breeding would have netted me a lot. Anyone in my position would do the same thing. It was strictly a business decision."