The Vanished Man

bridle path, looking for their elusive prey.
    Sachs and Bell walked into the office and the detective flashed his gold shield to the woman behind the counter. She looked over his shoulder at the officers outside and asked uneasily, “Yes? Is there a problem?”
    “Ma’am, do you use Tack-Pure to treat the saddles and leather?”
    She glanced at an assistant, who nodded. “Yessir, we do. We use a lot of it.”
    Bell continued, “We found traces of some and of some horse manure at the scene of a homicide today. We think the suspect in that killing might work here or be stalking one of your employees or a rider.”
    “No! Who?”
    “That’s what we’re not sure about, sorry to say. And we’re not sure of the suspect’s appearance either. All we know is he’s average build. Around fifty years old. White. Might have a beard and brown hair but we aren’t sure. Fingers on his left hand might be deformed. What we need is for you to talk to your employees, regular customers too if there’re any hereabouts, and see if they’ve noticed anybody fitting that description. Or anybody who seems like they’d be a threat.”
    “Of course,” she said uncertainly. “I’ll do whatever I can. Sure.”
    Bell took several of the uniformed patrol officers and disappeared through an old doorway into the pungent sawdust-filled riding arena. “We’ll do a search,” he called back to Sachs.
    The policewoman nodded and looked out the window, checking on Kara, who sat alone in Sellitto’s unmarked car, parked at the curb next to Sachs’s deep-yellow Camaro. The young woman wasn’t happy being confined in the car but Sachs had been adamant about her staying out of danger.
    Robert-Houdin had tighter tricks than the Marabouts. Though I think they almost killed him.
    Don’t worry. I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen to you.
    Sachs glanced at the clock—2:00 P.M. She radioed in to Central and had the transmission patched into Rhyme’s phone. A moment later the criminalist came on the line. “Sachs, Lon’s teams haven’t seen anything in Central Park. Any luck with you?”
    “The manager’s interviewing staff and riders here at the academy. Roland and his team are searching the stables.” She then noticed the manager with a cluster of employees. There were assorted frowns and looks of concern on their faces. One girl, a round-faced redhead, suddenly raised her hand to her mouth in shock. She began to nod.
    “Hold on, Rhyme. May have something.”
    The manager beckoned Sachs over and the teenager said, “I don’t know if it’s, like, anything important. But there’s one thing?”
    “What’s your name?”
    “Tracey?” she answered as if she were asking. “I’m a groom here?”
    “Go ahead.”
    “Okay. What it is, is there’s this rider who comes in every Saturday. Cheryl Marston.”
    Rhyme shouted into Sachs’s ear, “At the same time? Ask her if she comes in at the same time every week.”
    Sachs relayed the question.
    “Oh, yeah, she does,” the girl said. “She’s like, you know, clockwork. Been coming here for years.”
    The criminalist noted, “People with regular habits’re easiest to target. Tell her to go on.”
    “And what about her, Tracey?”
    “Today she comes back from a ride? About a half hour ago? And what it is, is she hands off Don Juan to me, that’s like her favorite horse, and she wants me and the vet to check him out careful because a bird flew into his face and spooked him. So, we’re looking him over and she’s telling me about this guy who came along and calmed Donny down. We tell her that Donnylooks fine and she’s going on about this guy, yadda, yadda, yadda, and how interesting he is and she’s all excited ’cause she’s going to have coffee with him and he might be a real horse whisperer. I saw him downstairs, waiting for her. And the thing is, I’m like, what’s wrong with his hand? ’Cause he kinda hid it, you know. It looked like he only had three fingers.”
    “That’s him!” Sachs said. “Do you know where they were going?”
    She pointed west, away from the park. “I think that way. She didn’t say where exactly.”
    “Get a description,” Rhyme called.
    The girl explained that he had a beard and his eyebrows were odd. “All kind of grown together.”
    To alter a face the most important thing is the eyebrows. Change those and the face is sixty, seventy percent different.
    “Wearing?” she asked.
    “A windbreaker, running shoes, jogging