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 Jansenrode 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, hecould 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.