Hair of the Dog by Susan Slater Page B

takes second fiddle nowadays.”
    Dan wasn’t going to comment on that. “Give me your take on Fucher. His ethics, his ability to do his job here at the track. And anything else you want to share.”
    Fred reiterated more of the same. Honest, natural with the dogs, didn’t have any enemies—none that were worthwhile mentioning, anyway. He’d trust Fucher with his life.
    That seemed to be about it. Once again, Dan thought how lucky Fucher was to have friends like Mel and Fred. Dan thanked the man and accepted an invitation to take a look at the maintenance barn one of these days. Fred was pretty proud of his state-of-the-art grounds equipment. Dan stood and shook hands, then motioned the next interviewee over and turned his attention to the young man pulling up a chair opposite him. Dirty jeans, unwashed hair, fingernails chewed to the quick…he was down to running grunt labor through the interviewing process, that was for sure. But who knew where and when he’d get the break he knew was coming. Convinced himself was coming.
    â€œPete Ellis?” Dan got a nod, switched on the recorder and established location, those involved, and procedure before he began. The initial questions were all the same—date of hire, job description, name of supervisor. Answers all rattled off without hesitation. Then for the good stuff…
    â€œWould you consider Fucher Crumm a friend?”
    â€œWell, yeah, I guess so.”
    â€œDefine friend. What do you mean by the word?”
    â€œUh, you know, someone you can trust, someone who helps you out.”
    â€œCan you give me an example that proved you could trust Fucher?”
    â€œWell, when my mom needed implants, he gave us the money.”
    Dan didn’t blink but quietly prayed that Fucher hadn’t invested in chest enhancement. “She needed dental work?”
    â€œYeah, she’d broken her jaw when she was a kid—got kicked by a horse—so dentures were out. It was implants or nothing. She was pretty sick. Infections and stuff.”
    â€œDid Fucher pay for everything?”
    â€œCame in with a wad of cash. Forty thousand worth and just gave it to my mom.”
    â€œHow’s your mom doing?”
    â€œGreat! She just got the crowns on and they look better than her real teeth ever did.”
    â€œThat’s good to hear. Will you repay Fucher?”
    â€œHe doesn’t want money. Mom works the front desk here and she sort of takes care of him. She brings him food and looks after Sadie if he has to go out of town.”
    â€œDid you know Jackson Sanchez?”
    â€œYeah, everyone did.” Dan made a mental note of the slight wrinkle of the nose—in distaste?
    â€œDescribe him for me.”
    â€œFor starters no one liked him. He always wanted something for nothing. He’d get you to stay overtime to do some shit-work and then not even offer to pay.”
    â€œWhat kinds of things did he ask you to do?”
    â€œA couple months ago, he brought in two pups from The Farm—that’s his kennel over by Palatka—these were young but someone had screwed up the ear tats. Took me two hours of my own time with a pen to correct them. He didn’t even say thank you.”
    Something was trying to surface in Dan’s brain—correct mistakes done to ear tats…“How often did something like that happen? I mean where someone would have to go back and redo a tat?”
    â€œHardly ever. You got a good litter of runners you’re not going to screw ’em up by trusting their ears to just anybody. Unless you’re too cheap to pay for someone who could do it right the first time. I used to do tat art so I get called on a lot.”
    â€œDid Fucher kill Jackson Sanchez?” Dan always tried for the element of surprise. Get the witness to talk about one topic and then change mid-stream. Don’t give them time to formulate an answer. Go for “off the