The clock radio clicked on, and I groped for the off button. When I didn't find it right away, I yanked the cord out of the wall. Monday morning, and rain was hammering the tin roof above my head and slashing against the windows as gusts of wind battered the barn. But what did I expect? It was, after all, April first.
On the drive to Foxdale, the dreary, rhythmic scrape of wipers across windshield grated on my nerves. I turned on the radio--loud--and mulled over yesterday afternoon's unsuccessful trailer search with Detective Ralston.
Based on Ralston's premise that "the obvious is oftentimes the most likely" and assuming that the horse thieves had been taking me to territory they were familiar with, we had worked in concentric circles that radiated outward from where I'd escaped the trailer. Almost half of the trailer owners weren't home. Most who were kept their trailers on the farms where they boarded their horses, necessitating yet another trip on our part. All reacted with genuine surprise at a police detective's appearance on their doorstep.
On the positive side, working down the list produced the expected domino effect we'd hoped for. Knocking off just one trailer's make and model immediately eliminated several names on the list. We worked through all of Montgomery County and part of Howard before calling it a day. Even still, the results were disappointing.
When Ralston asked when I could take off for another attempt, I selfishly avoided sacrificing any part of my next scheduled day off. Rachel and I had a date planned, and I'd justified my decision with the knowledge that I had some sleuthing of my own in mind.