CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
I've spent too many years on the street not to know that a furtive word, or a telephone call out of the blue, can change the complexion of any case, anytime, anywhere. I have no expectation that this will happen in this case, but fate is about to show me how wrong I can be.
I drive out to beautiful Turf Paradise Race Track to talk with the trainer of five race horses owned by Sonny Johnson. His trainer, one Pete Marshall, probably knows as much about race horses as anyone. He's pleasant, knowledgeable in his profession, and when I quiz him at length about his employer, he, like everyone else, gives Sonny the highest marks. We finish our talk and I walk out to the rail and watch a couple of thoroughbreds work out. Going back to where my car is parked, I have to go by the
