Written by: Kera M. P. Gotchy
Disclaimer: This story was created with the assistance of AI. References to real places or people are included only for realism and should not be interpreted as factual representation.
Part 1 — Call at Dawn
The shrill ring of the phone dragged me from the edge of sleep.
“Dr Blake? It’s Bill Turner. Silver Comet’s gone!”
I scrambled for my boots, my kit already slung across my shoulder.
The mangroves along Dohles Rocks Road steamed in the nascent heat. By the time I reached Bill, he was pacing the fence line, his weathered hat clenched in a white-knuckled fist.
Silver Comet’s paddock lay seemingly untouched. The water trough was full, the hay net still tied – but the gate’s chain was hanging loose, the padlock unscarred.
“He never jumps,” Bill muttered. “Not with that tendon.”
I crouched down at the gate posts, scanning the dirt. Someone had led the horse away with calm precision. No struggle. Whoever took him knew this place. And they had keys.
“Call it in,” I said, standing and meeting Bill’s eye.
He shook his head, his jaw clenched. “The police won’t come for a horse.”
“They’ll come for theft,” I shot back. “And this wasn’t a midnight wander. This was a clean job.”
Bill flinched, as if my words physically struck him. “You’re new here, Doc Griffin minds its own.”
I checked the stable. The bridle hook was empty, the lead rope missing. A hoof pick lay abandoned in the straw. I bagged it without touching the metal, scanning the fence line again. Boot prints – men’s, broad tread. A second set dragged the toe, like the person had been heavy or tired.
“Who else has access?” I asked.
“Me. My daughter. Connor from next door when I’m away. That’s it.”
Connor’s ute sat still across the road, the windscreen glinting in the early light. A dog barked under the tray but fell silent when I looked.
I walked the verge toward the corner and found the shallow tyre scuff of a float – a smooth crescent where the driver had misjudged the turn, then corrected. There were no broken glass or paint chips. Just a clean job.
I glanced back at the paddock, at Bill’s rigid shoulders, the unlocked padlock. Silver Comet wasn’t missing. He’d been taken. And whoever took him had covered their tracks carefully.
Someone close was behind this. Someone who knew the place, the people and their secrets was involved.
To be continued…
