Blood and Roses (Holly Jennings Thriller) (11 page)

He sighed. “My wife will not like it. But I think, because of what we are dealing with, that we are now a team. It is my job.”

Chad nodded.

“Not always easy on our families. So true,” Holly said, thinking of how she’d left Chloe with Brendan and his girls that morning. “I have a guest room that you’re more than welcome to crash in.”

“Yes. That would be nice. Thank you.” He took a sip of his tea.

It pleased Holly that the three of them made a good team. It wasn’t always so easy, and because Amar was from another jurisdiction, things could have been sticky. But so far, no issues had arisen, and they all seemed to be jelling well. And because Greenfield had
agreed to allow Chad and Holly the flexibility they requested in working cases, bringing Amar in wasn’t an issue.

“That’s settled. Let’s set aside the two-killer theory for a bit and focus on the connections that we know for sure.”

Holly walked to the white board. She had photos of Tieg, Tommy Lyons, and Katarina Erickson. She’d also pulled photos off the Internet of Scott Christensen and Jim Gershon. She had printed up extra sets of her notes regarding the jockey slayings. She wanted to fill in as many blanks as possible along the timeline.

“We can’t deny there are some connections already at play. The key is fitting the right piece with the next piece.”

Both men nodded in agreement.

Holly posted the photos up on the board in a square. She wrote
One
next to Katarina’s photo. The four eleven, petite redhead had been a beautiful girl, and at twenty-two with a huge future ahead of her, the loss was tragic. All loss was tragic, but there was something about looking at the photo of a once-alive Katarina standing next to a horse that hit Holly right in the gut. Maybe it was because she had a daughter and was soon to have two more. Maybe it was just the pure loss of someone so young, so ready to take on the world, that gave her such a visceral reaction. Holly didn’t know exactly what it was—and frankly, she didn’t care. She simply wanted to find the bastard who had taken these lives.

“We know from the autopsy that Katarina likely died first and suffered less than Tommy did.” She placed Tommy’s photo on the board and cringed slightly as she recalled the sobs that escaped from the poor kid’s father when she notified him of his son’s death. “Katarina was shot at point blank range, but not until after the killer broke her legs with a blunt object, probably a baseball bat.

“We also know that she was taken first, likely outside of the barns at Del Mar, but no one claims to have seen anything, and her car was clean. She may have gone somewhere else first. I’m
surprised we have no witnesses. That tells me this guy is good, he’s calculating, and I am certain he watches his victims for a bit to get their patterns down.”

“Or he knows them,” Amar said.

Holly nodded. “Or he knows them. We did find a detailed schedule in Katarina’s smart phone, and she had noted that she would be meeting Tommy at Brody’s at eight. She never showed. The bartender there remembered serving Tommy a beer and reported that he seemed flustered and kept checking his cell. Tommy finally told the bartender that he’d catch him later and left at around eight forty-five. Again, no one saw him after that. According to the estimated time of death, he was murdered between ten and midnight, along with Katarina.”

“So our killer held them for a period,” Amar said.

“To torture them, which he seems to enjoy,” Chad added as he clicked his pen.

Holly nodded. “Yeah, and I would say he is becoming more sadistic. Breaking legs is one thing, but what he did to Tieg is another step up. Let’s talk about Tieg for a minute. Amar, have your guys figured anything that might help?”

“We don’t find any forced entry to the home, which makes us think that Tieg may have known the perpetrator. Either that, or our killer is a skilled locksmith—all the security features on the home had been disconnected. But something else came up on my drive here. I received a call from the lab. When Tieg’s body was discovered, he had a glass of scotch on the side table next to him. The lab found traces of phenobarbital in the glass. As you saw, Tieg was a pretty big guy and likely would not have gone down without a fight, unless there was no other choice.”

“Like being drugged big-time,” Chad said.

“Yes,” Amar replied. “And we believe he was. Oddly enough, my guys found a vial of a drug called Acepromazine in the trash.”

“Acepromazine?” Holly asked.

“Also known as Ace, it is used to sedate dogs and horses. It is quite effective. However, it is also a cheap high for humans these days. Some get a prescription for their animal, then use it for themselves. It’s similar to diazepam, also known as Valium, but cheaper. We don’t have all of the toxicology reports back yet and as you know it will be some time, but we are rushing it.”

“Do you know if Ace would keep Tieg incapacitated but still somewhat alert?” Chad asked.

Holly knew where he was going with this line of questioning. “You’re thinking that this guy gave him just enough to keep him awake, keep him feeling the pain. Killers who use torture want to see the reaction of their victims. Maybe this guy is a vet. Or in the medical profession. A scientist, possibly. Those guys would know proper dosages and have a drug like that handy. And a vet may be against some of the practices on the track. Does Equine Health Systems sell this stuff, by chance?”

“They don’t. I checked that already. No pharmaceuticals through them,” Amar said. “But as I said, this drug is relatively easy to get and appears to be common in the equine world. It can be bought online, and proper dosages would be pretty easy to learn. Or, if the prescription was given by a vet, a fairly smart person could figure out how to dose a human. And we all know this guy is pretty smart. Frightening as it is, this guy may not have cared if he overdosed Tieg. He may have been irritated if Tieg was nonresponsive to his torture, sure, but his end goal was Tieg’s death. I believe the killer had some vendetta to satisfy.”

Holly liked Amar. He was smart, spoke his mind when he felt it relevant, and he also listened. He was a good cop, and she thought his theories prudent. “I think you’re right. There is a vendetta mentality going on here, which if we’re dealing with two killers widens things even more for us. Narrowing in on a vet with a grudge and a
brain that has gone haywire is likely doable, but finding two people in this category might be like finding a needle in a haystack. No pun intended.” She smiled at her colleagues. “Okay, maybe a little.”

The men chuckled. Amar asked, “Did anything turn up in the jockeys’ systems like this Acepromazine?”

“No. He didn’t sedate either of them.” She walked over to the two jockeys’ files on a table and handed them to Amar. “I think we have to look at the possible connections.”

“Looks like Tommy Lyons rode one of Tieg’s horses in a race, but that’s it,” Chad said. “The race didn’t go so well. The horse, Stand by Me, fractured his cannon bone…” He glanced up from his notes. “His leg, or a part of it. Horse had to be put down on the track.”

“Was that this past meet at Del Mar?” Holly asked.

“Yeah, actually it was. Tommy rode more than one horse in that meet. I’ve learned it’s commonplace for jockeys to ride for more than one owner and trainer at each meet, which tend to last around six weeks or so.”

“And we didn’t question Tieg after the murders?”

Chad’s face flushed. “No. And Gershon was the trainer. We asked him if he knew Tommy and Katarina, and all he said was that he knew them in passing. Why not tell us that Lyons had ridden one of Tieg’s horses in a race?”

Holly sighed. “Good question, and one we need to address with Gershon.” It wasn’t her partner’s fault that they had dropped the ball on this one. She remembered the various interviews, but the case with the judge’s niece had been hanging over their heads, and they’d been pushed hard to solve that one at whatever cost. “Okay. And how about Katarina? Any connection between her and Tieg?”

“I don’t see anything there. Yet.”

Holly drew a line between Tommy’s and Tieg’s photos. She continued with the line and took it down to Jim Gershon’s name
and photo. “He was pretty open about his feelings on the pin firing technique. He claims it isn’t something he advocates or practices on the animals that he trains, but how long had he been working for Tieg?”

“I think he said a year,” Amar replied.

Holly nodded. “And we spoke with the trainer who Tommy Lyons had been riding for at the time of his murder. Her name is Elena Purdue. He’d ridden that horse of Tieg’s just the one time, and then Elena Purdue also owns and trains a horse that he rode a number of times. But not much turned up when I spoke with her. She seemed very happy with Tommy; didn’t know much about Katarina, other than she said that she was a good jockey. Elena Purdue seemed distraught over their murders but didn’t shed much light on any of it for us.”

“Scott Christiansen had mentioned another trainer,” Chad said.

“Right. Rafael Torres. Let’s come back to him. I want to look at the possible psychology of the killer first. We suspect he’s got an ax to grind. He is one angry son of a bitch. He’s using methods to murder that we know harm—or in the case of broken legs, can kill—horses. We could be looking at anyone, guys. An animal advocate gone overboard. A former trainer, jockey, groom, vet, or someone with access to this Ace drug. I think we can consider that he might have a territory, and he may strike again soon. It was a few weeks between the jockeys and Tieg, but the method of madness has escalated. That can be a serial-killer trait and I think our guy qualifies, but he’s different from the killer who kills simply for sport. He thinks he has a reason to kill—the notes clue us in there. And, if Chad’s theory about a team of killers is correct, then we have double trouble here. We haven’t even begun to go down that road yet.”

“That two-killer scenario—that could be a ploy to throw us off,” Chad said. “It looks like he may enjoy toying with the police.”

“It does. Any suggestions, Amar?” Holly glanced over at Amar, who appeared contemplative.

“I think we need to look at both the Del Mar and Santa Anita tracks, since Tieg has some horses racing at the Oakwood Meet now. See how many of the same people go from one track to the other.”

“That’s a good idea,” Holly said. “We can divide these tasks up among ourselves and a few colleagues to try and stay ahead of this guy. We all know he’s going to strike again. It’s a matter of time.”

“Hey, speaking of colleagues, do you have a partner?” Chad asked.

Amar looked away. “Killed a few months ago in the line of duty.”

“I’m sorry,” Holly and Chad replied simultaneously, then looked at each other, chagrined. Holly had wondered. No one spoke for a few seconds.

Amar cleared his throat. “We look at those tracks to see if we can put together some type of cross list between professionals who may in some capacity attend both. It’s a start, but I don’t know what else to say, other than…I think the three of us better get to know a bit more about horse racing beyond placing bets.”

19

“What you are doing is wrong. It must come to a stop. This is the last time I will help you. I aim to speak with my son as well.”

Sheikh Farooq sat across from a man whom he had considered a brother for many years. The man frightened him—he knew his secret and enjoyed using it against him. Farooq knew Waqqas could get what he wanted from a handful of other men. He could have done it without Farooq. But Farooq knew that Waqqas enjoyed placing the target on his back as a form of revenge.

They were in a circular suite atop one of Manhattan’s premier hotels. Dark velvet drapes cloaked the walls. The aroma of jasmine candles—one of the sheikh’s favorite scents—hung heavy in the air, as did the tension between the men.

Naqeeb Waqqas straightened his silk tie under the dark pinstriped Armani suit and looked Farooq in the eyes. “Is it? Do you not follow the teachings of Muhammad any longer, brother? Are you so westernized now that you have betrayed your faith? Your son is a believer. Your son understands what needs to be done and why we do what we do.”

“Our faith is not about death and killing. Do not be so ignorant as to believe the evil spread by the Taliban and the terrorists of the world.” Farooq’s stomach ached, his heart beat rapidly against his chest. How could they not understand that what they did was
not right? “I do good in the world, Waqqas! I help make treaties between countries. I want peace!”

“Peace? You help provide peace by cooperating with infidels. And evil? Look around you, Sheikh.
This
is evil. Our men suffer while the infidels continue to have more than the rest, continue to fight a war against us and our God. That is evil. That is why we are doing what we do, and you will continue to support us. You will continue to support your son and to support me.”

Farooq sighed. A heaviness weighed deep in his spirit. “It is wrong. And are
we
suffering? I think not,
brother.
We have more than most men in the entire world, not simply the men in our own world and culture. The
entire
world.”

Naqeeb reached down and placed a large briefcase on the marble table. The case contained hundred-dollar bills, totaling $2.7 million. “I am not so selfish as to only be concerned with myself, unlike my brother, Wallid. You know what his selfish ways got him; it is good that
you
have made the right decision. It is always nice doing business with you.” He lowered his voice to a whisper as he said, “It would be shameful for the true evil you participate in to come to light. Wouldn’t it?”

Farooq could see his bodyguards standing in the recesses of the draperies, their arms crossed, boredom on their faces. They had not heard what Naqeeb said. The sheikh did not respond. He tried to erase the image of Wallid Waqqas from his mind, sick from the thought of what had been done to him. He swallowed his emotions.

“Shame to your family, if the truth be known,” Naqeeb continued.

Farooq took the briefcase and set it on the floor next to him. He then opened his own briefcase and removed his checkbook and deposit slip. He wrote a check for the same amount that had been handed to him, made out to the World Bank, of which Naqeeb Waqqas was the president. The bank’s central location was in
Manhattan, with international locations in Switzerland and Saudi Arabia.