Blood and Roses (Holly Jennings Thriller) (12 page)

But Naqeeb Waqqas was much more than the president of a bank.

Naqeeb stood up. “As I said, it was a pleasure doing business with you. I will be in touch.”

Farooq’s stomach sank. It took a lot to make the sheikh feel this way, and he did not like it at all. If he could, he would strangle this one-time friend with his bare hands, the way Naqeeb had strangled his very own brother. That was the rumor among an elite few, and Farooq believed it was the truth. He knew the viciousness Naqeeb possessed in his heart. Farooq almost wished that Naqeeb would punish him with death, too. What Naqeeb was doing to Farooq was, in many ways, much worse.

He leaned back in the chair as he watched Naqeeb leave the hotel room. Then he walked over to the heavy drapes and pulled them back, wishing that he could pull his pain back in the same way.

The Manhattan skyline was clear as dusk filtered out over the Hudson River. The Statue of Liberty with the torch of freedom held high in the air reminded him that there was plenty of good still left in the world.

The sheikh sighed. All he wanted to do was get back to Kentucky, spend time with his colt, see that he got safely on the plane headed for Las Vegas and forget this bad business. But he knew this bad business would follow him…until he put an end to it.

The problem he had now was figuring out
how
.

20

“Last call.” Holly held up the coffee carafe. “More tea, Amar?”

Both men shook their heads. Holly and the guys were tired, even after copious amounts of tar that substituted as coffee at the station. Add enough creamer and sugar and it became drinkable. The evening had closed in around them and they were all deciding on what to eat, or if they should just go home. However, duty called, and it was looking more and more like pizza accompanied by more theorizing.

“Okay, we already know that there are some unscrupulous tactics allowed as far as what is done to some horses on the track,” Amar said. “We also know there is a seedy side to simply participating in racing horses. There are many addicted gamblers at the track and where addictions breed, bad people doing bad things are not far away. There are bookies. We have money laundering. You know, these cases may be more expansive than we can anticipate.”

“I agree,” Holly replied. “I think we also need to take a close look at the animal advocate groups. There have to be chat rooms and forums—maybe we’ll find something there. It’s worth a try.”

“I can do that,” Amar said. “I’ll have to be careful. My captain knows I’m sharing with you guys, but he reminded me that I don’t work for SDPD. You probably guessed already that I am a bit of a rebel.” He winked at them. “But I am good at what I do. If I don’t always follow rules, I have figured out ways to work around them.
I will make some calls and put some of my people to work on the peripheral things we have discussed—the chat rooms, and so on. After we chat with Mr. Hodges, I’ll head back home and see what my crew has come up with.”

“Good plan,” Chad said. “Let’s finish what we can for now and order up some sausage and pepperoni.”

“Gourmet meals.” Holly laughed. “All right, we have a growing list here of who races at all of the Southern California meets. We need to start figuring out who knows whom and who might have motives.”

“Do serial killers have motives?” Chad said. Holly frowned. “It’s a joke, partner.”

“This one does. I think we all agree,” Amar said.

“It appears that some racing barns travel with an entourage, some with a handful of help, and then there are those that look to be pretty small operations with only two or three people running their show. Some of these people travel by trucks and trailers, some by planes. At this point it looks like we have at least two hundred people to cross-reference. Is this something you can get your guys to help you with, Amar?”

Amar nodded. “Sure. We can divide it.”

“Good. Plus we have horseshoers, vets, exercise riders, and even professional haulers transporting horses from the larger barns and from track to track. Within those groups, let’s look at possible husband-and-wife teams, siblings, any type of close relations.” Holly sat back down at the boardroom table. “Do this traditional style, I guess, and let’s run these names and see if anyone has any priors. We should also check if any of the names on our list are linked to any scandals in the racing world. We’ve already come across the frog juice thing. What do we think of that?”

“Scott Christiansen brought that to our attention,” Chad said.

“I think we should check further into the frog juice. It’s scandalous in and of itself. I’m curious because he suggested that Tieg
possibly had some involvement in it. And that big deal with Tieg’s horse, Cayman’s Cult…Christiansen also mentioned the former trainer, Rafael Torres. Told you we’d get back to him. Google him, Chad. See if anything comes up.” Holly stood and stretched. She paced back and forth, her heels clicking against the tiled floor.

Chad pounded away at the computer. “Yeah. Big-time trainer. He was suspected of drugging the horse. They couldn’t find the proof they needed, so he’s back training but obviously not for Tieg. Won a lot of races, this guy. Been around for some time.”

“Where’s he training?” Amar asked.

“Versailles, Kentucky. He trains for a farm called Donahue-Fields.”

Holly nodded. “Interesting. Anything else?”

Chad scrolled down the search page. “Wait, wait, wait a minute. Here’s another article. It’s about Tommy and Katarina’s murders. There is a sentence here that reads,
Katarina Erickson had been looking forward to riding Serenity Jones, owned by Donahue-Fields Farms, in Sunday’s race. Erickson would have been the first female jockey to ever ride for the farm.

“I thought she was working for that trainer we spoke with after the murders. The one I had a vibe about, Geremiah Laugherty,” Holly said.

Chad shrugged. “Jockeys can and do ride for more than one owner and trainer.”

“I think we need to speak with Mr. Torres. Anyone want to go to Kentucky?” she asked.

21

Holly stood in the kitchen brewing coffee. Amar was still asleep in the guest room. Usually on Sunday mornings, Holly would wait for Chloe to rise, and they would head over to Brendan’s, or Brendan and the girls would come to them. They’d have breakfast together and figure out how to while the day away.

However, this case was going to eat up her Sunday morning. She’d phoned Brendan the night before and explained the situation. He of course had no problem keeping Chloe for the night but was disappointed not to be seeing her. She felt as if lately all she did was disappoint him. Hopefully, they would get this interview with Hodges over with quickly so they could enjoy the rest of the day with their families. Still, there would be a damper on the day no matter what. She was going to have to let her family know that she would be headed to Kentucky, in the morning. That news would not go over well.

She poured herself a cup of morning jump-start and put a piece of bread in the toaster. When she turned around to see Amar standing there in her kitchen, she startled. “Oh my God.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “My wife hates that about me. She says that I sneak up on her. Trained cop.”

“Me, too. Trained cop, I mean. I should have heard you.”

He waved a hand at her, and she took down a mug from the cupboard. “Coffee or tea?”

“Coffee in the morning.” He sat on one of the barstools at her kitchen counter. The morning light sliced in through the kitchen blinds. Amar looked as tired as she felt. “Sleep okay?”

He shrugged. “It is hard when I am not at home, and my mind is going in circles thinking on this case.”

“I agree on both accounts,” she said. “I never sleep well away from home and my mind is trying to fit all of the pieces together here.” She handed him the coffee. “Cream and sugar?”

“No, thank you.”

“There are so many angles to this case. There are pieces that don’t make sense. We’re learning a lot about horses and horse racing and what goes on in that world, but are we looking too hard at that?”

“What do you mean?” she asked. Her toast popped up and she asked him if he’d like a slice. He nodded, so she gave him that one and put another piece of bread in the toaster.

“I mean, are we digging too deep into horse racing? Is turning over every leaf prudent? To me, this is a serial killer case. It is about a killer, or even two, targeting people involved with horse racing. Could it be as simple as a fan or fans gone off the deep end?”

“It could. But you know as well as I do, Amar, that we have to look at everything. We have to ask all of these questions and hope that even just one answer will open the doors wide.” She wasn’t sure what he was getting at. She was beginning to doubt her investigative abilities—both she and Chad had dropped the ball in a few areas. But she wasn’t going to let that happen again.

“My partner, Mac, he was a good guy. He was a good father, husband, detective. He was organized, thought everything out, no stone unturned—like you. He was killed in the line of duty. The thing is that he was killed working a case, but the guy who killed him had nothing to do with the perp in our case, it turned out. He was a thread.”

“But obviously he was also bad. He may not have been who you were looking for on the case, but he proved dangerous.”

“Yes, of course, but my point is that maybe if Mac hadn’t been looking all over the place and focused in on one area, he would still be here.”

Holly’s toast popped up, and she turned around to butter it, pondering his words.

“I’m going to get a shower,” he said. “Mind if I take the coffee with me?”

“Not at all. I set some new towels in the guest bath this morning…” She turned back around to see that Amar had left the room as silently as he’d entered.

Petie was at her feet begging for his breakfast, which she promptly fed him. She wasn’t sure what to make of Amar’s words. He’d caught her off guard. Were they looking in the wrong places? Was she going about this all wrong?

She took her coffee and walked into the family room where she kept an old hutch that had once been her grandmother’s. She opened it and found what she was looking for—a photo of Jack. She traced his face in the photo. Although she loved another man now, she would never forget her love for Jack. If he were alive, he would have told her his thoughts, maybe helped her see what she was missing.

She shook her head. Jack wasn’t here, and life had moved on in so many ways. She stuck the photo back into the hutch, hoping she was not leading everyone down a dead-end road.

22

Holly and Amar drove over to Hodges’s place in silence.

Another palatial estate, although this one had the backdrop of the bright blue Pacific. “Damn, these people have some serious money,” Chad said as he got out of his car. Holly and Amar had beaten him there by a couple of minutes.

“High-stakes horses. Drama. It all equates to lots and lots of cash, my friends,” Holly replied.

They walked up to the massive doors. Bright-colored flowers and small palms grew in abundance on either side of the walkway. Holly rang the buzzer. A moment later they were greeted by a surly, pimply teenaged boy. “Yeah?”

“We’re here to see Edwin Hodges.”

“Dad! Some people are here for you.”

The kid then shut the door. Holly, Chad, and Amar gave one another
what the hell
looks.

A moment later the door swung back open and they stood face-to-face with the famous Hodges. “Oh hello, officers. I saw you coming.”

“Saw us?” Chad asked.

“Officer, I have the best security systems in the world in my homes and business.” He tapped an alarm keypad displaying the words
Bradley Systems
encircled by a logo in the shape of a Q. “I
have cameras, alarms, whatever I need to keep me and my family safe. Come in.”

Edwin Hodges was indeed self-assured. He was shorter than he looked on TV. Somewhere in his fifties, though Holly guessed he’d had some plastic surgery. He was tan, fit, and his hair looked dyed blond rather than natural.

Holly gave Chad one of her looks like,
Okay…what are we dealing with?
as they were led into what had to be the living room. Floor-to-ceiling windows let in abundant light, and everything in the room was white, except for the dark hardwood floors and the chrome accents on the modern furnishings. Holly fought not to be distracted by the amazing view.

“What can I help you with?” Hodges asked.

Holly quickly made a round of introductions, then said, “We’re investigating Marvin Tieg’s murder, and we know you had some business dealings with him.”

Hodges laughed and waved a hand in the air. He walked over to the windows and turned his back to the officers. Holly decided she didn’t like this guy. “Okay. But how can I help you?” he asked again.

“Mr. Hodges, Mr. Tieg was a business partner of yours, and we are attempting to learn what he was involved in. It may help us find who killed him,” Amar said, being far more diplomatic than Holly.

Hodges turned back around. “You’re here because you think I can help you solve who murdered Tieg? Okay. Sure. I think I can. Some goddamned crazed lunatic is responsible. That’s about all I can help you with, Detectives. Let’s face it. The guy is a serial killer. He murdered two jockeys in cold blood, and now he’s killed my business partner. You surely won’t find any serial killers running in my crowd.”

“And you know that because…?” Chad asked.

“Because I’m a genius. I know enough to know when a sociopath is in my vicinity. You’re going to ask me all the regular bullshit questions, which waste your time and mine. Let me save you the trouble. Did Tieg have any known enemies? I am sure he did. We all do. Rich people typically have enemies. Do I know who they were? No. I don’t pay enough attention and don’t have time for that nonsense. Was he involved in anything illegal? No clue. Maybe. But what
we
did together was legal.”

Holly wanted to kick the crap out of this guy. She started to say something, but Hodges held up a hand. “What we did together? Yes, well, what we did together was…invest in a couple of horses. I am also the major investor in the Infinity track—and the casino—out in Vegas. Tieg put up some cash but was really more the promoter than anything. The documentary he was creating is excellent, and I plan to see it to fruition. His murder, and the murders of the jockeys, have put a dark cloud over what was supposed to be a rising sun on a new day for the sport of horse racing.” He stared at Holly. She stood her ground, but his intensity was unnerving to say the least. “And because I refuse to allow that darkness to ruin a new era and the greatest day the sport will ever see, I have work to do. And you do as well, Detectives. I have nothing left to tell you.”