Blood and Roses (Holly Jennings Thriller) (6 page)

The University of Kentucky State Penitentiary.

And, he learned a lot there—like how to break and enter anything. Boy, that surprised Mr. Supersize Ego, seeing him in his big glass house.

“You know what pin firing is, Tieg?”

Marvin stared at him—like Tommy Lyons had. It wasn’t as if the guy could answer. Joque kept him gagged and bound. “Do you? It doesn’t matter. I’m going to show you.”

Joque had been around. He knew things. He knew a lot of things. He knew how security cams worked. He knew how to break into places. He knew how to hide and then become an element of surprise. He knew that the bastard Tieg liked to have his first drink around five-ish, when he got home. He knew things because he’d been a good study.

And he knew how to pin fire a leg.

Joque had also known there was a risk to what he had planned last night, because Tieg liked companionship. But in a way, that idea made the hunt a little more fun. Challenging. He liked that. But he got lucky. Tieg had no companion. After Tieg had sucked down his scotch—the bottle had been spiked with a little sedative—and settled in for the evening in his chair in front of his big, fucking, obnoxious TV, Joque surprised him by simply entering the room. The groggy Tieg tried to stand and confront his intruder, who thought it would be ironic to dress in a copycat of the silks worn by Juan Perez, the jock who was once supposed to ride Tieg’s horse, Cayman’s Cult, to stardom in the Triple Crown. That certainly didn’t happen, and it was Tieg’s fault.

So, whether or not fuckface Tieg had ever even heard of pin firing didn’t really matter. He was still a culprit in the whole scheme of things. The guy wrote the check to the bastards who had administered the treatment. He deserved to die.

That Tieg was the moneyman made him liable and made it just easy-peasy to go on into that ridiculous mansion, sedate the moron with
some Acepromazine, and fire away. The Ace didn’t kill the pain. Joque didn’t want the pain killed by any means. He just wanted the guy to stay still.

“Do you think that the sedatives that were given to those horses that were pin fired—your horses—do you think those poor beasts didn’t feel it? Even with sedation, you know they felt it!” He had scolded the wide-eyed Tieg, who after just the first round had tears flowing down his red, fat fuckwad face. “No. They felt it. Every time. Just like this.” He’d knelt down, and with the needle attached to the blowtorch, stuck it through the skin, watched the blood drip then slither down the bastard’s pale white legs, and he pin fired away. “How is that? Healing, huh? Healing tendons for greed?! You think that heals? No, motherfucker. It doesn’t. In reality it broke your horses down faster. And then, once they were all good and broken down, what do you and your disgusting entourage do? Get rid of them. That is what you do! By the way, Tieg, do you remember me? Remember me at all?” Joque stopped and took a step back, looking down at Tieg in the chair.

Tieg opened his eyes, but there was no real recognition there.

“That’s what I thought.” Joque shook his head. “Just like with the horses. Once you’re done with them, that’s it. The thing is, Mr. Tieg, horses can’t come back and get even. People can. You have plenty time to remember me.” He bent down and whispered in the man’s ear, “An eternity in hell might jog the memory.”

Joque then kneeled again and pin fired Tieg’s legs up and down until Tieg had given up the ghost and passed out. Joque gave up then, too, and shot him full of the rest of the Ace. He waited until he was good and dead. No taking chances. Then he’d stuffed the carrot into Tieg’s mouth and left the doctored racing form, as planned, for the police.

He turned on the shower in the hotel bathroom. Had to start his day. Yep. Had to get packed and start his day—a day in a life
of who he
really
was, or wasn’t. Well, a day in the life of who others thought he really was.

Joque knew damn good and well who he was.

A protector of horses.

A killer of men.

9

“What are your thoughts on pin firing, Mr. Gershon?” Holly walked down the barn row to the right of the man, who was built like a Brahma bull. Curious horses stuck their heads out and took note of the newcomers. Grooms came and went with various buckets, saddles, and horses in tow. A horseshoer’s truck was parked next to the barn. The shoer pounded away on steel, shaping the shoe of a horse before taking it into the barn row and placing it on a horse’s hoof. The horse stood with his groom in what Holly had learned was called cross-ties. The smell of hot metal wafted through the air. Gershon had dark hair, nice brown eyes, and wore a black baseball cap that read
Tieg Farms
.

“If you think sticking a few red-hot pokers into an extremely sore portion of your own anatomy several times and then slapping on a substance that causes a severe burning sensation is a decent idea, then okay, fine. I personally think it’s archaic and brutal. Pin firing is not a practice I use on my horses.”

“Why do you think someone did this to your boss?” she asked.

Gershon shrugged. Amar stood on the other side of him. He said, “Do you know if Mr. Tieg ever allowed anyone else to use this practice on his horses?”

Gershon looked down at his folded hands. He didn’t speak for a moment. “Look, I’ve only been training for Tieg for about a year. He fired Rafael Torres last year after that debacle with Cayman’s
Cult. The fact is that a lot of these guys—these owners—they don’t know much about the animals. They’re in it for the sport and the money. They don’t pay attention. They write checks or their wives, accountants, or assistants do.”

“Now you’ve only been training for Tieg for a year, but you obviously knew him well enough to go to his home, which isn’t exactly close by.”

“Tieg owed me a paycheck. And I owed my guys here a paycheck. He was a week late in getting me paid. I can’t run a barn like that. He told me to stop by his house this morning after the horses were exercised and I could pick up the check. He also said he needed to speak with me about something.”

“Do you know what?” Amar asked.

Gershon shrugged. A horse whinnied from another barn, setting off an echo of whinnies and nickers. A Spanish music station played loudly on the radio in the barn aisle. The place reverberated with high energy. “No idea. Tieg was one of those guys who liked to be in control. He kinda seemed to enjoy messing with people.”

“Did that bother you?” Holly asked. “His controlling behavior?”

Gershon stopped and crossed his arms. A horse in the next stall banged his hooves loudly against the wooden door. “Manny, stop it!” The horse complied, turning his big brown eyes on them with a look of innocence. Holly had to admit they were beautiful animals. “I don’t let owners get to me, Detective. I don’t allow much to get to me. Life hasn’t always been kind, and I take everything with a grain of salt.”

“Ah. I suppose that’s why you were able to come back to work today,” Holly replied.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” he said.

“I think she means that typically when someone discovers a dead body, they’re shaken up,” Chad interjected. “Especially when
the body looks like Tieg’s. But you don’t seem all that fazed.” He gave Holly a sideways glance.

Chad typically played bad cop to her good cop. They’d agreed that at times it was the best way to go. On occasion they’d switch it up. But Chad had read Gershon correctly. He was one of those men who would be more intimidated by another guy than a woman. Holly noticed Amar watching them and wondered if he’d figured out how they played the game together. She also wondered if Amar had a partner, and if so, where was he or she?

“I spent all morning talking to cops,” Gershon replied. “I have an alibi for what you people believe is his time of death. It was checked out. Your guys let me go. I am here because this is my job. I don’t know what will happen with Tieg’s horses, but there are other horses here under my care. Plus some of Tieg’s horses are syndicated—he invested in the horse with a small group of people—and I still have to answer to those other investors in the syndicate. Tieg was not the only owner I train for. What good am I at home all spooked, when I have a job to do? My wife likes to say that I’m practical. I would say she is accurate, and for the record, she and my sons were with me all evening last night. The only involvement I have in Tieg’s death is that I found him.”

Holly switched her tactic. She had a feeling about this guy, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. “What kind of owner would you say Tieg was, other than controlling?”

“Tieg was a decent guy. He thought of himself as much more of a horseman than he was. I mean, sure, the guy did know a horse’s ass from his head, but he acted like a know-it-all, and sometimes he didn’t know much at all.”

“Did that ever rub you the wrong way?”

Gershon laughed. “As I just told you…I’m practical. I’m used to dealing with inflated egos. Goes along with the paycheck. If Tieg
told me to do something, I would tell him that I would, and if I didn’t think it was a good plan, then I wouldn’t.”

“You would lie to your boss?” Amar asked.

“Yeah. I guess so, but most of the guys on this side of things lie to their bosses. We know what we’re doing. They don’t. We let them think they do. It works. For most of these guys, the horse on the track is an investment, pure and simple, and they want a quick return on their investments. I know how to do that better than they do, I believe. End of story.” The horse started banging against his door again. Gershon reached into his pocket and handed him half a carrot. “Horse is a beggar, and I spoil him.”

“If Tieg had told you to pin fire a horse and you didn’t, would he have had someone else do it?” Holly asked.

“Look, Detective, if someone did that to one of my horses here, I’d know it. It’s not something you can hide. I think you saw that on Tieg. Right?” She didn’t answer. “It’s extremely painful and their legs have to be wrapped tightly afterward. When those wraps need to come off to rewrap, it’s like tearing a Band-Aid off open skin. It hurts like hell, and the scabs come with it. It’s wrong. I don’t know why some sicko did this to Tieg. I don’t. Tieg was decent enough. He was a bit of a blowhard. I’m sure he had some people who didn’t much care for him. But I certainly didn’t do it.”

“Does anyone stand out in your mind? Any enemies you can think of, off the top of your head, that Tieg may have had?” Holly asked.

“Maybe. There’s a guy who owns a company called Equine Health Systems. They make a variety of wraps, supports, that kind of thing for horses. Anyway, this guy, his name is—let me think…Scott Christiansen.”

Holly shot Chad a look. They recognized the name, but she didn’t let on to Gershon.

“He invented this medicine boot of sorts that he claims absorbs a shitload of negative hoof concussion,” Gershon continued. “I don’t know. He’d been after Tieg for some investment opportunity with the company. They had a connection. Tieg had made some kind of deal with this guy, and then pulled out a few months ago. It got ugly. Not sure what happened. I keep my nose out of stuff like that. Drama. You know. I think his company is down south, maybe around San Diego.”

Holly glanced at Chad, and then at Amar. Holly and Chad both knew exactly where Scott Christiansen’s company was located.

“What about Tommy Lyons and Katarina Erickson?” Chad asked. “Did you know them?”

“Sure. I knew them. Just enough to say hello.”

“Do you know if they knew Tieg? Any tie-in there?” Amar pressed.

“I don’t know. I guess it’s possible. Uh, you know Tieg was making a documentary that’s scheduled for primetime TV the week of the Infinity. I was interviewed, but I don’t know who else. I didn’t get much involved. Did it because Tieg basically said I had to. It’s kind of a promo thing—you know, highlight the good stuff about this sport. Too much negative talk out there, and half of it lies.”

“Do you know what the documentary is called? Was it finished?”

He shrugged. “Do you guys watch TV at all?”

Holly looked at the other two detectives. No one responded.

“I’ve seen some commercials. It’s called
The Infinity Invitational
. There’s some subtitle to it that I can’t think of off the top of my head, but yeah…the spots are airing. The Infinity is not far away. One of Tieg’s horses, Skeedaddle, was invited, but I got bad news for the other owner. Horse pulled up lame in a workout yesterday. I planned to tell Tieg and then let him tell his partner.”

“Who is the other owner?” Holly asked.

“None other than Edwin Hodges,” Gershon replied. “Mr. Financial Wizard. I am sure you know the guy. Wrote books on wealth, big real-estate magnate.”

“Pretty sure everyone knows who Edwin Hodges is.” Holly shook her head and tried not to show her aggravation. Interviewing guys like Hodges was never easy. They had assistants up the yin-yang and avoidance tactics on par with politicians. The über wealthy could easily dodge a police interview. They would have to try to speak with him, though. Any connection to Tieg, especially one that involved the sport, had to be looked into.

“And the documentary?” Chad asked. “Was it finished?”

“I don’t think so. I think he was making two parts. One followed the setup of the event up until a few days before race day, and that would air the day before the race. The second piece was going to be a post piece from what I had heard. Showing the winner. That kind of thing. Talk to Hodges. I know he put a lot of cash behind the track out there, and he was Tieg’s partner on a lot of things.”

They thanked Gershon for his time and headed to their cars. “Guess we’re going to pay another visit to Scott Christiansen,” Chad said.

“Another visit?” Amar asked.

“Scott Christiansen’s equine sports medicine company is located within yards of the building—a dive shop to be exact—where the jockeys were found murdered. At the time we found it interesting that an equine company would be in such close proximity to where the victims were found, considering Katarina Erickson and Tommy Lyons made their living on the track. When we interviewed Christiansen, everything checked out and looked to be coincidence. His primary business is focused directly on the western riding world, not much to do with anyone on the track.”