Blood and Roses (Holly Jennings Thriller) (16 page)

Holly was rapidly running his story through her brain, attempting to make any connections that she could. “Did you not say anything to the commissioner because you worried about your brother’s reputation? Did you wonder whether your brother was involved, and you feared tainting his name?”

He waited a few seconds. “You’re good. My brother had two daughters, a son, and wife. They’d been through enough. That was part of the reason I stayed silent, and the other…maybe some fear. If these guys will go to extreme lengths to see horses in the winner’s circle, what lengths will they go to in order to cover their asses? Do I think there may have been foul play in my brother Frederico’s death? Yes. But, how do you prove it? You know my beliefs.”

“Karma,” she said.

He smiled. “I have to be going, Detective. Anything else?”

“Yeah. The colt? What happened to him?”

“The colt wound up suffering a career-ending injury a few months after Gershon took my place. A friend of mine has him.
She and her sister fronted the majority of the money to purchase him and then put a syndicate together for the rest of the shares.”

“They needed a syndicate to purchase an injured horse?”

“The horse is still a stallion, and the hope is that he’ll produce some real quick offspring. This is horse racing, Detective. Big business, lots of cash changing hands. Living, four-legged commodities. Many of these horses come with hefty price tags and require a handful or more of owners to make the initial purchase and support the upkeep. Injured or not, if they can breed, and they won on the track, they’re still a commodity.”

“If they can’t breed, and they get hurt, or didn’t win on the track, what happens then?”

“Each horse has an individual story. Some wind up living nice lives as a backyard horse for a kid. Some wind up healing and going on to work as jumpers, sport horses, other ventures. Some wind up in slaughterhouses.”

Holly shook her head, remembering her discussion with Brendan about the cruelties of men. “And your friend who owns him, she lives here?”

“California. Her name is Elena. Elena Purdue. The horse is here, though. At her sister Leann’s place. She has a few horses there for Elena for breeding, and she also runs a rescue facility. I volunteer there sometimes. You like horses?”

“I do,” Holly said. “I’m an animal lover. My fiancé is a small-animal vet.” Holly thought back to interviewing Elena Purdue after the jockeys’ murders. Maybe this world wasn’t as vast as it had seemed the other day back at the station going over everything with Chad and Amar.

“Oh. Great. You like fried chicken?”

“Yes.” That was odd, but she was going with it.

“Then if you have some time before heading home, go see Leann. The rescue is open to the public, and she serves amazing
fried chicken. Plus she knows Perez. He’s actually riding the horse that Tommy Lyons won on the day he was killed.”

“You know a lot about this case.”

“I told you that I liked Katarina and Tommy. I don’t like Perez. I warned Elena not to let him ride for her, told her that he’s a bad egg, but sometimes people gotta find this stuff out on their own. Everyone in our world knows about these murders, and some folks are watching their backs.”

Holly raised her eyebrows. “Know any details?”

“Nothing concrete. Rumors. That’s it. Like I said, this is scary, creepy stuff. If I get something more certain, I will let you know.”

“Thank you.” She took one of her cards from her wallet and jotted down her cell number at the top, then handed it to him. “One more thing? Your friend’s sister, the fried chicken connoisseur and horse rescuer.” She smiled. “Leann. Right?” Torres nodded. “What does she think of Perez?”

“I think she feels the way I do, but she doesn’t own the horse he’s riding. Funny. The filly’s name is Karma’s Revenge. I find it ironic, anyway. Horse is one to keep an eye on. Perez doesn’t deserve to be riding her, but he wins the races. And Elena is one of those people who believes in the good in all. She doesn’t always see the truth in front of her. She’s stubborn and one to try and prove people wrong.”

“Anything else you want to add? Anyone else I should maybe speak with?”

“I think I gave all I know. I think you have some more dots to connect.” He stood. “Have a safe trip home.”

“Have a safe trip to Las Vegas.”

Holly left the farm not knowing what to think of the man at all. He was sort of a mystery himself. One thing she did know, though. He was right when he’d said she had some more dots to connect.

31

Holly had a lot to ponder as she sat down at the hotel bar. It was almost seven by the time she’d checked in and gotten settled. She’d called home, and Brendan and the girls had been warm toward her, missing her—and reminding her to bring gifts.

Brendan had brought up wedding plans. “I think I found us the perfect caterer. We could start with a sushi bar. We can go Mexican style and do a variety of ceviches, or we can go Japanese traditional with sashimi and some specialty rolls. I know you love sushi.”

“Honey, that sounds terrific but expensive.”

“Holly, I love you, and I am going to marry you. I want to have a celebration to remember when we are old and gray.”

“You’re an amazing man.”

“That’s why you love me.”

“There are a few other reasons.”

“I like that,” he replied. “I can’t wait for you to get home. I don’t know much about flowers, so you have to help me on that, and music…we need to talk about a live band or a DJ. A lot to do.”

“There is. I know, but remember we agreed to keep it small. No more than fifty people and between your family and mine we’re already nearly there.”

“I know. Small is good. It is good. Like you.”

The way he said
like you
made her toes curl. His voice was always soothing—sexy. What was she thinking, traveling halfway across the country when she could be home by his side? Oh yeah…she was thinking that she was doing her job in hopes of catching a killer.

She’d said goodbye to Brendan and the girls, deciding dinner was in order. Processing the information she’d already gathered over a drink sounded good, too. She’d tried Chad again and still got the voice mail. She wondered if Brooke had gone into labor early. Dialed Amar to see if he and his team had any new information, but the call went straight to voice mail.

Halfway into her glass of red wine, she reviewed what she knew. She had a notepad and was waiting for a plate of spicy shrimp and cheesy grits that had come highly recommended. She began making connections as she had on the whiteboard back at the precinct.

She wrote down the name Rafael Torres. He knew both of the dead jockeys and was also connected to Tieg. She drew a line from Tieg to Torres to the jockeys. Then there was the frog juice scandal. He denied involvement but pointed fingers at Jim Gershon, the current trainer for Tieg, and Juan Perez, a jockey who had once ridden for Tieg and now rode for Elena Purdue. She drew lines from Elena’s name to Tommy Lyons, who according to Torres rode her horse to the winner’s circle the day he was murdered, then to Tieg, who had sold her Cayman’s Cult. It would be interesting to see what Elena’s sister had to say about all of this when she visited her farm tomorrow. She’d already looked the place up. It was called Golden Hearts.

Then there was Torres’s brother Frederico and his death only two days after he’d told Rafael about the horse being drugged with the frog juice. Was that simply coincidence?

She rubbed her temples. She had to get this case under control, down to a manageable size. As the waiter approached with her
dinner, Holly took a swig of wine. Something caught her eye as she set the glass back down, stopping her short. She heard herself suck in a deep breath. Felt her body heave and sink back into her chair as if she’d been sucker punched by some invisible force. She stared at the glass of wine, trying to focus. No. She hadn’t had the entire glass, and God knew it took two full glasses for her to catch a buzz.

The waiter set down the plate. “Shrimp and grits. Enjoy.”

She thought she muttered the words, “Thank you.” Holly tried to move. Tried to stand. But her body betrayed her. The dark room spun a bit. Her mind reeled in an attempt to process what she was seeing.

Her husband.

Jack.

Dead.

Killed over ten years ago in an explosion.

Walking out of the restaurant with a dark-haired woman.

His arm wrapped around her waist.

32

Quentin took in the myriad of orange hues as the sunset descended over the Pacific Ocean. A crescent moon already hung in the twilight sky. Something about that sky reminded him of Afghanistan.

What hell.

Funny how things change. One minute you’re working for the country you love. You’re doing covert shit and finding the deceivers and murderers hiding in their burrows.

Cowards.

Then, the next minute those same asses that you were fighting for, the country you strove to do everything in your power to keep safe, turn their backs.

There had been intel that Quentin felt should not have been overlooked. And to this day, Quentin was sure that the family he had gone to see with two other soldiers knew exactly the information he wanted. They knew the name of the connection who was taking the tax from their poppy seed field, helping them to manufacture heroin that in turn supported the Taliban and other terrorist organizations, and surely there was a money trail.

Quentin had been determined to locate that trail.

Sorry, but the wife deserved to be raped in front of her piece-of-shit terrorist husband and sons. And those sons deserved to be tortured and killed in front of their parents.

Didn’t anyone understand anymore what was at stake? No one cared. After the shell shock of 9/11 had worn off, Americans had gone back to their mundane lives enjoying the independence and freedom that their military provided. They had no idea that the evil was already so deeply embedded, so steeped into society that the country—the
world
—at any moment could be taken down.

Quentin understood. And if the world was going to be taken down, he was going to be the one in charge. Not the bastards from the Middle East.

He was going to do it in a way that made sure the righteous survived and a new world would begin. A new world order would come to fruition.

Yes, Quentin was going to reign supreme.

He was going to control and rule the world.

He stepped off his balcony and headed into his office where he sat down in front of the graphic plans he had drawn up. It was all coming together.

He checked his watch. Yes. It was all coming together.

The countdown had begun.

And there was now an additional element. It was all so perfectly ironic. To think that the investigator—the CSI, of all people—trying to solve the murders he’d ordered…was none other than Holly Jennings. How insanely and beautifully ironic. Good stuff. Real good.

And he was going to string Detective Jennings along like the little mouse she was.

33

Once Holly had gotten her bearings, she stood to follow the man and woman out of the restaurant. She had to see for herself. It couldn’t be Jack. It just couldn’t. Jack was dead. No one could have survived that explosion. Holly had been there. They had been on the case together. It couldn’t be him.

But in the back of her mind a fact remained. No remains had been found. Three officers perished in the fire. Her husband had been one of them.

Her eyes were playing tricks on her. That’s all. But she needed to be certain.

As she stood, a waitress rounded the corner, accidentally bumping her elbow. Holly spilled her red wine everywhere. By the time she recovered the couple was gone, and Holly had missed her chance.

She sat back down and rationalized. Everyone had a twin in the world. There was simply no way that man could have been Jack. If he had survived that explosion, he would have been found. He would have come home to her. He would have.

She ordered a second glass of wine and took it to her room. She drank about half of it down before trying to reach Chad again. Still shaken, but now convinced she had not seen her husband’s ghost. Just someone who looked a lot like him.

Chad answered on the first ring.

“Everything okay?” Holly asked.

“Yeah. Why?”

“I couldn’t reach you earlier and I was wondering if maybe Brooke had gone into labor.”

“No. It’s all good. She and the baby are doing fine. It could be any day though. I spent most of the day interviewing employees at Equine Health Systems. They give tours there,” Chad said.

“What? I don’t understand,” Holly said.

“They give tours to groups, like different horse-riding groups. Vets, any professionals that want to come in here. They tour the plant, see how things are done, that kind of thing.”

“I don’t know what you’re getting at, Chad. What do tours have to do with the murders?”

“I don’t know exactly, but Christiansen needs neoprene to make his product. What if he was using the dive shop to purchase neoprene when it was in operation? Could he have mentioned that to one of these groups, or talked about it at all? Talked about the place being shut down and abandoned, about how he had to find a new source for his materials? He’s the one who conducts each tour.”

“Did you ask him?”

“I did, and he says that he didn’t recall anything specific,” Chad said. “I’m now asking everyone there if they recall mentioning the dive shop at any time to customers who walked in, or people who went on the tours. Also, Christiansen was mentioned in an article in the
Tribune
this morning. It’s about the upcoming race, and he is quoted saying that he is against horse racing and that if trainers would use his products, horses could be saved.”

“That doesn’t mean a whole lot, though. He told us that himself. I know everyone looks guilty at the moment. Keep asking questions. Keep looking for answers. That’s all we can do. What about Amar? Any word?”

“Spoke with him briefly and he’s checking into this group called PAAC, which is People Against Animal Cruelty. I guess their big beef is with horse racing. There is word that they plan to stage some protest the morning of the Infinity.”