Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

"What do you think?" I asked Martinez when we got back into his unit.

"I think it's an inside job," he said. "I don't see how it could be anything other than that. The chances of anyone not affiliated in some way with this house seem pretty slim when you look at the number of people who are around and the level of security."

"Yeah, that was my thought too," I said with a sigh. "Pretty interesting that Astrid Nielsen didn't bother to tell us about the master staff list. Like she had to go look it up in her magical house-manager computer."

"I think there was a lot Astrid didn't bother to tell us," Martinez said. "But there was something that Molly said that caught my attention too. She said staff were paid well for their loyalty. Money can buy a lot of secrets and a lot of silence. Molly probably knows things that even Astrid doesn't know. Her whole life has been wrapped up in this family."

"Don't forget her son and granddaughter," I said. "That adds an extra layer when all of your income eggs are in one basket so to speak. It makes it harder to break free."

Martinez grunted in affirmation as we drove back to the guardhouse at the front of the property. Guardhouse really did a disservice to the name. It was a dark gray stone building with white windows and trim, and by the size of it I could only assume there were offices or a room inside to monitor the cameras.

The rain was relentless, and Martinez parked in front of the gate and we both got out and ran to the side door where the guard checked visitors. At least the area was covered by a small overhang. Martinez knocked on the door, but there was no one inside that we could see.

"Goble?" he called out.

"Maybe he had to make a pass around the property," I said. "His anorak was wet the first time we talked to him."

"Maybe," Martinez said. "We'll try him again on the way out."

We ran back to the SUV, both of us wet and shivering, and Martinez kicked the heater on high.

"Next time I complain about the heat in the summer, remind me what this spring has been like," he said.

He put the car in reverse and then got back on the long drive that led to the house. Then he followed the paved path along the side of the house. The designers had done a good job of concealing anything that would take away from the splendor of the house, including the road that disappeared into a tunnel of trees and skirted the perimeter of the property.

"This place must be a security nightmare," Martinez said. "Hardly a clear view from any direction with all the tree coverage."

Our speed was slowed by the rain and low visibility, but as we turned a corner I thought I saw a building in the distance.

"That must be the staff garage," I said, squinting to peer out the window.

"I'll take your word for it," Martinez said as the windshield wipers swished furiously. "I can't see crap. What is this weather?"

The rain did seem to be coming down in sheets instead of drops, and I was starting to wonder if God was punishing us for some unknown reasons. My phone rang and I thought about sending it to voicemail, but then I saw Doug's picture pop up and I wanted to make sure he was okay.

I put the phone on speaker and said, "Everything okay?"

"So, like, don't get mad," Doug said by way of greeting.

Martinez started laughing and slowed the car to a crawl as we continued on what I thought was the road that headed toward the barns.

"Hey, who's that?" Doug asked.

"Martinez," he answered.

"Oh, cool," Doug said. "I saw the news this morning. That's a pretty sweet suit you were wearing. Makes you look like a mobster."

"Thank you?" Martinez said, giving me a look.

I didn't say anything because the suit did kind of give off mobster vibes.

"Maybe you should get back to the part where you don't want me to be mad," I said. "Did something happen at the house? Are you okay?"

"I'm A-okay," he said. "This rain is pretty wicked. My afternoon class got cancelled because no one could get on Zoom. And the groceries got delivered, so that's good."

"None of these things are triggering my wrath," I said.

"Well, it's about the dog," he said.

"What dog?" Martinez and I both asked.

"It's crazy really," Doug said. "You see, I opened the door to get the groceries off the porch and I swore I heard this howling sound. At first I thought maybe it was the wind. But it was too weird to be the wind. And then like, my Spidey-sense kicked in and I followed the sound to the side of the house where the creek is, and there it was."

"There what was?" I asked, my palms starting to sweat.

"Oscar," he said.

I closed my eyes and prayed for patience. "Who's Oscar?"

"The dog," he said. "I named him that because he looks like Oscar the Grouch. But he'll probably look better after I give him a bath." Doug paused for a second. "Maybe."

"Umm, Doug…"

"Wait, hear me out," Doug said. "You see, he was all tangled up in these brambles, and he was muddy and the creek was rising. I had to get him out of there or he would have died."

"Doug, why would you think I'd be mad about you rescuing a dog? Share your groceries with him. I'm sure he's hungry."

"Oh, I didn't figure you'd be mad about the dog part," he said. "I know you've been trying to talk Jack into getting one. I figured you'd be mad about the mud."

I rubbed the throbbing that had started between my eyes. "What mud?"

"It's just that he was all matted up, so I brought him in through the kitchen so I could take him into the guest bathroom and get him in the shower. But he was so excited he got away from me and kind of ran through the house. But don't worry. I'll have everything cleaned up by the time you get home. And don't worry about the sofa. I know how to use the steam cleaner. It'll be like new. You guys probably shouldn't have bought a white couch, but hindsight is twenty-twenty. And I can fix the lamp. Maybe."

"Just clean up the mess," I said. "I'm glad you've got company. We'll be home later if the bridge isn't flooded. Otherwise I'll be at the funeral home."

"Should I tell Jack about Oscar?"

"Let's surprise him," I said.

"Wisdom," Doug said and disconnected.

Martinez burst into laughter. "So you've got a dog now."

"I wanted my dog to be named Sherlock," I said, tapping my fingers on my leg. "What kind of name is Oscar? I didn't want an Oscar. I wanted a Sherlock."

"Sounds to me like Oscar is Doug's dog," he said. "You've still got a chance for Sherlock."

"I don't know," I said. "It depends on how bad the house is wrecked when Jack gets home. Oscar might have screwed up my chances for Sherlock. Our sofa is pretty nice."

Martinez was sitting forward, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, trying to see through the windshield.

"This is ridiculous," Martinez said. "We do not have time for this." And then a rapid string of Spanish flowed from his mouth.

I didn't know any Spanish, but I recognized the tone and I figured most of the words he said weren't appropriate for most ears, and I figured the altar boy was probably going to have to spend some time in confession.

He pounded on the steering wheel a couple of times, said a word I'd heard on NYPD Blue and knew his abuela wouldn't approve of, and then slammed on the brakes so we skidded slightly. And the rain stopped. I mean it all the way stopped. Not even a wayward dribble landed on the windshield.

"Holy smokes," I said. "What did you just do?"

"A little something my abuela taught me," he said.

"I don't know whether to make the sign of the cross or give you a high five."

"Family trade secret," he said.

"Maybe you could have done it a couple of weeks ago," I said.

"If I had you wouldn't have Oscar."

I sighed. "Jack is going to have kittens. I'm trying to pretend like it's no big deal right now so I can be calm and collected when he finds out that Doug just adopted a dog that looks like he lives in a trash can."

"You're doing pretty well at keeping it together," Martinez said. "I never would have guessed except for that line of sweat on your upper lip. Maybe Jack will love Oscar. Maybe they'll be best friends."

"Jack's got a weird hang-up about dogs," I said. "He agreed to let me have one, but I'm not sure he actually meant it. He's still traumatized by the dog he had as a kid."

"What happened to it?" he asked.

"She died of extreme old age," I said. "But she and Jack were very close."

"Maybe he should talk to the department shrink," Martinez said.

"Or just replace the affection he had for that dog with this one," I told him.

"That seems healthy."

"Hey, I'm all about finding healthy coping mechanisms," I said. "Look, there's the staff cottages."

"The word cottage is a bit of an understatement," Martinez said. "I was expecting something smaller. Those are nice houses. Looks like one of those old-timey neighborhoods with the trees and stables in the back. Maybe I should come to work for the Lidles. Seems like a pretty sweet setup."

"How many buildings and stables do horses need?" I asked. "I'm counting five. Not to mention those on the back side that look like a small apartment building."

"That must be the ranch hand apartments," Martinez said. "I guess champions get the best. And rightly so. I've got a thousand dollars riding on their Captain Morgan for the win in the derby."

"Were you really an altar boy?" I asked. "Curses and gambling. What's next? Loose women?"

"Every chance I get," he said, grinning.

The main stable was white and majestic, with tall gables and dormer windows, and at least twenty stall doors that faced the livery yard. There was a maze of crisp green hedges and a cobbled path that formed an oval, and on the exterior of the oval were several other white outbuildings that made a U around the paddock. They were all designed to look like miniatures of the stable.

"You think the free staff housing is worth waking up smelling horses every morning?" I asked.

"I think when you've got this much money nothing smells too bad," Martinez said. "Let's see if we can find Alex the stable master. You think he's home or at the stables?"

"It's still regular working hours," I said. "Whatever that is for people who deal with animals. Let's check the stables."

A weak beam of sunlight crept through the clouds.

"I'll take that as a sign," Martinez said. "The stables it is."

He stopped the SUV just outside the white rail fence. I left my raincoat in the car but grabbed my medical bag out of habit, putting it across my body so it hung down at my side. The ground had areas of standing water, even on the cobblestones, and Martinez and I made our way through the fence and hedges to the stable. It smelled of fresh rain and hay and wet animals, and when the sun brightened and glinted off the gabled windows I thought it might be the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

"I'm not an expert on horses," I said. "But there seem to be a lack of horses in these stables."

"That's because all of our contenders have been transported to different training facilities across the nation," said a man from behind us. "The lack of sun affects horses much like it does humans. It affects their emotions and their performance."

We turned and faced a man dressed in tan riding breeches that fit like a second skin and black boots. He wore a navy pullover with a gold crest and the stable's logo. His face was tan and comfortably lined for a man in his late forties or early fifties—the kind of lines that only seemed to make a man more attractive with age—and his hair was wind blown and dark blond, hitting the back of his collar.

"Horse depression," I said, arching a brow. "Who knew?"

"That's why they pay me the big bucks," he said. "Can I help you?"

"I'm Detective Martinez," Martinez said, showing him his badge. "And this is Dr. Graves. We're looking for Alex Wheeler."

"You found him," he said. "What's going on?"

"You haven't noticed the police presence at the house this morning or turned on the news?" Martinez asked.

Alex looked confused and then his mouth quirked in a half smile. "There hasn't been time for that." And then he gestured for us to follow him. As we walked I noticed the movement of people inside the various buildings and horses being tended to.

"I've been in the foaling stall since about midnight," he said, leading us into an area where another worker was laying down fresh hay. "Then I went home and caught a couple hours sleep and showered. I just got back to work. It was a busy night."

"Oh, wow," I said, looking at the new chestnut foal. And then I said it again as I saw a spotted foal in the stall next to him.

"In three years these horses will be champions," he said, grinning. "It's a good day for Chesapeake Farms. I've got two more mares ready to drop at any time."

"I can see why you didn't have time for TV," I said.

"Why? What's going on?" Alex asked.

"Can you tell me your whereabouts last night between six and midnight?" Martinez asked him.

The man's smile slowly faded as he looked at us both. But he answered. "Yeah, sure. I was here. I'm always here. I live in the house closest to the stables. You can see it from here. I've been checking on Francis and Sadie here off and on for a couple of days. I went home around seven to get something to eat and take a shower. I came back around ten to check on them again. I could tell Sadie was in some distress so I went ahead and called the vet. He got here about eleven. Dr. Buford is his name. He can confirm the time."

"You live with anyone?" Martinez asked.

"God no," he said, laughing. "I've tried that. Women tend to like for you to pay more attention to them than horses. I've never found a woman who was more fun to be around than a horse. So I live alone. Though I have company from time to time."

"Did you have company last night?" Martinez asked. "Can anyone corroborate your whereabouts?"

"Not unless someone was looking in my windows," he said. "Are you going to tell me what this is about?"

"Evie Lidle was kidnapped from the house last night and murdered," Martinez said. "Her body was found in Regent Park early this morning."

"Impossible," he said, shaking his head. "No way anyone got in there and took her. This place is locked up tight."

"We agree," Martinez said.

Alex's brows rose in surprise. "You think it was one of us? Someone who lives on the property?"

"I think if it's impossible for anyone to get in from the outside, then the choice we're left with is that someone was already on the inside."

Alex shook his head and said, "Look man, my life is an open book. Feel free to ask anyone about my whereabouts. The whole team here was working our tails off. I can vouch for all my people. There was no time or reason for any of us to drive up to the main house. You can check all the cameras. They're everywhere in this place."

"Are the cameras down here on the same system as the ones at the house?" I asked.

Alex shrugged. "I guess so. I don't really know. That's a question for Alan Goble. He's the security guy."

"We've met," Martinez said. "How long have you worked here?"

"Going on seven years," he said. "Mrs. Lidle lured me away from a competing farm. Paid me almost double to breed her champions. I'm happy to say I've lived up to the pay increase."

"Congratulations," Martinez said. "When was the last time you saw Alan Goble?"

Alex put his hands on his hips and chewed on his bottom lip. "I'm not sure. We don't really cross paths all that often."

"That's not what we heard," I said, raising my brows.

Alex snorted. "Alan's a horndog. Thank God he has a competent team. I told him to stay out of my stables with his girlfriends. He can do whatever he wants on his own time and with who he wants, but we have a reputation for being one of the top racing farms in the country. I don't need him screwing it up. The second time I caught him I reminded him that I don't give second chances. What? Is he crying about a broken nose now? I'm not sorry for it."

"You punched him?" I asked.

Alex grinned. "Yeah, and it felt good too. Alan is always running at the mouth about how he's some highly trained operative and he knows how to kill people with a spoon or some stupid crap like that. I guess he's not so highly trained when his pants are around his ankles. He didn't even see my fist coming. I thought I was going to get fired for sure."

"How long ago was this?" Martinez asked.

"Three or four weeks ago," Alex said.

"He didn't report you?" I asked.

Alex shrugged again. "I guess not. It's not like he really had a leg to stand on. I know he's caused more than one woman employed here to leave her job. A punch in the nose serves him right."

"Who were the women you caught him with?" Martinez asked.

Alex hesitated and rested his arms on top of the stall gate, looking down at the foal. "It's really not any of my business who he was messing around with."

"But it's our business," Martinez said. "Give us the names."

"I actually don't know the name of the first girl I caught him with. She was youngish and blond and pretty. He liked to make his mark on the new hires. I haven't seen her around in the last few months, so I figure he broke it off like he normally does and she quit in embarrassment. That tends to be the pattern."

"But you knew the second woman?"

"Yeah," he said, kicking the fence lightly with his boot. "Yeah, I know her. She's one of mine. Maybe that's why he thought he could get away with messing with her at the stables."

"I need a name, Alex," Martinez said.

"Lizzie Ryan," he said.

"Ryan?" Martinez asked. "Any relation to Molly Ryan?"

"Her granddaughter," he said. "Her son, John, is one of my best trainers and if he found out about Alan and Lizzie you'd have another murder on your hands. Just be careful who you share that information with."

"Where can I find Lizzie?" Martinez asked.

"She was up with us all night helping with the foals," Alex said. "I cut her loose about ten this morning. She should be at home."

"If you think of anything that might help us you can give me a call," Martinez said, handing him a card.

Alex was just reaching out to take it when three gunshots rang out.