Blood and Roses (Holly Jennings Thriller) (5 page)

Maybe the language is different, but the words are there.

The feelings are there.

The emotions are there. A horse responds to care and love more than anything else put in its path.

Except fear.

Horses can differentiate good people from bad.

6

Amar raised his eyebrows and then glanced down at the victim’s legs. “I have just learned that it is called pin firing,” he said. “Apparently a treatment for an injury to a horse’s leg. The vet, or trainer, I guess, does it by burning, freezing, or dousing the leg with acid or caustic chemicals.”

“Why in the hell would they do that to an animal?” Chad asked.

“Good question. I was told that it’s supposed to induce a counter-irritation and speed and improve healing. A small blowtorch with a needle attachment is used. The needle and blowtorch flame are applied directly through the skin and down to the bone.”

“And that is what was done to Tieg. Good lord. Who told you this?” Holly asked.

“Guy named Jim Gershon—he trains Tieg’s horses. He’s the one who found the body. Guy was really shaken up. I spent some time with him. One of the other detectives took him back to the station to speak further. Just talked with my guy not too long before you arrived, and they let him go.”

“Do you mind if we speak with him?” Holly asked. “Do you think he’s a suspect?” She glanced at Chad. “We need to see if he had any connection to the jockeys.” Chad nodded, making a note.

Amar looked down at his feet for a second and then shook his head. “Too early to say if he’s a suspect, but isn’t everyone a suspect
in the beginning?” He smiled. “And no. I don’t mind if you speak with him. I read about your case down south. Then when this came in, I knew I needed to contact you. I know you have been careful not to let the carrot detail out in the media, but word has a way of traveling police lines with cases like what you two have down south. Then after your partner here vetted me over the phone…” He winked at Chad. “…he realized I was the real deal and that tidbit of information came out after I told him what we had found. Maybe if we put our heads together, it can help. More minds, you know…”

Holly nodded and appreciated the fact that Amar was open-minded enough to think this way. A lot of cops wouldn’t be so open and willing.

“Okay, so this Jim Gershon can give us some more info on pin firing and anything else horse related here. I think we have to look at a few distinct possibilities for the type of killer we’ve got on our hands,” Holly said. Chad gave her one of his eyebrow-raised, quizzical looks, and Amar smiled in a way that said he was on the same wavelength. “If I had to guess, I’d say that this guy is out for revenge. How the three victims tie in together likely goes beyond them just being in the racing industry. There may be some association among all of them, but I could be jumping the gun.”

“This is sadistic and full of hate,” Chad commented as he stared at the corpse. “What about the neighbors? Anyone see anything?”

“I’ve got some people canvassing the area and talking to folks, but so far we haven’t come up with anything. This guy is possibly a pro. I don’t know. Too early to tell. But there is something else here that I believe you also found at your scene.” Amar walked over to a granite island in the kitchen and handed Holly a piece of paper.

“Racing form,” she said.

“Open it,” Amar replied.

She did. One of the horse’s names was circled from a race out at Arlington Park in Chicago. “
El Chicano
.”

“There is something else. Turn it over.” A small piece of paper with the words
In the Mouth of Madness
typed on it was glued to the back side of the form.

“What do you think this all means? I mean, the note he left last time with the jockeys referred to them being sacrificial lambs. The message was more direct. But this?” Holly gestured with her palms outward.

“He
knows
what it means and he wants us to find out,” Amar said.

7

Sheikh Mahfuz Farooq loved his colt, Whiskey Sour. He named almost all of his horses after alcoholic beverages, which was funny to him because he didn’t drink. His brother and son thought it was stupid that he named them this way. But he didn’t care. He found the names humorous, and Whiskey here was his boy. His favorite boy. He was a winning colt. Farooq had paid half a million US dollars for the colt at the Keeneland yearling sale almost two years ago. Not the most expensive colt. Not the cheapest. He came from good stock, but not the best.

Farooq was interesting that way. He could afford any horse he wanted. He did not usually listen to anyone else, study the stats, pore over every bloodline—though much of that type of knowledge swirled in his brain. When buying a horse, Farooq relied on his sixth sense. When he spotted a horse he liked, he looked the animal in the eye. As with people, he believed, the soul of a horse could be seen through his eyes, and when he looked into Whiskey’s eyes, he spotted a winner, a warrior, but not the kind of warrior that is a savage. There were some of those horses out there, just as in people. Farooq didn’t like savage people, or savage horses. No. This warrior had heart.

The sheikh stroked the glimmering neck of his chestnut colt, bent down to breathe into his nostrils, and then took in his own deep breath. Breathing in and out with the horse—a spiritual
exchange. He cooed to the colt, who in turn licked his hand as if it were a salt block. Whiskey’s strong jowls and fine-looking head spoke of elegance and confidence. A white blaze decorated his face. The only other white on the near-perfect animal was a stocking on his left hind leg. Farooq liked to rub that stocking. He felt it was lucky.

The sheikh had been a horseman from the time he could walk. Raised in Saudi Arabia as a royal, he had plenty of access to the finest horses in the world. His grandfather had given him this strong love for the animals and taught him everything he knew. If Farooq was not a sheikh with the weight of the world on his shoulders, he would have been what the Americans refer to as a horse whisperer. He liked the sound of that. The horses were his sense of peace. His soul. They understood him as no woman or man could. His favorite place in the world was the exquisite and immaculate barns he owned in Versailles, Kentucky. Walking through the barns, smelling the sweetness of the earth and the majestic animals he paid millions for eased him, pampered him. There was no better way to spend his time, especially when the grooms were gone for the day, and everything quieted as the horses ate their dinners. The routine sounds of slight shifts of weight atop straw piled high, and the rhythmic eating with an occasional sneeze or nicker echoing off stall walls, were the sounds of joyful respite for Farooq.

Although Farooq knew that he was never truly away from the eyes of humans, he could at least pretend here. He could go back to a time when life was simpler, or so he thought. When he was a boy and his cares were small, and he had a constant access to the horses with no watchful eyes. Someone had always been watching, but when he was a child they were much easier to ignore.

Bodyguards who stood in the recessed shadows of the barn were not as easily ignored as childhood babysitters. Security cameras
scanned up and down the aisle to be certain no intruders passed through intending harm to the sixteen animals in this section of the barn and farm. These sixteen were special beasts—either former champions who now stood stud or horses who were currently winning out there. The special ones.

“Father?”

Farooq turned around to see his daughter standing behind him. “Ayda? You never come to the stables. Is there a problem?”

“No.” She tossed back her long black hair. “I thought maybe that since we do not talk much or do anything together, that I would come here, and you could show me your horses. They are what you love.”

The sheikh frowned. “I love you, too, Ayda. You know that.”

She didn’t respond. “What are their names?” she asked.

Ayda had ridden a horse only once in her twenty-eight years, and it had gone badly. She’d take a decent spill and had never gotten back on, although the sheikh had tried. He had encouraged her for many years after, but she had no interest. Neither did his son, Muhammad.

He nodded and smiled. “All right. I will show you. This is my colt—Whiskey—he will prove to be the most special of all. He is destined for greatness.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I know these things, and he is fast. He wins races, Ayda, and he wins them because he loves to run.”

“How do you know he loves to run? How does anyone know what an animal loves? Animals can’t speak.”

The sheikh laughed. “You are wrong. They do speak, only in a different language. There is something in the racehorse, in all horses, called heart. And heart is what they speak with. The heart of a horse is four times larger than its brain. Contrary to what many believe, this does not mean they are dumb animals. Not so.
However, I will say that if their brains were as big as their hearts, they would not do the things they do for man.”

“Your horse has heart, then? This is how you know he likes to run?” she asked, staring at the colt, her hazel eyes narrowing into thin lines.

Farooq was unclear about what his daughter really wanted from him, but she was here and he would indulge her. That was what she enjoyed the best—to be indulged. “He does, and that is why he wins races. There are horses on the track who don’t like to run. You can see it in the eyes. You can tell their heart is not in it. This does not make them bad animals. It makes them animals that would rather do something else with their time. Some enjoy to jump. Some enjoy to prance and dance as in dressage, and some enjoy to chase a cow. They are as diverse as people.”

Ayda rolled her eyes.

“Make fun of me, but it is true. I tell you that if I am right and my dreams are correct, then this horse will race in and win the most prestigious distinction in the world of horse racing.”

She smiled. “Yes. I’ve heard of this race. The Infinity Invitational. In Las Vegas.”

“It is good for the sport. I am not a fan of Las Vegas, but because there is a need to boost interest again in horse racing, it makes sense to hold the event there. The last few years as the economy around the world has not been so positive, the sport has been hit hard as well.” He shrugged. “But I do not like to dwell on the negative of anything.”

Ayda looked bored at his rhetoric.

“My horses—
our
horses—have the finest care, the best feeds, attention, exercise, respect, and love. Not all horses have this. Bush tracks across this country are turning up every month on reservations. They are called racinos—racing casinos.” Farooq did not like this one bit. It left a foul taste in his mouth—of American
greed, and that was something he despised. He loved these animals whether or not they were as majestic and worthy as his colt. To Farooq, the horse, in all its glory, was one spiritual energy, one essence shared among the creatures no matter how great or small. “It is bad business, these racinos. It is like taking a beautiful woman and turning her into a whore.”

Ayda yawned. “This horse is racing in the Infinity, no?”

“He is.”

“Can I go to the race?”

“Of course you can come. That would make me very happy, Ayda. Yes. Yes. Of course. That would be wonderful. I’ve put much into the investment in the Infinity. It is going to be exciting. A very good time.”

A lot of money had gone into building the track, which had been built in record time—only two and a half years. Marvin Tieg, whom the sheikh didn’t think much of as a person, had actually done something pretty decent by rounding up major investors from film studios to a huge software company and the financial wizard Edwin Hodges, as well as himself. Most of the investors were doing it for the money. Farooq was doing it for the sport and the horses.

Tieg also made a film documenting the building of the track, and about horse racing. Then the idiot was looked at for drugging his horses. Blind eyes were turned, a few payoffs were made, and the next thing you knew, his hands were clean.

Enough money and interest had been poured into the race to keep people excited about the Infinity Invitational. Even more money than the World Cup in Dubai.

“A fifty-million-dollar purse! Yes, that has people talking, Ayda. This will be grand!”

“Good. I will go. I have an appointment now.” Ayda kissed him on his cheek and walked away.

Farooq was perplexed by her sudden interest, but he was not going to question it. He wanted a relationship with at least one of his children. His relationship with his son was so strained that it was a lost cause. He was pleased his only daughter might be having a change of heart toward him.

“Sheikh Farooq.” One of the guards approached him. The sheikh glared at him. “I am sorry, Your Highness, but it is time. Your plane is waiting.”

The sheikh nodded, kissed his colt on his face, and quietly left the barn and his horses to finish their meals in silence. He prepared for his trip back New York City, where he would have to take his mind off his horse and his daughter, and pray that he could help save the world.

8

Joque took a sip from his coffee and finished his eggs.

Good stuff.

All of it.

Room service and last night’s memory. Not all of Joque’s memories were good ones. But last night—last night was good.

And he had not had any nightmares. That was a change.

He couldn’t help but laugh out loud at the thought of chickenshit Marvin Tieg squealing like a little piggy through the gag.

Look, the fucker deserved it. Tieg was the one who signed checks to trainers and vets. He knew a lot more than he pretended. It was all about signed checks, man. Who signed them and for how much. Guess the check written on Joque’s life ten years ago wasn’t quite large enough.

Because he wasn’t dead.

He was very much alive.

Joque chuckled again recalling the scene from the night before. So fitting that the guy was so arrogant that he thought he was safe in his own house on the hill. How stupid. How ignorant. Those same bastards who had signed an amount on Joque’s head had actually sent him to school. They just didn’t know it.