I turned slowly toward Gretchen, eyebrows arched, the obvious question aching to be asked. “May I ask why you need these particular items in your office, outside the clinic?”
She didn’t seem concerned by the question, which made me second-guess my conclusion jump as she answered.
“I’m not just facility manager,” she said. “I’m the main vet and consult with all of the riders and owners on equine health.” I knew that. She’d told me she was Dr. Latrell when I’d attempted to question her. As if to reinforce her status, she pointed to a certificate over the cabinet where I did an unnecessary scan the evidence of her status as a doctor of veterinary medicine. “Why?”
I shrugged off her question, quid pro quo. “What gauge needles do you usually use?”
Now she looked worried, curious but concerned. “Eighteen or twenty gauge, depending on the viscosity of the injection.” She didn’t hesitate with that information. “Here. Let me show you.” She crossed to me, looming over me, so much bigger than I was but not threatening so I didn’t argue her move. She pulled open a second drawer below the first, revealing more boxes of syringes and sleeves of needles all in various sizes. “I keep meticulous records,” she said, suddenly defensive all over again. “They are all accounted for, I assure you.” Gretchen paused before her voice dropped in tone and volume, eyes big. “Does this have something to do with Melina’s death?”
I didn’t comment. “I’ll need to see those records and then inventory your supplies.”
She just nodded. I lost my confidence in her involvement at her innocent willingness to share. Not a hint of, “Talk to my lawyer,” or any attempt to hide what she had. Either she was an excellent actress or she had no idea Melina died from an injection.
“You have an alibi?” That question might have come out confidently but it was half-hearted on my part. I didn’t have an official time of death, but it was common knowledge by now the narrow window of minutes between Melina’s argument with Sarah and my stumbling discovery of her body.
Gretchen reached for a clipboard and handed it to me. “I told Agent Michaud yesterday.” She sounded sullen about it, as if only then realizing she wasn’t supposed to be talking to me but, I guess, deciding it was too late so she might as well just carry on. “I was working with one of the horses. He’s gone lame and we’re trying to figure out if it’s something serious or just a soft tissue injury.”
It still felt like she was hiding something. Wishful thinking or truth? I wanted to dig deeper, just to be sure, be thorough. Now that I had license to do so, I found I had this annoying habit of wanting everything right now, please and thank you, don’t make me come back and ask you again.
But when her phone rang, she used it as an excuse to cut me off, the sting of irritation I wasn’t going to get to satisfy my growing hunger for answers zinging like a wound.
“My records and my supplies are at your disposal,” she said, waving me out, closing the door behind me before answering the insistently wringing landline.
Was it the Pattersons calling her to task for speaking with me or was that just my paranoia mixed with the kind of narcissistic self-absorption that led me to believe the whole world revolved around me?
I headed out to join Liz at the rider’s apartment complex, scowling at my feet as I exited the building. And almost missed the hissing argument going on between the two people who hastily shut up at the sight of me. I stopped in my tracks, Jimmy Hogan’s discomfort obvious, though Violet Perry looked more annoyed by the interruption than guilty.
“Mr. Hogan,” I said. “Did Agent Michaud find you?”
He looked startled, then nervous, shook his head. “I talked with Deputy Wagner yesterday,” he said, one hand sliding through his dark hair. Wait, was that a dye line at his temple? Sheesh, poor kid, was he graying already? Sucked at his age. “What does the agent need?”
“Just some follow up questions,” I said. “Miss Perry, I had one for you. Apparently, the alibi you gave the deputy yesterday was false.” I kept my tone flat and empty while the girl eye rolled.
“Oh for heaven’s sake,” she said while Jimmy glared at her like she’d done something horrendous. “I was with Charlie Chaswick, okay? You can ask him.”
Confirming Charlie’s story. “Why did you lie?”
She gave me a look that spoke volumes about her rapidly deteriorating character. “Honestly,” she said, “he’s nice enough to look at, but not good enough for me, if you know what I mean.”
Wow, classy.
“You’re disgusting.” Jimmy seemed truly offended while Violet tossed her long hair and shot him a glare.
“Grow up, Jimmy,” she snapped before storming off, her boot heels thudding on the pavement.
He stared after her, face tight, shoulders hunched. “She doesn’t deserve to be here,” he said. “She treats the horses like they are objects, not living, breathing creatures. And that’s a treat compared to how she talks to the rest of us.” He met my eyes, the faint rims of the contact lenses he wore visible in the sunlight. “She’s just a rich kid who rides for glory, doesn’t care about our sport.”
“What about Melina?” I knew Liz would be talking to him but took Jill’s advice on the multiple questioner angle. “Did she care about her coach?”
Jimmy glanced around as if suddenly realizing he wasn’t supposed to be talking to me before leaning in, earnest and serious. “Violet doesn’t like anyone, as far as I know,” he said. “But she’s not smart enough or motivated enough to kill anyone. Too self-absorbed.”
“And you, Mr. Hogan?” I dropped that on him casually, almost friendly in my tone. “Are you capable of murder?”
He flinched but didn’t back down, though there was enough guilt behind his gaze I knew there was a lot he would rather I didn’t find out. Which meant, of course, I would be digging. Liz had been right. He was hiding something.
“I didn’t have anything against Melina,” he said.
“And your alibi?” I waited while he floundered a moment.
“I don’t have one,” he said at last, head hanging. “I was with my horse. And he can’t talk.”
So, like Sarah Shard, his only corroborating witness was a giant, four footed equine. Didn’t bode well for him, especially if what he was hiding was motive for murder.
Liz appeared at my elbow, almost like magic, her easy smile making Jimmy relax far more than mine had.
“Just who I wanted to see,” she said. “Did you know I’m a rider, Mr. Hogan? I’d love to talk to you about your career. You know, to see if you can give me some pointers.”
Jimmy’s reaction was not what I expected. I figured he’d drop his defenses and loosen up. After all, that’s what most people did when they were offered a chance to wax poetic about their passions. Instead, a giant wall of nope slammed up around him, expression going flat and hard, body tense.
“If you’ll excuse me,” he said, “unless you have questions for me about the case, I really have to be going.”
Liz appeared as bemused as I was when Jimmy turned and practically fled from sight, leaving us both to stare after him in surprise.
“Well now,” she said, sounding far too delighted by his retreat for it to mean any good for him, “I guess I know what to start digging into, don’t I?”
His career? But what did Jimmy’s riding record have to do with Melina’s death?
Only one way to find out.
“Let’s tackle his room again personally,” she said. “I wasn’t nearly as thorough the first time as I wanted to be. And no offense to your forensics people, but I have my own search standards I go by.” She’d made that abundantly clear. “First,” she said with a thoughtful expression, “I’m going to trust my gut. We have Melina’s office to ransack and I’m thinking we might find something to help us figure out what to look for when it comes to the reticent Mr. Hogan.”
If she said so. I was learning so much from Liz, such a nice shift from meandering my own instinctual way around investigating crimes. It was fascinating to watch her work, to track how her mind processed and made choices based on education and experience.
Crew might not have realized it, but he was on the verge of creating a monster and I wasn’t about to let him know just how deeply I was falling into this new role I’d found myself filling.
As I followed Liz, though, I wondered if it was a natural thing for her or learned, this passion she had for police work. And why did the idea of tearing someone’s stuff apart give Liz such a glow of happy?
Better yet, why was I grinning along with her?
***