Death by Equine

by Annette Dashofy

  “Bullshit.”

  She flinched. “Excuse me?”

  “You’re the attending veterinarian. They’ll follow your recommendation. Bottom line, this is your decision. I know you’d rather push it off on the bureaucrats, but this is just you and me here.” He leaned down, placing his palms on the desk. “Tell me. What happens now?”

  “You’re wrong. I have nothing to say about it. Nothing.”

  The look in his eyes clearly stated he didn’t believe her. “They’ll shut me down. Over one horse.”

  “Not necessarily. Yes, I do think the only possible way to guarantee the safety of all the animals and those who would potentially race here would be to close the track for that two-month period. No one in or out.” The muscle in Daniel’s jaw twitched. “But I’m aware of what that would do to the track financially. I’m sure the USDA is as well.”

  “The track? To me. It would wipe me out. Not to mention the publicity. My God.” He ran a hand through his hair and wheeled away from her.

  “I can’t help the publicity. That’s going to happen either way. But I think I can justify recommending to the feds that they limit the quarantine to the one barn.”

  He spun, eyes wide, and reached out as if to hug her.

  “If,” she added, before he could do it. “If they give my recommendation any credence and if all the other horses on the grounds test negative. I want to begin drawing blood as soon as I can round up some help.”

  Daniel beamed. “Absolutely. Do it. I’ll figure out some way to put a spin on it for the media to keep the damage to a minimum.”

  His idea of damage and hers didn’t quite mesh. “All incoming horses need to have their health papers and Coggins tests checked and verified.”

  “They already are.”

  “If any of them were signed by Doc, I want the horse barred until new tests are run.”

  Daniel’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Okay.”

  She gathered the stack of reports. “I need to speak with Neil Emerick and Doug Whitman.”

  He touched her hand. A tickle of electricity fluttered across her skin. She wished Milt had never told her about Daniel’s past. She understood the old ignorance is bliss adage as never before.

  “I’ll go with you,” he said.

  She started to argue, but he shushed her with a finger to her lips. “It’s only right. This track is my responsibility. I should be there.”

  Nineteen

  The scene in Barn K had been anything but pleasant. Emerick vented his frustration by ranting at Jessie until Daniel put a stop to his tirade. At that point, the trainer stomped out of the barn and kicked a plastic bucket of grooming tools, scattering its contents. Doug Whitman sank down onto a bale of straw and buried his face in his hands. Jessie expected him to follow Emerick and leave one of the ashen-faced girls, who worked as grooms, to deal with the task at hand. But to Jessie’s surprise, he gathered his wits and looked up at her, tears in his eyes. “When do you want to do this?”

  She kept her voice soft. “No use putting it off.”

  Whitman nodded and climbed to his feet. “I’ll meet you there.”

  Barn F was eerily quiet. No cats prowled the shedrow. Even the pigeons seemed to be avoiding the place. Its lone resident hung his head over the stall webbing, showing no interest in Jessie and Daniel’s arrival. Whitman turned the corner at the far end of the barn and made his way toward them.

  Daniel put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. Jessie resisted the urge to lean against him. He’d known about Doc’s negligence and could have put an end to it. This wouldn’t be happening if he had. She stepped away from his touch.

  “Let’s take him down to the far end of the road,” she said.

  Whitman looked stunned. “Can’t you just do it here?”

  Jessie glanced at Daniel, who answered the owner. “We wouldn’t be able to get him out of the stall once he’s down.”

  Whitman thought about it. Any remaining color drained from his face as reality sank in. Without another word, he picked up a lead shank and unclipped the webbing to bring the gray out of the stall one final time.

  They led the sullen horse down the shedrow and out into the road at the end of the barn.

  Jessie hated this part of her job. It had almost stopped her in the middle of her studies at OSU, but Doc had given her a lecture on the sanctity of life. How death was a natural part of it. And how, as veterinarians, they had the privilege of easing their patients’ suffering and of helping them through this passage. For years, she ran Doc’s words through her mind every time she’d been called upon to put an animal down. This time, the words rang hollow.

  She filled a syringe and moved to the gray’s side. She stroked his neck and murmured into his ear as she probed his neck just behind his jawbone until her fingers detected the throb of a weak pulse.

  She glanced at Whitman who stood close to the animal’s head. “You’ve never been through this before, have you?”

  He shook his head.

  “It’s going to be fast. Real fast. You might want to step back.”

  He looked puzzled but did as she said.

  She inserted the needle under the skin and felt it pop into the vein. Drawing a breath, she depressed the plunger and injected the drug into the gray’s blood. She barely had time to remove the needle when, stiff-legged, he went down. Hard.

  Whitman’s face was so white he almost looked transparent. He clutched the lead shank in his trembling hands as he stared down at his horse. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

  Daniel turned away.

  Jessie knelt beside the animal and pressed a stethoscope to his girth. “He’s gone.” She knew full well he’d been dead before he hit the ground.

  Whitman nodded, still clinging to the lead rope.

  Her part of the ordeal completed, Jessie left Whitman and Daniel to arrange for someone to pick up the animal. She retreated to her office.

  Several calls had gone to voicemail. Checking them, she learned none were emergencies, so she locked the door and curled up on the ratty sofa, hugging Molly close. She longed for sleep, but when she closed her eyes, she pictured Daniel’s face. The image faded into the positive Coggins test result and finally dissolved into the dark, mournful eyes of the sickly gray as she stuck him with the needle.

  Rubbing her face, she sat up. Molly meowed her displeasure and hopped from the sofa, sulking off to her food bowl. Jessie moved to her desk and thumbed through the Rolodex for the number for the USDA.

  As she’d expected, the chief veterinary officer at the Department of Agriculture officially ordered Emerick’s barn quarantined. The rest of the track would remain open for normal operation pending further testing.

  Veterinary Services was sending a doctor to assist. Still, the prospect of drawing blood from every horse stabled at the track was overwhelming. Her next call was to Dr. McCarrell, the other track vet. After reminding her that he was trying to cut back on his workload, not increase it, he grudgingly agreed to help.

  Her third call was to Meryl, who sounded frazzled. “What do you mean, you need my help at the track? I’m busy with your practice here.”

  “I had a horse test positive for EIA.”

  The line went silent, followed by Meryl’s whispered, “Shit.” Another brief silence. “I’ll cancel the rest of today’s appointments. Be there in half an hour.”

  She hung up before Jessie could thank her.

  Jessie loaded up the Bowie unit in her truck with all the red-stoppered Vacutainers she had in stock. The crunch of shoes on gravel interrupted her preparations. She looked up to see Sherry.

  Hooking her thumbs in her jeans’ pockets, Sherry said, “I thought you could use an extra pair of hands.”

  “I could. I’m surprised you would offer.”

  She nudged a rock with her toe. “I just picked up my mail. Got my state license. I’m a real vet now.”

  “Congratulations.” Jessie was too tired for sarcasm.

  Sher
ry rolled her eyes. “Lotta good it does me since dear ol’ Dad didn’t see fit to leave me his practice. Look, do you want my help or not?”

  Jessie took a moment to think about it. “I do. Thanks.”

  “Where do we start?”

  “At Barn A.” Jessie opened the driver’s door and tipped her head toward the other side. “Get in.” She turned the key and shifted into gear. “Mind if I ask you a question?”

  “Does it matter? You’re gonna ask me anyway, aren’t you?”

  “How could you let him do this?”

  Sherry turned on her. “Me? How about you? You knew what he’d been doing.”

  “Only recently. Even then, I didn’t know for sure. The first time, I thought—hoped—it was an isolated incident. But...” She searched, not only for the right words, but for the truth. “I didn’t want to believe he could—”

  “That he could be so lazy?” Sherry offered.

  “That he could be intentionally negligent.”

  Sherry looked out the passenger window without answering.

  “You knew what was happening with the gray. Why didn’t you speak up sooner?”

  “I wish I could’ve.”

  “Why couldn’t you?”

  “I was in a bind. I needed money. And Neil wasn’t going to let me out of it.”

  “What’s Neil got to do with it?”

  Sherry turned her back to the door. “Dad used Sullivan’s blood for the Coggins tests.”

  Mighty Sullivan with the bowed tendon. That would explain why Emerick kept the horse at the track instead of resting him elsewhere. It wasn’t just the lure of the swimming pool.

  “It really was never a big deal,” Sherry went on. “The horses were already here at the track. They’d had legitimate negative tests all along. If we’d had any doubts, Dad never would’ve done it.”

  Jessie choked. “How can you say that about the gray? He was bought at an auction and brought to the track where Doc fudged the test.”

  Sherry fell silent, her face pinched in a troubled scowl.

  Jessie remembered something else.

  “You said you owed Neil Emerick money?”

  “No. I owe Butch money.”

  “Butch? The loan shark security guard?”

  “Yeah.”

  Jessie rolled this latest revelation around in her mind. “And Doc left you money to pay off loans.”

  “Loan. Just one. He left me the money to pay off Butch. Damn him. He wouldn’t give me the money to pay off the jerk while he was still alive.”

  Jessie wondered how much money they were talking about. “How does Emerick play into that?”

  “Neil’s been helping me make my loan payments up to now. In exchange, I take care of vetting his horses. And I keep my mouth shut about the other crap that goes on in his barn.”

  “Like the gray?”

  Sherry faced forward again. “It’s all gonna come out now. I don’t need his money anymore.”

  Jessie noticed a smug smile on her face.

  Sherry caught her looking. “You’re a lot like my dad, you know.” And then she quickly added, “The good parts of him, I mean.”

  Jessie shot another glance Sherry’s way.

  If she was being sarcastic, she didn’t show it. “Don’t act so surprised. I know I’ve been an ass. I guess I owe you an apology.”

  “I’ve wondered what you had against me. Did you really want Doc’s practice that bad?”

  “No. Maybe.” Sherry huffed a short laugh at her own indecisiveness. “No. I just hated you is all.”

  “Why?”

  “Because my dad loved you.”

  Not the answer Jessie expected.

  “My dad always raved about you.” Sherry gazed out the front window. “He’d go on and on about what a good student you’d been. What a hard worker you were. He made me feel like I had to live up to that. I couldn’t. My grades were never anywhere near what yours were. I like to have fun. Every time I screwed up, he’d give me the Saint Jessie speech.” Her voice deepened to mimic her father’s lecturing tone. “Jessie always studied hard. Jessie never asked me for money. She worked her way through school. Why can’t you be more like Jessie?” Her voice settled back to normal. “Jessie this, Jessie that. Blah, blah, blah.”

  Stunned at the outburst, Jessie tried to make sense of it in the larger picture. “Is that why you broke into my house?”

  Sherry’s head snapped toward her. “What?”

  Jessie parked the truck in front of Barn A and turned sideways to observe the young woman.

  Sherry’s face had reddened. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “You broke into my house the night I went out to dinner with Daniel.”

  “I most certainly did not. Where did you get an idea like that?”

  Jessie wished she had the barrette in her pocket instead of in her desk drawer back at the office. “I have evidence.”

  “Whatever evidence you have is a lie. I don’t even know where you live.” Sherry threw open the passenger door and stepped out.

  She exhibited the appropriate amount of ire for being falsely accused. Jessie’s instincts told her Sherry wasn’t lying. Then again, her instincts hadn’t been on target lately. If she was wrong, who had broken in?

  Who had destroyed Doc’s files?

  “You coming?” Sherry stood in front of the truck. “Or are you gonna let me do all the work?”

  Steeling herself, Jessie opened her door and slid down from the truck’s cab.

  They’d only drawn blood from four of the horses in Barn A when a Pennsylvania State Police Interceptor pulled up next to Jessie’s Chevy.

  Greg stepped out. “I need to talk to you.”

  Jessie held up a tube of blood that she was in the process of labeling. “I’m a little busy at the moment.”

  “Now.” His voice carried that stern, no-nonsense tone he usually reserved for the bad guys.

  Jessie looked at Sherry, who gave her a dismissive wave. “Go. I’ll grab one of the grooms to help me.”

  “Thanks.” Jessie handed her the tube.

  As she approached the Interceptor, Greg said, “Get in.”

  First Sherry and now Greg. Jessie had dealt with more than enough attitude for one day. “What’s this all about?”

  His voice softened. “Just get in, already.”

  When she climbed into the passenger seat, he handed her a brown nine-by-twelve envelope. “Hold this.” He swung the car toward the stable gate.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Someplace we can talk without being interrupted.” He drove less than a half mile before pulling off in front of a vacant diner.

  “What the hell’s going on, Greg?”

  He turned to face her. “I did some digging into Daniel Shumway.”

  “I thought you said you’d lose your job.”

  “Yeah, well...” Greg rubbed his ear. “Believe it or not, I really do still care about you and don’t want to see you getting yourself killed. And if anyone asks, Shumway has visited the house and I needed to rule his prints out as our burglar.”

  Jessie stared at Greg in disbelief. He was being...nice. Not to mention risking his career for her. “Thanks,” she whispered. “Did you learn anything?”

  “His prints were definitely on the vial you stole from his tack room.”

  A dull throb settled into Jessie’s temples. “And?”

  “His real name is Daniel Brice.” Greg nodded at the envelope on her lap. “Go ahead. Look at it.”

  She swiped her eyes and opened the flap with her thumbs.

  “Daniel Brice was charged and convicted of murder,” Greg recited as Jessie stared at the single-page rap sheet. “Brice was nineteen at the time, served out his sentence, and then proceeded to drop off the map.”

  The face in the mug shot was little more than a boy—tousled blond hair, eyes that appeared to have been caught in headlights. The jaw appeared sharper, and no weathered creases lined his face. No do
ubt about it. She was looking at a younger version of Daniel. “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got about him?”

  “The murder took place in California. I don’t have access to their reports. Apparently as soon as he got out of prison, Daniel Brice ceased to exist. My guess is Daniel Shumway emerged in his place.”

  “Did you find any kind of criminal record for him under the name Shumway?”

  Greg pointed at the page in her hands. “That’s his entire rap sheet.”

  Jessie stared at the face of the terrified boy in the mug shot.

  “Jess? How do you want to handle it?”

  Startled, she looked up. “Me?”

  Greg’s gaze dropped to his knees. “I know you have feelings for him. If word of this reaches the racing commission, he will definitely lose his license.”

  “If?”

  “This is just between you and me.” Greg peered at her askance. “I’m not going to say anything unless you tell me to.”

  Great. Daniel already believed she controlled his destiny with regards to the quarantine and closing down the track. Now this. She studied the face in the photo. Was this the face of a cold-blooded killer? She didn’t think so.

  Unless he was a very clever one.

  Greg shifted in his seat. “What do you want me to do?”

  Good question. “I need some time to think about it.”

  “Fair enough. But will you do something for me? Stay clear of him for now. Don’t let on that you know about his past.”

  “Why?”

  “You have to ask? We have no idea what he’s capable of, except that he’s committed murder at least once. If he’s committed murder twice—the second time to keep his secret—you’re not safe.”

  The weight of Greg’s words bore down on her. “I thought you didn’t believe Doc was murdered.”

  “What I believe is beside the point. There’s no use taking unnecessary risks.”

  Jessie studied him, wishing she could read his mind. “Greg, I work at the track Daniel runs, and we’re in the middle of a crisis with this quarantine. I can’t avoid him.”

  “I realize that. But you can at least manage to not be alone with him.”