Horse Sense (Dunbarton Mysteries Book 2)

by Valerie Tate

  Alicia pretended to look uncertainly at the others while thinking what a break that was.

  “I suppose you could. We’ve been trying to make sense of this mess and wanted to see just what happens with the frozen semen when it arrives here. You know, the protocol, where it is stored and what records are kept. That sort of thing,” she finished, hoping to sound casual and inconsequential.

  “Sure. No problem. I can show you that. Just follow me.”

  As they walked through the barn, Chris asked, “How long have you been a vet tech, Dean?”

  “Just a couple of years. Before I decided to go back to school, I was a groom and a working student at a big Jumper barn. That’s where I got my experience with stallions. My dream was to have a career as a Show Jumper but I didn’t have the money or a sponsor so I decided to become a tech. I still work with horses and Marci has me riding some of her youngsters. I’m saving my money to buy a foal with really good jumper bloodlines. It may take me a while but I’ll get there eventually.’ He said it with such quiet certainty that they had no doubt he would succeed.

  He led them into a room in the lab. Inside there were three large tanks which he explained contained liquid nitrogen. The tanks were labelled A, B, and C.

  “When the straws arrive by courier, they are in portable tanks. Jon, Marci or Claire will sign for them and then transfer them immediately to one of these tanks so that the portable tank can be sent back. They then record the shipment on this chart.” He pointed to a clipboard hanging on the wall. “The client’s name, the name of the mare being bred, the name of the stallion, the size of the straws which can be anywhere from .5 ml to 5 ml, the number of straws and the date they were delivered and which tank they are stored in is all recorded on the chart. Each time a mare is bred is also recorded. We have to be able to account for each straw.”

  “It’s all very impressively organized,” Chris remarked. “You said Jon, Marci or Claire does this. No one else?”

  “No, it isn’t part of my job. I guess they don’t want too many people handling the straws. It’s a lot of responsibility when they are worth so much.”

  “What happens to these sheets when they are filled?” Chris wanted to know.

  “They’re moved to this binder,” he said, indicating a large binder on a shelf. “All of the information is also recorded on the computer but we like to keep the original, just in case.”

  “And how many mares would be in for breeding at any one time?’

  “That varies depending on the time of year. From February to May we are pretty much full all the time. We have only a couple here right now who didn’t take in the spring and are being rebred. It’s getting a little late in the season. Most people prefer to have their foals born in the spring. A mare bred in June will have a May baby. A July breeding would mean a June baby. Most people would prefer not to have a foal born later than June.”

  “Could we see inside the tanks?”

  Dean hesitated. “I suppose it would be all right. I can only open the lid for about ten seconds so you’ll have to look quickly.”

  He opened tank A and they had a quick look inside at the long, slim goblets hanging from a rack before the lid was shut again. This procedure was repeated with tanks B and C.

  “You could see the names of the stallions on the ends of the goblets. Each goblet can hold several straws.”

  Alicia thought there seemed to be a lot of goblets for only a couple of mares and said so.

  “We also store semen for Marci’s stallion and for a couple of local stallions as well,” he explained. “Those records are kept in this binder,” he said, taking another one down off of the shelf and opening it.

  Since Dean appeared to have become immersed in his work, it seemed like a good time to leave and so they thanked him for his time and trouble and headed for the car.

  As they left, Alicia felt relieved to be away from that barn and not just because they nearly got caught conducting an illegal search. She couldn’t put her finger on just why, but there was something about the place that gave her a sick, queasy feeling. The last time she had felt that way was when she was listening to a woman describe her pleasure in bashing someone’s head in. Shivering a little, she reached for Chris’ hand and felt the comfort of its enveloping warmth. She wouldn’t tell him about her feeling, though. He was too left brain for that. She would tell Alex. Even if she didn’t believe it, Alex would understand. There was something very wrong at King Valley Breeding.

  Chapter 8

  “So what did we learn from that?” Chris asked.

  They were having drinks on the patio before dinner. Nervous reactions had set in all around and one bottle of red had become two.

  “They definitely are up to their necks in something. Did you see how many straws were in those tanks? And despite what Dean said, there were a lot more names on them than would be accounted for with only a ‘couple of local stallions’,” Alicia pointed out, spreading a wedge of warm Brie on a cracker. Carb therapy. And it was going to take more than one wedge to dispel the remnants of the oppressive atmosphere of King Valley Breeding.

  Alex agreed. “Even with only a quick glance, I saw names that also appeared on the list in the office. And I think I figured out what the number and letter was beside each name. The number is the number of straws on hand and...”

  “The letter is the tank the straws are stored in!” Alicia couldn’t help herself. She passed the cracker to Alex by way of apology and then helped herself to another slice of Brie.

  Julie had placed a selection of cheeses on the table to assuage hunger pangs and then, having heard the tale of their evening’s adventures, set about preparing a spinach salad with almonds and fresh strawberries while Alex kept an eye on salmon filets cooking on a cedar plank on the barbecue.

  “Now we are assuming that they got those straws illegally. What if they have purchased them for their own use?” Chris said, playing Devil’s Advocate.

  Alex shook her head. “I have never heard of them breeding to other than Marci’s stallion and they aren’t agents for any other stallion. If they have semen from the ones on the list, it can’t be legally. Besides, why have a separate list at all. If all shipments are recorded in the manner Dean described, then they should appear on the list in the lab but there were only a couple on that clipboard. No, there is something rotten there. They clearly have a stock-pile of semen which would explain how they were able to substitute Par Hasard for Danzig.”

  “And that raises the next question. Where did they get the semen they substituted?” Alicia asked between bites.

  “That is a very good question. All semen is supposed to be accounted for,” Alex explained. “You have to record each time the mare is bred and what the result was. I’ll e-mail Deiter and ask if and when Par Hasard semen was shipped to King Valley.”

  Alex went to her office to send the e-mail. Deiter was obviously burning the midnight oil because a short while later they had their answer.

  ‘Our records show that 3 straws were shipped two years ago in February. All 3 straws were used and a foal was born the following March.’

  “That’s it then. They were shipped semen two years ago. Obviously, somehow, they were able to keep at least one. But how?” Alicia wondered.

  “I have an idea,” Alex said, looking thoughtful. “I know several people who have used King Valley to breed their mares. Tomorrow I’m going to give them all a call. I’ll find out just what kind of experiences they had. Perhaps a pattern will emerge.”

  “That’s good,” Chris said. “And I think I would like to have a look at the horses Marci has bred. If they have semen from all of the world’s top stallions, what do you want to bet that some of it is being used on Marci’s mares?”

  “Good thinking, honey!” Alicia gave him a quick hug.

  “You don’t need to sound so surprised,” Chris complained in not quite mock offense.

  “We can go back there after I’ve made my calls,” Alex said, trans
ferring the salmon to waiting plates. “Now, let’s eat. I’m starved.”

  “Me, too!” Alicia said devoutly. “Detective work always makes me ravenous.”

  As it turned out, they were all glad of having a day to recoup. Chris checked in with his office and learned of a few fires that needed to be put out and then set about discovering everything he could about Dr. Jonathon Allardyce. Alicia monitored progress on the all too upcoming festival while Alex went to the farm office and got to work on her list of friends to call.

  “What are you doing?” her mom asked, walking into the office. It was a peaceful room. Warm sunlight gleamed on shelves of books (mostly about horses) which lined the walls. A gentle breeze wafted through the open window, stirring the curtains with their hunt prints and bringing the scents of spring – new grass and blossoms and just a hint of something from the paddocks. Julie had brought a tray with mugs of coffee and some freshly baked cinnamon buns covered with icing, a favourite treat from Alex’s childhood.

  “Mmm. Thanks, mom.” Alex gratefully accepted a mug and helped herself to one of the gooey concoctions. As she bit into the still warm bun she explained, “I’m making a list of people I know who have used King Valley for breeding.”

  Julie pulled another chair up to the large walnut desk and munched on a bun. “That’s good. Who’s on it so far?”

  “Joanie Cohen, Sherri Parker…”

  “Faith Dennis?”

  Alex grimaced. “No. After all that happened, I didn’t like to bring up bad memories.”

  Her mom nodded, then asked, “What about Honey Charles? She had a foal last year.”

  “I can’t call her. She’s not talking to me,” Alex said, making a face.

  “Why ever not? I thought you were friends.”

  “We were, but she’s mad at me,” Alex said, feeling like a small child confessing to a playground peccadillo.

  “Why, what did you do?” her mother asked in that infuriating way that mother’s have.

  Alex sighed and explained. “I made an uncomplimentary comment about the training practices of a certain coach and it turns out she uses her. She hasn’t spoken to me since.”

  “You mean that coach who uses…” Julie raised her eyebrows and nodded knowingly referring to Hyperflexion, a highly controversial training technique that had caused an international uproar in the dressage community with charges of abuse laid at the door of some of the world’s top riders.

  Alex understood and rolled her eyes. “That’s the one.”

  “Oh, dear!”

  “It’s my fault. I should have kept my mouth shut.”

  “Yes, you should have. You know what a sensitive issue it is.”

  “I know. But you know how much I hate it!”

  Julie did know. She looked fondly at her kind-hearted daughter. Alex hated anything that was remotely harsh or cruel. And she wasn’t known for keeping her opinions to herself, either.

  “What about Chloe Davenport? Is she still talking to you?”

  “Yes, Mother! She’s on my list.”

  “Who else is on the list?” Julie asked, peering at the paper on the desk.

  “Pat Middleton...”

  “Pat Middleton!” Julie snorted, choking on her coffee. “Don’t bother with her. She could turn a rowboat into the Queen Mary!”

  “I know, but she loves to talk and you never know what helpful tidbit she might have.”

  “That is true. She does love to talk.”

  And she did. Like a wind-up toy set in motion, she went on and on and on...

  “The foal is gorgeous! Thanks for asking, Alex. But then, he would be considering his bloodlines. You know he is by Rohdiamant! We’re going to take him to the foal inspection and we might even show him on the line. And we owe it all to Jon Allardyce at King Valley Breeding. Such a time we had getting Walkyrie in foal! If it weren’t for Jon we wouldn’t have our wonderful Rothschild now! Walkyrie had a terrible uterine infection. It was so strange! My own vet had checked her out before she went to be bred and said she was clean but Jon said as soon as she went into season the infection cropped up. He treated and bred her but she didn’t take. The same thing happened three times! I had to send for more straws. She finally took on the fourth straw. After that it was a textbook pregnancy. Thank goodness we started in March. We might have lost the season.”

  And so did all of the others. By the time Alex was finished she had a lot of information to share with the Ali and Chris. A clear pattern was definitely starting to emerge.

  Alicia also had a piece of sad information to relate when they sat down at dinner that evening.

  “You’ll never guess what I learned when I called Miranda for an update on the progress with the Pavilion. It was in the Dunbarton Times. The Driftwood Inn is up for sale!”

  “That lovely inn where you got married?” Julie asked, remembering the ceremony on the dramatic promontory overlooking the lake, the waves crashing onto the rocks below, and the reception in the centuries-old inn.

  “The same,” Alicia replied mournfully.

  “What a shame! I suppose it will be sold to developers and turned into some hideous new subdivision.” Alex was one of those trying to stop exactly that from happening to a farm in her beloved King. She and Julie had only recently attended a local council meeting where they, and several other farm owners, had protested the proposed urbanization of their largely rural community.

  Chris shook his head. “I doubt they would get zoning approval for that. It’s an environmentally sensitive area. Also, I don’t think they’d get permission to tear down the inn. The original part is at least 200 years old. It may just continue to be an inn with new owners or it could possibly become a time-share with more units added. We’ll have to book a weekend there before it’s sold,” he added, “for a second honeymoon.” Alicia hugged him.

  “I made a few calls and learned some very interesting things about our friend Jon today,” Chris went on, pouring them all a glass of wine. “He graduated top of his class at U. of Guelph and then did a residency at the veterinary hospital there. After that, he joined a large practice that specialized in breeding leaving that after five years to set up King Valley Breeding. He has a spotless record with the College of Veterinary Surgeons. All in all, the golden boy.”

  “Well, that’s disappointing,” Alicia said, downing her wine and pouring another. Chris raised his eyebrows but said nothing.

  Julie brought in a platter of glazed chicken and sat down.

  “Let’s eat,” Alex said, passing the orange and almond salad, “and then I’ll tell you what I learned today!”

  Later, over fresh strawberry shortcake, Alex told them the tales of woe she had heard from her friends. Each one had said what a good thing it was that they had sent their mares to King Valley Breeding because without Jon Allardyce they would not have their ‘baby’ today. More than one had had to send for additional straws when their mares did not conceive despite being bred several times. One mare had to be sent back five times before she finally took! In one case, they had discovered that two of the three straws sent were empty.

  “And what reasons were they given for all these problems?” Alicia asked, amazed.

  “Well, there is always a good chance the mare won’t take and if they are competition mares it’s even more difficult if they haven’t had a long time off. Also, the conception rate with frozen is only 30-50% and because frozen/thawed semen can only survive in mare’s uterus for 12-24 hours, if you don’t hit exactly the right window, you are out of luck. Then, a couple of them were told their mares had stubborn recurring uterine infections that flared up each time they were bred despite having had treatment with antibiotics prior to being sent for breeding. Some were told that the stallion they picked didn’t have a very good conception rate – not enough swimmers! They were among the ones who had to keep sending for additional semen. One was told that the age of the mare, who was in her teens, made it more difficult for her to catch.

  “I
checked the names of the stallions they had used against the list we found in the office. Almost all of them were on it including the stallion Pat Middleton used, Rohdiamant. He had a 3 beside his name that had been crossed out and replaced with a 2.

  “Ultimately, all of the mares did finally conceive and produced lovely foals, thus the gratitude towards Jon Allardyce.

  “Oh, and everyone one of them said what a bitch Marci is!” she added as an after-thought.

  “Wow! I don’t mean wow that they think Marci is a bitch. I mean wow, can you believe that they have been getting away with this for so long!”

  “I haven’t told you the best part yet,” Alex said. “One person told me in the strictest confidence that a friend of hers who has a very nice, extremely well-bred mare, was offered a breeding to Rohdiamant. Anyone care to guess who it was who made the offer?”

  There was only one person who could have made Alex sound so gleeful.

  “Would I be wrong if I said, Marci?”

  “Give the little lady a prize! Yes, Marci! She told this person’s friend that they had purchased the semen and hadn’t needed all of the straws and so they could offer it to her for a good price. Her friend didn’t take her up on it because she thought it sounded fishy.” She sighed deeply, satisfied she had done what she set out to do. “So can we go to the police now?”

  “Go to the police with what?” Chris asked. “Some suspicions on our part, a few completely explicable breeding difficulties, the results of an illegal search of their property and some gossip. There is no proof of any wrong-doing on their part in any of these instances. We need hard evidence before we go to the police.”

  This was not the reaction Alex had expected. “What kind of hard evidence would you suggest?”

  “DNA evidence.” It was Alicia who replied. “Chris is right. We need solid evidence that they are stealing semen and where better to get that evidence but at Marci’s own barn. I’d bet my bottom dollar that she is using some of that semen in her own breeding programme. I suggest we go there and take some samples for testing.”