Wordlessly, Cindy opened the door to the small office, reappearing with a spiral notebook and a small green golf pencil.
Ilona, slumped on a tack trunk, couldn’t stop crying, gulping in huge gasps of air.
“High Vajay,” Sister asked, “when did you return?”
“Noon.”
“When did you notice Faye?”
“Perhaps five minutes after that. I opened the gate to the paddock and ran over. She was already dead.”
“Ramsey?”
“I was behind Vajay. I ran into the paddock too. Ilona came right after me.”
Sister looked at Ilona, thinking she’d speak to her last. Perhaps by then a deputy would be here who would be better at this than she was.
Ronnie Haslip, Henry Xavier, Cindy Chandler, Cabel Harper, and Lorraine Rasmussen were each questioned.
Ty Banks, Ben’s young deputy, walked into the stable. He conferred quietly with Sister as the emergency vehicle pulled to the paddock.
Ilona, startled, ran to the open stable doors. She started screaming again.
Ramsey hurried to her. “Honey, please. There’s nothing you can do.”
“Who would do this?” Ilona wailed.
Ramsey put his arm around his distraught wife, guiding her back to the tack trunk, where she collapsed with a thump.
Sister whispered to Ty, “I don’t think Ilona’s ever seen a corpse. She’s usually sensible.”
Sister’s generation had seen death more often than had younger generations whose families died mostly in hospital beds. Perhaps it was not a good thing that people today were so removed from the normal life cycle.
As Ty took over, Sister walked out with Cindy.
“Maybe I should stay in the barn. I came back early,” Cindy said, forlorn.
The two women walked back in. Cindy asked Ty what he wanted her to do. He told her he’d get to her, but since this was her farm she might be needed outside.
The two women walked back out.
“Have you talked to Ben?”
“No. I came in around eleven and put my horse up. By eleven twenty I was in the house getting things ready for the breakfast.”
“Did you hear any cars?”
“No. But I wasn’t listening. Same with people returning. The windows were closed and I didn’t pay attention. I didn’t know anything was wrong until I heard Ilona scream.”
“Do you recall looking at the paddock when you rode up?”
“Yes, Caneel whinnied to Booper. She performed a pirouette and that was that.”
Booper was Caneel’s stablemate, the horse Cindy rode today.
“No sign of Faye, alive, I mean?”
“No. There were some horses tied at trailers, but I didn’t pay attention. I figured it was the usual case of broken tack, thrown shoes, you know.”
“Can you remember how many horses?”
“Oh, dear.” Cindy frowned. “Three? Four?”
Sister grabbed Cindy’s hand. “Come with me.”
They stepped quickly to Faye’s trailer, a well kept two-horse. Clayton’s mare, the loaner, was untacked, wiped down, a fresh cooler draped and cinched over the pleasant animal.
“Well, she had time to put up the horse,” Cindy noted.
“Or someone else did.” Sister stepped up into the small tack room. She touched nothing. “Everything looks in order. I’m going to stay here so no one comes in this room. Will you run to Ben and tell him he needs to dust this tack and the halter? If there are prints other than Faye’s we might get to first base.”
Cindy dashed for the paddock, not wishing to see the dead woman but knowing Sister’s plan was vital. She hastily told Ben and turned on her heel. Before she bolted through the gate, Ben called out, “Cindy, do you want me to leave Caneel in the paddock?”
The answer was yes.
Sister remained in the tack room for another twenty minutes. As she did, she observed the fifteen people filing out of the stable, all disturbed.
Once the fingerprint team arrived, Sister returned to Ben, now at the gate, as Faye’s body, in a plastic bag, was rolled out on a gurney.
“Had she been cleaned up?”
Ben nodded. “Yes, but this time the killer didn’t have much time. My guess is she was hosed down at the outside pump.” He pointed to the frost-free water pump, hose attached. A puddle, slowly being absorbed, was on the ground. “I looked around for rags. None. When we lifted her off, we noticed she had been sprayed; she was still wet.”
“Faye was beautiful even in death. Two beautiful victims,” Sister stated.
“Faye knew electronics, right?”
“She was on the cutting edge.”
Shaker joined them. “Charlotte came in just before the girls. She and Bunny got them out of here before they could see the body.”
“Good. You can’t protect young people from the world, but with something like this you must try.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Could they be in danger? The kids?”
“I don’t know,” Ben honestly replied, “but right now I would caution every woman to be careful. If you leave the hunt field, leave in twos. If you go out at night, go in twos.” He spoke directly to Shaker. “Watch out for Sister. The punch bowl in her stable office is hardly a good omen.”
“I will.”
“Sister, carry your thirty-eight. You have a permit for a concealed weapon. Do not leave your house without that gun. I mean it.”
She appreciated their concern, making light of it. “I’m not young and beautiful. I’m safe.” Then she changed the subject. “Wonder if the wound was made by the same gun?”
“We’ll find out. I’m willing to bet she wasn’t sexually molested.”
“Same killer?” Sister’s silver eyebrows lifted, then dropped.
“I’m not supposed to speculate, but I think it is. The public display of the corpse?” He paused a long time. “Let’s just say something like that infuriates and motivates those of us in law enforcement. The killer is thumbing his nose at us.”
“All of us,” Shaker added. “Ben, I’d like to get the hounds back. They hunted hard.”
“Sure.”
Ty Banks walked in, folding back his cell phone. “Called her office. Two people working on Saturday. Figured you’d want to question them, so I asked them to stay at work until we get there.”
“Good.”
Betty, patiently waiting for Sister, waved when she saw them looking in her direction.
“May I be excused?” Sister asked Ben. “I need to get the horses back.”
“You may.”
“I just noticed the daffodil in your buttonhole. For St. David’s Day, the patron saint of Wales?”
He nodded. “Mother’s proud of her Welsh blood.”
“A strong people. You’ll need that strength on this case.”
CHAPTER 22
Everyone invested heavily in Faye’s company.” Gray, nightcap in hand, sat in the club chair in the den, cashmere throw over his aching legs.
Gray hadn’t ridden that hard in a long time.
Sister, opposite him on the couch, Golly in her lap, sipped hot green tea laced with fresh lemon. “Even I put a little money in.”
“First I’ve heard of it.”
“You know, I haven’t thought much about it. It was a small amount.” She was quiet for a moment. “Sometimes I forget to tell you things and other times I elect not to because I don’t want to be a pest always asking for advice.” She changed the subject. “It’s been a day none of us will forget.”
“In a way I’m glad I came back late, but I wish I could have helped you.” Gray had dismounted, walking his horse back the last two miles since both were weary. “Who else put money in Warp Speed?”
“Crawford, High, Clayton, Ramsey; even Edward chipped in a bit. I don’t know about Kasmir. What would any of those men have to gain by Faye Spencer’s death?” Sister answered her own question. “I suppose it depends on whether they wanted the company to succeed or fai
l. Craig and Abrams might be working on a similar product. It’s possible High Vajay would want her to fail. Investing a substantial sum would provide a cover, plus he’d be able to report on her progress. God knows, he has the money. On the other hand, he might want Faye to succeed so Craig and Abrams could buy Warp Speed and use their research without incurring the cost of duplicate effort. Someone like Crawford might want to take over the company, although killing Faye is a stupid way to do it. Crawford’s not stupid, not in that way.”
“No.” Gray half closed his eyes as the warmth of the scotch worked its way down to his stomach. “Honey, I don’t know if Lady Godiva’s special, but this has something to do with injustice. It’s revengeful. Displaying a woman like that, even dead, is humiliation. Everyone who sees her will remember her naked.”
“In the case of Aashi and Faye, they were gorgeous naked.”
“But it’s still humiliation.” Gray stuck to his point.
“Yes. Yes, it is, and the murderer wants us all to witness the humiliation. If the killer wanted to scare us, he’d disfigure the corpse. Here it’s the reverse. The women are cleaned up.”
“Odd. Compelling.”
“When I spoke to Marion today she used the same word, compelling.” Sister noticed a blue flame leap up among the yellow gold ones. She sighed deeply. “God, what an awful day. And it was the best damn run of the season. Once I got home I went into the kennels and thanked every hound that was out. Took my mind off Faye. I liked Faye.”
“Timetable. Cindy Chandler was the first person back, that we can identify. Others had to be back; you said Cindy remembered horses tied to trailers.” Gray took another much-needed sip of scotch.
“Imagine how Cindy feels.” Sister shook her head. “She’s in her kitchen while Faye Spencer is being shot behind her stable or at least washed up there. She said she never heard a shot.”
“If a person drove up, killed Faye, and drove out, someone would have seen the vehicle. Whoever killed Faye was either waiting here or rode back with the first group of people. And the gun could have had a silencer.”
“How else would the killer know Faye turned back early, right?”
“Exactly.” Gray smiled.
“Let’s pick someone we know would never do this: Lorraine Rasmussen. Lorraine asks Faye to ride back with her. Any excuse will do. Faye agrees. Lorraine is in collusion with the killer, already here.”
“Could be. Whether that’s the case or not, there was some kind of plan and a desire to cut it close. I doubt there was as big a thrill to killing the woman in Warrenton as there was to this. The killer wanted everyone here.”
“Is this a true serial killer, you think?”
Gray rubbed his aching thighs. “Yes, I think it is. Because of the media we associate serial killers with sex. Either it’s a man who kills prostitutes because he’s determined they’re evil, a man who preys on young men, or a man who kills women, regular women, who may resemble one another. But it seems to me that killing could be an incredible high, a tremendous exercise of power. Sex doesn’t have to be part of it.”
“That’s what bothers me. It is in the sense that the women are beautiful and they’re naked. Something’s missing.”
“I half want to find it and I half don’t.”
“Oh, I want to find it.” Sister’s cheeks blazed. “My hunt club member is shot, my field sees this grotesque parody of Lady Godiva. I want to find it—and him.”
“Sweetheart, I admire your sentiments, but there are times when you are too bold.”
“Like the time I decked Crawford?”
This made Gray laugh. “That was justice served.”
“Maybe this is too.”
CHAPTER 23
Sunday, the traditional day of worship, brings families together. Sunday, March 2, brought some together and rent others asunder.
High Vajay found himself the main suspect in the death of both Lady Godivas. Uncomfortable as this was, Mandy’s wrath proved more unsettling.
As they were Hindu, not Christian, they did not attend church service. Mandy asked Sybil Fawkes if she would take the boys for the day since she and High had issues to discuss. They’d kept a lid on it until they could have a day together. Neither one wanted to get into an argument when the boys were in bed and awaken and frighten them. Sybil’s two sons and the Vajays’ two sons had become friends, and Sybil readily agreed.
So at nine in the morning, across a highly polished kitchen table, husband and wife had already been going at it hammer and tongs for forty minutes. Mostly it was High being hammered. When you’re the anvil, have the sense to keep still. He did.
“So?” Mandy’s eyebrows were raised, her face perfect even in anger.
“What more can I say? I was wrong. I was foolish. I risked everything for momentary pleasure.”
Even at home, Mandy was dressed exquisitely, this morning in a cream-colored silk shirt, camel-colored pleated skirt, and low-heel Gucci boots. Mandy was five feet eight inches in her bare feet. She listened impassively, her anger spent.
High kept going. “I didn’t call her to come to Warrenton. I swear to you, I did not.”
“Then why was she there? You renewed the affair.”
He leaned forward on his elbows, misery etching every feature on his handsome face. “I did. I went back up to Washington. You remember, Tim Pasternak called me up.”
Tim Pasternak ran the small office in Washington, D.C., more as a presence than a power. Craig and Abrams occasionally needed the cooperation of the government. The U.S. headquarters was in New York City.
“I remember. Three months ago.”
“It was one night, Mandy, that’s all.”
“It was one night that fired up the affair. You didn’t stop at one night. Don’t play me for a fool, Lakshmi, or I will take you for everything you’ve got. We’re in America now, remember?”
A flash of pride almost made him say, Take it all. I can make it all over again. Instead, he wisely pushed down his ego and demurred. “The affair was more over the phone and the computer. I only saw her one other time, and we didn’t go to bed.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“It’s true. If you don’t believe it there’s nothing I can do.” He was resigned now.
She got up from the table, folded her arms across her chest, and paced the large kitchen. “How about the children? Did you not think of the children?”
“Madhur, men don’t think of things like that when lust blinds them. To our shame. To my shame. For me the affair was like a good round of golf. Fun and relaxing, not central to life. Men do this. It doesn’t mean that much. But it means much to women and there’s no denying that we know that. We hope not to get caught. And when we do, we realize how bloody goddamned selfish we’ve been. I will do anything to win you back. Anything.”
She walked to the window and looked east as light flooded the immaculate brick buildings, painted white, that constituted the stable, the cow barns, the huge garden shed with greenhouse, all restored to perfection during their ownership. “All right then, Lakshmi, you have your chance. I have never meddled in your business; that isn’t my sphere. But I know when you’re building something, you’re tense, excited. What are you doing?”
He looked up at her, his dark brown eyes troubled, but he answered. “Trying to drive up Craig and Abrams stock. If I’m successful, our investment will spiral to the heavens.”
“And exactly what are you trying to do, apart from sleeping with a young woman now murdered?”
He raised his shoulders then dropped them. “I want to destroy or buy out the competition.”
“Cell phones?”
“Well, the technology that connects your phone to your TV, to your landline, to your car, to your iPod, the technology to drive everything from one tiny unit, is not an inch from us. There’s a little work to be done but the real next step is marketing.”
“And Faye Spencer? God, did you sleep with her too?”
�
��No. Ramsey Merriman was doing that. I know Clayton tried but I don’t think he succeeded.” He went on quickly. “I liked Faye enormously, but I was in enough trouble and she’s not my type. Wasn’t my type.” He closed his eyes. “What a shocking sight. Thank God you were on the plane coming back from Arizona.”
She returned to sit down. “Is what you are doing legal?”
“Yes. Well, a gray zone.”
“Which is?”
“One thing Craig and Abrams is doing, covertly, obviously, is to disrupt other companies’ service. Then offer better contracts and service. It costs Craig and Abrams three hundred and fifty dollars for each new client; that’s one of the reasons we need the year-long contract. But there’s a small company now that provides service to the poor without a contract. And there are other companies undermining what we’ve established in the wireless industry, trying to make what the Americans call an end run around Craig and Abrams. The sheer size of the company is both our strength and our weakness.” He paused. “That’s capitalism.”
“Do you destroy their towers?”
He half smiled. “Nothing that dramatic.”
“What do you do?”
“We can interrupt the wave, literally. Craig and Abrams is light-years ahead in some areas but woefully behind in others. Our research and development department is the best in the world; our marketing is abysmal. That’s one of the reasons I keep getting called back because I have the ability to talk both to the strange gnomes in research and to the marketing men, all of whom dress like bad models from GQ. If I see one more French-blue shirt with a tie the same color I think I’ll rip it off the man’s pencil neck.”
That made her laugh. “Not everyone possesses your incredible sense of style. You know, that was the second thing I noticed about you: Everything you wore fit perfectly. You stood out without being flashy. I don’t like flashy men.”
“What was the first thing you noticed?” He couldn’t help it, his vanity was being massaged.
“Your eyes. What was the first thing you noticed about me?”
“Everything. Hiroshima. Boom!” He threw up his hands.
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