Murder at the Racetrack (11 page)

There was an ongoing investigation into Carlotta’s death? It wasn’t clearly ruled a single-vehicle accident?

He forced himself to open the folder, quickly flipping the photos over and concentrating on what had been written and diagrammed
within. That he was looking at photocopies was evident. Did Detective Wade give him a copy of the whole file? No, clearly
some pages were missing. He wondered if Mark had sweet-talked someone else into getting the information to him. Entirely possible,
knowing his charming brother. How old was this report?

He looked at the last notation in the file. It mentioned that the detective had followed up with the lab about samples of
white and red paint, thought to have transferred from the vehicle that struck the SUV, being sent to the lab, along with several
pieces of a broken headlamp. Something about the date of the notation nagged at him. He went back to his safe and took out
his copy of the will. The codicil about Zuppa Inglese had been added that week.

He went back to the folder and read more carefully.

An hour later, Eric was convinced that at the very least, another vehicle had been involved in the fatal accident, and that
in all likelihood someone had intentionally forced Carlotta off the road. Debris found at the apparent point of impact, skid
marks, tire impressions. Footwear impressions—of someone who had walked partway down the slope and back, but never called
an ambulance or police.

Eric set the folder aside, staring off into the night for a time, wondering if his rage would cool before dawn.

The second folder contained an assortment of loose notes and pieces of paper. One was a map, upon which someone, presumably
Mark, had marked three locations: the restaurant from which Carlotta began that last drive; Shackel Horse Farm, where Mark
and Jimmy waited; the place where she was killed.

Another was a photocopy of a credit card bill. He had seen a second-generation copy of it in the other folder—presumably,
Mark had given the original to the detective. After studying it, Eric saw that it included a charge for gasoline on the date
she died.

A bill for Carlotta’s cell phone. The others were slips of paper with brief notes made in Mark’s handwriting. The time she
left the restaurant. The time she bought gas at the gas station. Michael Wade’s business card.

But who on earth would want to kill Carlotta? Mark would probably be a suspect, but anyone who looked closely into their lives
would learn that he was devoted to her, and would see that her expertise and skill were a key part of the restaurants’ success.

The more Eric thought about it, the more likely it seemed that this was a case of hit and run, or road rage. A stranger, not
anyone who knew her.

He studied the map again and realized that not only was Mark’s home much closer to the Shackel Horse Farm than the restaurant,
the three locations were in a triangle and did not lie along the same route. Leaving the restaurant, she took a different
road to go to the farm than she would have taken to go home. Unless someone knew that she was on the way to the farm exactly
at that time, on just that night—was it possible?

The only people who knew her plans were Mark, Jimmy, Shackel, and perhaps a few of Shackel’s workers. Maybe the veterinarian,
if there had even been one there, but anyone who was attending the birth of the foal wouldn’t have been able to lie in wait
for Carlotta. Detective Wade had interviewed the last two people to see her alive. Two restaurant workers, who knew she was
excited about the birth of the foal, but who had no idea that she had gone toward the horse farm—both thought she was going
home. Neither had any idea where Shackel Horse Farm was located.

Eric finally locked the folders away in his safe again and went to bed.

Sleep eluded him.

Mark changed the will for a reason, did what he did with the sale of his horses for a reason. He must have suspected Shackel
or someone connected with Shackel of arranging Carlotta’s fatal accident. Did Mark commit suicide?

Again the nagging doubts arose, but this time they were based on something more than his inability to believe that Mark would
abandon Jimmy. If Mark was planning suicide, he would not leave those photos of Carlotta’s death behind, not if there was
any chance that Jimmy might find them. And suicide did not fit in with his apparent drive to discover what happened to Carlotta.

Or did Mark feel guilty about her death?

Not for intentionally causing it, but bringing her closer to someone who did… that might have been hard for him to bear, but
would he kill himself before seeing her killer brought to justice? Leave Jimmy behind, unaware of what had happened?

Then he wondered if Jimmy were so unaware after all. He remembered the way he had talked about Shackel, warning Eric to be
careful.

He dozed off, but awoke well before dawn. He showered and dressed and made a phone call to a security company he had used
on other occasions. The regular staff wasn’t in yet, but he was promised a call back as soon as possible.

He put on a warm jacket and wrote a note for Jimmy, who would be up soon. He walked across the road to Copper Hills, his breath
fogging in the chill air. Despite the cold and the darkness, grooms and others were already at work in the barn area. He found
Donna talking to an exercise rider. He waited out of earshot, not wanting to intrude, but she saw him, smiled, and came over
to where he stood.

“You’re up early this morning,” she said.

“Or up late, depending on how you look at it.”

“Hmm. That doesn’t sound good.”

“It’s not. I need to talk something over with you—I know this is the worst time of day—”

She waved this off and invited him into her office. He poured out his story. Although her face registered shock, and then
sadness, she listened quietly, not interrupting. She stayed quiet for long moments after he stopped talking. He wondered if
he sounded crazy to her, but nothing in her manner indicated that she was withdrawing from him. This was simply the way she
dealt with any crisis—she stayed calm, reflective, and did not shout out the first thing that came to mind.

“Where’s Jimmy?” she asked.

He glanced at his watch. “He’ll probably be over here in a few minutes.”

“Then let’s talk again after he goes to school. I don’t want him coming in on the middle of this, do you?”

“No. In fact—let me call this detective. Maybe I’ve made something out of nothing.”

“Maybe, but all of it taken together—I think there might be something to this. And I can understand why it kept you up last
night.” She paused, then said, “You need help getting Mark’s car from the impound yard?”

“Yes, but I’ve already taken up so much of your time—”

“I wouldn’t offer if I couldn’t do it. Besides, we’ll have a chance to talk on the way over. Bring that envelope with you—
maybe I’ll recognize some of the numbers in Mark’s notes.”

Jimmy soon came into the office, holding up his wake-up bot and controller. “Not going to use them here, I promise. Just want
Uncle Eric to know I’m amazed. The first morning…” He looked more closely at Eric. “What’s wrong?”

“Couldn’t sleep, that’s all.”

Jimmy exchanged a quick glance with Donna, then said, “I think you should wait a little while before going back to the other
house.”

“Might be a good idea. By the way, I wanted to mention something else to you.” He told them he was going to hire security
for Zuppa Inglese, and—although they objected—for each of them as well.

“Humor me,” he told them. “I can’t take any more loss.”

That had ended all protest.

After Jimmy got on the school bus, Eric called Detective Wade. He explained that Mark had died.

“Died! He was in his thirties, right?”

“Apparent suicide,” Mark said, and explained the circumstances of his brother’s death.

There was a pause, then Wade said, “What aren’t you telling me, Mr. Halsted?”

He hesitated. “I have absolutely no proof of my suspicions—and those suspicions are not centered on any individual. I’m just
less and less certain that my brother committed suicide.”

“I’ll tell you this, I wouldn’t think it of him. Not with the boy to look after. And he was on a mission.”

Eric felt an overwhelming sense of relief. “Perhaps we could meet a little later today, Detective?”

Wade agreed to this, and they set an appointment for one o’clock. Wade then asked, “Who handled the case in Osita County?”

Eric recalled the taciturn man who had dealt with him in the “let’s get this over with” manner in the days after Mark’s death.
A heavy-set, gray-haired man who seemed to know his business without demonstrating any real enthusiasm for it. He had not
been cruel, he had not been kind. “Detective Del-more,” Eric said.

He heard Wade swear softly. “Well, that explains all kinds of things. Your brother’s case must have been the last one he handled
before he retired. And I’m sorry—I was on vacation around the time your brother died, so I didn’t get word.”

“Because he died in another county,” Eric said.

“That’s probably part of it. But I suppose it was in the news here?”

“A small item in the local paper.”

“Hmm. Listen, I know a good guy over there in Osita. Fellow by the name of Pearsley. I’ll give him a call and see if he’ll
take another look at it.”

On the way to the impound yard, Donna identified the names on Mark’s lists. “If I’m not mistaken, those men all work for Shackel.
Jimmy will know for sure, if you can come up with a way of asking him.”

“I’ve been wondering when I should talk to him about this.”

“Hard call. I can see why you’d hesitate. But he’s a sharp kid, and it would probably be better for you to be up-front with
him. I think the worst thing that could happen would be for him to find out about it on his own.”

“True.”

“He’ll also know who was present during the foaling.”

She knew only three of the numbers Mark had scribbled down. The number of a veterinarian. The number for the state horse-racing
board. “The other is for that attorney who drew up the contract about Zuppa. Shackel likes him. I don’t think much of him.
We can check those other numbers against my computer records, though.”

At the impound yard, he told her not to wait for him, but she insisted on staying. “After all this time sitting here, it may
not make it back home. I’d better follow you.”

At the front counter they were greeted by a squat, balding sergeant who smiled at Donna and then frowned as he studied his
computer records for the car. He scrolled down a bit and whistled. “Long time—oh, I see, it was Delmore’s case.” He muttered
something under his breath about Detective Delmore. He read for a while, his frown deepening. “Your brother?” he asked Eric.

Eric nodded.

“Sorry for your loss…” This was said absently as he continued to study the monitor, apparently unable to find something he
was looking for. “Tell you what, let me see if I can get the fines lowered, since just between you and me, it was really our
detective that caused the thing to sit here all these months.”

While they were waiting for him to return, the security company called. Eric told them what he wanted. “Can you get someone
to start as early as tomorrow?” he asked. They said they could and gave him the names of the members of the team they would
send.

The sergeant came back, pleased to give him the news that all fines were waived. He led them toward the Corvette, rolling
a portable battery starter as he went. Seeing the car saddened Eric—he thought of how much Mark had loved riding around in
it. Although Eric had never been one for status symbols, he knew Mark was not quite so averse to them. Here was the first
status symbol his brother had bought, now covered in dust and bird droppings.

The sergeant released the hood and hooked up the starter, then asked Eric to get in and give it a try. As Eric got into the
driver’s seat, he found himself in a novel situation—sitting too far back from the wheel and pedals. He started to reach for
the seat adjustment, then stopped himself an instant before his hand was on the lever. He got out of the car, much to the
sergeant’s consternation.

“Pardon me, Sergeant, but can you tell me if the officer who drove the car here from the place where my brother was found
is a very tall person?”

“The car wasn’t driven here. It was brought here on a flatbed tow truck and lowered right into that space there. Not even
the lab guys have been near it, ’cause from all I can tell, Delmore never asked them to take a look. So except for whatever
rain and dust and guano might have landed on it over the months, this car is just the way your brother left it, mileage and
all.”

“That can’t be true.” He held up a hand as the sergeant bristled. “What I mean is, my brother was shorter than I am. The seat
is now so far back, it seems that someone much taller than either of us was the last person to drive the car.”

After a moment’s pause, he said, “You sure he was shorter than you?”

“Absolutely positive.”

The sergeant swore under his breath.

Remembering his conversation with Detective Wade, Eric said, “If you don’t mind, Sergeant, would you please contact Detective
Pearsley about this? A detective from Copper County was going to try to talk to him about a case that might possibly be related
to my brother’s death.”

“You know Pearsley?” he said, brightening. “Oh sure.” He unhooked the charger and lowered the hood. “Let’s get in out of this
cold.”

Within a few minutes, they were introduced to a lean man whom Eric guessed to be in his early forties. Eric liked Pearsley
immediately—his manner, his attentiveness, his obvious intelligence all made Eric wish that he had been the one to get Mark’s
case in the first place. The detective had already spoken to Wade, although he hadn’t had time yet to pull the file on the
case. Eric showed him the second folder, and Pearsley asked to keep it. Eric was reluctant, until Pearsley agreed to photocopy
the materials in it. As he handed the copies to Eric, he smiled and said, “Mind if I have a look at the other folder you have
in that envelope?”