My exhale came like a sudden release of air from a balloon, and the knots in my shoulders untied.
"How do you know?"
"We got a partial autopsy report back." He pointed with his pen to a file in the basket on his desk.
"Isn't that kind of fast?" I didn't actually know, but I assumed it would take days.
He grimaced slightly, as though he'd tasted something disagreeable, and shrugged. "Money and power grease the skids, sometimes, and her father has plenty of both. Besides, I don't think the Medical Examiner has been too busy lately." Thurman tossed the pen onto his desk, shoved the pad to the side, and leaned back in his chair. It gave an alarming creak, but he took no notice. Instead, he continued to watch me, fingers laced over his belly. "You should be glad the autopsy report had extra incentive behind it."
Well, of course I was since it vindicated Blackie, but I had the uneasy feeling I wasn't going to like the reason. Maybe I'd be wrong again. I cleared my throat. "Why is that?"
He glanced at some paperwork on his desk before settling his gaze on me. "Seems the deceased's parents have been busy all morning trying to get a court order to destroy your horse."
A knee-weakening sick feeling dropped on me. Blackie had literally been snatched from under the executioner's blade. There would have been less time than I'd anticipated to protect him. I'd heard about Frederick Parsons, Valerie's father. Nothing official, of course. Not even close enough to official to print in the local gossip rag – not without expecting the building that housed the newspaper's offices to have a tragic fire on some dark, moonless night. I'd never want to get on the man's bad side, and I'm not sure being on his good side was such a great idea, either. Off the radar entirely was best, but no longer an option. It hadn't occurred to me that her grief-stricken parents would be bent on revenge. Greg's temporary loss of control was nothing compared to the wreckage Valerie's family was capable of making of my life, if they so chose.
"Are you all right?"
"Yes, I'm just shocked they would go after my horse so aggressively, and relieved you finally agree with me."
"Agree with you?"
I waved toward the file folder containing my statement. "Agree that Blackie didn't kill her."
"You realize this means she was murdered, don't you?"
"Of course. I picked up on that a while ago."
"Do you have any idea who would have wanted to kill her?"
"Detective, I believe you will find that, among the people who considered Valerie their friend, she was more envied than liked." I straightened in my chair. "There were plenty of people who didn't like her, but I can't imagine why anyone would want to kill her." You don't have to tell him how suicidal it would be if that person had any inkling who her father was. He probably knows, and doesn't have to know you do, too.
"Even if, oh, I don't know, she stole someone's horse?"
"Delores said you'd think I had a motive, but I didn't kill her." And I'm not stupid. But his question was simply standard procedure. No need to take offense.
"Why did she take your horse?"
"I have no idea – well, I know she wanted him. She offered to buy him several times, but stealing him? It makes no sense."
"Why not?"
"It'd destroy any hopes she had to ride in the Olympics, and it's dumb even if she didn't care about that. Steal a horse and put him in your own backyard? What was she going to do with him? Everyone knows he's mine, and besides, he's microchipped. It'd be simple to prove who he belonged to." One question niggled at me. "When was she killed?"
"That's something we're unsure of at the moment." Detective Thurman sat up and slid the yellow legal pad in front of him. "How about you tell me where you've been since, oh, Saturday morning."
"Saturday morning?"
He nodded, pen poised.
"Oh, well, um… I rode my horse at Copper Creek."
"Witnesses?"
"Uncle Henry. That's Henry Fairchild. He came over and gave me a lesson at nine. Eric Fuentes and Delores Salatini were there. I talked to them both. I was home for lunch and Jonathan came by – oh, Jonathan Woods, my, uh, boyfriend – and he went over to my aunt and uncle's with me around one, but he didn't stay. We argued."
"What about?"
This was going to sound stupid. "What I was going to wear to dinner with his parents."
Amusement flickered across the detective's face. I sat a little taller.
"Witnesses?"
"To my argument with Jonathan? Well, Paul Hudson, and my aunt and uncle. Then I left for home a little after five. At seven I met Jonathan at Harvey Air Field and we flew to Seattle to dinner."
"Flew?"
"Yes." I knew what Thurman was thinking. Some people even said it out loud. I used my stock response without waiting for the inevitable. "Jonathan has his own plane, a small Cessna, and he uses any excuse he can to fly."
Thurman snorted. "Witnesses – to your dinner, that is."
"Jonathan, his parents Walter and Marsha Woods, and everyone else in the damn restaurant. Then I went to McMurphy's about ten. I know. Greg Marshall and Paul Hudson both saw me there. Sarah Fuller, too, but she was sitting at a different table. Well, not at first. Greg was sitting with her when I arrived and I didn't want to bother them, so I sat at a different table across the room. Then he came over and sat with me. But Sarah didn't join us. I'm not sure she knew I was there. We didn't speak. We almost never do. She's kind of odd – well, maybe just a little bit. Oh, and Paul got there about an hour later, because Aunt Vi asked him to pick me up, since…" Thurman had stopped writing and was regarding me steadily from under droopy lids. I swallowed. Perhaps I needed to get to the point. What my sister had been doing wasn't important. "I got home about eleven thirty. Paul drove me from McMurphy's to the airport in Snohomish to pick up my car. Should I go on?"
"Yes, by all means."
"I went to bed. No witnesses." I gave him a hard look when he glanced up from his note taking. "And Sunday morning I was out at Copper Creek again by a little after eight when I discovered my horse was gone. Witnesses? Delores, Miguel, Maria, and Jorge. I saw Greg, too. He was looking for Valerie."
Thurman finished writing. "You're quite a busy young woman. If my daughter had as many men buzzing around her as you do, I'd be a little nervous."
That was unnecessary and rude. "I do not have men 'buzzing around' me."
He got up from his chair. "We would appreciate it if you wouldn't make any travel plans for the near future, Miss Campbell. Expect to hear from us again, soon."
My pulse rate jumped several notches. I stood, but made no move for the door. "You can't seriously think I'm a suspect."
Thurman smiled. Barely. "We prefer 'person of interest.' Good-bye for now."
"No, no, no. Now wait just a minute. How can you think I'm a 'person of interest'?" I made the little quotes with my fingers.
"What are you going to tell me, that you're just a tiny thing and couldn't possibly have the strength to have killed Miss Parsons?" He shook his head as he stepped, casually, around his desk.
Sweat prickled in my arm pits. I set my jaw. "No, I'm going to wonder what kind of convoluted rationale you think I would have for doing such a thing. Sure I was mad when I found out she'd taken my horse, but I didn't even know he was gone until Sunday morning and from that point on there were people with me."
We squared off for a couple of beats before Thurman tapped his forehead like he'd just remembered something.
"Were you aware a 9-1-1 call was placed a few minutes prior to yours, also regarding Miss Parsons?"
"That doesn't make any sense."
"No?"
"No." I frowned at him. "Jorge and I were the only ones at the estate – until you people came." Uh, oh. Had I just implicated Jorge?"
"Miss Campbell, we'll be in touch."
Yeah, I'll just bet you will. I shot him an annoyed glance on my way out the door, which he closed immediately behind me. I pulled my purse onto my shoulder, clamped my arm around it, and raised my chin. Even if he did consider me a "person of interest" at least Blackie was safe. Valerie's parents wouldn't come after me. They'd let the police do their job and find the real killer. Wouldn't they? I mean, sure, they'd be upset, but they wouldn't jump to conclusions. Because, if they did they could do far more damage to my business, family, and friends than Greg ever could. Just having the detective considering me a quasi-suspect was going to cause disruption in my family.