Within fifteen minutes Deputy Cooper drove onto the grounds of Keswick Club. She’d pulled early duty this Monday, which was fine with her. Not ten minutes later the sheriff showed up, as well.
Cooper, thin rubber gloves on her hands, already knelt in front of the handsome jockey’s body. The wound, one tidy, deep cut, looked like Christopher Hewitt’s wound. Photo graphs had to be taken and then the ambulance squad could take him away. As he was frozen stiff, he’d be sitting in the back. The thought of the corpse sitting or lying on his side in a sitting position struck Cooper as macabre.
Rick joined her. “Looks like the same M.O.”
“Yes.” She stood up, peeled off the gloves, and stashed them in her heavy jacket. She quickly retrieved her heavy gloves, as her fingers already were throbbing from the cold.
Rick carefully observed the corpse. “Doubt he was killed right here. No blood splattered about.”
“Boss, we’ve got someone killing monks.” Cooper put her gloved hands in her armpits.
“Two men, relatively young, from the same order.” His nose felt cold so he rubbed it. “Coop, this case is beginning to really worry me.”
“Yeah, me, too.”
“All right. Let’s go to the dogs.” Rick said “dogs” instead of “hounds.”
She nodded and hopped in his squad car. They drove out of the tennis-court area, turned left, and within a minute had parked behind the old Keswick Hunt Club wooden clubhouse. They walked into the kennels, where the hounds notified Tony and Whitney that two strangers had entered.
“All right, lads,” Tony called to the dog hounds, the proper designation for a male foxhound. “That’s enough.”
Cooper flipped open her notebook as Rick asked Tony to tell him what he saw.
When Tony finished, Rick asked, “Did you know Brother Speed?”
The tall, thin man responded, “Yes. He’d come to our point-to-point races and also the steeplechase races at Montpelier. People told me he was once a jockey, a good jockey, made a lot of money—and I guess lost a lot, too.” Tony thought a moment. “I liked him.”
Whitney added, “He was a good hand with a horse. He always wanted to be helpful.”
“Did you ever hear why he retired from being a jockey?” Cooper asked. “Other than losing money?”
“People talk,” Tony replied noncommittally.
Whitney added, “We didn’t believe it.”
“Tell me what you heard,” Rick pressed.
“That he threw a race for big money. The Arkansas Derby.”When Rick and Cooper looked blank, Tony added, “It’s one of the important races leading up to the Kentucky Derby.”
“Follow the horses, do you?” Rick inhaled the odor of clean hounds, heard their claws click and clack as they walked on the concrete.
“Not really. Know a bit more about ’chasers. I just know the basic big races here because some of the hunt-club members have horses on the track, down at Colonial Downs, mostly.”
“Did he seem to you to be a dishonest man?” Cooper kept scribbling.
A surprised look crossed Whitney’s pretty features. “No. No. In fact, he would tell us sometimes—not preaching, just kind of like conversation—that we should pray, trust in the Lord. Guess he was pretty messed up on drugs back in his racing days. That will screw up anybody’s judgment.” She grimaced slightly. “Excuse my language.”
Rick laughed. “We hear worse. In fact, we say worse.” He turned to Tony. “Did you see any car lights late last night?”
“Big party across the street. We’re far enough away so we didn’t hear too much, but we could see cars drive in and out. We fell asleep—well, I fell asleep—at one.” She looked at her husband. “He was already dead to the world. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. Anyway, I could see cars still leaving at one.”
“Odd place to put a body,” Tony commented.
“Convenient if the killer and the victim were at the party,” Cooper said.
“You’ve been very helpful. If we think of anything else, we’ll call.” Rick shook Tony’s hand, then Whitney’s.
Tony asked, “Officer Cooper, is Harry going to hunt the Saddlebred that movie star—I forget her name—gave her?”
“Shortro.” Cooper knew all Harry’s horses but had resist ed riding any of them, as she was afraid. “She says he’ll be ready to go next season. Says he’s really smart.”
They drove to the tennis courts, then sat in the car. The heater provided comfort, since the wind would tear one to pieces.
Cooper unzipped her heavy jacket. “I’ll start calling the people who were at St. Luke’s to see who came to this party.”
“Call Doris. She’ll have a list. Save yourself time and trouble.” He named the executive secretary to the head of the real estate company, Alex Corbett.
“I’m on it.”
Rick hit the button to push his seat back farther and stretched out his legs. “I’ve searched for a connection to Christmas. The holidays are emotional land mines,” he said in a flat tone of voice. “Nothing that I can find.”
“Doesn’t seem to be, unless this ruins Christmas for people we don’t know about. Obviously, it’s ruined for the order.”
Rick watched the rescue squad remove the body. “They’ve put their hands under his legs. Good move. Better balance than tipping him back with his legs out, bent. If his eyes weren’t glassy, he’d almost look alive.” He blinked, then turned to Cooper. “There has to be a connection between Christopher and Speed, apart from being Brothers of Love.”
“Well, they’re both dead.”
“Very funny.”
“Actually, there is a connection: money troubles before they became monks.”
“Then let’s find out how many brothers also came up short.” Rick wasn’t hopeful about this line of reasoning, but it might lead to something bigger.
Four hours later, Brother Speed had thawed on the stainless-steel table. Dr. Emmanuel Gibson carefully removed the brother’s clothes, with the help of a young intern, Mandy Sweetwater. Removing them proved difficult because of the blood. Fabrics stuck together.
When the corpse was finally unclothed, Dr. Gibson began his careful inspection before making the first cut.
Mandy, on the other side of the corpse, said, “Eyes aren’t bloodshot.”
“Good.” Emmanuel smiled. “So you know he wasn’t choked to death.”
The old doctor enjoyed working with young doctors.
As he went down the body, he talked, asking Mandy questions.
Two hours later, out of his scrubs, he called Rick.
“Dr. Gibson, what have you got for me?”
“Well, Sheriff, same cut as on Christopher Hewitt, left to right, killer behind the victim. No bruises. No sign of struggle. The killer stood behind Speed.” He took a breath. “Obol under the tongue.”
17
More snowflakes twirled down as Harry mucked stalls. Outside, the horses played in the snow, kicking it up and running about. The cats cuddled on saddle blankets in the tack room, but Tucker stuck with Mom. The corgi dashed out of a stall. Harry leaned the large pitchfork against the stall and walked into the center aisle. Tucker barked, “Cooper!”
Pewter opened one eye. “Can’t that dog shut up?”
Opening the large double doors, Harry waved for Cooper to come inside the stable. Stamping her feet, Cooper walked in. “Coffee?”
“This time it’s my turn for hot cocoa,” Cooper said.