Stella waved a hand toward Mattie. “And that’s why Deputy Cobb has a black eye? Because you were able to control your temper?”
Mattie needed to speak up. “Chief Deputy Brody didn’t mean to hurt me. I think he deserves a second chance. Keeping him out of the loop only leads to misunderstandings.”
Brody threw Mattie a grateful glance before turning back to Stella. “All I can do is prove to you I can stay in control. Not knowing the full picture on this is driving me crazy. It won’t happen again.”
“You’re damn right it won’t happen again,” Stella said, staring him down. “What’s your opinion, Sheriff?”
Mattie realized that deferring to the sheriff was a way for the detective to back off while saving face. Maybe it meant something to Stella when Mattie had vouched for Brody.
Sheriff McCoy studied the chief deputy in silence while Brody met McCoy’s gaze without animosity.
McCoy finally spoke. “Do I have your word that you’ll behave with the conduct expected from an officer of your caliber, Chief Deputy Brody?”
“Yes, sir,” Brody said.
McCoy continued to examine Brody for another drawn-out minute. “Detective LoSasso, I believe this man deserves to know,” he said, finally coming to a decision. “Take a seat here at the table.”
Robo had been watching the entire exchange while lying at Mattie’s feet, ears pricked and mouth open in a slight pant. Her dog didn’t seem to miss much when emotions were high, and arguing tended to create stress for him. In reality, she might have to admit that arguments caused stress for her, and her feelings went right to Robo. She was glad she’d taken the time after work yesterday to assure him that Brody meant her no harm, and he’d stayed out of the mix during the discussion. Robo was also proving himself capable of conduct becoming of an officer.
Brody leaned against the table behind them. “Thank you, Sheriff. I won’t let you down.”
“I’m sure you won’t,” McCoy said.
“You’d better not, that’s all I can say,” Stella said, crossing her arms and closing the subject. “Brody, we’re going to have to release Vasquez. Not enough evidence and we can’t tie in the bow as the murder weapon.”
Brody set his jaw and nodded.
“The polygraph confirmed the information that he’s given us about the Howard family dynamics. Do you know anything more about this?”
“Adrienne didn’t talk about her family. I didn’t know anything about them prior to her death.” Brody crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned against the table, a relaxed posture that Mattie knew was all show. Beneath it lurked a temperament that was wound pretty tight.
“We’re working on another suspect,” Mattie said. “Juan Fiero at Dark Horse Stable. Did Adrienne mention him or her work there?”
Brody shook his head. “What made you look at him?”
“Phone calls on Adrienne’s call list led us to the stable. Robo’s nose, and I guess Mattie’s too, led us to him,” Stella said.
Mattie explained about the cigarette butt and boot print. “Stella questioned both of them, and it seemed like Santiago was protecting Fiero from something.”
“Fiero doesn’t speak English, so Mattie translated. His story didn’t quite match up to Santiago’s. He seemed to know Adrienne better than his boss thought he could. She seemed to think the language barrier would get in the way.”
Brody’s eyebrows rose. “Adrienne spoke Spanish.”
Mattie’s mind jumped to the next conclusion: Fiero and Adrienne had visited with each other while Carmen exercised the horses.
“Adrienne was fluent in Spanish,” Brody continued.
“And I had the impression that Fiero knew more English than he was letting on,” Mattie said. “The two of them could have definitely held conversations. Conversations that didn’t include his boss.”
Brody nodded, apparently taking in the information and thinking it through. Moving out of his relaxed pose, he straightened, and Mattie could feel the tension rolling through him. “What do you suggest we do next?” he asked in a calm voice.
“We sent the boot print photo to our CSI unit to compare with the partial Mattie found at the crime scene,” Stella said. “We should hear back on that any minute. If it matches for shape or size, we’ll try to get a search warrant and go back to Dark Horse to take a look.”
Chapter 27
While Cole drove up into the mountains toward Dark Horse Stable, his thoughts turned to Carmen. What was he going to say to the trainer? He needed to confront her on the issue of dosing and let her know that he planned to report her to the racing commission. No one should be allowed to do this to a horse and get away with it.
He began to wish he’d asked Tess to ride along and make this call with him. He couldn’t predict how Carmen would react, especially after she’d made a pass at him. It seemed silly, but a veterinarian became vulnerable when working alone on house calls without a witness.
He also imagined that she might deny the accusation. If so, he’d have to do the best he could to document the conversation. Well, he didn’t have time to change the situation now. The log arch that marked Dark Horse was a welcome sight; he could quit thinking about the confrontation and get on with it.
After parking, he gathered his equipment and the new medication, walked past the barking Bruno, and entered the barn. For a change, no one was waiting for him. He paused outside Diablo’s stall, remembering the other horse down at the end. He wondered if that red chestnut, like Diablo, had been dosed with the concentrated form of Clenbuterol. He placed his kit beside the stall door and hurried down the alley.
When he reached the last stall on the left, he peeked over the door. What he saw confirmed his suspicion and made him sick to his stomach. The gorgeous red thoroughbred trudged along a worn path that was about six inches lower than the rest of the bedding. He’d obviously been circling like this for days. His sweat-drenched coat appeared dull and lifeless. His sunken eyes spoke volumes, delivering a message of fatigue and anxiety.
Good God, why didn’t I come down and check on this horse sooner?
“Doctor!” Carmen called from only about ten feet away, making Cole jump. He hadn’t realized she was behind him. “What are you doing?”
Cole faced her. “I ran a test on Diablo’s blood for Clenbuterol. It came back positive. You’re dosing these horses.”
A variety of expressions chased across her face: surprise, anger, deception. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think you do. Frog juice.”
“Frog juice?”
“I brought the proper medication to counteract Clenbuterol toxicity. We need to get Diablo started on it. And you need to stop dosing this chestnut horse right now,” Cole said, and he walked toward Diablo’s stall.
She remained silent while he picked up his things, and she followed him inside the box stall. Diablo was lying down, an emaciated version of the horse he’d been a few days ago. The easy boots were in place on his feet; plentiful grass hay wisped over the edge of his feeder.
“Has he stopped eating?” Cole asked.
“Pretty much.” Now she seemed shut down and sullen.
“Will he get up?” Cole started drawing the proper dosage of the new med into a syringe. He bent over Diablo and injected it quickly, sending out a request to the powers that be that it wasn’t too late to do some good.
“We had him up about an hour ago. He drank some water.”
“When did you stop giving him the frog juice?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”