Christmas Countdown Page 11

  Chapter Ten

  Mac leaned in close to Victor and put his hand on the man’s shoulder.

  Judging by the distinct shape of a horseshoe partially angled on his forehead and disappearing into his bloody hairline, the mechanism of injury was obvious.

  Dragon’s Soul must have freaked and kicked Victor when he’d tried to calm the frightened animal.

  One blow from a horse’s powerful hind leg, if it landed in the right spot, could render a man unconscious, and in the animal’s state of fear, he’d kicked and stomped Victor until he went down and couldn’t get out of the box.

  A low moan rumbled in Victor’s throat.

  Mac leaned closer.

  “Victor, it’s Mac Titus. You’ve been injured by Dragon’s Soul. Emma called an ambulance, they’ll be here soon. Hang on.”

  Victor groaned again, louder this time, and a string of garbled words babbled out of his mouth.

  Over Mac’s right shoulder the horse pawed the straw bedding with his front hoof. The frustrated behavior made Mac as nervous as hell, but he didn’t feel threatened. The big colt’s manner had projected concern, not out-of-control fear.

  “They’re on their way, Mac. What can I do to help?” Emma asked as she closed her cell phone and leaned against the door frame.

  “Catch the horse and move him into another stall. EMS can’t work with him in here.”

  “Are you kidding? He just tried to kill someone. I’ll go and get Rahul, he knows how to handle Dragon’s Soul.”

  “Yeah.” He nodded and watched her pull the door handle and narrow the opening. He didn’t blame her for being leery of the big black colt.

  Victor reached out and grabbed his wrist, squeezing with an iron grip that felt like desperation.

  Startled, Mac leaned closer. “Hang on, Dago. Help’s coming.”

  In the dim light from overhead he watched one of Victor’s eyes flick open. The other one was bloody and swollen shut. His unfocused gaze roamed the stall for an instant and settled on Mac.

  “Brief…” Victor whispered, his mouth still moving even after the word was released.

  Concern pulled Mac closer to Victor. He tilted his head to the right and leaned in, fearing these could be the man’s dying words. “What is it, Dago?”

  “Case…” He sucked in a labored breath.

  “Briefcase?” Mac said the word and Victor’s grip on his wrist tightened.

  “In a brief—”

  Mac heard the pounding of running footsteps in the corridor and the stall door ground open on its rollers.

  “In a briefcase? Is that what you’re trying to tell me, Victor? What’s in a briefcase? Your contact information?” Frustration ground over his nerves as Victor’s grip released and a labored exhale hissed from between his lips.

  Mac glanced up at Rahul and Emma, who both stood in the cubicle breathing hard from their frantic race back to the barn.

  He reached over and felt for a pulse on Victor’s neck. Nothing.

  “Do something, Mac! You have to do something,” Emma pleaded.

  Victor Dago was a lost cause at this point. He was bleeding out from a massive head trauma…but there was always a chance.

  “I’ll start CPR.”

  EMMA STOOD GRASPING THE bars of the stable partition staring into the stall, watching Mac take his second trip around Dragon’s Soul.

  Worry knotted her nerves and she squeezed the iron bars so hard one of her hands cramped. “Be careful, Mac.”

  “He’s not going to hurt me, Em.”

  “That’s what Victor thought, too.” She couldn’t get the image of his battered condition out of her head; she was just glad he was receiving care in the back of the ambulance and Rahul was with him. They were headed to the hospital, although things looked grim for the man she’d never much liked.

  “Look at this cut across his chest.” Mac ran his hand along the black horse’s neck and glanced up at her. “How’d he get it in that stall? I didn’t see anything sharp. It looks superficial.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe Victor did it trying to defend himself.”

  “Maybe.”

  She watched as Mac picked up Dragon’s feet one after the other to examine the bottoms of his hooves. He tapped on the aluminum-plate racing horseshoes on the sole of each one, then physically tried to manipulate the shoe.

  Nervous tension glided over her senses and locked in her body. What had happened tonight to Victor Dago was tragic. The fact that the Firehill stud barn was the scene of the horrific event made her sick to her stomach.

  She stared at the magnificent black Thoroughbred, at his calm, wouldn’t-hurt-a-horsefly demeanor, and shuddered. “I’m going to head inside, get a couple hours of sleep before I fall over.”

  “Wait up, I’ll walk you to the house, then come back and tend to Dragon’s cut.” Mac patted the big colt’s neck and pulled open the stall door, stepped out and slid it closed, making sure it latched.

  Mentally and physically wired, he fell in step next to Emma and headed for the stable exit, taking a quick glance into Navigator’s stall as they passed.

  The colt was asleep on his feet.

  It would be hours before the adrenaline in Mac’s system diluted to a tolerable level. Probably about the time Sheriff Wilkes showed up to take a look at the medical-emergency scene as assessed by the EMS staff and rule it a tragic accident. A terrified animal, lashing out at its handler. God knew the fire had riled all of them. It was the perfect catalyst for the event.

  Still, a degree of hesitation married with the measure of uncertainty in his mind.

  “I want you to take tomorrow off, Mac. Get some rest. It’s Sunday and the danger to Navigator has passed with Craig McFarlane’s arrest. I’ll take care of making a new batch of mash for the colt in the morning.”

  Mac pulled her to a stop at the barn door. “Emma, it is morning.”

  She snorted at his silly replay of her joke and flashed him a tired smile that immediately dissolved as he reached for her and pulled her against him.

  “It’s going to be okay.” He felt her body tremble and pulled her tighter against him. “No one ever expects to see a tragedy like this. No one who loves and cares for horses wants to believe they’re capable of something this violent. They’re good animals, Emma. Dragon’s Soul is a good soul.”

  She pulled back and stared up at him. “How can you say that? He stomped in Victor Dago’s head tonight.”

  “I couldn’t find any blood on Dragon’s hooves, or the valleys in his horseshoes.”

  “Are you saying this wasn’t an accident?”

  “I’m saying when the Sheriff gets here in the morning, I plan to ask him to test them to make sure.” His gaze drifted to her lips. Desire rocked his senses. He reached out and brushed her cheek.

  She closed her eyes and turned into his palm, but in the end, he only pressed a kiss on her forehead, took her hand and aimed her for the house while dawn broke on the horizon.

  EMMA FILLED NAVIGATOR’S bucket with mash and watched him shove his head into it and start grinding.

  “You love that smelly stuff, don’t you?” She patted his neck. “Enjoy it now, because you’re going to be officially weaned next week.”

  “Talking to a horse? What is he saying?”

  She glanced up and saw Mac looking at her through the iron partition, a contemplative grin on his mouth.

  “Can I have some more, please?”

  “That’s what I thought.” He stepped to the stall door and slid it open for her.

  Coming out into the breezeway, she paused while he slid it closed and put his hands on his hips. “Sheriff Wilkes is here. He’s over at the bunkhouse along with Rahul, telling the crew that Victor died last night.”

  “Oh, no.” Her heart sagged in her chest and she stared at the ground for a moment, then back up into Mac’s face. “This is awful. Has he contacted his family?”

  “I don’t know. Did he ever mention that he had one?”

  “N
ot that I recall, but then, I never took the time to ask.” A wave of guilt swamped her resolve. She felt the sting of tears behind her eyelids. “I should have, and I feel bad for their loss. Family is one of the most important things there is. Without them life would be a lonely place.”

  Mac’s features darkened for an instant and she couldn’t help but believe there was something he wanted to say at that moment, but instead, his lips pulled into a thin line.

  “Wilkes will be in here next to take a look at where it happened. Do you want to hang around?”

  “No. I’ve got another project I’m working on. I don’t know if I could stand to listen to a rehash of the gory details.”

  “I understand.”

  She gave him a weak smile and headed out of the barn, feeling the caress of his gaze on her back as she took a right turn and headed for his bunkhouse.

  If wishes were horses, all beggars would ride….

  Mac mulled the old saying as he took his gaze off of her and turned to walk down the row to Dragon’s Soul’s new stall. The black colt greeted him with a low-rumbling nicker and shuffled to the stall gate, where he put his muzzle against the bars for Mac to pet him.

  “Mac,” Sheriff Wilkes said, spotting him from the doorway of the barn.

  He headed for Wilkes who carried a clipboard in his left hand. “Sheriff.”

  “Hell of a tragic accident. I’m sorry it had to happen at Firehill.” Wilkes stopped in front of him. “Dago’s crew says Dragon’s Soul has a mean streak. He likes to strike out with his front legs and if he catches you by surprise he’ll knock you down. That’s probably what happened to Victor Dago.”

  Mac held his tongue. He’d listened to the horse and he wouldn’t believe it until there was solid proof. “The stall’s down here.” He stopped outside the cubicle, opened the door, and stepped inside. “I found Victor over there.” He pointed at the exact spot, staring at the dark, bloodstained straw in the corner.

  “He was barely alive when I got to him.”

  “According to the EMS run sheet, his injury was catastrophic. He died en route to the hospital.”

  “Damn.” Mac’s throat tightened.

  “What did you do after you found him?”

  “I tried to reassure him while Emma dialed 911. He mumbled something that didn’t make much sense, and then he stopped breathing. I checked for a pulse, didn’t find one, but at Emma’s urging, I started CPR even though I knew he was a goner with an open head wound like that.”

  “What did he say?”

  “‘Briefcase.’ In a ‘briefcase.’ I figured he was telling me how to contact his family. Maybe he keeps their names and addresses written down in a journal or something he keeps in his briefcase.”

  “I had his crew round up his personal items for me. And there was a briefcase. I checked for emergency contact information inside, but there wasn’t any. His crew claims his family lives in California.” Wilkes wrote something down on the report fastened to his clipboard.

  “His Kentucky trainer’s license and his driver’s license were in his wallet, and I collected that from the hospital already.”

  Mac tried to reconcile Victor’s last words with anything that made sense, and came up empty. “Wait. There’s something you should know about Victor Dago. I’ve got a friend in the Lexington bureau of the FBI who conducts the background checks on every trainer’s license application. I was concerned that Victor and his crew could be behind the attacks against Emma’s horse, so I contacted him to check out Victor’s. His search came back with no record of Dago’s paperwork in the Kentucky system.”

  “His trainer’s license is bogus?”

  “Looks that way.” Mac watched Wilkes frown. “While we’re on the subject of bogus, I checked Dragon’s Soul’s hooves right after EMS transported Dago and I couldn’t find any trace of blood. Since Victor’s head injury was so severe, I’d expect to find traces of blood on the horse’s shoes, if not on the horse.”

  Mac glanced at the stall walls as they angled into the corner, and moved in for a closer look. “There isn’t even spatter where it should be.”

  Wilkes leaned in to examine the wooden planks, then pulled a small digital camera out of his jacket pocket and snapped a couple of pictures. “I’ve got a swab kit in my car. Maybe we better take a look. I’ll go get it.”

  The sheriff left the cubicle and Mac followed him out, anxious for a breath of fresh air and a peek at the morning sun. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could stay on his feet, and Emma’s offer of a day off was sounding better by the second.

  Rahul came out of the bunkhouse, followed by one of the grooms, and headed straight for Mac.

  “Mr. Titus,” he said, stopping several feet back. “I’ve just spoken with my employer about Victor’s tragic death. He has put me in charge of the stable until a new trainer can be hired to assume Victor’s duties. We’re going to need more space in the barn. He has authorized me to increase the monthly lease rate to Miss Clareborn, if she will immediately remove her horse from our stable.”

  The hair on the back of Mac’s neck bristled. “Your current lease only includes the use of six stalls. Your boss wants to double that?”

  “Yes. Two more of our horses are being released from quarantine in Front Royal, Virginia, tomorrow morning. I will be leaving in the next hour to pick them up. We should return late Monday night. If you’ll relay the information to Miss Clareborn and let me know when I return, I’ll forward the answer to my employer.”

  “I’ll do that.” Mac nodded in agreement, crossed his arms and watched Rahul turn and head back toward the bunkhouse, passing Sheriff Wilkes along the way.

  Victor’s blood was barely dry and Rahul was already taking over, but then someone had to run the stable until they found a suitable trainer. Still, things somehow felt off with Rahul in charge.

  “You know what the implications could be if we don’t find trace evidence on the horse?” Wilkes asked.

  “Yeah. I know.” He reached Dragon’s Soul’s stall and pulled his halter and lead rope off the hook next to the door.

  “Victor may have been murdered and this was all staged to look like an accident perpetrated by an aggressor who can’t tell us what really happened here last night.”

  “Suspecting it and proving it are two different things.”

  “I’ll give you that, Sheriff. Dragon’s Soul’s reputation isn’t stellar. He’s not a docile pony. Things were crazy here last night with the fire and smoke. I’m sure he could smell it in the barn—add the blare of sirens, and you’ve got an out-of-control horse. Hell, even Emma was hesitant to get too close to him, but he’s not malicious, Sheriff. He makes a perfect scapegoat.”

  Mac turned the latch, rolled the stall door open and stepped inside.

  Dragon’s Soul shuffled toward him. He put the halter and lead rope on the colt. “I’ll hold him. You know how to pick up his feet don’t you?”

  “Yeah.” Wilkes opened the test kit, bent over and put it down on the straw. He took out a wrapped swab and opened it.

  “What are you doing?”

  Mac glanced up at Rahul standing in the doorway. “Sheriff Wilkes needs to check Dragon’s hooves for blood.”

  Wilkes straightened with the swab in his fingertips. “It’s procedure. Since this horse is the only witness to what happened in here last night, I’d like to check for blood.”

  “It’s the law that you must obtain a search warrant before you can collect the evidence, unless you have express consent to do so without a warrant from the animal’s owner or handler. Am I correct?” Rahul said, glaring at Wilkes.

  Unease spread across Mac’s nerves like butter on toast.

  “That’s correct. Because Dragon’s Soul is a living, breathing animal and unable to give consent on his own, lack of consent from his owner to collect evidence will require me to get a court-issued warrant to obtain it.”

  Mac gritted his teeth, watching a smug look of satisfaction materialize on Rahul’s fa
ce.

  “Then as the horse’s handler, I give my consent, Sheriff Wilkes. But I must tell you I had Karrif soak Dragon’s hooves this morning in a bleach solution to kill fungus before he applied the lanolin. I’m afraid your evidence went out with the bucket of solution.” Rahul turned and walked away.

  Mac shook his head. “I’m sorry about that, Wilkes.”

  “He’s right. Bleach corrupts blood evidence.” Wilkes knelt, put the swab back in the kit and closed it.

  “What’s this?” He motioned to the razor-thin cut running across Dragon’s Soul’s chest.

  “He got it somehow last night. It’s superficial.” Mac rubbed his hand along the colt’s neck and watched Wilkes examine the injury.

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d say it came from a knife blade. The edges are clean. No jagged tearing of the skin. Did you look at his stable?”

  “I took a cursory look, didn’t find anything sharp at that level in the stall. I thought maybe Victor had done it trying to protect himself.”

  “Why not just get out of the cubicle? If you’re on your feet and moving, you’d head for the door,” Wilkes said as he did just that and stepped out into the breezeway.

  Mac removed the lead rope and followed him out, latched the stall door and turned toward the stable across the way.

  “There was no knife in Victor’s personal effects. Maybe it’s still in there.”

  “Do we need a warrant?” Mac asked, not relishing another confrontation with Rahul.

  “It’s Firehill Farm’s property. Rahul has no authority to deny a search. A simple verbal consent from Miss Clareborn would do the trick.”

  “I’ll go get her.” Mac hustled out of the barn and headed for the main house.

  EMMA STARED THROUGH THE partition bars watching Mac methodically search the stall with a pitchfork, spearing and shaking each forkful of straw to see what fell out, as Sheriff Wilkes snapped pictures with a digital camera to document the scene.

  They’d already cleared the bloody straw out of the corner where Mac had found Victor, and the amount of blood that had soaked through the bedding and into the floor made her stomach turn.