“I’d never have guessed.”
“I am however a nosy person,” said Eulalie. “That’s why I became a private investigator. What I want to know is your opinion about the incident last month when Marcel’s Pride beat the favorite in a race right here on Queen’s Cay. The media went wild with allegations that the favorite had been sabotaged in some way. What do you think, Billy? You must have an opinion about it.”
Billy lifted a hand and ran it along the horse’s neck as the groom brought it over.
“He wasn’t right that morning, anyone could see it. He ate, which is always a good sign, but he wasn’t interested in drinking. They get dehydrated so quickly, these big animals. Their coat covers such a large surface area, see? More room for sweating. If they don’t drink enough, they can’t perform on the track. It’s worse in the distance races, of course, but pretty bad for the sprinters too. There’s an uphill straight over there.” He pointed across the track. “That’s where he began to feel it. The jockey told me he felt the fight go out of him right there.”
“Did he place?” Fleur asked.
“No.” Billy clutched at his thinning blond hair. “That’s the thing. If he’d been pipped at the post by Marcel’s Pride I wouldn’t have said a thing. It happens. The Pride is a good horse. But Legs-Alone didn’t even place. I think he came eighth out of a field of ten. That’s just not right. Not for a four-year-old approaching his peak.”
“Were you the one who requested the investigation?” Eulalie asked.
“Damn right I was. After speaking to my jockey, I went straight to the betting master and made a formal complaint. Then I spoke to my groom about his lack of thirst in the morning, and I took it to the Thoroughbred Association and the Horseracing Authority as well. I knew he’d been nobbled. I knew it in my bones.”
Eulalie watched his face closely. He seemed more upset than angry, but she knew better than most how distress could turn to blazing fury in an instant.
“What is the procedure when a matter like that is reported?” she asked.
“A vet examines the horse, and blood is immediately taken for testing. Everyone who had contact with the horse is interviewed. Any punters who won suspiciously large amounts of money because the horse lost are investigated too. The horse’s feed is seized and sent for testing. Investigators go over the stable, the horse box - anywhere the horse has been kept - with a fine-toothcomb, looking for evidence. It’s quite a process.”
Fleur’s eyes were round with interest.
“And?” she said. “Did they find anything? Oh, sorry!” She turned to Eulalie. “You’re the one asking the questions, not me.”
“It’s fine.” Eulalie smiled at her friend. “That was going to be my next question anyway.”
“Nothing conclusive,” said Billy. “His blood counts were definitely deranged, but that was consistent with an already dehydrated horse who had just run a race and become even more dehydrated. They weren’t able to say for sure whether anything had caused the dehydration, besides simple lack of water. The toxicology screen came back negative. But again, they said that the results could have been interfered with by the dehydration. His feed had apparently not been tampered with.”
“It’s a shame no blood was taken earlier that morning before the race.”
Billy pounded the side of his leg with a fist.
“Exactly. That was so unfortunate. All of the horses that race at Queen’s Cay are on a randomized drug testing program. They can be asked to give a sample of blood before a race with no notice whatsoever. To guard against doping, see? If only Legs-Alone had been asked for a sample that morning, we might have a much clearer picture of what happened.”
“Who decides which horses get asked for a blood sample on any given morning?” Eulalie asked.
Billie shrugged. “They tell us they have software that randomly selects horses. I don’t know. All I know is that if a horse hasn’t been tested in three weeks, its name will definitely come up to comply with Horseracing Authority rules.”
“You know that Marcel Faberge was murdered a few days ago?” Eulalie said.
“Sure. It was all over the news.”
“It sounds to me as though this issue was never properly resolved. There must be people out there who still believe that Legs-Alone was nobbled, even though nothing was ever proved. That must be very frustrating, especially to people who had money riding on the outcome. Can you think of anyone who might have been angry enough with Marcel Faberge to want to hurt him?”
Billy swallowed. He had a prominent Adam’s apple, and Eulalie could clearly see it move up and down.
“Can’t say I can. A lot of people were unhappy with the decision, but I don’t see that killing Faberge would do them any good.”
“What about the owner of Legs-Alone? Surely he would have a big stake in the matter?”
“Listen, if you want to fly all the way to Abu Dhabi and ask Prince Ali Al Omeir about it, be my guest. You’ll first have to remind him that he owns a racehorse on Prince William Island. He owns racehorses all over the world, see? Doesn’t know one from the other. They’re just an investment to him. If you think he secretly flew to Queen’s Town and strangled some local businessman over a horse he doesn’t even know exists, you’re crazy.”
Eulalie glanced at Fleur.
“Thank you for your time, Billy. You’ve been very helpful. We’re heading to Marcel Faberge’s stable yard now. Could you suggest anyone there that we should speak to?”
Billy shrugged, but then a thought seemed to strike him.
“You might ask for Eugene. He’s one of the grooms. It’s his last day today. He got a job at one of the other yards, so at least you know he won’t be trying to protect his employer. At five this afternoon, he’s out of there forever.”
Fleur and Eulalie drove their tuk-tuks out to the Faberge stable yard. They took it slowly, so they could hear each other speak over the noise of the little scooters.
“Did Billy seem nervous to you?” said Fleur.
“Only when I asked him if he had any idea who might have wanted to hurt Faberge.”
“Maybe he thought you were considering him as a suspect?”
“I just can’t see the motive. He’s a trainer. He gets paid whether the horse wins or not. Billy is just a cog in the Legs-Alone machine.”
“A string of losses might hurt his reputation.”
“True, but this was just one loss so far. An absentee owner like Prince Al Omeir would hardly fire him over that. I can’t see what he would have had to gain from Marcel Faberge’s death.”
They drove in silence as Eulalie ran over the interview with Billy in her mind.
“What about the blood-testing process for the horses? Billy said it was random, but what if it wasn’t?”
“The Horseracing Authority is very strict about things like that,” said Fleur. “I don’t see how anyone could have fiddled it.”
They had reached a wilder part of the island. The fields of sugar cane had disappeared and been replaced by the natural low-growing scrub that was indigenous to this part of the world. The landscape was so battered by wind and sea spray that few trees grew here.
“This is an uncanny place,” said Fleur. “It is so wild and strange.”
“If you want uncanny, you should try Monk’s Cay.”
Fleur shivered. “Now that place is creepy. I went there once on a guided tour in broad daylight and couldn’t wait to leave.”
Eulalie liked to think of herself as a modern woman who had outgrown the stories of ghosts and spirits that she had been raised on in the deep forest, but even she wouldn’t fancy spending a night alone on Monk’s Cay. There was a ruined seventeenth-century monastery on the island that was widely believed to be haunted.
“We’re here.” Fleur lifted a hand off her handlebars and wobbled violently. “Oops.” She steadied herself and pointed. “That’s the Faberge yard up ahead.”
They reported to the stable yard office and asked to speak
to Eugene. The administrator led them to the stables where a groom was scrubbing out steel buckets. He confessed to knowing little English, so Eulalie conducted the interview in French. Fleur had studied a little French at school, and had picked up more from her years of living on Prince William Island. She would be able to follow well enough, even if she didn’t catch every word.
Eulalie got straight to the point.
“Bonjour, Eugene. We have just been talking to Billy, the trainer of Legs-Alone. We found him at the racetrack.”
“Naturellement. I know this Billy. Did he send you to me?”
“He suggested we speak to you. He told us you have a new job – that today is your last day here. Is that true?”
Eugene inclined his head. “Oui.”
“We’re not here to cause any trouble for you. I just want to make that clear. I don’t even know which yard you are going to next. All I want is the truth, or as much of it as you can tell me. Does that sound okay?”
Eugene gave a shrug that Eulalie could only interpret as noncommittal.
“We’ll see how it goes. I want to ask about the scandal involving Legs-Alone last month. The horse lost its thirst and wouldn’t drink. It became dehydrated and performed badly in the race. None of the tests showed anything. Do you have any idea who was responsible for that?”
“Non.” Eugene’s reply was short and to the point.
“Do you have any idea why the tests showed up negative?”
“Non,” he said again.
Fleur’s eyebrows rose. Even she could see that this wasn’t going well.
“Can you tell me anything about the scandal?” Eulalie asked.
“Of course. It is just that you have been asking the wrong questions. If you had asked me, was I ever approached to drug the horse, the answer would be oui, not non. A man approached me the week before the race and asked me to put something in the horse’s drinking water. He offered me money, but not very much money, you understand? I refused. I thought he wanted to kill the horse. The next week, the horse stops drinking and loses the race, and I know that man found somebody else to do the job for him. I just don’t know who that somebody else was.”
“This is extremely helpful, Eugene. What else can you tell us?”
“If you asked me who that man was who approached me, I tell you I don’t know. All I know is that he was not representing himself. He was an agent for someone – someone who wanted Legs-Alone to lose that race.”
“Do you think he could have been representing Marcel Faberge?”
“It is possible. Faberge was new to the business of owning horses. He wanted quick results. A win today. A win tomorrow. A win next month at the Met. He didn’t take the long view, that one. Most of the big owners know you don’t get involved in doping or nobbling. Not if you want to be in business for a long time. Those are short-term solutions that result in a short-term career.”
“Why it was you not say a thing during the time when everything occurred?” Fleur’s French was broken but understandable. Her question was one that Eulalie had also been wondering about. Why hadn’t Eugene spoken up at the time about what he knew?
He shook his head. “At that time, I had no other job to go to. A groom who tells tales about his boss is not likely to find work anywhere else. Even if that boss is crooked, you still keep the secrets of the yard. But everything is different now. Marcel Faberge is dead. I have found a new job. There can be no harm in speaking the truth now – no harm to me or to my wife and children who depend on my income.”
“Can you imagine anyone wanting to hurt Marcel Faberge over this matter?”
“I wondered about that.” He stopped his scrubbing and stared at the ground, a crease between his brows. “As soon as I heard that Marcel Faberge had been murdered, I asked myself whether it had something to do with the doping of that horse, Legs-Alone. But who would do such a mad thing? Not Billy, not the jockey, not the owner who lives over the sea and doesn’t care about anything except his profits. Not even that man who approached me whose face I would recognize if I saw it again. So then I thought to myself, a man like Marcel Faberge must have many enemies. This was not necessarily connected to horseracing, which was no more than a hobby for him. But now you are here asking questions, and I am asking myself again whether it is connected.”
“All I can tell you is that I’m talking to everyone,” Eulalie said. “As you say, Faberge had many potential enemies. I am trying to look into all of them.”
“Good.” He gave a nod. “It is not right to kill someone for any reason, but especially not over a horse. I love horses and I work with them every day, but they are not people, is it not so?”
Fleur and Eulalie agreed that horses were not people. They thanked Eugene for his time and wished him well at his next job.
As they headed back to the docks to catch their ferry, Fleur asked Eulalie how she could stand working in a job where she put so much effort in for so little reward.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, this whole afternoon was a waste of time, wasn’t it? We learned nothing useful. At least when I spend hours creating an elaborate dessert, I have something to show for it afterwards.”
Eulalie laughed. “Yes – an empty plate. Your desserts get demolished in ten minutes flat.”
“Not before I take a picture of them and post it to my Instagram page. I don’t mean to disrespect what you do, but it seems very frustrating to me.”
“I see why you might think that, but every investigation is a slow process of elimination. Even the dead-ends will prove to have been useful in the end. You’ll see.”
The smell of the sea became stronger as they approached the docks. They would make the five o’clock ferry and be back in Queen’s Town by half past five. That would give Eulalie the whole evening to devote to her next project, which was figuring out how Marcel Faberge had known so much about Fleur’s business. Now she just had to persuade her friend to turn over all her electronic devices for inspection. She should probably soften her up a bit first.
“I’ll buy you an ice-cream on board the ferry,” she said as the docks came into view. “To say thanks for coming with me.”
“Cool. I’m in the mood for a caramel swirl.”
Chapter 12
It wasn’t hard to persuade Fleur to give Eulalie access to all her electronics, especially after the caramel swirl. Her only condition was that Eulalie should work with the devices on site at the coffeeshop after closing time, rather than taking them back to her office. Eulalie was happy to comply. Fleur had a large and heavy desktop computer, as well as a laptop and other portable devices.
Another bonus was that she got dinner while she worked. Fleur served her a bowl of beef and barley stew with a slice of sourdough bread. She also primed the coffee machine for a double espresso, and showed Eulalie where to press START when she was ready for it.
She installed Eulalie in her office at the back of the coffeeshop and turned off all but the security lights at the front. Then she locked up the premises and went home to get her own dinner ready. It was six-thirty.
Eulalie downloaded the software she needed and hooked up Fleur’s laptop, tablet, and cell phone to the desktop computer, so she could scan all of them at the same time. She suspected that Fleur’s operating system had been hacked, and hoped that tracing the hack was not beyond her capacity. Her university degree had been in criminology and computer science, but technology moved forward at such a pace that you had to make a constant effort to keep up to date. Eulalie attended digital conferences whenever she could, and kept her skills honed. Prince William Island was a popular destination venue for tech companies.
Fleur had been complaining lately about spam emails and popups advertising online gambling every time she tried to access the internet. Eulalie hadn’t paid much attention at the time, beyond advising her to change her password to something a little more challenging than her dog’s name. Now she realized these were indications that Fleur had been hacke
d. If you wanted to spy on a competitor these days, hacking under the cover of being an online gambling site was a clever way to do it. You could monitor their incoming and outgoing communications, from emails to text messages to online phone services like Skype or Facetime. They would keep closing your annoying popups, but not think much about them.
It quickly became apparent that Eulalie was right. A remote user had hacked into Fleur’s computer system and was monitoring all her online and offline activities. They had even accessed the front-facing camera on her laptop, meaning they could see and hear her while she worked.
The remote user confined its activities to daylight hours when Fleur was more likely to be using her devices.
Right now, the remote user was inactive, which gave Eulalie the freedom to trace it back to its source without triggering an alert in real time. Tomorrow morning, the user would know what Eulalie had been up to, but by then it would be too late. An IP address flashed up on her screen, which was a good start. She downloaded a GPS plug-in to trace the physical location of the IP address.
It came as no great shock when the IP address was traced to the same office park that housed Faberge Industries. Marcel Faberge had obviously ordered the hacking and monitoring of Fleur’s communications, and had kept tabs on her business strategies like that. But still Eulalie wasn’t satisfied. She remembered conversations she and Fleur had had about the organic foods festival that hadn’t taken place in this office. She remembered a hand-drawn design for a poster that she and Fleur had worked on at the counter of the coffeeshop, far away from any electronic devices. How had Faberge known about that?
There was more to this than just hacking, and she needed to figure out what it was.
She forked stew into her mouth with one hand, while inputting code with the other. She was just considering the possibility of engineering a reverse-hack into the mainframe of Faberge Industries when she heard a sound.
It was eight o’clock at night on Lafayette Drive, so sounds were hardly out of place, but this was different. It was a stealthy, shuffling noise, as though someone were trying very hard not to be heard. It was also close – close enough to have come from inside the building.
The Complete H-Series of The Eulalie Park Mysteries Page 11
