“As a matter of fact, yes.”
“Were they able to identify the serotype?”
“Yes, that’s the strange part. It turns out it’s the VanMark strain of EVA virus.”
A moment of silence passed between them. Kent listened, expecting Holmes to continue. He did not. So Kent nudged him.
“Is that particularly significant?”
“Absolutely. The VanMark strain is not a field strain. It’s a research strain, cultured and maintained at a few research facilities and veterinary vaccine companies throughout the world. I had a couple of my interns check it out. The VanMark strain has never been reported in a natural outbreak of Equine Viral Arteritis.”
“Then where did it come from in the first place?”
“Actually, it’s a mutant strain that was discovered accidentally back in the 1950s by one Doctor Bernard VanMark, a guy who was researching EVA. The important thing that he noted was that it stimulated better immunity in test horses than the natural strains.”
“In other words, it made a good vaccine.”
“Exactly. And that was back when there was a real push to develop an EVA vaccine. As it turns out, there were other problems with it.” Dr. Holmes’s voice dropped to a hollow tone, “Not the least of which was that it caused severe symptoms of EVA in some horses that were vaccinated with it.”
Kent’s lips shifted into a thin smile of satisfaction as another piece of the puzzle fell into place. “That would explain why Charter Oak got so sick.”
Dr. Holmes did not veer. “So, it really never went anywhere. But, to this day, the VanMark strain is maintained at places that study EVA or make vaccines because it’s the model for EVA virus immune stimulation against which all others are compared.”
Kent thought for a minute, assimilating the new information. “The obvious question is: How did it get into Charter Oak?”
“Yep. That’s the big one,” Holmes said. “Has he been off the farm at all?”
“Not in a long time. Not since he raced. And he’s been tested negative for EVA several times since then. Where could he have gone that he could have picked it up?”
“Kentucky is the only state in the U.S. where there is any VanMark, as far as we could find out.”
“Charter Oak hasn’t been to Kentucky in years.” After a thoughtful pause, Kent said, ”You were going to test the other horses at Cedar Cut Farm. Did any others test positive?”
“We tested every horse on the place. All negative.”
“So, it wasn’t brought in by one of those horses.”
“Right. But there were mares that came in for breeding and left before Charter Oak got sick. We haven’t retested them yet, so we can’t rule them out.”
Kent doodled “EVA” on his desk blotter. “They all came in with a clean test. It should have shown up then.”
“How many outside horses came in and left this spring? Give me an estimate.”
“Probably twenty-five. Give or take. It’s not a big farm.”
“Can you get me a list of their names and where they came from? I’ll have my interns track them down.”
“For sure. I’d really appreciate it, and so would the Stanfords. I don’t know where else it could have come from. I’ll have Louise Stanford call you with the list tomorrow. I know she’ll be glad to do it.”
“Good. Tell her I’ll be waiting for her call.”
After Kent hung up, he sat for a long time mulling over what Dr. Holmes had told him. How could Charter Oak have picked up such an unusual strain of EVA? He held out next to no hope that Holmes would find it came in through one of those early mares. If it was exclusively a research strain, not found in nature, someone would have had to get it from a research lab, then get it to Charter Oak. That would require planning — premeditation — on someone’s part. If that were true, harm to a second of the three horses was intentional and malicious.
“Oh, man,” he mumbled to his empty office, “I can hear the ‘We told you so’ from Em and Maria already.”
The worse part about it was, they were starting to sound less crazy.
On the drive from the CVC to Pine Holt, Kent told Emily and Maria what Dr. Holmes had said. As anticipated, the attack on Charles St. Pierre began again with renewed vigor — and carried on right through dinner.
“Outside mares, no way!” Emily said, then filled her mouth with a bite of Margaret’s pot roast. She waved her fork in the air to hold the floor while she chewed and swallowed. Then she said, “Now we know that somebody gave Charter Oak EVA. And I’ll bet anything that Dr. Holmes’s test on those outside mares will back me up. They’ll all be negative.” She gave Kent a sharp look. “Maria and I have said all along, somebody killed our horses. And I’m telling you, it was Charles St. Pierre.”
“You don’t know all those mares will be negative.”
“I know it.”
“Uh-huh. You might lack facts, but you don’t lack confidence. I’ll give you that.”
Emily toned things down with a cagey smile. “You watch and see.”
“That’s what we are going do,” Kent said. “But, for the sake of argument, say the blood tests on the outside horses do come back clean. Given that fact, how would that make a case against Charles?”
“Because he needs the money. We went through this before.”
“Except there’s no money for him in Solar Wind’s death, and even if there was, it’s not a strong enough motive for him to do something so drastic. I’ve known Charles for a lot of years. Granted, he has the personality of a fence post, but I would have gotten some sort of a read if he were trying to pull something like that. He’d have left signs. Maybe slyly ask me about how to kill a horse like, ‘Hey, Doc, I read in the paper about these guys who tried to kill a horse by feeding him stuff that would make him colic. Is that possible?’ That kind of thing. Besides, did he have the opportunity? Think about that. Sure, he could have gotten to Simpatico at the home farm, but can you imagine Charlie, the pseudo-horseman, slinking into half-loco Charter Oak’s stall at Cedar Cut and giving a horse like that a shot of some weird virus? Charter Oak would knock him into next week. No, I’ve got a hunch something else is going on.”
“Oh. So now you’ve got a hunch,” Maria said.
Kent gave her a silly grin. “Poor choice of words.”
“He could hire somebody,” Emily said.
“Maybe, but I doubt it. For one thing, you’re talking coconspirator. You and I both know that in the horse world once two people talk, it’s no longer a secret. Someone always finds out. Not the cops maybe, but the grapevine picks it up. Somebody would have gotten wind of it by now. Secondly, it’s harder to hire someone to do in a horse than to do in a person. Most assassins don’t understand horses, and can’t muster up that feeling of superiority they need because they are intimidated by a horse’s size and strength. Basically, most thugs are afraid of horses. Plus, the whole farm environment is foreign to them. Your average hit man wouldn’t know where to start.”
Dinner went on in silence for a time. Then Emily brightened. “How about Burton Bush? He’s such a loser, always hanging around Charlie and acting all bad.”
Kent shrugged. “Burton does know how to work around horses.”
“And he’s mean enough,” Maria said.
It was common knowledge that before VinChaRo, The Burning Bush had drifted from farm to farm, track to track, working for whoever would hire him, and never for very long. His foul mouth, vicious temper, and heavy drinking had usually gotten him, and Ninja, booted in short order. In fact, those traits had landed him in jail more than once.
“He works for Mr. St. Pierre,” Emily said.
“It would be incredible,” Kent said. “I’ll tell you what. Just so we can say we left no stone unturned, I’ll snoop around and see if Charles has been putting out feelers for a criminal type. My gues
s is he’d probably try at the tracks first. I know vets at several. They may be able to keep an ear open for me.”
Maria and Emily celebrated their victory with more pot roast.
“Well, Maria, it took us pretty much all night,” Emily said, with a sidelong glance at her father, “but now we’re getting somewhere.”
CHAPTER 19
“Morning, Hubris,” Aubrey said, as she rolled open the stall door of VinChaRo’s new top stallion. “Sorry to disturb you, but there’s a young lady in the shed who’s eager to meet you.” Hubris swung his head around like a great boom. Aubrey swore she saw him smile.
Before her eyes, he went from half asleep to treading with excitement. She had to dance to avoid getting her toes stepped on as she haltered him. He rattled out several loud snorts.
“Take it easy,” she said. “I’m going as fast as I can.”
It amazed Aubrey how astute these beasts really were. How many times a day was Hubris’s stall door opened? Many. And he was always the perfect gentleman. Yet somehow, he could sense when he was headed to the breeding shed — and he turned into a high school boy hoping to get lucky.
The other stallions, who also knew where Hubris was headed, snorted a mix of jealousy and encouragement to him as Aubrey led him down the alleyway. In response he pranced even higher.
Aubrey gave a sharp tug on the lead shank, just enough to get his attention. “Hubris, you keep your wits about you.”
Hubris ignored her. He strained forward, shoving Aubrey with his shoulder. Aubrey stopped dead in her tracks, stomped her foot dramatically on the walkway, and wheeled to face him as he skidded to a halt within inches of her. Feigning anger, she snapped the lead shank a little harder this time.
“That’s enough!” she bluffed loudly. “Once more and I’m taking you back to your stall.” But he was not going back, and he knew it. Her scolding was simply her cue for the big horse to settle down, the daily banter between horse and handler. As they proceeded into the shed, he exercised more self-control.
Inside the breeding shed, Charles St. Pierre moved toward the dark bay mare that Burton Bush held in the middle of the cavernous room. Charles cautiously lifted her upper lip, studied her tattoo, making the mandatory one last check. He compared it to the identification on his clipboard.
“Okay. We’re good,” he said. “Burton, you can put the twitch on.”
“I know when to put the damn twitch on,” The Burning Bush said. “You don’t have to tell me every time.”
He took a handful of the mare’s silken muzzle and secured it in a loop of rope at one end of a four-foot wooden handle. The mare, familiar with the procedure, showed no reaction until Burton made one final, unnecessarily severe turn that clinched her nose painfully tight. The mare pulled her head back and squinted cross-eyed at the twitch on her nose.
“You best be holding real still or I’ll sic Ninja on you,” Burton said to the mare, both fists locked on the twitch.
“That dog better not be in here.” Aubrey said. “And ease up on the twitch. That mare’s behaving just fine.”
“Relax. I’m just shittin’ her. Ninja ain’t anywhere around. And damn right, she’s behaving fine. I’ve got her real good.”
“Let up on the twitch, I said, Burton. I mean it.”
Burton sighed and begrudgingly let the twitch slacken on the mare’s nose. “It’s your fault if Hubris gets kicked.”
“You let me worry about that.” Aubrey knew it was essential to protect the stallions. A stallion’s career could be ended in a fraction of a second by a kick from an unruly mare. They couldn’t chance it. But the twitch was supposed to distract the mare, not bring her to her knees. Aubrey managed to ignore Burton’s sloppiness and constant run of off-color remarks, but she wasn’t about to let him hurt the horses. And that was that.
Hubris screamed loudly to the mare. Every person in the room grimaced.
“Jesus. Shut that guy up,” Burton said, as if anyone could.
The equine mating ritual began. The mare turned her rump toward Hubris, raised her tail, squatted slightly, then squirted several pulses of urine.
Hubris followed his cue. He began a rhythm of deep grunts. He pranced in place, neck arched, foamy white saliva bubbling around his lips. Five yards behind the mare, he stopped, raised his muzzle toward the rafters, and rolled back his upper lip, registering the scent from the mare. Aubrey bent, glanced between his hind legs, and confirmed he was ready.
“Okay,” she said, and waved in one of the grooms who approached with a stainless steel pail sloshing soapy water. He gave Hubris’s underside a quick washing.
“Ready,” he said as he ducked to safety.
“Here we come,” Aubrey warned Burton.
“In more ways than one,” Burton said.
“Turn her head this way a little, Burton. Let her see him step up, so she won’t be startled.”
“Yes, Madam.”
Aubrey eased Hubris toward the mare ever so slowly.
Hubris huffed loudly and surged against Aubrey’s firm restraint as he edged toward the focus of his universe. When he was a step or two away from the mare’s left hip, Aubrey eased her hand off his shoulder and slackened the lead. He rose into a flailing twelve-foot biped and stepped to the mare. They were done in less than a minute, during which time participants and observers all fell silent.
Afterwards Hubris stood quietly, tranquility returning. Aubrey patted him on the neck.
Burton unwound the twitch from the mare’s muzzle. “How’d that feel, Girlie?”
Aubrey gave him a fierce look, but didn’t take the bait.
“Okay, that was a good cover,” Charles said. “Last one for this morning. Burton, after you take that mare back, get a couple guys and go set up those new troughs. In paddocks one and five, where we talked about?”
“Yeah, I remember. You showed me six times.”
“Good. Then get at it.”
Burton shuffled away, mare in hand, grumbling as he went.
When Aubrey was sure Hubris was safe and comfortable in his stall, she returned to the shed. Charles was there alone, studying his clipboard.
“Good job done this morning,” he commented when he saw her approach. He tapped his clipboard. “Hopefully, we can cross off five more mares.”
“Yeah, we cooked right along today. It looks like Hubris is going to handle the number one spot for us.” Then she brushed aside the chitchat. “Charles, something really weird happened last night and I think you should know about it.”
They crossed the breeding shed toward the office.
“What’s that?” Charles said, still studying his clipboard as they walked.
“Osvaldo came up to my place. He hung around for a few minutes making small talk, but I could see he was trying to get up the nerve to tell me something. He was really antsy, and you know Osvaldo — Mr. Mellow. When he finally spit it out, I didn’t know what to say, so I’m telling you about it. You know, passing the buck.”
Charles looked at her, paying attention now. “So what’s his problem?”
“He said Burton and some of the other guys were drinking in his apartment.”
“Nothing unusual about that.”
“They were playing cards, but they kept getting drunker until it degenerated into a bull session, I guess. Anyway, they got to bragging, and trying to outdo each other. A lot of that ‘Oh, yeah, well I blah, blah, blah’ crap, you know?”
Charles entered the office ahead of Aubrey. “Yeah, so?”
She was relieved to find it unoccupied. “Burton started blabbing that he killed Simpatico. That’s what.”
Charles spun around so quickly, Aubrey nearly ran into him. His face twisted. He stared at her with eyes that could not hide his anger.
“And he was making a lot of derogatory remarks about you, and Elizabeth, and the
farm,” she added, but it sounded so like a tattletale child that she immediately wished she had not.
Charles blew out a deep breath, getting control. “Could have been the booze talking.”
“It made an impression on Osvaldo.”
“So at least he thinks there is something to it.”
“Oh, yeah, I could tell Osvaldo believes it, all right. And, any way you cut it, it’s way too serious a thing for us to assume it’s nothing.”
Charles toyed with a gold chain at his throat. “What do you think? Should we call him on it?”
“I spent a good part of last night tossing that question around.”
“And?”
She tried to sound confident. “Yeah, I think we should.”
Charles gave her a long, thoughtful stare. Finally, he said, “Just ask him outright if he killed Simpatico?”
Aubrey shrugged. “He’s your man. I was thinking you could contrive some plan to get him aside, maybe have him go over to the Lake House with you to fix something. It doesn’t matter what. Then tell him one-on-one you heard the rumor. You don’t really believe it, but being his friend and all, you figured you owed it to him to let him know. Then we’ll see what sifts out.”
Charles gave Aubrey a doubtful look. “It’s hard to believe he’s going to come right out and admit it.”
“If you can come up with something better, I’m open.”
“Not a lot of options.”
Aubrey nodded slowly.
CHAPTER 20
The Lake House, like VinChaRo, was on Huron Lake, just a couple of miles closer to town. It had been in the St. Pierre family as long as the farm, but nowadays, since Charles and his sister had little interest in the place, it sat pretty much unused. However, like all St. Pierre property, it was maintained immaculately, at an expense Charles considered exorbitant for the amount of use it got. Several times he had approached Elizabeth about selling it. Each time she refused.
“You never know,” she’d say. “Someday I might have grandchildren, then I can put the place to good use. Once it’s gone, we’ll never get it back.”
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