Just Horsing Around

Chapter 3

“Did she have a heart attack?” I asked, immediately pushing past Corey and leaning down over her. I pressed my fingers against her neck, and the lack of pulse told me that it was too late.

“I don’t think it was a heart attack,” Corey said weakly, motioning to my hands. I suddenly noticed what he meant. Her neck had a thick red mark around it; I’d seen enough episodes of CSI to know that she’d been strangled. No doubt about it.

Almost as if on autopilot, I pulled out my phone and dialled 9-1-1. I told them to come to Gibson Farms, that there was a body and a probable murder.

When I hung up, I saw Corey on his radio. He was telling Susan to expect the police to come, and to make sure she didn’t come to the stable, that Caroline was dead and he didn’t want her to see the body.

Corey and I looked at each other, grim-faced, neither one of us talking. This wasn’t the first body I’d ever come across, I’d found a man who had broken into my vet clinic to try and save himself before. But this wasn’t easier. It wasn’t the sort of thing that you got used to after doing it once.

Suddenly, I saw two men coming over from the paddock. One was obviously a jockey; he was shorter than me, and was dressed in riding gear. The other man was taller, but still not very tall, with an aquiline face, dark hair and eyes and a short beard. He looked to be in his early 50s. He had a serious face, but his clothes were casual: a polo shirt and jeans.

“Corey,” the jockey called out. “Is it true? Is she dead?”

Corey nodded as the men came near.

“Yes, Tony, it’s true.”

“Good,” the man replied, spitting on the ground to the side of the body. “Good riddance.”

I openly stared at the man. I mean, sure, Caroline Gibson wasn’t the nicest person I’d ever met, by far, but hadn’t he ever heard of not speaking ill of the dead? And at the very least, was spitting next to her body not an overreaction?

“We think she’s been murdered,” Corey said quietly, and the two men stared.

“Murder?” the other man asked, with the same voice and accent as I’d heard on the radio with Corey before. This must have been Philippe, the trainer.

Corey nodded, and motioned to her neck. The two men were careful not to touch the body as they looked. Finally, Tony, the jockey, let out a low whistle.

“Damn. I mean, the lady wasn’t exactly popular, but murder?”

“But who could have done it?” Philippe muttered almost under his breath.

Suddenly, we all looked at each other, all of us having the same thought, but none of us daring to actually say it out loud. Susan had told me all about the ultra security on the grounds. Only someone who was already in Gibson Farms could have killed Caroline Gibson.

Just then, Susan came rushing forward, followed by three policemen that I didn’t recognize. As soon as she saw Caroline’s body lying on the ground, from around 200 feet away, she stopped and put her hand to her mouth, motioning for the policemen to keep going.

I instantly knew which man was in charge. He was in his early 40s or so, enormously fat, with a dusting of what I was pretty sure was icing sugar on the front of his shirt. His badge was prominently displayed, clipped to his pocket, and he walked with a swagger that only a small-town police chief who thinks he’s much more important than he actually is can pull off.

“Daniels, Mahoney, seal off the crime scene. Kelly, take the witnesses into the house and separate them, along with anyone else on the property.”

“Yes, sir,” the three men replied, almost in unison.

“Um, excuse me?” I asked, “I’m wondering if you know how long this is going to take? I have plans for tonight,” I said, remembering the date with Jason.

The man turned and glared at me.

“Girly, this is a murder investigation, it’ll take as long as it’ll take. Now go to the house or I’ll arrest you for obstruction.”

What on earth? Overreaction, much? Too stunned to reply I let myself be led back to the house by the officer who must have been Kelly, a bald man who looked like he spent way too much time in both the gym and the kitchen. He was muscular, but also very much on the chubby side. None of us said anything as we were led back to the house.

I barely noticed the incredible opulence inside the Gibson home when I entered. Instead, I heard someone crying from one of the rooms off to the side, probably Ellie Gibson.

“There’s a bunch of rooms down that hallway,” Corey told the cop, who nodded briskly at him. We went down the hall Corey mentioned, and the first door opened led into a library.

“You,” the cop said, motioning to me. “You can wait here. Don’t leave.”

I went into the room, and the door was quickly shut behind me. I forced myself to steady my breathing. This was a lot to take in. Caroline Gibson had been killed, and probably by someone I’d met today. I wondered who else was on the property.

I also quickly realized that I wasn’t going to be able to make my date with Jason. But I could still make his night if I told him why; Jason was a journalist, and the local paper came out once a week, on Fridays. It was Thursday now, I wondered if he would have time to submit something to his editor and have it published in time. After all, the Willow Bay Weekly wasn’t exactly a high volume publication.

Hey, I have to cancel our date tonight. But I have a hot scoop for you. Caroline Gibson’s been murdered.

I barely had to wait thirty seconds for the reply.

Really? Are you ok?

I am, thanks. And it’s true. It looks like she was strangled, sometime in the last hour or so. I’m waiting to give my statement.

I guess that’s a legit excuse for cancelling our date if I’ve ever heard one. Thanks for the tip.

Knowing Jason would immediately be driving out here to try and get more information, or writing his article if he had the time, I didn’t reply. Instead, I put my phone down and tried not to think about the fact that I’d likely met a murderer this afternoon.

I got up and paced around the room. I really, really hoped this wasn’t going to take too long. I had nothing except my thoughts around, and the memory of Caroline Gibson’s body lying there on the ground, all the life gone out of her forever.

Wandering around the library for a while I looked at some books, tried reading a leather-bound copy of Pride and Prejudice, but found that I couldn’t focus on the words at all.

The sun was heading down to the horizon before the door finally opened and that same fat cop came in, his face now covered in a thin layer of sweat. He was beet red, and a vein was bulging from his head so far I wondered if he wasn’t about to have a heart attack.

“Alright, girly,” he told me. “Sit down, I gotta take your statement.”

I bristled at the use of the word “girly”. It was so patronizing, and I knew that was how he meant it. I made sure to wait a minute before sitting, and even then I placed myself on the edge of an armrest. It wasn’t that I hated cops; in fact I wondered why Chief Gary, the police chief in Willow Bay wasn’t here, it was just that I hated bullies, and I knew immediately that this man was a bully.

“Why isn’t Chief Gary here?” I asked before he got started.

The man grunted. “Mr. Bigshot is out of his jurisdiction here, this farm falls on the Wawnee Police Department. I’m the chief there, Chief Hawthorne. Speaking of, you’re the one who got kidnapped by the drug guy a week ago, aren’t you?”

I nodded.

“And you were the one almost killed by Zoe Wright a few months ago?”

Again, I nodded.

“I need spoken words to my answers, missy.”

“Yes,” I replied. I wasn’t going to give this guy any more information than I had to, I had a bad feeling about him.

“So you’ve been involved in three murders now recently.”

Hawthorne looked at me expectantly. Finally, after about thirty seconds had passed, he said, “I told you I need spoken words to my answers. I won’t tell you again.”

“I didn’t hear a question, just a statement,” I replied. The vein in his head bulged, and I swear his face grew a shade more purple.

“Don’t get smart with me girly, or I’ll have you arrested.”

I definitely didn’t like this guy.

“Tell me what happened today.”

“I was called out to look at Touch of Frost, who was lethargic and not eating. I came to the farm, and Susan took me to Corey, who brought me into the stables. I looked over Touch of Frost with Corey, and found a tick that he must have gotten in Arizona a couple days ago. I got rid of the tick, and Corey and I headed out of the stables to take me back to my car. As soon as Corey opened the stable door we saw the body. I checked for a pulse, but she was obviously dead. I called 9-1-1, and then Corey told Susan to be ready for you on the radio. Philippe and Tony heard the radio call and came over, then a few minutes later you arrived.”

The whole time I spoke Hawthorne took down some notes.

“Were you alone at all during your time on the farm?”

“Yes. Corey got a call from Philippe that he needed a hand with one of the horses, so Corey went out there for about fifteen minutes.”

“So you were alone for fifteen minutes, is what you’re telling me,” he said, writing furiously.

“Y-yes,” I said, feeling my heart rate rise. Was this guy honestly thinking that I might have had something to do with the murder?

“Did you know Caroline Gibson at all?”

“I met her for about two minutes, as I was walking to the stables. She told her daughter to come with us, but Ellie left as soon as we reached the stables.”

“What did you think of the woman?”

I shrugged. “I didn’t really speak to her for long enough to make an impression,” I said. Sure, I was lying. But this guy already seemed to be thinking I might be responsible for the murder, and I didn’t want to give him even more ammunition. Plus, I really wanted to emphasize that I barely knew Caroline Gibson, which was completely true.

“Alright, missy. Since you don’t have an alibi for the time of the murder, I want you to know that you’re officially a person of interest in the crime, and you’re not to leave the state. I also need your contact information in case we need to speak to you again.”

Mutely, I handed over a business card. A person of interest? In a murder?

“I must say, I find it highly suspicious that you’ve now been involved in three murders in just a few months. What do you have to say about that?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Coincidence,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. Person of interest. I was a person of interest. Oh my God, how was this happening to me?

“I’ll stay in the state,” I said, getting up off the chair. I couldn’t wait to get out of this house and into the fresh air. I really needed some fresh air. This was not good. This was not good at all.

Three minutes later I was standing in front of my car, inhaling the night air. There were cops everywhere; there had to be at least seven or eight cars and vans with POLICE, MEDICAL EXAMINER, CRIME SCENE TECHNICIANS and other official sounding titles on the sides. I got into the car and left the property. I had a look for Jason’s car, but it wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

About a mile away from the house I pulled over to the side of the road, put my head on the steering wheel and started crying my eyes out. I’d seen a dead person today, and now I was a major suspect in her murder. They weren’t even tears of anything in particular, just the stress of the day.

After about five minutes I pulled myself together and continued the drive home.

Sophie and Charlotte, my sister, were expecting news about my date with Jason. Boy were they in for a surprise.