Page 7 of No Rules
“Thoroughbreds. We sell most, but we keep a few each year to race with.”
Ryan had known that already from the quick background check he’d done, but he wanted to hear everything from Marilyn herself, in her own words. “You’re from this area originally?”
“My family has owned this farm since the mid-eighteen hundreds.” She gestured to the main house. “Please, let’s sit and talk.”
They followed her inside. The living room was cozy and inviting, with worn leather furniture and shelves filled with horse racing memorabilia. One glass display cabinet showed off countless trophies and medals.
Marilyn sat in an armchair, her back straight as a rod, while Ryan and Alex sat on the couch.
“Tell us, in your own words, what happened and why you wanted to hire us,” Ryan prompted, his eyes fixed on her face as he cataloged her every move and expression.
“Are you familiar with horse racing?”
“Not at all.”
“Okay, so let me start by saying that the Travers Stakes is the most prominent race on the Saratoga Race Course. It’s a classic that’s been held since 1864, the year after the track opened. My great-great-great-grandfather was there, by the way, so that tells you how deep my family’s roots are in the track. The Travers Stakes is a Grade One Thoroughbred horse race for three-year-olds, held annually in late August. This year, I entered my horse, Sam’s Promise.”
“What does Grade One mean?”
“Races are categorized into different grades based on the kinds of horses that participate, the historical significance of the race, and the prize money offered. Grade One races are the most elite, so to speak.”
“Gotcha. Please continue.”
“Sam’s Promise was doing great during the race.” Marilyn’s eyes welled up with tears, and she took a deep breath. “But when he reached the final stretch, he…collapsed. Miguel, the jockey riding him, went down as well, breaking his clavicle and arm in the process. When I reached them, it was already too late. Sam’s Promise had died.”
“What was your first reaction?”
“Shock. Utter disbelief. But I thought it was a tragic accident, you know? It happens on occasion, no matter how well we take care of our horses and how often they’re checked.”
That much Ryan knew. He didn’t follow horse racing, but he’d seen news reports about horses collapsing or fatal injuries during races. “When did you find out it hadn’t been an accident?”
Her face tightened. “The New York State Gaming Commission suspected foul play and requested the Saratoga Police to investigate. They asked the equine pathologist to perform a necropsy, and she discovered Sam’s Promise had been doped with EPO.”
Alex had been listening while occasionally tapping something on his phone, and a quick glance sideways confirmed he was taking some notes. Smart. Hopefully, he’d written down that they’d have to look into what EPO was. It rang a bell, but Ryan couldn’t place it. “Who did the necropsy?”
“Dr. Eve Simmons, a well-respected equine pathologist. We’ve known each other for years, and I don’t doubt her conclusions. But of course the police didn’t believe me when I told them I knew nothing about it. They suspect an insurance scam, that I killed him to make money.” She shook her head, her eyes blazing. “As if I would ever kill a horse. And besides, if I wanted to do that, I sure as hell wouldn’t use EPO. It’s far too easily detected.”
Hmm, interesting. Of course she could’ve used EPO because it was so obvious, but that defied logic.
The fire went out of her eyes, and she sagged a little. “The cops are building their case and told me to expect charges against me once they have enough evidence.”
“Well, if you didn’t do it, the latter’s gonna be a problem,” Ryan said. “There can’t be evidence against you if you’re innocent, so that should buy us some time.”
Marilyn leaned forward. “I need you to find out who did this. Sam’s Promise meant the world to me, and I can’t let his death go unpunished.”
Her first thought was for the horse, not her reputation. Everything she’d said so far led Ryan to believe she was innocent—and he’d become a good judge of character over the years.
“I have to be honest with you, Marilyn. I don’t know much about horse racing or breeding.” He studied her for any signs of doubt. “But if you entrust me with this case, I’m committed to figuring out who did this to Sam’s Promise.”
Marilyn nodded, her expression fierce and determined. “I’ll help you in any way I can. Anything you need, let me know. I’ve instructed my staff to talk to you, and you have free access to my farm, my finances, anything you want. We have a security system, and I’ve already put the footage from the three weeks before the race onto a hard drive for you.”
“Good. Then I’ll gladly take the case.”
She blew out a breath. “Thank you. I need to know who did this.”
“Do you have any documents related to this case other than the security footage? Emails, reports, news articles, anything the police gave you?”
“Of course.” Marilyn reached into a drawer beside her chair, pulled out a thick file folder, and handed it to Ryan. “I’ve gathered everything I could find since the incident because I figured you’d need it. Unfortunately, the police weren’t willing to give me a copy of the necropsy report, and the cops told me not to contact Eve Simmons, so I only know the conclusion. But if you need more information, just let me know.”