Page 8 of No Rules
Ryan flipped through the file. God, he loved organized people. His mind raced with questions and potential leads as he tried to piece together the puzzle. “Is there anyone you suspect might be behind this? Anyone with a grudge against you or your horses? Any reason someone would want to do this? I know this is a tough question because no one likes accusing others, but it could give us a place to start.”
Marilyn hesitated for a moment, her gaze dropping to the floor. “One person comes to mind. Caroline Fletcher, a rival breeder. She’s been my proverbial nemesis for years, but I never thought she’d be capable of something like this. Still, she’s the only person I can think of who hates me enough to hurt my horses.”
“Caroline Fletcher,” Ryan repeated, filing the name away. He made a mental note to look into her background and connections as soon as possible. “We’ll look into her. Who had access to Sam’s Promise before the race?”
“Only my stable hands and Miguel, the jockey, but they’ve been with me for years. I trust them.”
The sound of the front door opening snapped Ryan’s attention away from Marilyn. A tall, attractive man walked into the room, his confident stride carrying him across the hardwood floor. He bent over Marilyn and kissed her forehead. “Sorry for being late, darling.”
Darling? The man was a good deal younger than Marilyn, and Ryan had figured he was Marilyn’s son, but the look that passed between them was anything but platonic.
The man extended a hand to Ryan. “Sam Kroll, Marilyn’s partner. I apologize for being late, but I had a difficult delivery.”
Delivery? “Ryan Mason. You’re a doctor?”
“A vet. Had to deliver a calf that was in breech position, and it took longer than I had expected.”
He shook Alex’s hand as well, then sat on the armrest of Marilyn’s chair.
“How long have you been together?” Ryan asked.
“About five years.” Sam raised his chin ever so slightly.
“Sam’s Promise was named after Sam,” Marilyn said. “He’s been such a rock for me through all this.” Her eyes shimmered with gratitude as she looked at her partner.
“Of course.” Sam kissed the top of her head. “You’re not alone in this.”
The first rule of homicides was that the closest relatives were always the first suspects, especially partners. Ryan reckoned that held true for a horse murder as well. As a veterinarian, Sam would have access to the drugs administered to Sam’s Promise. And though it wasn’t nice of Ryan, the age gap between Sam and Marilyn made him suspicious. He was a cynical bastard, so sue him.
“So, Sam, as a vet, you know all the ins and outs of EPO, I’m sure. What can you tell me?”
Sam’s face tightened, but then he nodded. “I’m not an expert in that area, but I can give you the basics. EPO is the abbreviation for erythropoietin, a hormone naturally produced by the kidneys that plays a critical role in oxygen transport. It stimulates the production of red blood cells, which carry oxygen to all the cells and organs in the body. The synthetic version has been known to be used by athletes to enhance performance, especially in endurance sports, as the extra oxygen helps prevent muscle acidification.”
Endurance sports. That was where Ryan had come across EPO. “There have been EPO scandals in the Tour de France.”
His brother-in-law loved watching that, even though the man was a true Texas cowboy and had never ridden a bike. Somehow he’d taken a liking to the sport and watched all the big cycling races.
Sam nodded. “That’s one example. Marathon runners have also been caught using it.”
Alex cleared his throat. “Excuse me, but how long was the race Sam’s Promise was running?”
That was a good question. Ryan hadn’t thought of that, but it couldn’t have been an endurance event. Horse races were usually sprints.
“Ten furlongs, or one and a quarter mile,” Marilyn said.
“Would injecting EPO be beneficial for such a short race?” Ryan asked Sam.
Sam pressed his lips together. “I can’t say for sure because it’s not my area of expertise, but I don’t think it would have a huge effect. Maybe if the horse had been using EPO for a longer period and had been running longer distances before the race, giving the body time to build the extra red blood cells.”
“But that would mess with his training schedule,” Marilyn said. “They train for ten furlongs, not more. Longer distances necessitate a different approach. Plus, that would require multiple injections of EPO, so someone would’ve needed access that whole time.”
That made sense. Ryan had participated in track and field in high school, and he’d always focused on the endurance events because he had the build to go long but not fast. “So how did the EPO cause Sam’s Promise to die?”
“I haven’t seen the necropsy report, but my guess is a blood clot. Excessive levels of red blood cells lead to thickening of the blood,” Sam explained. “My assumption is he threw a blood clot that caused cardiac arrest.”
Ryan winced. What a sad, gruesome way for that poor horse to die. “And you said EPO is easily detected?”
“It’s on the list of banned substances,” Marilyn said. “After the race, the officials always take urine and blood samples from the winners. Standard procedure. And EPO is one of the things they check for.”