Behind the Bonehouse (15 page)

“I don't know what to say. It somehow doesn't seem possible.”

“Yep.”

“What was in the vial?”

“Don't rightly know.”

“I can't really picture him committing suicide.”

“No?”

“He was too enamored with himself. But then I didn't know him that well.”

“His cat was dead too. And there was drops of the fluid from the vial by Carl's bed there on the floor beside her body, like she'd been injected too maybe. The M.E. will check her out, to see if he can find an injection site.”

“What kind of person would do that? Deliberately kill a cat?”

“Don't know. But you could be a big help if you'd take a look at a couple things.”

“Sure.”

“Carl left what looks like a suicide note, but he hid a journal too, and it's real contradictory to what got said in the note.”

“How?”

“Well, first, you got any idea what that fluid might be? Thought maybe it might be somethin' Carl got from Equine.” Earl pulled two plastic bags out of his satchel and handed them to Alan—one containing the glass vial with the black plastic lid, the other a wet looking Q-tip. “We've already photographed and printed the vial, and taken samples of the fluid, so you can take the lid off and give it a sniff. We took prints ourselves, but we'll send everything along to the state police lab in Frankfort too. The other bag's got the swab we used to take a sample of the fluid on the floor by the cat. Seems like the same thing to us.”

Alan unscrewed the lid, using the plastic bag to keep from leaving prints, and held the bottle three or four inches below his nose, then waved his other hand toward his face across the open top so he could get a whiff without inhaling much, in case the substance was toxic.

Alan screwed the lid back on, then smelled the Q-tip, and said, “It's the same substance in both. It's made by Bayer in Germany. It's called Bayer L 13/59. It's generally known as Dylox here in the States. It's an organophosphate we've tested at Equine, but decided not to work with.”

“What's an organophosphate?”

“An insecticide. Bob wanted us to investigate treatments for fleas and lice and ringworm. But we both agreed this was too toxic, and he's decided it's not a product line he wants to get into. Not as an application for using on horses, and not with a product like that. Nor does he want to expand now into products for dogs and cats. We stopped the experiments last summer, having done a handful of tests in the lab.”

“So Carl would've known about it?”

“Sure. He did some of the bench work.”

“Could it kill somebody?”

“Oh, yeah. But an analytical lab would have a heck of a time identifying it in human tissue. At least with the instruments most of them have now. It works by inhibiting acetyl-cholinesterase. So basically, without going into all the chemistry, in addition to everything else it does, it would paralyze the respiratory center, and you'd stop breathing fast. If you ate it, you'd be sick as a dog before you died. But if you injected it, you'd die within seconds, and pretty much painlessly. Even if you just injected it in a muscle death would be that quick. You wouldn't have to shoot it directly into a vein.”

“It'd kill a cat too?”

“Oh, sure. Bob could tell you a lot more about it. I'm a chemical engineer. He's a pathologist, as well as a vet.”

“That's a brand new way to kill somebody that not too many would know about.” Earl was leaning back in his director's chair, the chair's front legs off the ground, his thumbs hooked inside his belt, his big legs straight in front of him, his eyes fixed on Alan.

“But Carl would've known all about it.”

“I'd like ya to take a look at this.” Earl pulled the plastic bag out of his satchel and handed it to Alan. “I found that syringe by Carl's bed.”

Alan held the bag up and studied it without taking the syringe out. “It's one of the disposable types labs and doctors are starting to use.”

Neither of them said anything else for a while. Alan ate the rest of his sandwich, and drank some of his iced tea. Earl sipped, then hummed for a minute, something that sounded almost like a hymn, but could've been an old time mountain song. “I told you about the note.”

“Yeah.”

“I got me a Xerox here.” He handed it to Alan, who read it fast, then shook his head in disbelief. “That makes it sound like he couldn't go on because of losing his job, and his wife, and then having the cat die on him. Right?”

“Yep. That make sense to you?”

Alan stared at the pond for a second, before he turned to Earl. “Not really. But like I said, I didn't know him that well.”

“Did you like what you did know?”

“No. I didn't. He took a formula Bob and I developed up to a guy in Canada and tried to get him to manufacture it up there, which was stealing, first of all, and a violation of his contract too. He did it in cahoots with Butch Morgan, who was production manager then. But Carl was definitely the instigator. When Bob brought in the lawyers, and fired Carl, and made that all go away, when he could've gotten Carl sent to jail, was Carl grateful that he didn't? No. Carl sicced his neighbor, who's an IRS auditor, onto Equine Pharmaceuticals. He spent two months hounding Bob and only found two thousand bucks in inventory allocation that could even be considered iffy, and then only depending on how one accountant or another decides to interpret it. So basically he found nothing.”

“Bein' investigated musta burned Bob.”

“It did. But I'm the one Carl hated. He thought every attempt I made to improve processes in the lab, which is what I was hired to do, was nothing but a personal attack.”

“So that's gone on awhile.”

“Almost two years. Pretty much since the day I arrived. And then I found out two weeks ago—when the auditor showed up here unannounced—that Carl had also gotten him to investigate Jo and me,
and
her part-time architectural business,
and
the broodmare-care business Toss runs with her. Carl was a vindictive person, Earl. And he'd started a vendetta against me.”

“Anybody corroborate that?”

“Sure. Bob Harrison. His lawyer. Jo. Does it need corroboration?”

“Would you say Bob holds a grudge?”

“No. I mean he's disgusted by Carl, like you'd expect. But nothing out of the ordinary. He's reacted like an honest man faced with someone who's dishonest who's done him deliberate harm. You have to learn to see it for what it is, and then go on about your business. Bob's worked for a big pharmaceutical company. He's had his own equine vet practice. He's taught in vet schools. He's got all kinds of experience with business politics and career ambition, and he knows how to walk away.”

Earl didn't say anything else for a minute. He just gazed out at the pond, tapping his index fingers on the arms of his chair. “Carl said it was you who'd been threatenin' and tormentin' him. Said he feared for his life at your hands. Not those words exactly, but that's the gist of it.”

“What! Where'd he say that?”

“In a journal he hid for safe keepin'.”

“Crap.” Alan stared at Earl for a minute, his heart picking up speed, a wave of heat rolling up his chest, cresting against his face. “May I see the journal?”

Earl hesitated and crossed his arms before he said, “Don't figure it'd be proper for me to let ya see it.”

Jo walked out of the kitchen, and stood behind them, right at the back of the arbor. “Earl, your deputy's here. Pete somebody.”

“Phelps. Thanks. Would you mind tellin' him to wait in his truck? I'll be there in a second.”

Jo nodded and went back in the house, before Alan said, “What's going on Earl?”

“You ever seen this?” He handed Alan the plastic bag holding the black enamel pen with the engraved gold rim.

Alan looked at it without taking it out, and said, “Jo gave it to me as a wedding present. It's been missing a couple of weeks. I had it in my desk in the lab, and then it just disappeared. I came to work and it was gone. I lock my desk when I leave at night, and my office too, so having it go missing didn't make sense. I asked people in the lab if they'd seen it, thinking maybe I left it someplace, or it fell out of my pocket. So they'll pro'bly know how long ago that was. Where did you find it?”

“Under Carl's bed. Right under his body.”

“No!” Alan swung his chair around to face Earl, his face red and his green eyes on fire, his hands crushing the arms of his chair. “I didn't put it there! I've never even been in his house. I can't believe you're telling me this!”

“I gotta ask ya, ya know I do. Where was you last night?”

“Do you really think I'd murder Carl and kill his cat? Earl! Come on! You know me. I'd never do something like that.”

“I wouldn't think so. I wouldn't. But I gotta do my job.”

“I know. Damn. I know you do.” Alan sat frozen for a minute. He even ignored Emmy when she came up and laid her head on his knee. “I got home from work a little before six. I changed my clothes, and was going out for a walk with Emmy when the phone rang, and a man's voice said it was Virgil Shafer calling, and that a horse Bob had injected with an experimental vaccine that morning was having a bad reaction, and he couldn't get Bob on the phone. He said he'd called another vet to come out, but I should come too.

“I jumped in the car, and drove out McCracken Pike as fast as I could.” Alan stopped and stared at Earl. “Nobody was there. Nobody. The horse was fine too. So I figured it was a crank call. Or something more sinister that didn't make any sense. Anyway, I got Virgil on the phone about ten last night, and he said he never called. He and his family had gone to a potluck supper and Wednesday night service at their church. That the horse had had no reaction at all, and somebody was pulling my leg.”

“That make any sense?”

“No, it doesn't. I can't think of anybody who would've done it as a joke.”

“What about the other guy ya mentioned. Butch.”

“I s'ppose he could've done it, but it doesn't sound much like him. He's drinking a lot and kind of having trouble organizing anything. At least from what I can tell.”

“How was he with Carl?”

“As far as I know they were commiserating with each other for having been treated unfairly. Strange, don't you think? When they were the ones who stole the formulas and were trying to go into business to compete with Bob?”

“Was Jo here when you got the call?”

“She was driving Jack Freeman up to Cincinnati to catch a plane to France.”

“Toss?”

“Nope. He brings the pregnant mares in about five during foaling season, then goes on home for dinner. He comes back around nine or so, to keep an eye on them during the night.”

“So somebody who knew you folks, and the farm here and all, could know that?”

“Yeah. They wouldn't have known Jo was going to be gone, necessarily. Even if she's working away from home, she's usually home by six. And whoever it was would have to have known that the horse was inoculated yesterday.”

“Got any ideas?”

“No. Right now I'm in a state of shock.”

“Somebody did see your car last night on McCracken Pike, there where it gets to be Elm Street, so you explainin' why you was there's a real good thing.”

“I can't believe this is happening. I can't.” Alan was breathing fast, his eyes boring into Earl, both feet tapping the old brick floor.

“Is it true that you accosted Carl at Keeneland during the races?”

“Geeze, Earl. It sounds like you're actually seeing me as a serious suspect!”

“I have to, Alan. I do. Not that I believe it. But I gotta follow through.”

“I know. I know.” Alan set both hands on his head and held them there while he spoke. “Yes. I did confront him at Keeneland. It was right after the IRS guy showed up here and started the ‘investigation,' and Carl walked up to me and said, with an intentionally insulting smirk on his face, how he heard I was in trouble with the IRS. He'd set the whole investigation up! And him saying that was a deliberate slap in the face. Rubbing salt in the wound might be a better way to put it. So I did yell at him. And I regretted it afterwards. And I went to his house a couple days later to apologize. He was there. His car was in the drive. But he wouldn't come to the door. So I wrote him a note of apology and stuck it in the front door.”

“But you don't have a copy?”

“No. I just grabbed a legal pad out of my briefcase and wrote him a quick note.”

“You ever been in Carl's house?”

“No. Never. I told you that a minute ago.”

“Right. I gotta have Pete get your fingerprints. And get a sample of your handwriting too. I'm just doing that with everybody. Miz Seeger too, 'cause you never know what you'll find, and I'm just trying to anticipate every eventuality.”

“Fine.”

“Then I'd like to get your permission to examine your house and your car. You don't have to let me do that. You could make me get a warrant. But if you've never been in Carl's house, we can use what we find to clear your name. If there're no fragments of carpet in your shoes, or dirt from his grounds in your car, and that kinda thing, it'll help you prove your innocence.”

“Fine with me. Whatever you have to do.”

“You folks use Selectric typewriters at Equine?”

“We have a couple. Maybe three or four.”

“Ya got one here?”

“No. Why would you ask that?”

Earl didn't say anything for a minute. He seemed to be considering how best to answer as he finished his tea and stared at the pond, then leaned forward with his elbows on his thighs, clasping his hands between his knees. “I think it'd be better if I didn't explain. It'd make it better for you in the long run.”