Triple Crown (26 page)

‘Quarter Horse semen?’ I said. ‘Why on earth would anyone want that around a Thoroughbred?’

‘Your guess is as good as mine.’

A notion was stirring in my mind. Something I’d read was hovering somewhere just beneath my consciousness.

Was it to do with Quarter Horses?

Suddenly, like a switch being turned on, I remembered what it was.

George Raworth had grown up on a ranch in Texas that bred Quarter Horses. It was still run by two of his cousins.

Was that where the semen had come from?

Other things also floated to the surface.

‘Tony?’ I said. ‘Are you still there?’

‘Sure am,’ he replied.

‘Could you ask your professor if he can do one more test for me?’

‘He says he can’t do any more than he’s already done. If the DNA of the semen doesn’t match anything that’s registered, then there’s no way of telling exactly
which horse it came from.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m happy with that. The test is for something else.’

‘What?’

‘EVA,’ I said ‘Equine viral arteritis.’

There was a long pause from the other end.

‘What are you implying?’ Tony said eventually.

‘Nothing,’ I lied. ‘I’d just like to know if the EVA virus exists in the semen sample. I read on the Internet that stallions that have been infected shed the EVA virus in
their semen for the rest of their lives. Could you also ask your professor if freezing infected semen would kill the virus or does it preserve it in the same way it preserves the sperm?’

‘I’ll ask him,’ Tony said. ‘But I can’t think why. The infected horses at Churchill Downs were all colts. Surely infected semen would only infect mares during
mating.’

I thought back to the sound of the air being expelled from the air duster, the sound that had come twice from the Preakness Barn on Wednesday night.

‘How about if you squirted it up a colt’s nostrils?’ I said.

‘But why would you?’ Tony said. ‘Semen up the nose wouldn’t do any good.’

I laughed. ‘Not for reproduction, I’ll grant you, but EVA is primarily a respiratory disease. Ask your prof if inhaling EVA-infected semen would make a horse sick.’

‘I’ll call him straight away,’ Tony said.

‘Good. I’ll call you back in an hour.’

We disconnected.

If I was right, and it was a big
if
, then Crackshot should also come down with EVA in the days ahead. And
if
that occurred, George Raworth might have some difficult explaining to
do.

For the time being we had to sit tight and wait.

‘The professor will do the EVA test tomorrow,’ Tony said when I called him back. ‘He wanted to leave it until Monday but I convinced him otherwise. In fact, I
asked him to go into the lab to do it tonight but he’s hosting a birthday dinner for his daughter.’

‘Tomorrow will do fine,’ I said. ‘Did you ask him the other things?’

He laughed. ‘The professor says that he doesn’t know. It seems that no one has ever done any research that involves squirting EVA-infected semen up a horse’s nose. But he did
say that some sexually transmitted diseases in humans could be caught if infected semen gets into the eyes, so he doesn’t see why not, especially as EVA is a respiratory illness. And he also
says that, if the semen does contain EVA, freezing it would not kill the virus. It would still be active when thawed.’ He paused. ‘But are you seriously suggesting that the three colts
that became ill with EVA at Churchill Downs had been purposefully infected by squirting semen up their noses?’

Was I?

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I am.’

‘By whom?’

‘George Raworth,’ I said. ‘And I think he’s done it again here at Pimlico to a horse called Crackshot.’

‘That’s quite an accusation,’ Tony said. ‘Are you sure?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m not sure, but everything seems to fit, at least it will if the professor finds EVA virus tomorrow.’

I now wished I had taken the air duster from the Jeep. I could have had it tested for traces of semen. But it would have been a huge risk. George Raworth might have seen me next to the vehicle,
and what would I have said if he had discovered the air duster was missing, only for it to reappear from my pocket during a search.

‘So what do we do about it?’ Tony said. ‘Should we arrest Raworth?’

‘We can’t. You and I may believe it is true but, at the moment, it’s all speculation and circumstantial. Raworth would deny it, cover his tracks, and there would be nothing we
could do. We need proof.’

‘Surely the semen sample is all the proof we need,’ Tony said.

‘But would it stand up as evidence in court? Raworth would deny that it had ever been his. Indeed, the sample might not even be admissible as evidence in a trial because I stole it in the
first place. We need something more.’

‘And how are we going to get that?’ Tony asked.

‘I’m working on it,’ I replied.

‘That’s what you said about my emails.’

‘Yeah, well, I’m still working on that too.’

‘Can’t we stop Raworth running his horses in the Preakness? Surely it isn’t right that he can nobble the opposition and still be allowed to participate.’

‘I agree that it doesn’t seem fair,’ I said, ‘but if we make a move now, all we would be doing is forewarning Raworth and any remaining evidence would disappear faster
than jelly beans at a children’s party.’

‘So what
do
we do?’

‘Nothing for the moment,’ I said. ‘And we don’t tell anyone. Not a soul. Does your professor know where the semen came from?’

‘No.’

‘Then let’s keep it that way,’ I said. ‘Ask him to keep everything confidential unless we tell him otherwise.’

‘OK. Is there anything else?’ Tony asked.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Find out what you can about the Raworth family ranch in Texas. In particular, are there any veterinary records of an EVA outbreak?’

‘I’ll see what I can manage.’ He didn’t sound too confident. ‘What will you do?’

‘Continue with my job as a groom,’ I said. ‘We have three runners in the Preakness tomorrow.’

‘I thought you looked very professional with the winner of the Black-Eyed Susan Stakes this afternoon. I was watching you through my binoculars.’

‘Thank you,’ I said.

‘If anything you looked rather too adept and alert, compared to some of the other grooms.’

‘I’ll be more careful,’ I said, making a mental note. ‘I saw a number of your racing team here today. I walked right past Trudi Harding and she didn’t recognise me.
She didn’t even look at me twice.’

‘I’ll have to have words with her,’ Tony said.

‘Not yet,’ I said with a laugh. ‘I don’t want her shooting me.’

Tony didn’t think it funny and, I suppose, neither did I.

Preakness morning dawned bright and warm without a cloud in the sky, not that I had waited for the sunrise before starting my day’s work. I’d been hard at it for
two hours by the time the fiery globe made its appearance in the east.

I had risen earlier than usual to give Debenture his breakfast. His race, the Maryland Sprint Handicap, was due off at half past one in the afternoon and George Raworth had told me that he
didn’t want the horse eating within eight hours of race time.

I arrived at the barn at 3.30 a.m. to find Debenture standing upright in the corner of the stall with his eyes closed, gently snoring. I stood silently watching him, marvelling at the fact that
such a large bulk could be fast asleep and yet not fall over, especially as he was actually using only three of his legs to stand on, the fourth being slightly bent up with only the toe of the hoof
resting on the floor.

Horses are not the only creatures able to sleep standing up. Elephants can also nap on their feet, and flamingos famously do it on only one leg.

In horses, it is due to what is called the ‘stay apparatus’, a natural locking of the limbs that keeps the animal upright while also allowing the muscles to relax. It is thought the
ability evolved because early equines were prey, as zebras still are, and the time taken to get up from a lying position before running could mean the difference between life and death.

Not that horses always sleep standing up. They occasionally lie down for deep body sleep, so comfy bedding and enough space are essential.

I waited. I didn’t want to wake Debenture. He was going to have a tiring enough day as it was.

I knew that horses do not normally sleep for very long at a time. In all, they need only about three hours’ sleep in any twenty-four, mostly taken in short naps. And, sure enough, the
horse soon woke on its own, snorting twice and shaking his head from side to side.

I gave him his regular breakfast of horse nuts plus feed supplements, and then refilled his bucket with fresh water.

Next I brushed Debenture’s coat, starting with a stiff dandy brush and then finishing with the softer body brush, working backwards and downwards from his head to his feet on each side
until his hide was polished to perfection.

Over the past ten days, I had discovered that there was something quite therapeutic about grooming a horse. All of one’s troubles faded away with the strong rhythmic motion of the brushes
over the animal’s skin. Even the horses seemed to love it.

I began to understand how a mother could spend so long brushing her daughter’s hair. It probably wasn’t so much for the shine it created but for the relaxing sensation the movement
generated in herself.

For a while in the quiet I was even able to forget my ongoing troubles with Diego.

True, we hadn’t had a face-to-face confrontation since I’d spoken to him on Tuesday afternoon, but that hadn’t stopped him trying to disrupt my life at every available
opportunity, sometimes in the most childish of ways. I had no proof, but I was quite certain that it had been he who had squeezed my toothpaste out of its tube and smeared it all over my bed.

Sadly, there was no lockable space in our cramped bedroom, so my phone and wallet never left my side, residing inside my boxers even when I was asleep.

The rest of the barn came to life about four-thirty as other grooms came to start work.

The Preakness Barn itself was already a hive of activity when I went over to collect some bedding. I took the chance to walk up the shedrow.

‘Morning, Tyler,’ I said. ‘How’s Crackshot today?’

‘Never better,’ he said, showing me the gold molars.

The big bay colt certainly looked fine, sticking his head out towards me with a sparkle in his eyes.

‘He’s eaten up really well,’ Tyler said. ‘I reckon he’ll win easy.’

Was I wrong about the EVA?

I thought back to Churchill Downs.

Three horses had become sick early on the morning of the Derby, with another showing signs of illness some five days later, most likely as a secondary infection.

If five days was the incubation period, and if Raworth had indeed squirted large quantities of the EVA virus up Crackshot’s nose only fifty or so hours ago, then it would be quite likely
that the horse would still look healthy. Whether he would be able to run full pelt for a mile and three-sixteenths in fourteen hours’ time was quite a different matter.

I took the new bedding back to the other barn.

Debenture had also eaten up well, so I prepared him for his light exercise.

Jerry Fernando was due to ride the horse in the race that afternoon and he arrived to give Debenture a warm-up jog, once round the track with a lead pony in attendance. It was more to accustom
the horse to his rider, and vice versa, than any serious training.

Ladybird, meanwhile, was having a day off after her efforts of the previous day. So I walked across and stood next to the track to watch the others at exercise.

Eight of the Preakness horses had opted to go out in what was an abbreviated training session. All of Raworth’s three were there, with Jerry Fernando having swapped his saddle from
Debenture to Fire Point for a steady half-mile trot followed by a brisk but conservative gallop over three furlongs to open the pipes and expand the lungs.

Crackshot was noticeable by his absence, but there was nothing sinister in that. Some trainers chose not to give their horses track exercise on the morning of a race, wishing to keep them fresh
for when it mattered later in the day, while others might be walked for an hour or so to loosen any stiffness in the legs.

Keith had told us that, for the walkover to the track before the big race, Diego and Charlie Hern would take Classic Comic, while I would be looking after Heartbeat, assisted by Maria. Keith
himself would be with Fire Point, along with George Raworth.

Diego had scowled when Keith had allocated Heartbeat to me and Maria.

‘I don’t mind swapping,’ I’d said to him, but he had refused to answer. Diego clearly didn’t want me doing him any favours.

That suited me fine.

Debenture tried his best in the Maryland Sprint Handicap but, as George Raworth had predicted, he was outclassed by the opposition, finishing seventh of the eight runners, some
nine lengths behind the winner – a huge gap in a six-furlong sprint.

The owner didn’t seem to mind one iota.

‘At least we weren’t last,’ he said to me with a broad grin.

I was standing on the track after the race, holding the horse’s head while the jockey’s saddle was removed.

‘OK, Paddy,’ George said, ‘take him back to the barn.’

I turned away but was stopped by a racetrack official.

‘Take him to the testing barn,’ he said to me. ‘This horse has been selected for a random drug test.’

I happened to be facing George Raworth as the man said it, and I couldn’t help but see the look of concern that swept across his face.

Perhaps it was only a natural reaction to being tested, like that insuppressible feeling of anxiety one has when being breathalysed by the police, even when you are certain you are not over the
limit.

Or maybe, just maybe, those ‘vitamin’ injections Charlie had given to Debenture had not been quite as innocent as I’d been led to believe.

It would be ironic, I thought, if my investigation into what appeared to be a colossal Triple Crown scandal was derailed due to a positive dope test from a journeyman horse that had finished
seventh out of eight in a relatively minor race on the supporting card.