Final Fix (Rachel Ryder Book 8), page 6
“I can tell,” he said.
“Is Nikki coming?” Levy asked.
“She’s making copies of information from Sean’s autopsy. Like Bishop said, we’re on a clock here, so let’s get started. I have some good news. Barron is ruling the death as suspicious, with the caveat that it may change.”
Nikki walked in and sat on my other side. She handed papers to everyone. She gave me a head tilt. “Nothing comes up from the prints on the bassinet.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“What’s Barron’s decision based on?” Michels asked.
“A few factors,” Nikki said. She turned toward me. “May I?”
I smiled. “Please.”
She reiterated what Barron had said and ended with, “There’s no way to determine if the victim injected the drugs into himself or if someone else did. His organs show no signs of visible drug use, but the labs will tell us more, and he’s put a rush on them. We all know I couldn’t find any prints other than on the syringe, and there was no other drug paraphernalia, so that doesn’t work to our benefit.” She exhaled. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Bishop said. “You have no control over what the evidence says.”
“It’s just frustrating,” she said.
“Understood,” Levy said. “We talked to one employee, Billy Pruitt, who said he was with the victim at Rucker’s last week and saw him arguing separately with two other ranch owners from town.”
Michels added, “But he doesn’t know their names. He hasn’t worked for the ranch long.”
“What were they arguing about?” I asked.
“He claims he wasn’t close enough to hear them. He just saw how they acted toward each other.”
“Do you believe him?” Bishop asked.
Levy interjected with a, “No,” and Michels agreed.
“What about other employees?” Bishop asked.
“They’re not talking,” Levy said.
“No one is talking,” Michels said. “Which means someone knows something.”
“We’ll hit them up again if we need to,” Bishop said.
Bubba entered. He gave Bishop a nod. “I’ve got the ranch’s financials. Based on a quick review, they’re making bank.” He handed out his information to each of us.
“Making bank?” Bishop asked.
Levy chuckled. Poor Bishop. He’d never speak young and hip speak. Every investigation increased his modern-day slang.
“It’s making a lot of money,” Bubba said.
“And you couldn’t just say that?”
“I did,” Bubba said. “The ranch is making bank.”
“Okay,” I said. “We’ll have this English lesson later.” I angled my body toward Bishop. “How are Connie and Jessica?”
“Connie’s in shock. She reiterated that Sean didn’t do drugs. She knew he was stressed about something, but he wouldn’t tell her what.”
“Did she have any thoughts on what it might be?” Levy asked.
“None,” Bishop said.
“Great,” I said. “What about Jessica?”
“According to Connie, her parents are with her. She said to give it a few hours and then go by.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’d like to go back to the ranch and talk with this Pruitt guy, see if we can get the truth out of him, then give the other employees another shot.”
Michels jotted something down on his file folder. “I think we need to check out the other ranches. The equestrian community is small, and most of the employees have worked at each of them at one time or another. They might know something.”
“Good idea,” Bishop said. “Levy? You good to go?”
“Yep.”
“Wait,” I said. “Not Haverty Ranch. Given what’s happened there recently, I’d like to be there when we hit them.”
“Sure thing,” Levy said.
“I’ll do some digging on them,” Bubba said. “Sometimes I hit the jackpot when I’m not looking for something in particular.”
“I understand that phrase,” Bishop said.
Bubba laughed. “I thought you would. It’s one my parents use.”
Michels and Levy burst into laughter. Nikki kept her head down in her folder, but the way it bobbed up and down gave her away.
“Ouch,” I said. “That was painful.”
Bishop held up his palms. “I can’t win.”
Connie had returned to the ranch when we arrived. Her eyes were red and puffy, and she sniffled often, but she said there was work to be done, and she had to do it. “It’s what Sean would do. I just wish I didn’t have to do it in the place where he died.”
My heart ached for her. Even though I wasn’t close to my siblings, I knew it would hurt to lose one tragically. It wasn’t that we didn’t get along. We just didn’t talk a whole lot. I envied siblings who were close. “Yes, he would have, but he would want to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine,” she said. “As fine as I can be. Have you found out anything?”
I glanced at the ceiling. There was evidence of a security or camera system, but no cameras. “Did you have surveillance cameras in here?”
“We did. Sean was in the middle of replacing them. He said the system we had was old. He wanted something that he could see live. He bought a new one, and had taken the old cameras down, but I guess he hadn’t gotten around to putting the new ones up.”
“Were they just in the buildings or in the barns too?”
“They’re in everything with a roof and then some.”
“Outside?”
“Along some of the fences, but like I said, he took them all down.”
“Connie,” Bishop said in a soft tone. “Your employee Billy Pruitt mentioned Sean having confrontations with two other ranch owners at Rucker’s. Did he talk to you about that?”
She stared over my shoulder at the spot where her brother had died. “Not specifically, no, but of the three other ranches in town, he only liked one owner.”
“Which one?” I asked.
“The new ones. I can’t recall their names at the moment.”
“Who are the other two?” Bishop asked.
“Mason Baxter and Bennett Cooper.”
I didn’t know them, but their names weren’t normal small-town names, so I assumed they were transplants. I instantly pictured men in seersucker shorts, pastel polo shirts with the collars flipped, and sweaters tied around their shoulders. “Why didn’t he like them?”
“Sean has problems with snobs.”
“Don’t we all,” I muttered under my breath.
“We’d like to talk to Mr. Pruitt,” Bishop said. “Is he still here?”
“He should be,” she said. She unclipped a radio from her belt and spoke into it. “Billy, can you come to the office, please?”
A few seconds later, Billy replied. “On my way.”
Billy Pruitt walked over a few minutes later wearing a pair of faded jeans that hung low on his hips that fit like a potato sack and revealed his tighty-whities. The way he wore his jeans was a disservice to the brand.
His jaw stiffened when he saw us.
Bishop pulled his blazer to the side and showed Pruitt his badge. Mine was attached to my belt next to my holster. I pointed at it as Bishop said, “We’ve got some more questions for you.”
“You can go into the empty office on the right,” Connie said.
“Thank you,” I said.
After introducing ourselves, Bishop said, “Mr. Pruitt, you told Detectives’ Levy and Michels you saw Mr. Higgins arguing with two other ranch owners at Rucker’s, correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you happen to know their names?”
“No, sir.”
“Then how do you know they’re ranch owners?” Bishop asked.
Pruitt’s face reddened. “I’ve seen them around is all.”
Bishop jotted notes into his small spiral pad. “How long have you worked here?”
“About a year.”
“Is this your first ranch job?”
“No, sir. I—” he stopped.
Bishop didn’t give him time to figure out the rest of that sentence. “You’ve worked for the other ranches, but you don’t know the owner’s names?”
He bit his bottom lip. “I don’t want no trouble. I just want to do my job.”
“We’re not here to make trouble,” I said. “We’re here investigating the death of Sean Higgins.”
“Yes, ma’am, but he overdosed on drugs. Why would the arguments matter?”
“Mr. Higgins’s death has been ruled suspicious, so everything matters,” Bishop said.
I almost saw the gears in Pruitt’s head turning. “I got a good reputation with the ranches. I can’t lose that.”
“Understood,” Bishop said.
He exhaled. “It’s Mr. Baxter and Mr. Cooper.”
“And what were they arguing about?” I asked.
“I can’t say for sure. Mr. Higgins asked me to give them some room when they came over. You know, like he wanted to keep things private.”
“So, you heard nothing?” Bishop asked.
“Bits and pieces, but nothing that made sense.” He stared at Bishop. “You’re going to make me tell you, aren’t you?”
Bishop said, “Yes,” in a firm tone.
“All I heard was Mr. Baxter say Mr. Higgins needed to mind his own business. Mr. Cooper talked too soft for me to hear, and I don’t think he said a whole lot anyway.”
“You said their body language appeared angry,” Bishop said. “Can you give us some examples?”
“You know, Mr. Baxter getting in Mr. Higgins’s face, jabbing him in the chest with his finger. Stuff like that.”
“And Mr. Cooper?” I asked.
He shifted his weight from his left leg to his right. “He just kind of stood there with his arms across his chest. Come to think of it, he wasn’t right up in it. He said something at first, and Mr. Baxter jabbed his finger at him. Then he stepped back like he was waiting for them to throw fists or something. He’s the biggest of them all, so he probably could have handled them both, but he walked away too. Looked like he didn’t want to be involved after all.”
“Did Mr. Higgins say anything to you afterward?”
“No, ma’am, and I didn’t let him know I was watching.”
“Did you work for Mr. Baxter?”
“A few years ago, but not for long. I ended up at Mr. Cooper’s right quick because he paid more.”
“How was Mr. Baxter toward you when you worked for him?”
“Mr. Baxter doesn’t talk to the ranch hands. He talks to the supervisor.”
“Was Mr. Higgins that way as well?” I asked.
“No, ma’am. He doesn’t have a supervisor. He’s the boss. He and Miss Connie, I mean.”
“And Mr. Cooper?” I asked.
“Don’t really know him. I didn’t work there long. Came here a few months after I started there.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Better pay, and I liked Sean. He was good people.”
“Did you see anything nefarious at either ranch while employed there?” Bishop asked.
Mr. Pruitt rubbed his chin. “Not at the ranches, but there’s been rumors about the horses.”
“What kind of rumors?” I asked.
“About horses being drugged for better performance and stuff.”
“Stuff?” I asked. “What kind of stuff?”
“Can’t say for sure. It was all kind of on the downlow, you know what I mean? I’d hear bits and pieces, but nothing clear enough to make whole.”
“At which ranch was this supposedly happening?” I asked.
“I’m not sure, but Mr. Higgins is the only one that doesn’t buy and sell horses anymore, so it wouldn’t be this one.”
“Do you know why he stopped?” Bishop asked.
“Buying and selling?” He shrugged. “Money, if I had to guess. Can’t say for sure.”
“What about Haverty Ranch?” I asked.
He glanced at the ground. “Not much to say. ‘Round here the ranches are all the same. That one’s a lot fancier than the rest, but that don’t mean much to me.”
“Did you ever notice anything with the horses?” Bishop asked. “Maybe something to indicate they were drugged as the rumors suggest?”
“Here? No, sir. Mr. Higgins would never do anything like that, but if I’m being honest, I wasn’t exactly paying attention. My job isn’t with the horses. Wasn’t at the other ranches either. I handle repairs and stuff like that.”
“Like security systems?” I asked.
“Yes, ma’am if they want it, I can do it.”
“Have you done any for any of the ranches?”
“No, ma’am.”
We thanked him for his time and answers and talked with Connie again.
“Can we talk to the other employees?” I asked.
“I sent them home for the day. Billy stayed because he didn’t want me here alone. They’ll all be back tomorrow.”
That explained why the ranch seemed abandoned.
“We’d like to go through Sean’s office then,” Bishop said.
“I thought that young lady did that already?”
“She only checked for things that could be directly related to the crime scene.” I didn’t want to say other drug paraphernalia. “We’d like to look for items that might be related to his death.”
“Oh, then yes, of course. You can go through the front counter too, but we don’t keep anything important there.”
“What about a safe or locked filing cabinets?” Bishop asked. “Do you have any of those on the property?”
“Sean’s got a filing cabinet in his office, and we have a gun safe.” She angled toward the back office. “Would you like me to show you?”
“Please,” I said.
She pulled a drawer on the counter open and removed a small key taped to the bottom of it. “Sean keeps a key here for me just in case.”
She led us into the back office. It wasn’t much of an office but more of a break room. The space was small, but functional. Other than the refrigerator, the gun safe was the biggest thing in there.
Inside, taped and hanging from the top shelf, was a picture of the safe. “Is that an inventory of what’s inside?” I asked.
“Yes. No one has access but Sean and I, but he thinks we should keep a record.”
“Are they all registered?” Bishop asked.
“I’m not sure. Sean handles that kind of thing.”
I hated for her that she still spoke of her brother in the present tense. It meant she’d not yet come to terms with her loss. Then again, did anyone ever really come to terms with the loss of a loved one?
Bishop ran through a quick check of the safe’s inventory, then stepped aside while I snapped photos with my cell phone. Connie locked it back up and returned the key to the bottom side of the drawer. Afterward, she led us to Sean’s office.
“Take whatever you need,” she said. She looked at me, her eyes pleading desperately for something. Maybe understanding? “Sean doesn’t do drugs. He doesn’t do this to himself. Neither accidentally nor on purpose. Please, find his killer.”
10
Sean’s small, dimly lit office carried the faint scents of leather and wood. The combined scent mingled with the unmistakable aura of fear I felt always hung around after a crime. I stood in the doorway and studied the space.
“Are you going in?” Bishop asked.
I moved to the side. “Sorry.” The word caught in my throat. “It’s just weird being back here.”
“We’ll figure out what happened. Let’s just work this like we have our other investigations. We’ll get answers to the questions swirling around in that brain of yours right now.”
“I know.” I placed my hand gently on his shoulder. I wanted to thank him for being on my side, for believing Sean hadn’t taken his own life on purpose or accidentally, but I couldn’t get the words out without breaking down, and I couldn’t break down. Not until we found his killer.
He gave me a slight nod and walked into the office.
I followed after, ignoring the unsteadiness in my gait and the lump in my throat. Photographs of Sean with horses and various people I didn’t recognize hung in groupings on his walls. A series of images capturing him with horses in both posed and action shots caught my eye. The trophies and awards were a testament to his dedication and skill, symbols of the passion that had filled his life. Dressage, show jumping, endurance riding, passions I’d known so little about. I didn’t recall the trophies from the few times I’d been in his office, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t been there.
Sean’s wooden desk stood against the far wall. Though basic and dated, from the looks of its smooth and unblemished surface, it had been well cared for. Neatly stacked piles of papers with the occasional file folder scattered amidst them anchored the left side. Framed photos of his wife and baby, a stapler, and a cup holding pens and pencils sat on the right.
My eyes drifted to the filing cabinet standing sentry by the desk’s side. Its drawers were meticulously labeled with the small labels from an old-fashioned label maker. Lenny, my former supervisor in Chicago and father figure, still had his label maker. I smiled as I pictured Sean rotating the letters on the circular tool to the ones he needed, then squeezing the handle. I found comfort in the tidiness of my home, and I wondered if he had found it in his office.
Bishop studied the shelf filled with trophies, awards, and medallions. “Did you know he competed in rodeos?”
It saddened me that I really didn’t know much about him. “No.”
“He was good.” He examined each of the several trophies and then slipped a latex glove over his hand and removed one from the shelf. “All first place going back to when he was in junior high.”
My lack of that knowledge hit like a punch to my chest. I kept my head focused on the task at hand, not the things I didn’t know about him. I couldn’t change that, and feeling guilty over something that wasn’t meant to be would get me nowhere.
While Bishop took photos, I slipped on my own gloves and went to work on the papers on his desk. The piles contained a variety of documents: financial records, correspondence, and contracts related to the ranch, and information on horses for sale in various states, and articles printed off the internet. “Hey. Come look at these.” I studied a grouping of papers held together with a paperclip. “They’re all articles about horses for sale in Texas.”
