Читать книгу Sabotage - Kit Wilkinson - Страница 12

Sleep would not come. Each time Emilie closed her eyes, her head clouded with distorted visions of Camillo. His twisted body. Blood.

After restless hours, she slipped from her warm bed, tossed a sweatshirt over her pajamas and wound her way through the large house. In the kitchen, on the antique secretary, she found something to busy her unsettled mind—a stack of work-related documents, waiting for her undivided attention.

Emilie forced her energy into checking receipts, preparing deposits and writing invoices. When finished, she shuffled the papers on her desk into neat piles, which uncovered a forgotten gift.

A Bible from Camillo.

The small leather-bound book had been there for months, untouched. She reached for it with a careful hand as if it might bite. Such an odd present for her twenty-fifth birthday. She did not share Camillo’s newfound faith. But today, the gift brought a surge of sentiment and fresh tears to her eyes.

For the first time, she thumbed over the thin pages, finding a passage he must have underlined.

The LORD is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer; my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge. He is my shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.

Emilie traced the words with her finger, considering their meaning. How is God a deliverer? It seemed to her He allowed the people who loved Him to die. Camillo. Her mother. Where was His refuge for them?

Emilie closed the Bible and flung it on the shelf above. It missed and fell back to the desk with a thud. A sheet of paper slipped from between its pages and twirled to the floor like a white butterfly. She retrieved the paper from the terra-cotta tiles and carefully unfolded the single page.

As much as I care for you, I can no longer continue this—us. I will keep my promise, though. I will tell no one. And trust you will do the same for me. But you must understand now that I know I can no longer help.

May you find peace in the Lord who loves you.

Camillo

Emilie reread the words, her hands shaking and her heart pounding against her ribs. Seeing Camillo’s soft angular handwriting brought new tears to her eyes. Who was the letter to? Not to her. That was certain. She’d never shared a promise with Camillo. Strange, she thought, to find this now.

What else didn’t I know about you, Camillo?

Placing the note on her desk, she turned away and looked out the large bay window. Morning had come and with it, she hoped, a chance to get to work and escape her heavy emotions. Quietly, she showered, dressed and headed out to the stable.

I shouldn’t take the job. Derrick cradled the phone in his palm, staring down at the number to the Cedar Oaks Stables where he’d scribbled it onto the outside cover of his phone book. After all that had happened yesterday, it seemed clear he should not take the job. He needed to call Emilie right now and tell her his decision.

So, why couldn’t he bring himself to dial the number?

Two days ago, he’d never heard of the stable. He knew Emilie by name only and most of what he’d heard had not been completely favorable. Now he wondered why. From what he gathered, Emilie was beautiful, intelligent and obviously capable of great friendship and love, as she had displayed in her complete devastation at the loss of her friend. Derrick had found her intriguing. In fact, he was having difficulty getting her amazing eyes out of his mind for more than seconds at a time.

He clenched his teeth. Great. He’d just given himself another reason to give up the position. And that was what he needed to do. Determined this time, he dialed the number on the phone book.

“Cedar. Cedar Oaks…”

Derrick paused at the quivering tones in Emilie’s voice. “Emilie? Is that you? This is Derrick.”

She didn’t respond.

“Are you all right?” Derrick swallowed hard. A feeling of panic waved through him. Something felt wrong.

“Uh…yes, Derrick. Sorry, I’m fine.” Her voice was icy.

She didn’t sound fine. Derrick scratched his head. Poor woman, she’d probably had a terrible night. And here he was getting ready to let her down. Derrick’s gut twisted as if a stone had settled in his stomach. “I’m sorry about leaving without talking to you yesterday. You were with your father when I was heading out and…well, anyway…I just wanted you to know I’ve been thinking this over and I’m not sure—”

“Okay. You’re coming today, right?” she interrupted. “My father said you’d be back early.”

What? Her father? Why would her father say that? “Emilie, what are you talking about? Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, and whenever you can get here is fine.”

Derrick could hear the emotions in her strained voice. It wasn’t just exhaustion confusing her. There was something else. Something unnatural and it was starting to concern him. “Emilie, you’re not making any sense. What I was saying is that—”

“You know, Derrick,” she interrupted again, “we’ll have to talk when you get here. The police have arrived. I need to talk with them.”

“The police?” Why would the police be back? And so early in the morning.

“Well, a forensics team is here. Okay. See you soon. You’re a lifesaver.”

“But what’s a…” Derrick stopped. Emilie had already hung up. And it didn’t matter anyway. He knew what a forensics team meant—it meant that a crime had been committed.

A strange mixture of urgency and relief spread through Derrick. Well, God, he thought to himself, that’s one way to tell me I’m making the wrong decision. As quickly as he could, Derrick packed up and headed back to Cedar Oaks.

“Murdered?” Emilie could barely repeat the heinous word. How could she think after Steele had uttered such a horrific statement?

Camillo Garcia murdered?

Steele waited for Emilie to take a seat behind her desk. Then he pulled the pen and tiny notebook from his jacket pocket, just as he had the day before. “As I was saying, the coroner suspected, as did I, that your employee’s death involved foul play. There will be a complete autopsy performed today, which should give us more insight. As you can imagine, I have more questions.”

“Of course.” She sucked in a breath, trying to hold back her emotions. With a trembling hand, she wiped her moist eyes. “I’m sorry. This is all so unbelievable….”

Detective Steele pulled his chair closer to her desk. “I understand this is difficult, Miss Gill. And it really could be as simple as Mr. Garcia having been in the wrong place at the wrong time. You said yourself that there are a lot of stable break-ins in the area.”

She shook her head. “But nothing was taken.”

“True. But I can’t rule it out. A thief could have gotten caught, panicked, killed Mr. Garcia and run…. Now, Miss Gill, how late were you at the stable Saturday evening?”

She cleared her throat. “Until nine. But I didn’t go into the old barn. I’d been there early that morning when I found the note. I didn’t go back.”

Steele jotted notes in his little book. He paused and looked up. “And was anyone else around, say between six and when you left?”

She shook her head. “No. Not that late on a Saturday night.”

“Are you usually here that late?”

“No. Not usually. I normally leave at six. But I had a special trainer coming Sunday morning and without Camillo I had to prepare everything myself. Plus I’d given the stable hands the weekend off, since it’s a holiday, so I brought the horses in and fed them myself. Anyway, the whole time I kept thinking…well, hoping that Camillo would come back….” Her voice broke off with the strain of emotion.

“And you saw nothing unusual while you were here? No cars or trucks? No workers?”

“No. Like I said, everyone was away. As far as I know, no one was here but me.”

He scribbled more notes in his pad. “The estate entrance has an iron gate with a keypad entry system. Is it closed at night?”

“Yes. It closes at eight and is only accessible with a code or by calling the main house. That’s what time the stable is officially closed and what time the house staff leaves. It opens again at six in the morning. But some employees know the code.”

“Which ones?”

“Camillo knew it. Rosa Billings, the housekeeper. Mr. Huss, the grounds manager. And my dad’s lawyer, Mr. Adams.”

“Was it common for Mr. Garcia to go out in the evenings?”

“Not that I know of,” Emilie said.

He nodded. “Did Mr. Garcia have many friends outside the stable?”

She shrugged. “He had a few, but his job didn’t really allow for an active social life. He worked long, hard hours and he was very dedicated. I was lucky to have him. He was great at his job. In fact, I know for certain that a couple of other barns tried to woo him away.”

The detective leaned forward. “Do you know which barns approached him?”

“I suspect some of my competitors. Perhaps, Jack Frahm or Leslie Raney.”

“Did Mr. Garcia consider these other positions?”

“I don’t know why he would have. He wouldn’t have been paid any better, that’s for sure.”

His brow creased upward, showing his small gray eyes. “Did you pay Mr. Garcia extra money in addition to his salary to ensure his position here?”

She blinked rapidly. “No. I didn’t need to. His salary was more than sufficient. That’s what I was trying to say.”

“So, you’re denying that you gave Mr. Garcia large sums of cash on a monthly basis?”

She half laughed at the question. “Of course, I’m denying it. It’s not true.”

“Then you can’t explain why Mr. Garcia made cash deposits every month totaling as much as five thousand dollars in addition to his check from Cedar Oaks Stable?”

“What? Camillo made cash deposits?” She shook her head from side to side. “That can’t be true. He worked for me all the time. There’s no way he had time to moonlight for cash.”

“Uh-huh.” The detective scratched his head and rubbed his broad nose. He glanced down to read something in his notebook then looked back at her. “Is there any chance Mr. Garcia was into something illegal, like drugs or gambling? The ME found a trace of drugs in his system. And it appears that his wrists had been bound for hours before death.”

She felt her eyes widen. “No way. The only drugs Camillo touched were the joint supplements we feed to some of the older horses each morning. He didn’t even drink. And I can’t imagine he would have gambled. He sent most of his money to his family in Mexico.”

“That’s what he told you?”

“Yes. That’s what he told me because it’s the truth.” Emilie frowned.

“What about enemies?” he asked. “Did Mr. Garcia have any problems getting along with the boarders or other workers here?”

“Never. Everyone loved him. Especially his riding students…” She looked up quickly. “You know, he did make some extra money riding horses for boarders and teaching lessons. Maybe that’s where the extra cash came from?”

“That money is recorded since he took personal checks for that work. In fact, Garcia kept meticulous records, which is why the unaccounted five thousand in cash each month really sticks out.”

Emilie twisted her lips. “Well, I have no idea.”

“Yesterday, you stated that you and Mr. Garcia were very good friends.” He checked his notes again. “How about elaborating?”

“Elaborating?” Emilie raised an eyebrow.

He gave a curt nod.

She shrugged. “Uh…we worked together all day, every day and we were friends. Sometimes we had meals together and we would chat.” She stood, walked to the coffeepot and poured herself a full mug. “Would you like some coffee, Detective Steele?”

“No, thank you.”

Emilie found her seat again and took a sip of the hot brew. The detective fell silent, staring at the collection of awards and photos on her walls.

“Look, Detective Steele, I don’t have much time outside my life here at the barn and all the shows I do. Neither did Camillo. It’s not surprising that over the four years he worked here we became friends.” She tightened her hands around the warm mug and lifted it again to her lips.

His face pinched and his eyes rolled up at the ceiling. “Yes, I get that, Miss Gill. What I’m asking is were you intimate?”

Emilie choked on her intake of coffee and struggled not to spill the mug as she placed it on the desktop. “No. Goodness no. Camillo was handsome and very sweet, but I never felt like that about him. Really, if you’d seen us together, you’d realize how ridiculous the idea is.”

“When I questioned your stable boy Gabe, he didn’t seem to think it ridiculous at all. In fact, he said and I quote, ‘They were a thing. They were together all the time.’” Detective Steele returned his pad and pencil to his jacket pocket and placed his hands on his knees.

Emilie gave him an angry stare. “Gabe cleans stalls and fills water buckets. That doesn’t exactly make him an authority on relationships.”

“No, it doesn’t.” He looked at her and frowned. “But I could see how being who you are, if you had a liaison with your own groom, you’d want to keep it a secret. But don’t think it will stay that way. If it’s the truth, it will come out in this investigation. For certain, Mr. Garcia was involved with a woman. I’ve looked through his apartment and there is ample evidence of that. If not you then someone else. I’ll need to talk with this person. If you were such a good friend, perhaps you know her?”

Emilie thought of the letter she’d found in the Bible. Could that have been to a woman? Possibly. But wouldn’t she have known if Camillo had had a girlfriend? “Mr. Steele, I promise I had no idea that Camillo was involved with someone or if he even was. In fact, I find it hard to believe. It couldn’t have been serious.”

He looked at her with a suspicious eye. And she realized her words had sounded like those of a jealous lover.

“Miss Gill, someone killed your friend. And my job is to find and reveal that person, no matter who it is.” He stood and placed some papers on her desk. “Those are warrants to search your facility. And I’ll need a list of all your boarders and staff. Camillo’s friends, too.”

“Sure,” she said. “Whatever I can do.”

“Thank you. I didn’t expect you to be so compliant.” He walked to the doorway, stopped and looked back at her with a smirk. “Your father has taught you well.”

“What? To cooperate with the police?” She frowned. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Believe me, Miss Gill, not everyone at the top of my suspect list is quite so agreeable.”

Emilie’s eyes went from the warrants to Detective Steele’s face. “You’re kidding. How could I be a suspect?”

“You had means and motive, and you were here alone. How could you not be?” He turned and left her office.