Slow Kill - Michael Mcgarrity [7]
The body was clad in an undershirt, slacks, and socks. Using scissors, Price cut the undershirt and pants away, then turned the body facedown on the double bed and used a rectal thermometer to take the body’s temperature. Then he checked the room temperature. The difference between the two readings brought his estimate of the time of death down to no more than six hours ago.
Blood pools and settles after death, appearing as a purple discoloration of the skin, and the lower back showed signs of it. Price pressed a finger against the spot and the color didn’t blanch white, which was another good indicator that Spalding had been dead for about six hours, and, more important, hadn’t been moved.
He looked over the body one more time. There were no surgical scars. The gluteus maximus and leg muscles were firm, indicating the man had been physically active.
Price guessed that either a heart attack or a stroke had killed the man. He took off his gloves and went to give Ellie Lowrey the news.
After admitting that he had almost no experience with cops or dead people, a nervous Devin Hilt confirmed what he could of Chief Kerney’s story. Ellie Lowrey probed with a few more questions to reassure herself that all seemed as it should before letting Hilt go and calling Kerney’s deputy chief to verify his identity.
Bill Price came in just as she was about to begin her interview with Jeffery Jardin, the ranch owner.
“The body shows no signs of death by unnatural causes,” he said.
“You couldn’t seriously think that Clifton Spalding was murdered here,” Jardin said in a bit of a huff.
Price smiled benignly. Civilians were always uneasy about the thought of homicide. He’d faced the same reaction from people time and again over the years. “We always try to rule that out first,” he said.
He turned his attention to Lowrey. “I’d say he died in his sleep, either from a heart attack or a stroke, about six hours ago. The autopsy will tell us more.”
Lowrey nodded. “Thanks. Ask the EMTs to keep everyone away from the cottage until I finish my interviews. I’d like to take another look around before we wrap it up.”
“You got it,” Price said, stepping out the door.
“Are you people always so suspicious?” Jardin asked.
“Careful would be a better way to put it,” Lowrey replied. “How well did you know Mr. Spalding?”
“Well enough, on a business and social basis. Over the past ten years, he’s bought about six horses from me, some that he ran in qualifying and small purse races. He didn’t seem to care if they won or lost. It was a hobby for him, or rather for his wife, who I think basically liked the social scene at the track. He stabled his horses here and used my trainers. My ranch manager arranged for jockeys and the horses’ transportation to and from the track. We basically did everything except race the horses under my colors. His wife keeps two of the horses he bought for pleasure riding, although they’re good enough to race. I usually dealt with her.”
“That’s a pretty expensive hobby his wife has.”
“Clifford could afford it. He owns, rather did own, a number of resort hotels up and down the coast.”
“You said you knew him well,” Lowrey remarked.
“For about the last ten years,” Jardin replied, “after he married his second wife. I met them when they were first looking to buy racing stock. After that, I’d see them at the track, and we’d get together occasionally for dinner and drinks. Claudia, his wife, is a good twenty years younger. She divides her time between Santa Barbara and Santa Fe. Clifford built a house for her out there where she could keep some horses. I think she’s in Santa Fe now.”
“If you usually dealt with Spalding’s wife, why did he come here this time?” Lowrey asked.
“Claudia had her eye on a horse she liked, and Clifford said he wanted to buy it for her as a surprise anniversary present.”
“Do you have Mrs. Spalding’s Santa Fe address?”
“My ranch manager should. He made the arrangements to have the horses she keeps in Santa Fe transported there.”
Jardin glanced at