The Impossible Murderer

by Allison Osborne

  “Irene had a similar attitude,” Joe said.

  “You’ve made friends with two city-folks, Doctor. I’m off to bed, now. Goodnight.”

  Joe bade him farewell, then poked at the fire, dwindling it down to a small flicker of flame. He thought on Lestrade’s comment about how he’d brought out more positivity in Irene’s life and felt a little daunted. It wasn’t his intention to attempt to change her at all, he simply wanted to be her friend and see her reach her potential and be happy. If he made that much of an impact for Lestrade to comment on it, then that was beneficial.

  How he felt about himself, however, was still muddled.

  Day by day, he felt a little better about his past, and he was less triggered by unsuspecting things. Perhaps Irene had a positive effect on him as well. He’d come close to an episode but had kept it away. Riding a horse tomorrow, though, would be a different story.

  Or would it?

  As Joe went to bed, he thought about tomorrow. Perhaps he would greet the day under the impression that the ride through the countryside would only lead to clues and a solved case, not a horrible panic-induced episode.

  Chapter V

  Testing a Gentle Horse

  Irene dug a piece of bacon from her teeth with her tongue, wondering if she possibly ate too much for breakfast, and how the food would sit when she and Joe went on their ride shortly.

  She stood in the middle of the covered riding arena, holding a rope clipped to Snowball’s halter. The horse stood beside her and bumped her with his nose, seemingly eager to get on with their task. Mrs. Richardson’s helper, Young George as everyone around here seemed to call him, had scrubbed the horse clean yesterday and he was gorgeous, even to Irene. His white coat gleamed in the sun and his big black eyes stared curiously at everything around him.

  Eddy stood on the other side of her and they both peered down at Joe, about twenty feet away. He laid on his back in the dirt, arms at his side.

  Eddy shook his head. “He’s as crazy as you are. No wonder you two get on so well.”

  “What if he tramples you?” Irene yelled to Joe.

  “If my theory is correct,” Joe called back. “Then he will avoid me at all costs. He’s a gentle horse, and he pays attention to where his hooves are placed.”

  Eddy shook his head again. “I almost don’t want to watch this. If this doesn’t work, and that horse kills him, I may have to arrest you.”

  “Then let’s hope Joe is correct,” Irene said.

  She made the clicking sound with her mouth that Joe had taught her and jogged forward. Snowball instantly obeyed, trotting at her side. They approached Joe and Snowball tilted his head sideways. He slowed to a stop, inches from Joe’s arm.

  Irene hopped over Joe and tugged the rope, encouraging Snowball to come forward, but the horse wouldn’t budge. His neck stretched out, but his feet never moved. He snorted and crossed his hooves over one another, tilting his head again, watching Joe as he carefully sidestepped around him. Dirt flung onto Joe's shirt and he clamped his eyes shut as a chunk tumbled over his nose. By the time Snowball got around to Irene, Joe's hair was coated in dust, and dirt had settled into the corners of his mouth.

  Joe rolled to his hands and knees and rubbed his hair with his hands, then wiped his face. He straightened and had done a good job of cleaning himself except for a small smudge on his chin.

  He patted Snowball's nose.

  “You didn’t kill anyone, did you, big fella?”

  Snowball’s lips wiggled and he craned his neck to chew on Joe’s vest.

  “That was your point?” Irene said, realizing her heart was beating a little too hard in her chest.

  “Of course,” Joe shrugged. “It’s nothing less crazy than some of the stunts you’ve pulled.”

  “I have never laid down and allowed a horse a chance to trample me. I didn’t like the worry it gave me, either.”

  Joe and Eddy laughed in unison as Eddy patted Snowball.

  “Shall we list all the ways you’ve nearly given us a heart attack?”

  She rolled her eyes at Eddy. “Don’t you have statements to collect?”

  “I do,” he said. “But I needed to stay here in case I witnessed a murder. However, now that everyone is safe, I shall leave you to your ride.”

  He left the arena, heading for the house to conduct his interviews. Irene offered to give him the notes Joe had transcribed, but Eddy needed official ones, taken by him, and could use Joe’s notes to compare.

  Joe and Irene led Snowball back to the stables to tack him and Bradbury up for their ride. As they approached, a shout and thudding hooves came from the boxes. They entered the stables through the middle door as a loud whinny sounded. Young George stood in the walkway, rope in his hand. A great red horse, which could only be Musgrave, was backed halfway into a box. He snorted again and threw his head back, letting out the loudest neigh Irene had ever heard. Snowball pricked his ears in response.

  “What’s going on?” Joe asked.

  “Musgrave won’t go into the box,” George said. “And I need him to so I can clean up this mess.”

  “Is that his regular box?” Joe asked.

  “No, it belongs to Maximus, but that shouldn’t matter, should it?”

  “It does if they’re both stallions,” Joe said. He handed Snowball’s rope to Irene and a small ball of apprehension formed in her stomach as Joe approached the wild horse.

  He took the rope from George, murmuring to Musgrave, and walked the horse out to the middle of the stables. Musgrave tossed his head a final time but settled as soon as he was away from Maximus’s box.

  “Mr. Richardson doesn’t want him back in the paddock because it’s too muddy,” George said.

  “Tell him the paddock isn’t as muddy as it seems,” Joe said. “And this poor horse is stressed out and has energy to burn. He needs to be turned out.”

  “Yes, sir.” George hurried out of the stables.

  Irene approached Joe and the red horse, Snowball following obediently behind. Joe examined Musgraves chest the best he could with the horse dancing all over the place, large hooves echoing on the wood at their feet. Musgrave surged forward, bumping Joe with his chest. Irene went to help, though she had no idea how, but Joe shoved the horse right back, forcing Musgrave to take a few heavy steps behind him.

  Irene looked at Snowball, confirming with the horse that he saw the same scene she did. She hadn’t been entirely unaware of the command Joe had taken at the murder scene last night. Now, with the assertive tone he took with Musgrave, Joe was perhaps finding his confidence. This case seemed to be bringing out another side of Joe that would hopefully stay with him. Irene certainly appreciated it and could take full advantage of a partner who could command a scene if need be.

  “Look at his chest and legs,” Joe said, interrupting her admiration. She clipped Snowball to a tie and inched toward Musgrave. The horse snorted, but Joe soothed him, rubbing his head. Irene tucked close to Joe in case this horse decided he didn’t like her.

  Faded scrapes ran up and down Musgrave’s forelegs and a few nicks dotted his chest. Frustration flew through Irene. She wished she knew more about horses and could connect these dots easier. She even attempted to age the cuts, but with the thick horse skin and the fur around it, she couldn’t get a clear view of the wounds. Joe handed her Musgrave’s rope and hurried to the box in front of the bloodied mess. He opened the door and looked at the wood.

  “Scrapes on the wood,” he said. “Consistent with Musgrave’s cuts. He tried to get out of this box, or fought with something over the door.”

  “Fought who, though?” Irene asked, trying desperately to figure out what went on in a horse's mind.

  “Another horse. Likely Maximus. That mystery man wouldn’t have known that Maximus and Musgrave would fight. He walked himself into a stallion battle.”

  “And paid the price.”

  “But what made Maximus flee through that door?” Joe wondered.

  “Hopeful
ly, we find that out on our ride,” Irene said as Musgrave let out another loud whinny right into her ear.

  * * * * *

  Even though Irene knew Snowball was a gentle horse and Joe assured her he would never throw her off, she still felt a touch of vertigo as she peered down from the small saddle. Her legs bowed at an awkward angle, and there was no handle to hold onto should she begin to tumble. Joe made certain that her saddle was secure, and tucked her shoes into the stirrups, making sure the heels of her loafers kept her feet in place.

  He patted her knee with a reassuring smile. “Remain calm and Snowball will gladly listen to you.”

  He mounted the dark chestnut horse, Bradbury, and looked perfectly at home. Irene still marvelled at how he handled himself around the horses, and how confident it made him in dealing with Mr. Richardson and the other house guests. He’d pointed out Musgrave’s wounds to Mr. Richardson and told him to get the cuts cleaned out and he’d take another look when he and Irene got back from their ride.

  “You ready?” Joe asked her.

  Irene nodded and the horses started forward. She let out a silly little gasp at the sudden movement as her hips shifted from side to side in time with the Snowball's steps. She gripped the reins, not that holding the thin rope would keep her stable, though.

  They walked past Irene’s Vauxhall and the Wosley police car that Eddy had driven up in, and Irene couldn’t help but marvel at how she towered above them on Snowball’s back.

  They made their way around the stables and out to the backfields. She eventually relaxed enough to shift to the side in an attempt to investigate the ground for clues. As she leaned, Snowball veered off to the right, almost bumping Joe and Bradbury. She straightened and tried again, leaning to the left, but Snowball angled himself and walked away from Joe.

  Joe laughed. “You can’t lean so much, Irene. Keep your hips still and twist only your upper body.”

  His instructions were easier said than done, but after a few attempts, she figured out how to observe the ground while keeping Snowball straight. The rain had washed most of the hoofprints away, but Joe kept them on a straight path.

  “Maximus knows these lands,” Joe said. “And he would’ve run as straight as he could until something stopped him.”

  “If he escaped,” Irene added.

  “What other options are there? You said yourself there are no tire tracks that would’ve driven him away in a trailer, and the hoofprints led this way.”

  Irene nodded in agreement but felt frustrated at the entire bloody affair as she stared at the soggy fields surrounding them.

  She had figured out each individual mystery but was having difficulty linking them all. Phillip’s murder consumed her thoughts. He was the key to unravelling this case, but there were still a few details she hadn’t worked out. She was right on the edge of solving this, but she needed that final piece.

  They started down the hill into the big valley separating the Richardson farm from its back neighbour. Irene kept her eyes open for any clues, but everything was damp and flattened. There weren’t even any bushes or trees to observe broken branches or to catch horse fur.

  “Did you only have bees on your farm?” Joe asked. “Or did your father keep other animals as well?”

  His inquiry surprised her, as he often worked up to asking her personal questions. Perhaps he felt emboldened on a horse. He certainly looked proud and confident, and his posture was the best she’d ever seen it. She was so distracted by the suddenness of the question that she began talking without that tight ball of anger forming in her stomach whenever she spoke about her father.

  “We had two cows,” she replied before she changed her mind. “Highland steers with long fringes. The neighbour boy used to feed them and care for them in exchange for honey from our bees. All I did was pat them and plait their fringes so they could see. My plaiting skills were so honed that Eddy’s sister used to beg me to do her hair whenever we went into London. I never told her that I pictured her hair as cow fringes.”

  Joe laughed. “No horses, though?”

  “My father loved to ride,” she said. “He bought a few horses once his cases slowed. I was in my teenage years at that time, and the war was just around the corner. He would ride often, but as he aged, he would forget to tighten the saddle or wear the proper shoes. My uncle and I worried that he would ride off and get lost, so we convinced him to sell them all but an old mare. I was supposed to learn to ride, but the war started and...”

  She trailed off, then leaned forward and patted Snowball’s neck. She wondered if that old mare was still alive, or if the nurse had her taken away. Then the thought of her father’s ailment struck her heart and she shook her head. She needed to focus on the investigation. Not that there was much to focus on in the middle of a field, though. The countryside was beautiful, but none of that mattered if she didn’t find anything useful for the case.

  She glanced over at Joe, who appeared more relaxed than Irene had ever seen him.

  Irene had kept a close eye on him, but he seemed to be holding any panic at bay. Perhaps he was just bottling it up inside him, but that didn’t seem likely. She could read him as good as any book and was growing skilled at spotting the different ways his body expressed emotion. Right now, he was composed and at ease, and it made her feel a bit more secure on the back of Snowball.

  Perhaps there were no clues to find out here. Maybe it was a waste of time to have taken this ride. But they were halfway across the fields now, so she might as well enjoy the views and take this time to relax her mind and let her thoughts compartmentalize themselves.

  Chapter VI

  A Memory from the Past

  Joe hadn’t felt this self-assured in ages as he sat atop Bradbury. Surprisingly, his usual unpleasant emotions stayed at bay. Perhaps he would’ve felt different if he’d been riding the Lipizzaner, but Snowball was more suited to Irene. She was still stiff as a board on the horse, but as they trotted towards the small pond that converged at the base of the hills separating the farms, she relaxed more and more. It was odd to see her so unsure of herself because all he’d known of her was confidence and boldness.

  Thunder sounded in the distance and all of Joe’s calm was instantly swept away, shoulders bunching up, grip tightening on the reins. Storms didn’t usually bother him, but in an open field on a horse was a different story.

  Irene noticed his unease.

  “Usually you are fine with thunder,” she remarked.

  “I am,” he said stiffly, attempting to explain the random times when his mind decided to panic. “Though sometimes, I am not.”

  “I wasn’t for the longest time,” she admitted. “When you’ve been directly hit with a bomb, that sound tends to engage an involuntary reflex.”

  Joe nodded and his chest tightened. They were straying into dangerous territory as far as his memories were concerned and he didn’t need an episode in the middle of this field.

  Deciding to change the subject, he pointed to her pocket.

  “I can fix that chain on your magnifying glass. Or, I can try at least. If I can’t fix it, I know a good repair shop.” He shifted in the saddle, suddenly worried he'd brought up a sensitive subject.

  She pulled the magnifying glass from her pocket and gazed down at it, seemingly reliving some fond memory in her head.

  When she looked at him, her expression was gentle and kind. A curl had come loose from a pin atop her head and bounced softly against her cheek.

  “That would be lovely,” she said, the corners of her mouth twitching in what could've been a frown or a smile. “My father gave it to me when I was ten and I’ve cherished it from the moment he dropped it into my hands. I haven’t taken it to get repaired yet for fear that I would be asked about my father.”

  “It’ll be the first thing I do once this case is finished,” he promised.

  Her mouth twitched again, but this time her lips stretched into a soft smile.

  They approached the pond and Joe
halted Bradbury. As he dismounted, he felt Irene’s eyes on him.

  She hopped off Snowball, stumbling a bit, then peered around the horse and looked at him with those big brown eyes of hers.

  “How can you still be so kind, Joe?” she asked. “I know wartime was not kind to you and yet, you keep this cheery optimism. Sometimes it is rather annoying, but most times, it forces me to think about how I view the world. Perhaps I am sometimes more cynical and hateful than I need to be. But, I am curious as to what keeps you so tenderhearted?”

  Joe's cheeks flushed and his ears went warm. He didn’t know what was more embarrassing, the fact that Irene threw one of her off-handed innocent insults into her sentences or the fact that she had complimented him while picking out such a vulnerable part of his personality.

  He patted Bradbury, trying to think up an answer for her. He always thought of himself as a ho-hum, slightly miserable bookworm, not a kind, generous soul.

  “I never learned my lesson, I suppose,” he said finally.

  “What do you mean?”

  His chest tightened again. He went to wave off her question and suggest they get back to finding clues around the pond when he caught her expression.

  She had one hand on Snowball’s head, absentmindedly scratching him with her fingers, and she stared at him with that curious expression of hers. Though this time it was softer, as if she was listening without judging. He knew that was impossible because her mind was continually working out deeper meanings in everything and figuring out how every minute detail connected with another.

  But right now, she appeared more like a genuine friend than ever. Ready to listen and empathize with whatever he would say next.

  His heart thudded hard in his chest and he felt a bit nauseous, but perhaps now was the time to share with her what happened to him. If there was ever a moment she was truly listening, and a place where they wouldn’t be interrupted, it was in the middle of a field, surrounded by hills.

  “I joined the war late,” he said, voice softer than he meant it to be. “After the Americans had come to aid us. I was on my way from a field hospital to meet up with my unit, hurrying to catch them before they moved forward. The caravan I was travelling in held two other vets and a few doctors who volunteered as medics because their offices were bombed out. I knew little about human medicine, but my surgical skills came in handy. Our group was ambushed, and the few soldiers escorting us were killed by six German soldiers. They shot two of us instantly, then they figured out we were vets and decided we’d be put to good use. From what I gathered, we were to be taken to the stables in Austria to care for the animals. They had five horses with them that they’d captured from various villages and we were to tend to them until we met up with a convoy that could trailer the horses and take them on to their final home.”