Her Final Hour

by Rachel Amphlett

  He turned back to Adams and narrowed his eyes at him. ‘You can move your horses once my team have finished taking statements from the riders, not before. We’re dealing with the death of a young woman, and that takes precedence over the horses. They can eat the grass, can’t they?’

  ‘Detective, these horses were supposed to run three furlongs this morning. Four of them have races at the weekend, and I have owners to report to. When will the gallops be reopened?’

  ‘When I say so.’ He tapped West on the arm. ‘Let’s go and hear what Gillian has to say.’

  He stomped ahead and tried to ignore the biting wind that assaulted his ears, wishing he had a hat to ward off the chill. He settled for shoving his hands in his coat pockets.

  ‘What the hell is a furlong, Jan?’

  ‘About a third of a mile.’

  ‘Got it. Keen on horse racing, are you?’

  ‘Can’t stand it, but my grandfather used to watch the racing on television on Saturday afternoons and have a bit of a flutter, so I suppose I picked up the jargon.’

  They reached the taped-off cordon and scrawled their names across a page clamped to a clipboard guarded by a uniformed constable, and then, once they’d donned protective bootees to cover their own footwear, Mark led the way towards the vehicles parked at the far end of the course.

  He glanced over at her as she shivered, smiling at the calf-length boots she wore and envious of the thick woollen scarf she’d tucked into her collar.

  His own leather boots sank into the soft layers of dirt comprising the exercise route for the horses, the plastic coverings making progress slippery and every step kicking up a thin layer of mud that stuck to the hems of his trousers.

  ‘Bet you’re glad you moved out of the boat before the winter now,’ said West, as she pushed her hair from her face. ‘It would have been bloody freezing in this weather.’

  ‘It was too small, anyway. At least renting a house I could get the rest of my stuff out of storage.’

  His estranged wife had been more amenable than he thought he’d deserved, even storing the last of his belongings in the single garage at the house he’d once shared with her while he organised the move, but a sense of melancholy seized him at the finality of renting his own place.

  They passed the ambulance, its back doors open and the two crew members speaking with another police constable.

  Mark noticed the lonely figure sitting on one of the stretchers, the man’s shoulders hunched as he stared blankly at the floor.

  ‘We’ll try to talk to the jockey on the way back,’ he said.

  They fell silent, Jan easily keeping up with his pace.

  As they drew closer to the far end of the gallops, he could see two figures idling next to one of the vans while several others milled about, and recognised the plain paintwork of the vehicle that would be used to convey the victim to the mortuary once the crime scene had been processed.

  Approaching the end of the straight line, Mark moved closer to the rail and checked the position of the crouched figure in protective clothing at the apex of the curve ahead.

  ‘So, the jockey must’ve lined up here to take the corner,’ he said. ‘The grass is long on the inside of the railing, so even with the extra height being on the back of the horse, he wouldn’t have seen her.’

  Jan paused next to him, following his line of sight. ‘Why there, I wonder?’

  Mark didn’t reply, but began walking towards the bulkier member of the CSI team, and raised his hand.

  ‘Got a minute, Jasper?’

  ‘Detective.’ Jasper Smith lowered his mask and scuffed his way through the grass to join them, his breath clouding in front of a short dark beard. ‘We wondered when we might see you. Do you want a word with Gillian too, while she’s still here?’

  ‘If you don’t mind.’

  ‘Follow me.’ The technician led them across a demarcated path that avoided a number of coloured markers set out on the ground.

  As they moved past, Mark ran his gaze over the team as they worked. Their movements were meticulous, each and every suspect item bagged and recorded in the event of being required for future evidence purposes.

  ‘Any sign of drag marks?’

  ‘Nothing, no.’ Jasper sighed. ‘And no tyre marks over this side. Anything that we could’ve taken a sample from near the gate was obliterated by the horses and the trainer’s four-by-four. You’ve seen the mud over there – it’s a quagmire.’

  The CSI technician paused a few metres from where the body lay.

  Mark could make out a shock of blonde hair matted with a dark thick substance that glistened in the morning sun, the young woman’s face a mottled blue, her lips parted as if in surprise or shock.

  She wore a long woollen skirt, thick jumper, and leather jacket, her legs bare. Flat black shoes covered her feet, and Mark’s lip curled at the pink knickers that hung down around one of her ankles.

  ‘What about footprints?’

  ‘Hers, obviously, and perhaps a second set. We’ve taken what samples we can from the area but don’t hold your breath. That long grass softened the tread.’

  Mark peered at the prone figure. ‘Heavier than her?’

  ‘Hard to say. If you don’t mind, I’ll get back to my team. We need to get as much as we can before the weather turns again,’ said Jasper. ‘You’ll get our report by the end of the week.’

  Mark nodded his thanks, then turned his attention to the Home Office pathologist, who was striding across the churned dirt and pulling the paper mask from her face as the two mortuary workers carrying a stretcher followed in her wake.

  ‘Morning, Gillian.’

  Grey eyes flashed, and then she exhaled as a weariness crossed her features. ‘Before you ask, there’s a blunt trauma wound to the back of the head. I’ll confirm once I’ve had a chance to do the post mortem in the morning whether that was what killed her.’

  Mark watched as the two mortuary workers carefully placed the young woman’s body into a large plastic bag.

  ‘Any sign of sexual interference, given the knickers?’

  ‘Hard to say at this point. I’ll let you know after the post mortem.’

  Mark ran his gaze over the length of the gallops to the gate that led through to the field beyond, and then back to the pathetic bundle that was now being gently lifted into the back of the van.

  West’s voice cut through his thoughts.

  ‘What are you thinking, Sarge?’

  ‘No sign of any tyre treads. If she walked here, then maybe she knew her killer.’

  Chapter Three

  Jan West hunkered into the thick scarf she’d tucked around her neck and picked her way across the grass, her gaze sweeping back and forth in an attempt to spot any rabbit holes before her foot disappeared down one.

  Turpin walked behind her, talking into his mobile phone and updating Detective Inspector Ewan Kennedy with their findings to date.

  Which, Jan mused, didn’t amount to much at present.

  She tucked a straggle of unruly hair behind one ear, hitched the strap of her handbag up her shoulder and dipped beneath the blue and white police tape cordon that a constable held up for her, thanking him as she passed.

  ‘Jan.’

  She waited for Turpin to catch up, tucking the mobile phone into the inside pocket of his coat as he jogged across the turf.

  ‘What’s up, Sarge?’

  ‘The guv wants us to report back to the incident room when we’re done here. Uniform are out collating statements from the regulars at the pub and the family’s neighbours. They’ll go to the agricultural college where Jessica was studying as well. Her teachers have been informed.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Jan stalked across to the ambulance, catching the eye of the driver as they approached, who wound down his window and leaned out.

  ‘All right if we have a word with the jockey who found her?’ she said.

  ‘Derek’s got him in the back.’ The driver of the ambulance je
rked his thumb over his shoulder. ‘Makes a change to pick up one of these lads in one piece.’

  Jan rolled her eyes, then walked the length of the vehicle to the open back door to where the other paramedic was speaking with the jockey.

  ‘Excuse me?’ She held up her warrant card and introduced herself and Turpin. ‘William Brennan?’

  ‘That’s me. Will.’

  The jockey’s complexion was stark against the navy padded jacket he wore, and he shivered as he hugged his arms around his slight body. His corn-coloured hair stuck up in clumps, his riding hat upside down on the stretcher beside him.

  ‘We need to ask you a few questions,’ said Jan.

  She thanked the paramedic, who moved away with a knowing nod before climbing through to the front cab to sit with his colleague, and then turned her attention to Brennan.

  ‘Are you all right? No injuries?’

  ‘I’m all right. I… I can’t get her face out of my mind.’

  ‘We understand that you knew her?’

  A single tear tracked down the man’s face, and he nodded. ‘She’s – was – my girlfriend, Jessica.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Will.’ Jan sat on the stretcher next to him, and gave him a moment to collect his thoughts before proceeding with her questions. ‘When did you last see her?’

  ‘Last night. At the pub in the village.’

  ‘What time did you leave?’

  ‘Eight. We have to be up early to exercise the horses but I got carried away chatting.’

  ‘Who with?’

  ‘Just a couple of the locals. They’re usually a good laugh, and I hadn’t seen them for a while.’

  ‘Where do you live?’

  ‘Near the yard. I rent one of the houses on the estate with two other blokes who work for MacKenzie.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Paul Hitchens and Nigel White.’

  ‘Did you contact Jessica at all after leaving the pub?’

  ‘We texted each other at eleven.’

  ‘Can I see your phone?’

  Brennan reached into an inside pocket of his jacket and extracted a smartphone, then began to flick though the messages.

  ‘Hang on. I’ll take that.’

  Jan swiped the phone from the jockey’s hand, ignoring the surprised “o” his mouth formed, and scrolled through the messages until she found a string of texts from someone he’d saved into the phone as “Jess xx”.

  ‘Is this her?’

  ‘Yes. Look, do you have to do this?’

  Jan moved to the back door of the ambulance so that Turpin could read the messages over her shoulder. Once she was satisfied the exchange between Brennan and Jessica showed no signs of the woman being threatened by the jockey, she checked the recent calls list.

  There were three calls between the two, all prior to the time Brennan said he’d been at the pub.

  ‘Is that the only phone you own?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘All right. We’re going to have to take this with us.’ Jan pulled a plastic evidence bag from her handbag and dropped the phone into it before removing her gloves. ‘What time did you get back home after you left the pub?’

  ‘Just before eight-thirty. It’s only a short drive, and Paul reckons he’s a Formula One driver anyway.’

  ‘Paul?’

  ‘Hitchens. One of the lads that rents the house with me. That’s him, over there on the grey horse.’

  Jan leaned past the back door of the ambulance until she could see the group of jockeys. The only grey horse was ridden by a man wearing a bright-red cap and green rain jacket. She couldn’t make out his features, but from the way he was hunched in the saddle, he was as impatient as the horse he rode to be back at the yard.

  ‘You said you rented a house near the yard. Where?’

  ‘We rent one of the cottages that backs onto the land behind it. MacKenzie owns them. It’s cheaper than renting in the village, and better for the early starts.’

  ‘Do you own a car?’

  Brennan snorted. ‘Can’t afford one. Got a motorbike – only a cheap one, mind. Bought it before I went up north.’

  ‘Did you go straight home from the pub, or did you stop anywhere on the way back?’

  ‘We went straight back to the yard. MacKenzie gets irate if anyone gets back after midnight. Says it disturbs the horses.’

  ‘Did you have much to drink?’ said Turpin.

  ‘Two or three pints. Maybe a chaser.’

  ‘Seems rather a lot for a Monday night.’

  Brennan’s face began to form a sneer, and then he seemed to think better of it. ‘Yeah, well, I’ve been away for a while. Last night was the first time I’d had a chance to catch up with people.’

  ‘Where’ve you been?’ said Jan.

  ‘Up north.’ He sat up straighter, a hint of pride entering his voice. ‘I’ve wanted to be a jockey as long as I can remember. There were no jobs down here for me, so I applied everywhere I could. I took the first offer that came my way.’

  ‘Whereabouts was that?’

  ‘Near Ripon, in Yorkshire.’

  ‘What brought you back here?’

  He sagged against the side of the ambulance, crestfallen. ‘Jessica. We kept in touch, you see. Tried to catch up every few weeks. It was because of her that I came back.’

  ‘Not the racing?’ said Turpin.

  Brennan scowled. ‘That, too. Although I’ll be lucky to ever ride for MacKenzie again after today.’

  ‘Why?’ said Jan.

  ‘All this, it’ll mess with his reputation. You watch. It’ll be all over the news, and then everyone at the races at the weekend will be talking about it. I’ll be out of a job by Monday.’

  ‘Seems a bit harsh.’

  ‘Yeah, well. There you have it.’ He broke off as his stomach rumbled.

  Jan frowned. ‘When did you last eat?’

  ‘I dunno. Lunchtime yesterday, I guess.’

  Jan sighed, reached into her handbag, and pulled out a cereal bar. ‘Have this.’

  ‘I don’t feel like—’

  ‘Eat. You’ll thank me afterwards, trust me.’

  She climbed down from the ambulance, and at Turpin’s signal moved away from the vehicle until they were out of earshot.

  ‘We’ll need to check his movements with everyone at the pub and the other jockeys he rents with,’ he said. ‘What do you reckon?’

  She peered over her shoulder at the jockey, who had unwrapped the snack and was nibbling at a corner of it, staring with a wistful expression at the string of horses that were now being led away from the gallops.

  ‘There are no missed calls to Jessica, so he didn’t try phoning her after she left the pub. There’s nothing on the phone to suggest they’d argued, but maybe that’s deliberate,’ she said. ‘He could’ve deleted anything incriminating.’

  ‘Well, we’ll get the phone to digital forensics to see what they can tell us.’ Turpin shielded his eyes with his hand and looked back to where the CSIs were still working. ‘He knows the area well. Could’ve brought her out here after ditching his friends back at the yard.’

  ‘On a motorbike?’ Jan shook her head. ‘Can’t see it myself. It was bloody freezing last night, and if he did, why not ride it all the way over to where her body was found? There were no tyre tread marks, remember.’

  ‘It seems too bloody convenient that he was the first on scene to find her body, Jan.’

  She had no answer to that, and glumly followed him back to the car.

  Chapter Four

  By the time Mark had held open the door to the incident room for Jan and followed her through the maze of desks, the place was teeming with uniformed officers and plainclothes detectives.

  Two administrative support staff crossed the room between the desks, distributing tasks with ears deaf to complaints in an attempt to organise the growing number of actions required for the new murder investigation.

  Mark craned his neck until he could see across the low-ceil
inged room to where Detective Inspector Ewan Kennedy paced in front of a whiteboard, his shirt sleeves rolled up over his elbows and his back turned to the room.

  Weaving his way across worn carpet tiles and past two junior uniformed officers who were attempting to untangle a years-old photocopier, Mark approached the DI and cleared his throat.

  The lanky figure swung around at the sound, then jerked his chin in greeting. ‘Just got back, did you?’

  ‘Guv.’ Mark glanced over his shoulder as Jan joined him. He held out his mobile phone. ‘I’ve already emailed these to Tracy so she can put them on the system and print out a couple of copies to go on the board.’

  As DI Ewan Kennedy flicked through the photos with a grimace, Mark ran his eyes over the content of the whiteboard, his gaze falling on a photograph of Jessica that appeared to have been taken during the summer.

  A halo of light shone around her blonde hair, giving her fair features a natural radiance that was amplified by her wide smile. She wore a white vest top with blue cornflowers that accentuated her eyes, and someone out of frame had an arm draped around her shoulders.

  ‘Poor angel,’ Jan murmured next to him. ‘She didn’t deserve to die like that.’

  Mark swallowed, battening down the thought of what he’d do to anyone who harmed either of his daughters, and tried to concentrate instead on studying the young woman’s features, committing them to memory and resolving to find her killer.

  ‘Her parents provided that this morning.’

  Kennedy’s words interrupted his thoughts, and he took a step back from the board.

  ‘Did a Family Liaison Officer go over there?’

  ‘About an hour ago.’ Kennedy’s pale-blue eyes peered over Jan’s head and swept the room. ‘All right, I think that’s everyone. Let’s get this briefing underway.’

  Mark wandered across the room and sat next to Jan at the side of the gathering investigative team. He took a sheet of paper that DC Caroline Roberts handed to him with a nod of thanks.

  Running his gaze down the list of tasks that had been entered into the HOLMES2 national enquiry database and then assigned to each member of the team, he noted he and Jan would be paired up for the duration of the investigation. He turned his attention to the front of the room as Kennedy began the briefing, and flipped to a new page of his notebook, pen poised.