Jan frowned. ‘What if he trips?’
‘He’s not tethered. That’s why those gates are hinged. There’s a padded blanket under each as well, and no sharp edges. If he takes a tumble, he’ll get up again and carry on. It happens.’ He shrugged, then turned to her. ‘All right. What do you want to ask me?’
‘Where were you between the times of ten o’clock on Monday night and seven o’clock on Tuesday morning?’
‘I was at the Farriers Arms until ten-thirty Monday night.’
‘Did you speak to Jessica Marley?’
‘Only to ask her to refill my glass.’
‘What were you drinking?’
‘Just the local beer.’
‘What did you do when you left the pub?’
‘Came straight back here. I’m in charge of the lads and the yard. They were out early Tuesday to exercise some of the horses – as you know.’
‘When you say “here”––’
‘The cottage. Up the hill. The one I share with Will and Paul.’
‘Were they both in when you got in?’
‘In, and in bed by the time I got in. Like I said, they were up early on Tuesday, and I wasn’t far behind them.’
‘What time did you get up on Tuesday?’
‘Same as always. About five-thirty. Fucking freezing, it was. Thankfully, I don’t have to be out with the training string anymore. I start in the yard at seven.’
He turned away and hawked into the mud and straw to the side of the platform.
Jan wrinkled her nose and looked across the exercise machine to where Turpin stood. He raised an eyebrow, and she shook her head.
‘What did you do when you got down here?’ she said.
‘Sorted out the tack. Saddles, bridles. Checked everything was all right. Some of the lads can cut corners if you don’t keep an eye on them. Last thing I want is someone taking a fall because equipment hasn’t been checked. I’d never hear the end of it.’
‘How long have you worked for MacKenzie Adams?’
‘About ten years. Started off as a lad, did some riding, then when I retired from that, he offered me this job, managing the yard for him.’
‘Did you race professionally?’
‘For a while, yes.’
‘And you didn’t fancy setting up as a trainer like Dominic Millar did?’
He spat out a bitter laugh. ‘No. I didn’t have his sort of money for a start.’
‘Who managed MacKenzie’s yard before you?’
‘No-one. He did it all himself. Had to, starting out. It’s like that. You keep your costs down as much as possible – even when you’re winning.’
‘Hence this exercise machine?’
‘Exactly.’
He winked, and Jan looked away.
‘Why did he give Jessica Marley a job?’
White snorted. ‘Bloody good question.’
‘You’ve no idea?’
‘No.’
‘He didn’t ask you about it?’
‘Why would he?’ White lowered his gaze to the horse as it passed before them once more, and muttered under his breath.
‘I didn’t catch that, sorry?’
‘I said, he doesn’t ask for my opinion about anything that goes on around here. I just work here, all right? I keep my head down, and I get on with what I’m told to do.’
‘What did Jessica do around here?’
‘To be honest, she was a pain in the backside. She probably only got the job because she was pretty, and MacKenzie’s always had a soft spot for the pretty ones.’
‘So, what did she do?’
‘He said he was employing her to help out in the yard, and to learn a bit about the racing industry to help with her college studies. I gave her the same jobs as the younger lads – things she couldn’t mess up, mind. I didn’t have time to be keeping an eye on her and running this place. She polished tack, cleaned out the stables, that sort of thing.’
‘Ever get the chance to ride one of the horses?’
He sneered. ‘This isn’t some bloody pony trekking place, detective. No – she was never allowed near any of the horses. No-one is until they’ve had some experience. Too bloody dangerous.’
As if to emphasise his point, the beast in the training enclosure kicked the side of the galvanised barrier with such force that the whole structure shook.
‘You can imagine what would happen if he did that to someone,’ said White. ‘More than my bloody job’s worth.’
‘Did she ever work in the house?’
‘Jess? No. No need for her to go in there.’
‘Did she have anything to do with MacKenzie once she got the job?’
‘No.’ White pressed a button on the panel next to him and climbed down from the platform. He beckoned to Jan to do the same.
She was grateful that he had at least offered her a hand down, and as Turpin rounded the corner she paused, her notebook halfway to her handbag.
‘One more question, Mr White. Does Dominic Millar ever visit the yard?’
‘Dom? No – he uses the gallops from time to time, but he’d never set foot here.’
‘Oh? Why is that?’
White brushed past her and began to slide back the bolts on the side of the training ring. He rested his hand on the gate and peered back over his shoulder at her.
‘Best you ask Dominic that when you see him.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
The first peals from the bells at St Nicholas’s church reached Mark as he locked his front door the next morning.
Hamish peered through the front window, his paws on the back of the sofa and his tongue lolling.
‘Get off of there,’ said Mark, and rapped his knuckles on the glass.
The dog barked once, then disappeared.
Mark set a brisk pace towards the centre of town, and tugged a woollen hat over his head to ward off the damp breeze coming from the river.
Sunday, and the traffic was light at this time of the day, the town bleary-eyed from a late Saturday night of drinking and partying. Litter blew across the pavement in front of his boots as he entered the town square, and he glared at the clouds forming overhead.
He didn’t want to drive; he wanted to walk.
He needed to clear his head before arriving at the incident room.
Sleep had proved impossible. The death of a young woman always troubled him, especially now that he was so far away from his daughters. He always coached his junior colleagues about the stresses and strains of the job, but kept his own thoughts to himself.
After he’d been stabbed, after the slow recovery and then the move from Swindon to the smaller Oxfordshire market town, he’d tried to put all of it behind him.
Bury it.
Sometimes it worked; sometimes it didn’t.
Deep in thought, he nearly collided with a man in his fifties leaving a newsagent’s. He sidestepped, apologised, and then recognised his DI.
‘Sorry, guv. Lost in thought.’
‘No problem, Mark.’ Kennedy fell into step beside him, easily keeping pace with Mark’s long stride. ‘How did you get on yesterday at Adams’ stables? Anything interesting?’
Mark paused while he waited for a taxi to drive past, then led the way across the road. ‘Hitchens seems genuine. Career jockey, by the sound of it, lives for the work. He confirmed he and Will Brennan got back to the cottage just before eight-thirty. Nigel White left the pub at ten-thirty. Both Paul and Will had already gone up to bed by the time he got back home. They were both up early for the training ride the next morning.’
Kennedy harrumphed under his breath. ‘How far is the cottage from the training gallops?’
‘About three miles, I reckon.’
‘Too far to walk, then.’
Mark didn’t answer, and instead reached out to press the button for the pedestrian crossing.
‘Present investigation aside, how’re you settling in?’ said Kennedy, the wind lifting his thin hair before he ran a hand over it.
‘We haven’t had much time to catch up since the last case we worked on together.’
‘All right, guv.’
‘I heard you’d moved off the boat?’
‘Too cold for this time of year. I’m renting around the corner from the Abbey Gardens at the moment.’
The traffic braked to a halt, and they crossed the busy junction.
‘Thinking of buying somewhere more permanent?’
‘I thought I might have a look around when it gets warmer.’
‘Good,’ said Kennedy. ‘It’d be a shame to lose you. Wiltshire’s loss is our gain.’
‘Thanks, guv.’ He fell to silence, wondering whether his boss had heard about his imminent divorce.
It wouldn’t take long to reach his ears given station gossip, even if Jan said nothing.
It was the way it was.
‘Heard anything else about that incident in Swindon and the chap who stabbed you?’
Mark stumbled, and cursed under his breath as he righted himself and kept going, trying to ignore the heat that rose to his cheeks. ‘Nothing, guv.’
They had reached the police station, and Kennedy waved his security card at the grey panel next to the reception desk, then led the way up the stairs.
‘Well, keep up the good work, Mark. We’ll find who did this to Jessica.’
‘Guv.’
Kennedy shoved open the door to the incident room, and Mark waited for a moment at the threshold, gathering his thoughts.
His walk into work often served as a way to sort through the jumble of information he’d listened to over the course of an investigation, but meeting Kennedy had interrupted his usual pattern. After a few seconds, he moved across to his desk, ready to face whatever the HOLMES2 database had thrown his way by way of algorithms and data output while he’d been away from his computer overnight.
‘Sarge!’
Jan burst through the door, holding up her mobile phone.
‘What’s up?’
‘Noah Collins at the Farriers Arms just called. Says we need to get over there straight away.’
Five minutes later, he slammed the car door shut and buckled his seatbelt.
‘What did he say?’
Jan stomped on the accelerator and sped from the car park. ‘He sounded out of breath. Said there was someone there who wanted to speak to us. He hung up before I could ask who.’
‘Bloody hell.’
The last thing Mark wanted was for Jessica’s acquaintances to turn vigilante in their haste to find the young woman’s killer. Tensions were already high amongst MacKenzie Adams’ employees following the interviews at the racing stables yesterday, and he could only imagine the conversations that had taken place around the bar of the Farriers Arms since he and Jan had spoken with Noah Collins on Tuesday.
He held on to the handle above the window as Jan took a corner and then accelerated across a narrow bridge, her face determined as she powered the car through the narrow lanes.
Within twenty minutes, they’d reached the outskirts of Harton Wick.
The village appeared deserted, and Mark checked his watch. It seemed that at eleven o’clock in the morning, none of the residents had yet ventured out. As the car travelled along the lane towards the pub, he was struck by how spread out the village was compared with others in the area.
‘No wonder no-one heard anything,’ he said. ‘You need a car to get anywhere around here really, don’t you?’
‘I know. Jessica was unusual in that she walked between her house and the pub,’ said Jan. ‘I noticed that when we were doing the house-to-house enquiries during the week.’
She pulled into the pub car park and braked hard, sending up a flurry of grit that had accumulated next to the entranceway.
‘All right. Let’s go.’
Mark led the way across the asphalt towards the front door of the pub, then took a deep breath. For all they knew, they could be walking into an emotionally charged situation, and he had no wish to be the recipient of an ill-judged assault by surprising someone on the other side.
He knocked twice, and then as he pushed against the heavy oak door into the pub, he blinked to ward off the sudden lack of light, and peered into the gloom.
Before he’d taken a step further, a slight figure barrelled across the room towards them, her dark hair flying.
‘Is it true? Is she dead?’
‘Sorry.’ Noah Collins’ voice boomed across the room before Mark saw the landlord appear through a doorway behind the bar, drying his hands on a towel. ‘I didn’t hear you come in.’
‘What’s going on? Where is she?’ The young woman hugged her arms around her middle, turning from Mark to Noah, then back, her red-rimmed eyes wide in her pale face. ‘What happened to her?’
Jan moved forward, her voice calm. ‘Who are you?’
In response, the woman burst into tears.
‘Bethany Myers. I work with her. You left a message on my phone, right? We’re – we were best friends. I was going to be her bridesmaid.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
‘Noah, could you make Bethany a cup of tea? Lots of sugar,’ said Jan.
She steered the woman towards a large round table that had been placed in an alcove at the back of the pub’s seating area, away from the windows and any prying eyes.
Compared to the wall painted a deep russet and the array of cushions that lined the old church pew Bethany sat on, her face appeared even paler than Jan had first realised. The effect was almost ethereal.
Blue eyes peered out from under a dark fringe, and the woman twisted an intricate silver ring on her right hand, watching as Jan and Turpin pulled out seats opposite.
‘When did you get back?’ said Turpin.
‘Last night. Late – about ten-thirty,’ said Bethany. ‘I got your message when I got to Chepstow – the mobile coverage was shit where we were staying.’
‘Where was that?’
‘At a friend’s house outside Tintern. Just a bit of a break, that’s all. I go up there maybe two or three times a year.’
‘Have you spoken to anyone else since you got DS Turpin’s message?’
Bethany bit her lip. ‘I was driving so I only got that when I’d stopped for petrol and a sandwich to keep me going on the way back here. I didn’t want to phone Will when I got home because I knew he was usually asleep by then, and, of course, by the time I tried to phone him this morning he was already out with the horses. I came here at eleven o’clock when I knew Noah and Sonia would be getting ready to open. Is it true? Is she dead?’
‘I’m very sorry to tell you this, Bethany, but yes. Jessica’s body was found on the gallops on the Downs above MacKenzie Adams’ yard on Tuesday morning.’
Bethany let out an anguished shriek, then brought her hand to her mouth. ‘Why would someone do that to her?’
‘We believe she was attacked on her way home from work here on Monday night.’ Jan leaned forward. ‘Do you have any idea who might have had reason to harm Jessica?’
‘No. She was lovely, she really was. Everyone liked her. She––’
Bethany broke off as a shadow fell over the table.
Jan peered over her shoulder as Noah Collins approached, a steaming mug in his hand.
‘Tea,’ he said. ‘Plenty of sugar, and a splash of cold water so you can drink it straight away.’
Bethany grimaced at the first mouthful, but murmured her thanks while the burly landlord hovered a few steps away, his face full of concern.
‘How did you know Jessica?’ said Jan.
‘From secondary school. I didn’t know her well back then, just in passing. Then I applied for a job here about two years ago in the kitchen, and Jessica was already here. I learned loads off her.’ A wistful smile crossed Bethany’s face. ‘We used to have such a laugh.’
‘Good times,’ said Collins, and nodded. ‘It won’t be the same without her.’
Jan glanced at the landlord, then back to Bethany. ‘Did you always work with Jessica?�
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‘No, only on the occasional Friday night when it got busy. Noah called her and asked her to come in to help out at short notice. A lot of the lads from the stables around here get paid that day, same as a lot of the tradespeople who live nearby so everyone’s out having a drink and letting off steam. I work Fridays and Wednesdays.’
‘How do you get to work?’
‘I’ve got a moped.’ Bethany’s gaze fell to her hands. ‘I never liked walking, not like Jess. I rent a room in a house too far from here to walk anyway. Anyway, I don’t think I’ll ever risk walking anywhere after this. Not now.’
Jan reached into her bag and extracted a packet of paper tissues, plucked out one and passed it to Bethany.
She gave the young woman a moment to gather her thoughts, and then said, ‘When we first came in, you said you were going to be Jessica’s bridesmaid. Can you tell us about that?’
Bethany let out a shuddering sigh, and nodded. ‘Will had it all planned out. Did he tell you?’
‘Why don’t you tell me what you know?’ said Jan, and gestured for her to continue.
‘He wanted to surprise her. Make it something special. They really were a nice couple. Of course, she’d found it hard when he went up north for a while but I think she realised he needed to do it, to give his racing career a shot.’ She smiled. ‘She was over the moon when he came back, though.’
‘Did you ever see them arguing?’
‘God, no. Not proper arguing. They’d disagree about stuff, same as any couple would. But they never had a full-blown argument. Not in front of me, anyway.’
‘When did you last see Will Brennan?’
‘On the Friday, when I was working here.’
‘And how was Will when you last saw him?’
‘Excited. Looking forward to this weekend. And nervous, too. He really loved her, you know. I could tell.’
‘Did you know Will prior to Jessica going out with him?’
Bethany’s mouth quirked into a sardonic smile. ‘I dated him for six months before they got together.’
‘Oh?’
‘I’d split up with him about four months before he met Jess, so it was nothing like that.’ Bethany waved her hand as if dismissing a bad smell. ‘Obviously, it took a bit of getting used to, but like I said – I was the one he asked for help in planning the engagement, and he said she’d probably ask me to be a bridesmaid because we were such good friends.’
Her Final Hour Page 10
