‘It's a world of its own, racing,’ Henry went on. ‘Like a closed society. Neither Ling nor I can tell you much about the individuals who work in it, but I expect you're keen to know about our friends in the syndicate. I might be able to help you, there. And, no doubt, you’ll be talking to them about us.’
With a grin, he reached for his empty glass and raised it in a salute. ‘Fancy another beer?’
As Henry brought more bottles from the kitchen, Adam said, ‘I’ve been wondering about the comings and goings at the racecourse on the day Alex Deacon died. You see, I would have thought the place was heaving. The stands, where the public mill around, might have thinned out at the end of the day, but behind the scenes it must have been busy; in the parade ring, the owners’ areas, jockeys’ locker rooms, showers and so on. Now, once the Stewards’ Enquiry was over, the horses and their jockeys, trainers and whatnot would get home as soon as possible, I imagine. There must be quite a melee – people everywhere, getting packed up ready to leave. I'm wondering how Alex could be attacked with no one knowing.’
Henry nodded, thoughtfully. ‘A good point. Either there was some kind of incident that at least one other person must have witnessed but isn't talking about, or Alex was killed by someone seizing the moment.’
‘Exactly,’ said Adam. ‘So, for the sake of dotting i’s and crossing t’s, where were you and the other members of the syndicate between the end of the Stewards’ Enquiry at four thirty and dinner at eight thirty in the hotel?’
Ling spoke first. ‘Laura, Diane and I hung around with everyone else, during the inquiry. When the result was announced just after half past four, Diane was upset, of course. It’s hardly surprising. She’s very fragile and it’s less than two years since Rupert died. She was so excited about seeing this race, Belinda's first as a professional.’
‘Did you see Alex Deacon at all?’
Ling wrinkled her nose. ‘She was in the winner’s enclosure after the stewards’ announcement of the result, thrilled to bits with her win, of course. I don’t remember seeing her after that.’
Ling frowned. ‘It was all very hard on Belinda. She went back to the stables after the result, making sure Butterfly Charm was ready to go home. The jockeys and stable staff love those horses like their own children. Diane, Laura and I went to the owners’ bar. After a while, Diane went to find Belinda and bring her back to see us. They were both pretty emotional, although at least Butterfly Charm hadn’t been disqualified. Belinda will get over the race, of course, and the experience won't do her any harm in the long run. Second place isn’t at all bad for a 25-1 runner, but she didn’t see it like that. There were a few tears.’
‘And then?’
‘Belinda calmed down while she was talking to Laura and to me – we’re all good friends, even though she’s younger.’
She smiled. ‘I’m rambling a bit. Sorry. Where was I? Belinda and Diane went back to the hotel to change – they were staying overnight. I expect the staff there will vouch for the time of their arrival. Laura and I went to find our husbands.’
‘Where were they?’
‘Sharing a drop of the hard stuff,’ Henry admitted. ‘Magnus and I have known each other for years. We've owned parts of several horses and we've learned to celebrate whether they win or lose. As I said, a syndicate’s not about the prize money. It's a different matter for the trainers. Their prestige, and the funding to keep their business going – training horses is an incredibly expensive business –matters a great deal to them.’
He laid down his chopsticks. ‘I wouldn't mind betting Leo had a few private words with Belinda. He would have taken her off somewhere quiet. In fact, thinking it over, I can't see that Belinda had many chances to attack her friend, or, to be honest, any reason to.’
21
Dan
Around the time Adam left Henry and Ling Oxon, Imogen was driving to Dan’s studio.
‘It's not a date,’ she told herself, sternly. ‘We’re going to talk over the case, and the Spring Fair.’
She concentrated on her driving, watching the signs of spring peeping out in the countryside. She even caught sight of a few ewes with their lambs in the shelter of the hedgerow. Before long, the field would be full of the cacophony of new-born lambs losing and searching for their mothers.
It was time to stop letting Harley run through the fields. Delightful as he was, Imogen could never trust him around livestock.
She arrived at the narrow, steep, permanently muddy lane that twisted downhill towards the studio – Dan’s home. His two donkeys, Smash and Grab, hung their heads over the fence, hoping this new arrival would offer at least a pat on the head and maybe something to eat.
Imogen produced two apples. ‘You're getting fat,’ she told Grab, recognising him from the dark patch on his flank. He was always first at the feeding trough.
Dan, was, as usual, working in his studio.
She'd let him finish whatever he was doing before announcing herself. His attention on his painting was fierce, and she liked to watch him in silence, his hair flopping over his forehead, eyes narrowed in concentration. Once or twice, she’d taken him by surprise and he’d almost jumped out of his skin.
Today, though, he had no brush in his hand. Instead, he had a pile of small, square photos on the table and was examining each one minutely.
She joined him. He glanced up at her but his mind was very clearly still on his work. ‘I've taken a few Polaroids of the horses Leo wants me to feature in the painting. The trouble is, one horse looks very much like another to me, apart from the colour. I don’t say that to him, though. I'm trying to find some sort of composition that won't just look like three horses standing in a field.’
‘And hello to you too,’ she said.
He put the photos back on the table. ‘Sorry, didn't mean to be rude.’
‘It's okay.’ But it wasn't, not really. She was about to move on, let it go, when she stopped. For years, she’d let Greg get away with putting her down and she wasn’t going to take it from Dan. ‘Actually,’ she corrected herself, ‘It’s not okay. I’ve driven a long way to see you—’
‘And I’ve been selfish and horrible. I’m really, truly sorry. I get too wrapped up in my work. It’s not an excuse, I know. Erica, my ex-wife, called me obsessive. That’s—’ he broke off.
‘One of the reasons you split up?’ Imogen suggested.
He smiled. Imogen’s stomach always turned over when she saw that crooked grin. ‘One of the reasons she left me. And quite right too. I deserved it.’ He frowned, earnestly, like a small boy caught scrumping apples.
‘How can I make it up to you?’
‘You can make some coffee,’ she said.
As he fiddled with mugs and a cafetière, she went on, ‘You were about to tell me more about Leo's yard.’
‘That's right,’ Dan turned. ‘I was. Interesting place—’ He broke off. ‘Why haven't I drawn you?’ he murmured. ‘That face…’
‘Don't even think it,’ Imogen said.
‘Seriously, you have the most amazing bone structure.’
‘And you're making me uncomfortable.’ She buried her face in the mug of coffee he put in front of her and took a sip. ‘Tell me what you know about the racing stables,’ she insisted.
‘I've been there two or three times now, although I only met Leo himself the first time. I’m not sure I'd want to work for him. He's got a sharp tongue, not to mention an eagle eye. The grooms seem to like him okay, but I heard him give a right roasting to one lad, who’d forgotten to fill a hay net or something.’
She nodded, and he went on, ‘The young people seem to be well-supervised, and not just by Leo. In fact, he probably spends less time in the yard than the head man. So far as I can see, Pat’s the mover and shaker around the horses. He's a little fellow, wiry, fit as a flea, almost completely bald, and his language would turn your hair grey.’
Dan picked up the photos he’d been examining when Imogen arrived and shuffled through th
em, then laid them out neatly for her to see. ‘Here we are,’ he said, triumphant. ‘Here's Pat leading Butterfly Charm out of the stall.’
He pointed to another photo. ‘Here are some of the other grooms. Look, this photo has Belinda in the background, and,’ he peered more closely, ‘would you believe it, that groom next to her has his arm around her shoulders. I hadn’t noticed that before. I was too busy looking at the horse.’
Imogen leaned in. ‘Interesting,’ she said. ‘I wonder – is that the boyfriend she lost to Alex, or a new conquest?’
‘There should be a date on the photo,’ Dan said. ‘Yes, there it is. December, just before Christmas – of course it is, you can see the garland above the box.’
Imogen said, ‘That means it may be a new boyfriend. Who can we ask?’
‘Doesn't Belinda share a house with another couple? We should ask them. Oh—’
He fell silent.
Imogen stared at him, puzzled. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Sorry, I’ve had a thought.’ His face broke into a broad grin. ‘Maybe I should forget about painting the horses standing still. I'll never be Gainsborough, but I could show them as part of a working yard. You know, Butterfly Charm being led, just like this, and Pink Gin behind, perhaps with one of the jockeys. I gather he's been ridden by some of the best. I wonder if Leo would be able to persuade them to be in the picture…’
Imogen blinked, stunned. How could Dan forget about the case so easily? Almost in mid-sentence. It was infuriating. She said, ‘Can’t you even—’ but she stopped talking, realising the truth. The poor man couldn’t help it. His work was everything to him. It was almost like an illness, and she couldn’t compete with it. She liked Dan – even, she admitted to herself, stood possibly on the verge of more than liking – but she wouldn’t be able to change him.
Did that matter? Could she put up with his absorption in his work, letting it take first place in his life?
But, she reasoned, she felt like that about her garden. She took a long look at his puzzled face and started to laugh.
‘What is it?’ he asked, looking at her as though she was the crazy one. Then, his own lips twitched. ‘I'm doing it again, aren't I?’ he said. ‘Obsessing about work. Sorry.’
Imogen took a long breath. This was Dan. She must either take him as he was or forget about forging a closer relationship.
She explained, ‘I thought you were about to come out with some insight into who killed Alex, but you were thinking about the painting.’
‘I’m not much help in this inquiry, am I?’ He thrust his hands through his hair until it stood on end. Imogen looked at the photos on the table. ‘Why do you use Polaroids instead of taking photos on your phone?’
He thought a moment, his eyebrows working. ‘Habit, I suppose. I use the phone sometimes, but I like to have the photos printed out so I can move them around and think about them. It's a fuss to do that with digital photos. I just wish they made the Polaroids a bit bigger.’
Imogen picked up the photo of Belinda. ‘I’d like to know more about this stable hand. Belinda told Adam about her previous boyfriend, Tim, the one Alex took from her, but he was young, like Belinda. This man’s much older. I don’t think it’s Tim. Don’t you think that’s odd? I mean, the ‘jealousy over Alex pinching Tim’ motive doesn’t hold water if Belinda’s already over him, does it? And she looks pretty keen on this one, judging by the photo. I want to know more about this man.’
‘We were going to go for a long walk in the countryside,’ Dan objected. ‘I’m wearing my walking boots and everything.’
‘But this might be important.’
‘Now who’s being obsessive? I’ll tell you what, let’s nip over to the yard now and I'll introduce you to some of the workers. Mrs Hammond, who cleans for me, will cycle over later this afternoon and I like to be out when she’s here – don’t have to stop and chat, you know. She’s a good soul, but my word, she can talk for England.’
He collected the photos together, slipped them into an envelope and transferred them to his pocket. ‘Leo said I can come and go at the yard as I like, so long as I check in with Pat when I arrive.’
He took one of Imogen's hands in his. She felt a jolt, like electricity, as their fingers touched. She gasped, and Dan smiled, ‘Then, we could go somewhere quiet for a spot of dinner. I will stop thinking about painting and concentrate on you, as you deserve. Will you forgive me for being so rude when you arrived, if we do that?’
Imogen and Dan arrived at the yard, where Pat welcomed them with a nod and a frank stare at Imogen. ‘Come to take more photos, have you, Dan? Thought you were a painter. Haven’t seen you with a brush yet.’
Imogen glanced at Dan, but he seemed happy to let the sarcasm float over his head. ‘I wanted to show you one of these.’ He tugged the photograph that showed Belinda from his pocket. ‘Who's that with Belinda?’
Pat peered at it, his head only reaching as high as Dan's chest. He sucked his teeth loudly. ‘Now, what do they think they're up to, during working hours? I'll have a word or two with our Belinda. Hasn't exactly covered herself with glory recently, has she?’
Imogen said, ‘I was wondering about the man in the picture. Is he Belinda's boyfriend?’
‘Nah. Look, you can see, she was having one of her meltdowns. Inclined to be weepy, that one. Some of the younger girls are like that, haven't grown up yet. I guess he was just giving her a hug. You know, to cheer her up or whatever.’
Judging from his tone, and his comment about working hours, Pat disapproved of comforting hugs in a racing yard.
Dan said, ‘Women a problem in the yard, are they?’
Pat pushed his cap back on his head, and scratched his bald pate. His eyes darted from left to right. ‘Now, we don’t say things like that these days but between you and me and the gatepost, and saving present company of course, ma’am,’ he nodded at Imogen, but his eyes were cold, ‘life was much easier back in the day when we were all lads together. You have to watch your language, these days. Can’t even say women are weaker than men.’
He glanced around again. ‘You mark my words, some of these girls aren't up to the job. One thing goes wrong and they burst into tears and expect the lads to help them out. Then again, some of the young boys don’t have the sense they're born with. They see a pretty face like young Belinda’s, and they’re taken right in.’
Imogen heard Dan’s angry intake of breath. She kept her hands in her pockets, fists clenched. They weren't here to tell Pat what they thought of him. She wondered if Leo knew about the man's attitude to women – that their only use was decorative. The yard would be in trouble if one of the girls complained about sexist comments.
Pat was still talking. ‘This fellow in the photo, Callum, he's been with us for years. He'll stay a groom. He don't have what it takes to be a jockey, but he's popular. Especially among the girls. He’s a nice shoulder to cry on, that's our Callum.’
He looked at his watch. ‘I need to get on. Don't go in any of the boxes without the grooms, and no flashbulbs. And, let me know when you leave.’
He turned away, then, catching sight of a groom coming out of the next box, shouted, ‘Oi. Come over here. Our artist wants a word with you,’ and left, going about his business elsewhere.
Callum was instantly recognisable from the photograph. A full head taller than Pat, he was older than most of the lads, about thirty, with a turned up nose, straw-coloured hair, and light eyes prematurely surrounded by crows’ feet, as though he’d spent many hours gazing into the sun.
He smiled at Imogen, hardly glancing at Dan. ‘Can I help you?’ His voice was soft and pleasant. Imogen couldn't imagine him ever shouting across the yard like Pat.
Dan showed him the Polaroid. ‘Is this you, with Belinda Sandford?’
He took it, and grinned. ‘That's right. I remember. She'd had a fall, that day, and twisted her ankle. She'd been pretending it was all right, but she was tired by the time you took this photo. Had a bit of a cry.
’
‘Pat thinks the girls are less tough than the rest of you.’ There was ice in Imogen’s voice.
‘That's just Pat's way,’ Callum said. ‘He doesn't mean anything by it. He treats us all the same – yells at us all, girls and boys. You should have heard him lay into me the other day when I dropped a bucket of oats just as some of the owners arrived. Almost had me in tears.’ His grin spread widely across his face. Imogen found herself smiling back.
‘In any case,’ he said, ‘he hides it well, but I reckon Pat has a soft spot for Belinda. He suggested Leo give her the ride on Butterfly Charm. We were all surprised at that. Still, he was right. She did a good job.’
Imogen said, ‘Despite the Stewards’ Enquiry?’
‘Anyone can get a bit overexcited, especially in their first race. That's why we don't expect them to win first time out. Besides, that Alex did a job on Belinda. What a performance – she should have been on the stage. You could steer a barge between the two horses. Still, you had to hand it to Alex, she made it look good.’
He took a breath. ‘Poor Alex…’ he added hastily.
Dan said, ‘So, you and Belinda. Are you an item?’
Callum scratched his head. ‘No chance. She’s a nice enough girl, but not for me. Anyway, Leo’s banned liaisons in the yard. Mates, that’s all we are.’
22
Studio
That evening, Dan and Imogen ate dinner in a quiet country pub. Dan was painfully attentive, taking her coat, holding her chair while she sat down, and agreeing with everything she said. He was on his best behaviour and it made Imogen nervous.
‘You don’t have to treat me like a piece of fine porcelain,’ she pointed out. ‘Let’s just be normal, shall we?’
With a sheepish grin, Dan relaxed back in his chair. ‘Sorry, just trying to be a better date.’
‘Well,’ she turned the conversation to their visit to Leo’s yard. ‘What did you think about that story we heard. The one about Belinda hurting her foot and Callum comforting her. It all sounded a bit odd to me. What did you think?’
A Racing Murder (The Ham Hill Murder Mysteries) Page 14
