Imogen said, ‘The burglary doesn’t sound very well thought out, does it? If it’s connected at all, it seems another example of spur-of-the-moment behaviour.’
Adam looked up. ‘Photos? You hadn’t mentioned those before. Are they backed up somewhere else?’
‘Not all of them.’ Dan’s forehead was wrinkled. ‘I’m hopeless at keeping copies. But I can't imagine there's anything there of particular interest to anyone except me. Everything is connected to my paintings. I’d been taking pictures of the horses in the yard.’
Steph had sat quietly, listening. Now, she said, slowly, ‘You've been to Leo Murphy’s yard a few times. You take photos there, you talk to the staff and you've met Leo himself once or twice. Maybe you know more than you think.’
He frowned. ‘Most of the photos I take at the yard are Polaroids and I had them all with me that afternoon. Imogen and I went to the yard because of the image we saw in one of them. I took a snap of a horse, but Belinda was in the background with Callum, one of the stable lads.’
He explained the relationship between the two. ‘I showed it to Pat, the head man, yesterday, and I must have left it at the yard, but there are plenty of other photos.’
He spread them on the table, and the four of them leaned in.
Adam said, ‘Anyone see anything of interest? Maybe in the background?’
After several minutes of disappointed head-shaking, Steph gave an exclamation. She grabbed one of the photos, squinting at it. ‘There are a couple of people I recognise in this shot.’
Adam sat up straight. ‘Go on?’
Her brow was wrinkled. ‘It's hard to tell, because this is such a small photo, and they’re in the distance, but that fellow with the hat looks very like that journalist we talked to. Alex’s kind-of-uncle, John Harris.’
‘Is that a connection?’ Imogen said, hesitantly. ‘I mean, how likely is it that Harris would be in Leo's yard?’
‘Unfortunately, very likely,’ Steph sighed and replaced the photo on the table. ‘He's a racing journalist, so he'll know all the trainers. Leo's yard is successful, he's been doing very well this year, and it's not surprising Harris would be around, probably writing a piece about Leo.’
Dan leaned over her shoulder to get a better look. ‘I took this about three weeks ago, judging by the date,’ he said. ‘I imagine if John Harris was writing a piece about the yard it's probably appeared somewhere by now.’
Steph considered. ‘You could be right. Print articles don’t appear for ages, but we may be lucky – he could be writing for a blog. I'll get online later today and scroll through all the likely places to see if I can find his article. I don't think we should ask Mr Harris himself. If there's the slightest chance he's a suspect, we don't want to alert him.’
Dan sat back in his seat. ‘It's a very long shot though, isn't it? It’s been several weeks since Alex Deacon died, there’s been a separate burglary resulting in an elderly lady being attacked, and another death, although that one could be natural causes. But what worries me is that we may be stirring up trouble and making matters worse. This amateur detective work might be dangerous – not for us, but for other people.’
Adam looked up and the two men’s eyes met. For once, neither displayed any sign of irritation. Adam nodded. ‘You’re right. If these events are connected, we may be getting close to the truth. If Leo Murphy’s yard is at the centre of this, I want to know what’s going on there. There are plenty of possible motives for murder in the racing world, I’m beginning to realise; drugs, betting, fierce competition and raging teenage hormones, to name but a few.’
Steph said, ‘We can’t stop now. We’ve come too far.’
Imogen said, ‘Adam, you spent time with Henry and Ling. Did that take us any further?’
Adam shook his head. ‘Not on the face of it. Our Hooray Henry’s a smooth character – just what you’d expect from the head of chambers. Racing seems to be his passion. He got a bit tense, though, when we talked about the finances – seemed keen to stress that he isn’t in it for the money, but that it’s a hobby. I did wonder how true that is.’
Steph said, ‘I read an article recently discussing the new rules for legal fees. Apparently, the law doesn’t bring in too much, these days.’
‘Really?’ Imogen raised her eyebrows. ‘I thought all lawyers were impossibly rich.’
Adam smiled. ‘Not true. The money’s all in corporate law. The everyday stuff – domestic violence, burglary, fraud and so on – is far less lucrative. All the barristers I know are pleading poverty.’
Imogen’s head bobbed up. ‘Could Henry be involved in one of those what do you call ’em – doping rings?’
‘Who knows,’ Dan said. ‘Stranger things have happened.’
He went on, leaning forward, animated. ‘I’ve been thinking about this, and about motives. There’s the jealousy angle, both between the two female jockeys and the different yards. Then there are boyfriends; Belinda said Alex pinched her man, but she seemed to quickly find another chap, Callum, who may be a boyfriend, or may not. But none of these motives is strong enough for murder, in my opinion. Would anyone really kill for these reasons? Surely, they’d have to be unbalanced – and everyone we’ve met appears to be reasonably normal. A bit obsessed with horses, maybe, but not enough to commit murder.’
He sat back, his eyebrows raised.
Steph smiled her agreement. ‘Perhaps we need to throw our net wider. Should we look harder at some outsiders – like John Harris? I’m not sure I would trust him as far as I could chuck him.’
Adam chuckled.
‘What?’ Steph said.
‘You couldn’t lift him, never mind throw him.’
‘Don’t you believe it. I may be small, but I’m strong,’ she said. ‘I’ve taken self-defence classes.’
Adam said, ‘Joking apart, I think you’re right. We began work on this case because Diane asked for help, and as a result, we’ve started with the people who know her and her daughter. We’ve focused on Belinda. But we’ve kept away from Alex, leaving her side of things to the police.’
He glanced at the others, but no one disagreed, so he went on, ‘We looked at everything through Belinda’s lens, hoping to prove her innocence. We’ve thought she’s unlikely to be the killer, not because her mother and friends vouch for her but because she has very little motive, as Dan says, apart from the normal jealousies of young women in competition for either men or career. No one’s reported her as likely to hurt others, let alone kill someone. No history of tempers or personality disorders. Besides, she had a very small window of opportunity to kill Alex and if, by a long shot, Ed Collins was also deliberately killed, although we have no idea how, she was nowhere near his farm at the time.’
He looked around. The other three were nodding, so he went on, ‘We need to know more about Alex’s personality. Her life. What did she do, for example, when she wasn’t at the stables or on a racecourse?’
Dan said, ‘What do you suggest?’
‘I thought I’d visit this Tim Booth, the lad who knew both Belinda and Alex. He should be able to fill in some details.’
’Good idea,’ Dan agreed. ‘Any other ideas?’
Adam nodded. ‘There’s plenty more to do. Steph, maybe you could keep looking out articles John Harris has written in the past, and talk to him again while Dan focuses on yard gossip. I’ll track down any medical details on the deaths of Alex and Mr Collins, looking for links. It’s time we began to strike a few suspects off our rather long list soon.’
As the meeting broke up, Adam walked through the reception area with Steph. She was looking even more attractive than usual. Her eyes gleamed with the thrill of the investigation.
‘Do you need any help with that John Harris?’ he asked. ‘He’s a slippery customer.’
She chuckled. ‘I was a journalist for years. I learned how to handle the John Harrises of this world. I know how to flirt. But, I’d like to have you with me. Shall I entice him back to The Pl
ough?’
‘Good idea.’
She continued, ‘But before I meet with him, I'd love some research help. He’s written such a lot. I thought I'd spend a morning checking it out online before I meet him again, but it would be quicker if there were two of us on separate machines. Do you want to come over to my place and help?’
Adam shot her a sideways glance. He certainly wasn’t about to turn down the chance for a few hours alone with her.
‘I'll bring my laptop. I'm supposing you have a good internet connection?’ he said.
‘That was the first thing I wanted to know when I was buying the house. See you tomorrow.’
Adam grinned. ‘I'll bring pastries.’
24
Harris
On Friday morning, Adam and Steph sat comfortably in her cosy sitting room. The furnishings were as cheerful as her clothes, the cushions, rugs and curtains collected with a love of colour and light that lifted Adam’s spirits.
This morning he’d revisited his resolution to get fit, and run around the village, the kind female voice of the Couch to 5K coach murmuring encouragement in his ear. Just as well she couldn’t see his red-faced, puffing attempts at jogging for a full minute. Who would have thought a single minute could last so long?
By ten thirty, showered and dressed, Adam sat at Steph’s circular dining table with his laptop open, salivating like Harley as she produced coffee and plates for their Danish pastries. ‘My favourites,’ she said, ‘How did you know? Although I try very hard not to eat too many. It's difficult not to bloat like a balloon when you're small and you live alone, like I do. I try to make myself walk straight past the baker’s down the road, but I fail more often than not.’
Adam, remembering his morning’s exercise, decided not to spoil its effect and cut his apple Danish in half. That would save a few calories, wouldn’t it?
Munching happily, they searched for articles and blogs carrying John Harris’s byline. They had quite a task in front of them. Harris had been a journalist for more than thirty years and during much of that time he'd specialised in horse racing. He'd worked for many, many newspapers and magazines and he blogged regularly on his own site.
Steph said, ‘You take his blog, and I'll sift through back articles to check if there’s anything in his past we need to know. Imogen and I went through most of his recent stuff before we met him.’
‘Good idea. Anything that mentions racing stables, or the names of the grooms and jockeys at Leo’s yard, or the other one – Ann Clarkson’s.’
He stopped talking as he noticed Steph’s wry smile. ‘I'm mansplaining, aren't I?’ he sighed.
‘Well, just a little. It's endearing, though, in you.’
They worked in perfect harmony, accompanied only by clicking keys and the occasional curse.
Adam concentrated on past articles from Harris’s blog. He ploughed through acres of horse-related material until he found a section featuring rider profiles. They zinged with malicious humour.
‘This ageing trier,’ Harris wrote under the photo of an older jockey, ‘near the end of his undistinguished career, notched up an undeserved win today. His opponents, writing him off as a loser, wasted energy outmanoeuvring each other while the also-ran slunk past and snatched an unmerited win.’
In the comments an argument between supporters and detractors rapidly descended into trolling.
Adam assumed Harris had a friendly lawyer on retainer to keep him just this side of a libel suit.
Tiring of the man’s sneery style, Adam replenished the coffee cups and, after a short battle with his better self, swallowed the remaining half of the Danish pastry in one gulp.
Steph kept her head down, scrolling doggedly through one article after another, often chuckling to herself. Adam turned back to his laptop, oddly irritated. Steph seemed to be enjoying Harris’s work.
She looked up. ‘I might have something, here.’
Adam moved to a chair next to her and together they scanned one of Harris’s pieces.
She said, ‘It's another of his puff pieces about his niece, Alex, but there are some interesting points.’ She pointed to a paragraph halfway down the screen.
Newcomer Alex Deacon scores an early win on Morning Soul, a likely star of the future from Leo Murphy’s stable. Winning the ride over the head of other upcoming jockeys, notably Belinda Sandford from Murphy’s own yard, she proved her mettle by leading the field from the start and maintaining a cracking pace through the final furlong.
Murphy's praise for her was unstinting. ‘There's no denying Alex's quality as a jockey.’ He’ll no doubt be offering her more rides in future.
Asked about the quality of his own conditional jockeys Murphy claimed he’d be grateful for one with half Alex's ability.
The article continued,
It’s unusual for a trainer to prefer another stable’s up-and-coming jockey to his own. Is there some kind of merger in the wind between two of the most successful racing yards in Somerset? Leo Murphy's long been friendly with Ann Clarkson. Does their friendship go beyond business, and are we looking at a private and professional merger?
‘That's a pretty incendiary piece of writing,’ Steph said. ‘I wonder how he persuaded Leo to make remarks like that about his own protégée.’ She sounded impressed. Adam shot a glance at her. Was she interested in Harris for more than information?
‘If he really did,’ Adam said. ‘Most aren’t quotes, just Harris’s opinion. When did he write this?’
Steph scrolled to the top of the post. ‘The end of January. I wonder what Leo Murphy made of it.’
Adam mused aloud, ‘A merger between Ann Clarkson and Leo Murphy. Does John Harris know something, or is this all speculation?’
They found no further references to a possible yard merger.
‘In fact,’ Steph remarked, ‘it looks to me as if Harris made the whole thing up. I wonder why. Well, there is one way to find out. It’s time for that chat with John Harris, I think.’
Harris showed no objection to returning to The Plough. ‘So long as the drinks are on you,’ he told Adam.
‘The first round anyhow,’ Adam smiled, keeping his temper. ‘Red wine or white?’
Harris glanced at the bar. Looking for something stronger, maybe. Whisky? Adam waited, his hand halfway between a bottle of red and one of white. ‘I can recommend the white,’ he said.
Harris shrugged. ‘I prefer red, if it’s all the same.’
Steph swirled her drink around her glass. She’d agreed to take the lead in the conversation. Adam had said, ‘If he wants to muscle in on this book you claim to be writing, he'll be willing to dish the dirt to you.’
She dropped any pretence at small talk. ‘We know you're busy, John,’ she said, ‘so I'll get to the point. I’ve been reading your work. Is there something going on between Leo Murphy and Ann Clarkson?’
Harris blinked at the direct question and gave a slow nod. ‘There's been gossip around Somerset's racing circles for a while. Ms Clarkson is an attractive woman, you know. She’s a widow, with a successful yard, so she’s very eligible.’ Adam sighed. Of course, Harris judged a woman on looks and money.
‘I thought there might be something brewing, although Murphy’s been married to his wife for over thirty years, and she’s a feisty lady. I wouldn’t want to rub her up the wrong way. But a few weeks ago, I started to wonder. I saw Ann Clarkson with that older groom from Leo's yard.’
‘Callum?’ Steph suggested.
‘That’s the one. Likes the ladies, does Callum. Ann and he were all over each other, like a pair of schoolkids behind the bike sheds.’
‘Except,’ Steph suggested with a twinkle, ‘they substituted horseboxes for bike sheds.’
‘Exactly. And he’s half her age. A toy boy.’
They laughed together. Adam looked from one to the other. What did Steph see in this man? ‘So, there’s a link between the two yards, but it's not the trainers,’ he said, ‘or at least, not both of them. So no m
erger on the cards.’
Harris sniggered, ‘Not a business merger, anyway. I made that bit up in the piece – it got me a few more commissions from the editor. They like a rumour, do editors. You just have to phrase it right.’
He’d drained his glass, and looked hopefully at the bottle. Adam picked it up, holding it, tantalisingly, over Harris’s glass. The man’s eyes never left it. Some kind of problem there, Adam thought. No wonder Harris’s eyes were bloodshot.
‘Look,’ Harris said, ‘there's all sorts of goings-on between those yards. Well, it's what you'd expect, isn't it? They’re only a few miles from each other, and they are heaving with athletic men and women? No wonder they get together, have relationships, break up and start again.’
Adam said, ‘Kind of like a chessboard,’ He tilted the bottle above Harris’s glass. ‘And with your niece working for Ann, I bet she kept you in touch with all the gossip.’
Harris nodded absently, his attention on the wine as Adam half-filled his glass and replaced the bottle on the table, close to his elbow. ‘Help yourself,’ he smiled. ‘And there's something you can do for us.’
Harris stiffened. ‘What would that be?’
Adam said, ‘We'd like details of all – all – liaisons and friendships between the staff at the two stable yards.’
Steph joined in. 'We want every bit of scandal, John. I know you're good at it. Your blog’s gripping.’
Harris stroked a stubbly chin. ‘Romantic relationships or business?’
Steph waved a hand in the air. ‘Everything you know. Ring me, would you? Here’s my number.’
Harris turned her business card over in his hand.
‘And I'll run you home,’ Adam added. He didn’t want Steph alone with this man. ‘You're welcome to take the bottle.’
A Racing Murder (The Ham Hill Murder Mysteries) Page 16
