A Racing Murder (The Ham Hill Murder Mysteries)

by Frances Evesham

  ‘Was that relationship with Alex likely to last, do you think?’

  Tim rose to his feet, wandered across to the window, and looked out, his back to Adam. ‘I thought it might but after a week or two she seemed to cool off a bit. You know, she couldn't come out when I asked her. She needed to wash her hair, or she'd agreed to watch a film with her flatmates – that kind of thing.’

  Typical signs of a relationship going sour.

  Tim turned around. ‘Then, she started seeing someone else. She went around with Callum for a bit, but one day I saw her leave the yard and get in a car. A flash affair, it was. Everyone around here drives four-by-fours, nothing unusual in that, but this one was brand-new. Top of the range, I’d say. And it was quiet. You couldn’t hear the engine. Like one of those new electric cars.’

  Adam asked, trying not to look excited. ‘Who was she with? Do you know?’

  Tim opened his hands in a gesture of ignorance. ‘I couldn’t see.’

  Adam’s spark of excitement died away. ‘So you wouldn’t recognise the driver again?’

  Tim sat down, crossed his arms and puffed out his cheeks. ‘No chance,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘The car flashed past, heading towards Camilton. I noticed Alex more than the driver. She looked at me, and I know she saw me, but she didn't even wave.’

  He swallowed. ‘That was the last time I saw her. It was a week before the Wincanton races and I had the week off. I went to Cornwall with Mum and Dad.’ He swallowed hard. His eyes were suspiciously bright and Adam guessed his mother could be sicker than she’d seemed. The family might not be going on too many more holidays.

  ‘So, you were in Cornwall on that Saturday?’

  ‘We drove home in the afternoon. I was with Mum and Dad all day and I didn’t even check my phone. Mum doesn’t like it if I do that when we’re all together. She says it upsets Dad.’ He managed a smile. ‘I think it annoys her, really. She phones her friends on our landline, would you believe? I gave her my old phone but she won’t use it. Anyway, I didn’t find out about Alex until after we got home.’

  Tim gave Adam the address of the Airbnb cottage they’d rented for the week. As Adam left, Mrs Booth hovering politely, he remarked. ‘Cornwall’s a lovely place for a break.’

  ‘We think so,’ she said. ‘My husband loves it there, even in February. The sea’s so wild and invigorating.’

  Adam could check Tim’s alibi with DCI Andrews but he believed the story. The lad wasn’t at the races on the day Alex died. Adam liked Tim. He bore the weight of looking after his vulnerable parents with grace beyond his years. Perhaps Alex should have stayed with him, instead of dropping him in favour of either Callum or her other unknown suitor.

  28

  Funeral

  The morning of Ed Collins’ funeral dawned bright, the sunshine warm, and the crocuses in The Streamside’s garden in full bloom. Mrs Collins had phoned Imogen and begged her to attend. ‘After all, you were there when it happened, and you were so helpful.’

  ‘It was nothing, but I'd be honoured to come.’ In fact, she wished she had an excuse to avoid another funeral. The last church funeral she'd attended had been her father's. Her husband, Greg, had been cremated in a bright but impersonal crematorium and his ashes left under a stone that stated only his name and the dates of his birth and death.

  Mrs Collins said, ‘I've booked The Plough for his – well, we call it a wake, these days, don't we? I hope you're not offended, but he wasn't the kind of chap to want anything grand, like your hotel. He drank in The Plough many times over the years, and he liked the new landlord, that Adam Hennessy. Oh, and do bring that lovely man we met. Dan, I think? If he wants to come…’

  Now that the day had arrived, Imogen hesitated over what to wear. It used to be easier when she was a child and people wore black to funerals. Nowadays it was harder to judge. Finally, she opted for charcoal as Emily suggested. ‘It’s near enough to black but less draining on the face.’

  Dan and Imogen took their seats in church, a few rows back from Laura, her husband and family in the front pews. Imogen shot a look at Dan by her side and caught her breath. Black suited him perfectly.

  Laura’s eldest sister gave a short eulogy, describing her father's love of nature and the countryside. Helen Pickles, the vicar, managed the event with thoughtful competence and the packed congregation sang ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’ with gusto.

  Afterwards, The Plough was packed. Ed Collins had been a popular member of the Somerset community. Imogen found herself surrounded by all the Collins family, who wanted to thank her for her kindness. Dan, who’d only arrived at the end of the drama of Ed’s heart attack, tactfully moved away and chatted to Helen Pickles about the upcoming Spring Fair, their heads close together.

  Embarrassed, for she felt she’d done no more than any reasonable human being would do, Imogen drank coffee and listened as the family swapped old stories about Ed.

  ‘At least,’ Mrs Collins said, ‘he died happy and that was thanks to you, Laura.’ She gave Laura a hug. ‘He was so pleased you'd come to help with the lambing. He said it was like the old times when you girls were at home, running around with your friends and quarrelling over whose turn it was to ride the pony.’

  Laura rolled her eyes. ‘So many of us,’ she laughed, ‘in our hand-me-down jodhpurs. We shared everything – clothes, friends, ponies – you name it.’

  ‘And look at you now,’ one of her sisters said, ‘with your gorgeous husband, living the life of Riley in that mansion of yours. And now you even own race horses.’

  Laura laughed, ‘Or, at least, part of one.’

  Magnus arrived with a tray of drinks. ‘Is there room for me here with you ladies?’

  Mrs Collins pulled up an empty chair for him and he sat between her and Laura. ‘We were talking about Laura as a child. She was easily the naughtiest of the girls.’

  ‘I can well believe it.’ Magnus slipped an arm around his wife and gave her a squeeze.

  ‘Let's change the subject,’ Laura said. ‘Look, they're bringing out the food. Let's go and grab some. The lads from the Young Farmers are here in force. Most of them have helped Dad out on the farm at some point, and they'll scoff the lot if we’re not quick.’

  Mrs Collins watched her daughters pounce on the food, leaving Magnus and Imogen as her only company.

  ‘I don't think I can eat anything,’ she said. ‘I’ve lost my appetite and I'm not a great one for food, anyway. Ed used to say I was small enough to be a jockey, unlike our Laura. She wanted to be a ballet dancer, you know, but by the time she was five we could all see she was going to be too tall.’

  Imogen nodded politely. She was glad Magnus had joined them. He was the syndicate member she knew least well. He wore all the hallmarks of a successful man, his suit immaculately cut and his fingernails short and neat.

  Magnus looked like a man who appreciated neatness and order.

  Mrs Collins was revisiting her husband's death. ‘Of course, Magnus, you weren't there that day. I keep forgetting, but Laura was such a help. I didn't want to say this in front of all the girls, but Ed had a real soft spot for her – and he was so pleased she married you. “A doctor”, he said. “A nice, steady job, not like farming. She’ll be set up for life.”’ She sighed. ‘Laura’s missing her dad and she’s also missing Alex. They were friends in the pony club days, although Laura was quite a bit older. I think some of the locals – Alex, Laura and Belinda – formed a kind of united front against some of the other girls in the club. One or two were richer than the others, and a bit snobby. It hit Laura really hard when Alex died. And then the shock of Ed’s…’ She snatched a handkerchief from her bag and pressed it to her lips. Her voice shook. ‘I'm glad Laura has you to look after her, Magnus.’

  Imogen, awkward to be part of what was fast becoming a very private conversation, half rose, planning to cross the bar and chat to Helen and Dan. They were surrounded by a small group of laughing parishioners, and Imogen heard Helen twi
sting arms to gather support for the Spring Fair. ‘If we all chip in and help, we’ll raise enough to fix the roof of the village hall and have enough left over to buy more toys for the playgroup.’

  Mrs Collins’ next words stopped Imogen in her tracks. She’d moved on to her husband’s last day. ‘Yes,’ she was saying, ‘my Ed was laughing and joking that day he died. We'd just taken over from Laura in the lambing shed. She was looking after one of the new lambs that had been rejected. It was one of triplets, with a new mother, and the poor ewe couldn't manage all three. Laura took the weakest one that looked as though he wouldn’t make it, but she did such a good job. The lamb’s still with us, growing fast.’

  She frowned. ‘Ed was worried about Laura because she was so upset about Alex. She'd been inconsolable the day after the death. That's why Ed persuaded her to stay with us for a few days and help out. Such a pity you couldn't stay, Magnus.’

  ‘Hospital business, you know. It never stops. I'd like to have been there—’

  Mrs Collins laughed. ‘Now then, Magnus, we know you're not really a country boy. I was surprised when I heard you owned horses. Was it Laura who persuaded you?’

  She went on without waiting for an answer. ‘Ed said he’d talked to Laura in the shed about that day at the races and Alex’s death and what a terrible thing it was. And then, while he was talking he stopped. He gave a big gasp and a sort of shudder. He said, “Magnus. I need to talk to Magnus about her”, and his face went red, and he was grabbing at his chest.’

  She mopped her face and took a deep breath. ‘Now then, I'm not going to cry. Ed wouldn't like it. I was just so pleased he died happy, doing what he liked best. Lambing time was always his favourite. And he was proud of you, Magnus. Such a wonderful husband for our Laura. Imagine, you were the very last person he mentioned, just before his heart attack.’

  Later, when the funeral mourners had left – or at least, those that hadn't settled in for an evening with their mates – Imogen perched on a stool next to Dan.

  Rex was busy at the other end of the bar, so Adam had a few moments to chat. Imogen said, ‘There's something I wanted to run past you.’ She told them about the conversation with Mrs Collins and Magnus. ‘Magnus said a funny thing. Mrs Collins asked him if he went into horse ownership because of Laura, and he sort of hesitated, as though he'd joined the syndicate because of someone else.’

  ‘But he didn't say who?’

  ‘No, Mrs Collins went on talking and I didn't get a chance to ask. Maybe Henry persuaded him, or Rupert, Belinda’s father. It probably doesn’t mean anything.’

  She shrugged. Dan said. ‘But it might be important.’

  Adam’s elbows were on the bar and his eyes, behind his glasses, gleamed. ‘Did they say anything else?

  Imogen nodded. ‘Mrs Collins told us about Ed's last moments. He’d said how much he loved his daughter and how pleased he was with Magnus as a son in law. Mrs Collins said he died happy, but—’

  Imogen picked up her glass, circling it in her hand until the liquid swirled like a whirlpool.

  Adam was silent for a moment or two, thinking. ‘What car does Magnus drive?’

  She swallowed a mouthful of wine, not really tasting it.

  ‘I think he has several. Today, he came in a brand spanking new hybrid Range Rover with not a speck of mud on it. Nothing like the old wrecks the farmers drive around here, covered in mud and muck.’

  Adam said, ‘Do you remember when I went to the yard? I met the other members of the syndicate there, but Magnus had left. He had a meeting to go to, Laura said, but I saw a Range Rover travelling away from Leo’s yard…’

  Imogen said, ‘You're wondering if Magnus could be Alex Deacon's secret lover?'

  ‘It could lead to a motive. Did Magnus say anything else?’

  She shook her head. ‘But there was one more thing. Ed Collins’ last words were, “Magnus. I need to talk to Magnus about her—" and then he had the heart attack.’

  Dan was frowning into his empty glass. ‘So, who did Ed want to talk to Magnus about?’

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Mrs Collins assumed that ‘her’ meant Laura, but it could have been someone else.’

  Dan and Adam spoke together. ‘Alex.’

  Imogen’s eyes opened wide. ‘He might have wanted to talk to Magnus about Alex’s death, you mean?’

  ‘Because,’ Dan said, excitement ringing in his voice, ‘while he was talking about Laura and Magnus, Ed put two and two together about Magnus and Alex. Maybe he’d heard something about Alex’s older man, and suddenly it all clicked in his head.’

  ‘In fact,’ Adam said, ‘Ed might have come to the same conclusion that we have. He thought Magnus was cheating on his daughter with Alex, and the thought upset him so much he had a heart attack. He had a history of heart failure and he’d been up all night, lambing, so that thought could have raised his blood pressure so high, it killed him.’

  The three looked at each other. ‘It makes sense,’ Imogen said, ‘but it’s all conjecture and guessing. There’s no evidence and we’ll never know what Ed was thinking, but if we’re right, Magnus is a slimebag and maybe even Alex’s killer.’

  29

  Memorial

  The day before Alex’s memorial, as The Plough filled with regular drinkers, Adam and Imogen retreated to the peace of Adam’s private rooms in one wing of the old building.

  ‘It’s looking neater since Harley came to live with me,’ Imogen said, ‘But where’s your easel? You haven’t started on that still life?’

  ‘Not while Dan’s around the place. I don’t want him to see my amateur daubs.’

  Imogen stiffened. ‘Why not?’

  Adam grinned. ‘Too embarrassing.’

  ‘Well, that’s just silly.’

  ‘He has a painter’s eyes. He never misses anything. He’d fall over laughing if he saw my work.’

  ‘Painter’s eyes? He’s the most absent-minded person I’ve ever met. If he’s thinking about his work, he never notices anything else. You could let off a firework behind him and he wouldn’t flinch, if he was in the middle of painting a blade of grass. He even managed to lose that photo of Belinda and Callum.’

  Adam sighed. ‘He did a good job of picking out Callum and he caught Harris in one shot. It’s a pity he wasn’t at the races when Alex died. He might have taken a few of those snaps of his, shown someone following Alex Deacon into the stabling area.’

  Imogen peered at Adam. ‘Is everything all right? You haven’t been your usual cheery self.’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Come on. We’re friends, aren’t we? And friends tell the truth.’

  ‘You wouldn’t say that if you were in the police.’

  ‘Stop it. You know what I mean. It’s time for you to come clean about Steph. Everyone can see you’re crazy about her. She must know it. Why do you think she invited you over to her house and ate your Danish pastries? She hasn’t exactly pushed you away, has she? But you need to talk to her. Have you said anything at all?’

  He frowned, blinked, snatched off his glasses and polished them furiously.

  She put her hand on his wrist. ‘You’ll break your specs if you go on like that. Now, answer my question.’

  ‘Look here,’ he said. There was a long pause. Imogen waited. He sighed. ‘Steph would never look at someone like me. You saw the way that Harris creature behaves – all over her like paint. And she likes him. I can’t think why – he’s a toad. But, they understand each other. They’re in the same business. She laughs at his jokes.’

  ‘She laughs at yours.’

  ‘Mine are funny.’

  Imogen leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Of course they are. I won’t bug you any more, but if you want Steph, I suggest you do something about it – and soon. Don’t let a sleaze like John Harris get in your way. If you want my advice, you should seize your chance at the racecourse on Saturday. Steph’s going.’

  That Saturday, Wincanton Racecourse opened the
day’s racing with a short tribute to Alex Deacon. Standing by a large montage of photographs showing Alex from childhood, already clutching rosettes, through to her recent triumphant appearance in the winners’ enclosure with Season’s Greetings, Ann Clarkson described Alex’s popularity with colleagues in the yard and her growing brilliance as an outstanding young jockey. ‘Her potential, already realised so tragically by a win on the very day of her death, would, I am certain, have astounded us all over the coming years.’

  Alex’s parents listened, heads high, fighting back tears with dignity, and a lump rose in Adam’s throat. DCI Andrews spoke briefly, solemnly, encouraging anyone who’d attended the races that day in February and had seen Alex, or had anything to add to their investigations, to talk to one of his officers. Adam heard the familiar phrases, glad his own retirement meant he’d never have to deliver such a speech again.

  As the short ceremony ended, the throng of racegoers dispersed and the buzz of a racing day returned. In need of a stiff drink, Adam made his way towards the grandstand and caught sight of Steph. She was striding purposefully into the bar, scarf flying, as though on a mission.

  Adam hesitated.

  Was this his chance? Imogen had practically accused him of cowardice. Maybe he should ask Steph out? He gulped. Was he ready? What if she said yes?

  Come on, he muttered. Be a man.

  He followed Steph into the bar. Just the sight of her made his heart race, from her curly hair, carelessly tied up in some kind of headscarf arrangement – Adam never understood what women did with their hair – to her boots, polished until they shone like a pair of conkers newly fallen from the tree.

  Before he could reach her, Steph took a step sideways. Small and slight, she almost disappeared from view in the crowd of enthusiastic punters. Was she hiding from someone? Adam moved until he could just see her profile.