Deadfall

by Lyndon Stacey

  'Mmm, that's what I said.'

  In due course, Josie's E-type swept in through the gates and off towards the house, and Ruth and Linc took the three horses out for much-needed exercise, sharing the chore of leading Cromwell. Thankfully, living out in the field, Syrup and Treacle could be left largely to their own devices.

  When they got back and Linc was rubbing the saddle stains off Noddy with a piece of sacking, Josie came down to the yard. A brown horse with a pink and white muzzle, Noddy was standing with his long lop-ears drooping and an expression of bliss on his honest face.

  She leaned on the half-door, watching Linc work, and after a moment or two he looked up questioningly.

  'Hi. Is there something I can do for you?'

  'No, not really. Well, yes. I . . . er . . . came to apologise for the way I behaved the other day. I was being a cow. I shouldn't have said those things.' She'd scooped her hair up, fixing it in a loose knot at the back, and now looked uncertainly at him through the resulting wisps.

  'No problem,' Linc told her, turning back to rubbing Noddy's coat. 'We all need someone to blame. It makes it easier – saves dealing with the real issues.'

  'That's awfully cynical,' she protested.

  'It's true, though.'

  There was silence for a couple of minutes and Linc looked round, wondering if she'd gone.

  She was still there, looking thoughtful.

  'The thing is, I'd had a bloody awful day,' she explained. 'Mum rang me first thing but I was already on a shoot. I came as soon as I could but I had to break an afternoon appointment and the client wasn't happy. My agent was livid and it all got very messy. That's why I had to go back this morning – to make peace.'

  'Yeah, I wound up in trouble with my boss, too.'

  'Oh, you work . . .?'

  'For my father. Estate manager – probationary.'

  'I'm sorry,' she said in confusion. 'I didn't mean . . . That is, I never thought . . .'

  'You thought I was a rich playboy with nothing better to do than amuse myself flirting with teenagers.'

  Josie coloured. 'I'm sorry about that. Mum explained this afternoon, and about why you keep Noddy here. It's just that every time anyone opened their mouth, it was Linc this and Linc that – I felt like you'd taken over my family!'

  'Preconceptions are grossly unfair . . .'

  'I know. It's not how I am, normally.'

  'Take myself,' Linc went on, ignoring her. 'I assumed that a model was going to be spoilt, egotistical, self-centred . . .'

  'And that's how I behaved,' Josie said unhappily.

  'Shallow and . . . and bimboistic!' he finished with a flourish.

  She giggled. 'Now that's not a real word! Even with a model's limited vocabulary, I know that much!'

  'Well, it ought to be,' Linc declared, slapping his horse's brown rump affectionately. 'That's your lot, Noddy, old boy.'

  'Who gave him that ridiculous name?' Josie asked as Linc set him loose and came out of the stable.

  'I did. But it's not what it seems. His full name is Noddy's Friend.'

  'Big Ears!' Josie exclaimed with a dawning smile. 'You're crazy, you know?'

  'Certifiable,' he agreed. 'But quite harmless. Ask anyone.'

  Josie followed him as he took saddle, bridle and grooming kit along to the tackroom. Ruth had cleaned her tack and left a bucket of warmish water for Linc, who used a damp sponge to wipe the leather over, paying closer attention to the dried slobber and hay mixture that had stuck to the edges of the bit. Left to harden, it could well result in a sore mouth, something Noddy, with his pink-skinned muzzle, was especially prone to. He had to wear sunblock, too.

  'So what's Linc short for? I've never heard the name before,' Josie remarked.

  'Lincoln,' he told her with a grimace. 'Outlandish names are a sort of tradition in my family. In the past we've had St John, Gabriel, Ludovic and Emmanuel. On the whole I think I was quite lucky.'

  He was rubbing the stainless steel with a dry cloth now, and suddenly his brows drew together in a puzzled frown.

  'I don't believe it,' he murmured. 'Good God!'

  'What?' Josie leaned closer to look.

  'Well, see here, on the cheekpiece,' Linc said, pointing to the spatulate metal protrusion above the bit rings on each side. 'It's been filed down – you can see the scratch marks.'

  'Yeah, I see . . .'

  'I did that,' he stated. 'This is my bit. The one that was stolen on Friday night!'

  'But it can't be, surely!'

  'It is, you know. These snaffles aren't all that common. I filed it down because when I bought it, it had a kind of blip in the metal. Lots of people wouldn't have bothered but Noddy's skin rubs very easily. The chances of there being two with these marks on in one area must be pretty slim.'

  'But what if someone else had the same problem you did and filed theirs too? It could have happened, if they were from the same lot,' Josie said. 'I mean, otherwise . . .'

  'It's possible but it would be a sizeable coincidence,' Linc said, unconvinced. 'I think I should have a word with Sandy.'

  'But you're not saying that Sandy . . .? We've known him forever.'

  'No, not Sandy himself, but he buys in stuff all the time. It might be worth asking him if he remembers where and when he got the bit. If it was months ago then we'd have to think again.'

  'I suppose so. But if you really think it's yours, shouldn't you tell the police?'

  'I will, but as you said, Sandy's a friend. I don't want to throw him to the wolves without giving him a chance to explain how he came by it. And after all, as you said yourself, there's still a slim possibility it's a coincidence. I'll maybe swing out that way before I head for home.'

  Shaftesbury was only five or six miles from Farthing St Anne, and Sandy's base was a unit on a small industrial estate, not much more than a large storeroom with a tiny cluttered office attached.

  Linc parked the Discovery between Sandy's lorry and a gleaming white BMW, and let himself into the building via a personnel door let into the larger, steel sliding one. The building was mainly constructed of painted corrugated panels, lined with what looked like chipboard, although this was almost completely covered by the multitude of shelves and hooks carrying Sandy's massive collection of stock. A second level was reached by way of a steel staircase, and to Linc's right, as he entered, was the small office made of breeze-blocks.

  He hadn't telephoned ahead, for even though he didn't suspect Sandy himself, he could imagine DI Rockley's scorn if he learned that Linc had given the saddler prior notice of his visit.

  Another man, presumably the owner of the BMW, was in the office with Sandy when Linc knocked and went in, and they both looked up, frowning slightly.

  'Sorry. Am I interrupting something? I can wait out here,' he offered. As he paused, Tiger appeared from somewhere and pushed his way into the room.

  'Linc! No, that's okay, come in,' Sandy said with his ready smile. 'Did we forget something earlier?'

  'Er . . . No, not really. I'd just like a word, if I could.'

  The other man tossed back the last of something in a tumbler and stood up; a tall, well-built, dark-haired figure probably in his late-thirties or early-forties, prosperously dressed in a brown leather coat and twill trousers. When he moved, Tiger gave vent to a low-voiced growl and he favoured the dog with a look of dislike.

  'Right. Well, I was just leaving anyway. I'll see you later.'

  Linc stood sideways on to let him pass, which he did with a brief smile and a whiff of aftershave.

  'So, take a seat. What can I do for you?' Sandy gestured to the chair his visitor had just vacated.

  Linc sat down and Tiger immediately pattered across and put his front paws up on his knees, wagging happily.

  'I wondered if you could remember where and when you got this bit?' Linc asked, taking the snaffle out of his coat pocket. 'Presumably it is second-hand?'

  Sandy's eyes narrowed. 'Er, yes, it is. Why? Is there a problem with it?'
r />   'Not precisely,' Linc said, hedging. 'Can you remember where it came from?'

  Sandy appeared to rack his brains, then shook his head slightly.

  'Oh, Christ! I buy stuff in all the time. Wait a minute . . . yes! I bought that one at the weekend, I think. It was in a box of odds and ends some guy brought to Andover on Saturday. Said he didn't have a horse any more and was clearing out. Only wanted a tenner. There wasn't anything very remarkable amongst it – a couple of pairs of reins, some stirrup leathers and irons, a pelham and that snaffle.'

  'So you've still got the rest?'

  'Well, yes. But not together. I brought it home and cleaned it up – sterilised the bits, as I always do – then put it all into stock. I couldn't say for sure which ones they were now because I did a couple of part-exchanges over the weekend. Sorry. Why d'you ask?'

  'I don't suppose you could describe this guy?'

  'To be honest, no. I see so many people at an event, they all blur into one another. Let me see . . .' He rocked his chair back on to two legs, balancing with one toe against the desk. 'It was towards the end of the day. Yes, hang on, he was fairly old – retired, I should think. Grey hair, corduroy trousers, waxed jacket and glasses . . . yeah, he was wearing some of those wire-rimmed glasses you see advertised on TV. You know, the bendy ones. Now, are you going to tell me why you want to know?'

  'Yeah, sorry about that. The thing is, wildly improbable as it may seem, I'm pretty sure this is the same bit that was stolen from the Vicarage on Friday night.'

  'You're kidding!' The front legs of Sandy's chair hit the floor with a bump. 'Are you sure? How can you tell?'

  Linc explained, showing him the abrasions.

  'I shall have to let the police know, of course,' he said. 'But I thought it was only fair to warn you before they landed on you like a ton of bricks.'

  'Thanks, I appreciate that.' Sandy pushed the telephone towards him. 'Why don't you ring them now? I've got nothing to hide and we don't want them saying I got rid of the gear after you left, do we?'

  Linc had been intending to call Rockley on his mobile as soon as he left the building, and was grateful to Sandy for making it so easy. The call was made, using the number Rockley had given him for the purpose, and as luck would have it, Linc reached the detective inspector at the first attempt. He received the news with interest but also a good measure of annoyance that Linc had already approached the saddler.

  'Well, now you're there, be so good as to stay until we get there,' he growled. 'Or we'll find he's ditched all the evidence. I'll be twenty minutes or so, I expect. I really wish you'd left it to us. We've lost the advantage of surprise, thanks to you.'

  DI Rockley's mood hadn't noticeably improved when he arrived not more than fifteen minutes later. Followed by a younger, uniformed officer, he entered Sandy's office, rapping on the door as he did so, and favoured Linc with a sour look.

  'If you could wait outside, please, sir,' he said shortly.

  'Sure.' Linc obediently got to his feet and wandered out into the gathering dusk where, after some ten minutes or so, Rockley found him sitting in the Land-Rover.

  'Do you have the stolen article with you, sir?'

  'I do.' Linc picked it off the seat beside him and offered it to the policeman.

  Rockley produced a polythene bag from about his person and held the open top towards Linc who regarded it with some amusement.

  'I don't suppose there's much evidence left to contaminate,' he remarked. 'It's been sterilised, polished, in a horse's mouth and then washed again. The only fingerprints are likely to be Sandy's and mine.'

  'Nevertheless,' Rockley prompted.

  Shrugging, Linc dropped the bit into the bag.

  'Will I get it back?' Noddy could be ridden in another bit at home but he liked the half-cheek for competition.

  'Eventually. Now, if you don't mind, we have work to do. If there's nothing more you can tell us, you may as well be on your way. With all the stock in there, it looks like being a long night.'

  'How do you know what to look for?' Linc was curious.

  'We have a list of items stolen recently, some of which had identifying marks. Some were even postcoded. We just have to go through it all, one piece at a time.'

  'But Sandy's not a suspect, is he?'

  'With respect, I'm not about to release that sort of information, sir. We have searched Mr Wilkes's premises before, with his permission. As a dealer in second-hand saddlery, he'd be ideally placed to receive stolen goods – either knowingly or otherwise – but he's by no means the only one.'

  'Oh, well.' Linc reached for his seatbelt. 'Will you let us know if you find anything?'

  'As soon as there's anything concrete, you'll be told,' Rockley assured him. 'I'll say goodnight now. And, remember, crime is our business; best leave it to us.'

  Linc started the Discovery's engine. 'You're probably right,' he acknowledged. 'But the Hathaways are friends of mine.' Then reversed out of his space leaving the DI looking after him with a thoughtful frown.

  Heading for home, Linc was in contemplative mood himself. Until Rockley's polite warning off, he hadn't really considered doing any investigation of his own but the need to bring someone to account for the brutality of Friday night had been growing ever stronger in him over the past couple of days.

  By the time he reached Farthingscourt he had decided on a plan of action and, accordingly, spent a couple of hours the next afternoon ringing or visiting a number of local saddlers and horse-feed merchants. In each case he asked if the proprietors knew of any other victims of tack theft and left a postcard advertisement asking any such persons who were willing to be interviewed to contact him by letter, care of a Post Office box number. He also placed similar advertisements in three local papers.

  In the event, it wasn't the adverts that produced the first useful lead but a friend who rang the Hathaways to ask after Abby. Linc had gone to the Vicarage a couple of days later to exercise Noddy before breakfast and had returned from his ride to find Josie mucking out the stables.

  'Good ride?' she called, coming out of Cromwell's box with a pitchfork and broom.

  'Lovely. It's a beautiful morning. I didn't know you were back.' She had been in London on Tuesday, working.

  'Yeah, well, I've taken a week or two off now to help out here.'

  'Will you miss much?'

  'Bits and pieces, but to be honest I was glad to get away. I seem to have been working solidly for months.'

  'Do you enjoy it?'

  Josie wrinkled her nose. 'Not much. It's pretty much of a cattle market, being poked and prodded and having your attributes discussed as if you weren't there.'

  'Sounds dire,' Linc agreed, stripping Noddy's saddle off. 'But I suppose the money's good.'

  'It is. I wouldn't do it otherwise. I'm saving to go back to uni and do an archaeology degree, but you can't go on being a student forever, it's too expensive. Especially when you come from a large family like mine.'

  'Any news from the hospital?' Linc asked, throwing a sweat sheet over the horse.

  'Nothing new. We heard from some friends of Abby's last night, though. They also had a visit from the thieves a couple of weeks ago and lost everything.'