Dead Reckoning

by Glenis Wilson

  ‘It’s likely they would. But their wheels turn slowly – have to when it comes down to checking DNA and gathering enough evidence for a definite conviction.’

  ‘You’re being very generous towards them, Harry. We both know it was your finding the murder weapon that enabled them to check for DNA. I don’t think I’ve fully thanked you for bringing justice for the family. I just want to say how grateful I am, and also say a thank you as well from my brother. If Louis had still been with us I know he’d be clapping you on the back himself. ’Course, it won’t bring them back but just think, Harry, if the murders had remained unsolved. There would have been no end to it. It would always be a case of looking at faces in crowds, wondering … y’know …’

  ‘Really, there’s no need to thank me. I’m just very glad the killer got put away.’

  He nodded abruptly. ‘Pity hanging has been abolished. Anyway,’ he drew in a deep breath and added, ‘have a seat. I’m just going through to the kitchen. Coffee’s perking.’

  I sat down in an engulfing armchair and took the opportunity to try and assess his reaction to Alice’s death and work out what to say – or ask – that could produce a possible lead. My first question was obvious. Maybe I should just allow the ball of wool to unravel from that.

  Edward returned with a tray of coffee, the aroma alone demanding it be drunk with respect and appreciated. I was happy to oblige and it was that rare pleasure – a coffee that actually tasted as good as it smelled.

  Edward was obviously a man who didn’t stint himself. I wondered what he would do for sex or female favours now Alice was gone. He struck me as a man with a considerable appetite for life, in every sense.

  ‘So, Harry.’ Edward, cradling his coffee, leaned back and crossed his legs. ‘What can I help you with?’

  The identity of Alice’s lover was the point I was leading up to so I started from that. ‘You told me you found Alice through the website, daddydating.’

  ‘Indeed I did.’

  ‘Not that long back then, as in years?’

  ‘Good Lord, no.’

  ‘Hmmm … I thought not. Do you know anything about Alice’s earlier life before you met her?’

  ‘No, sorry.’

  ‘Tell me, do you know of any other man that shared a history with Alice?’

  ‘Phewww …’ He blew his cheeks out. ‘What sort of question is that? Why would I?’

  Instead of answering him, I took the infamous piece of paper from my pocket and passed it over. ‘What do you make of that?’

  Edward replaced his drink on the coffee table beside him and put on his glasses. I didn’t rush him. Under cover of taking a pull of my own coffee, I covertly, from the corner of my eye, watched the expression on his face. Interest, curiosity, bewilderment – the emotions flitted across but the one I was hoping for, understanding, did not. He shook his head decisively and gave the paper back.

  ‘If you’re looking for a result, Harry, I’ve got to disappoint you. Doesn’t mean a damn thing to me.’

  ‘To be honest, it was a long-odds job. But can I ask: did Alice ever mention a man who worked in racing?’

  He pondered a few moments. ‘Well it does seem to ring a bell, yes. One of the comments she did make was about jockeys …’ He snorted with laughter at the memory. ‘Something on the lines of being able to ride a good finish.’

  I smiled with him. ‘And you think one of her clients was a jockey?’

  ‘Oh, not just one, Harry, no. She went on to say some won more easily than others.’

  ‘And you think she preferred clients who were in racing?’

  He thought some more. ‘I remember her mentioning jump jockeys having to retire earlier than flat jockeys, but when they were riding for her that didn’t apply.’

  I nodded. Mousey Brown. But a thought struck me. ‘Did Alice actually say “jockeys”? You know, meaning more than one who was, say, getting on a bit, no longer race riding?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’ve no idea who?’

  ‘Afraid not. Although she did mention one of her clients was a dab hand at strokes even if his horses never ran.’

  My breath caught and I tried desperately to keep poker-faced. I knew straight away who Alice had been obliquely referring to. It seemed that just as doctors respected patient confidentiality, Alice’s own self-respect had been high enough to consider her clients should also be treated with respect. And although she had given out snippets of information, she had never named anyone outright. I’d just got to accept this facet of her character and stop chasing elusive names. What I needed to do was piece together all the tiny bits of information until the jigsaw revealed the right man.

  My attention came back to Edward, who had started rolling a tentative finger around the rim of his coffee cup. He looked up and our gaze met.

  ‘What?’

  ‘There was one man, Harry. Happened to be a friend of mine – well, still is. But he really fancied Alice, you know, after I’d found her from that website.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I warned him off. A case of I saw her first.’

  ‘But she was a prostitute.’

  ‘True, but Alice had her own rules. Could even call them ethics, I suppose. That was one of the nice things about her. He used to turn up here when Alice was visiting for the weekend.’

  ‘And you weren’t having any competition?’

  ‘Damn right. My house, my woman so sod off, friend or no friend. I was paying her – handsomely – and I wanted exclusive rights. Well, during the time she was here.’

  ‘So where does this man fit in?’

  Edward sighed. ‘I’m pretty sure he became a client when Alice was back on her own patch. I did ask her but she wouldn’t tell me.’

  ‘Do you really think he would know any more than you do? It’s doubtful when you’d known Alice a lot longer.’

  ‘I just think you could make enquiries. There’s no other man I can think of.’

  ‘And his name and address?’

  ‘Jim Matthews. Comes from Bingham.’

  ‘Thanks, I’ll go and have words. You never know when something interesting might surface. I’ve found it’s usually the case when you’ve the least expectations.’

  I drained the last of my delicious coffee. ‘Have to go, but thanks again, Edward. And if you do happen to think of anything, perhaps you’d give me a ring?’

  ‘Of course.’

  I motored back the way I had come. It was knocking-off time in Grantham. I was spoilt for choice and easily found a parking spot close enough to keep the doorway of the shop in sight. It was barely ten past five.

  I undid my seat belt and sat back to wait.

  And while I waited, I ran through everything Edward had told me.

  SIXTEEN

  At five thirty I headed for the shop. Obviously no customers were taking up Georgia’s time. She emerged on the pavement and began lugging in the heavy display tubs.

  I quickened my pace. ‘Can I help, miss?’ As I spoke, I took the tub from her hands and hefted it over the step into the shop.

  She flashed me a smile of amazed delight. ‘You came back.’

  I returned her smile. ‘I said I would.’

  ‘Wow, a man who actually keeps his word.’

  ‘Yeah, I know, a seriously endangered species.’

  Georgia collected the blooms and I brought in the containers. After topping up the water levels, she consulted her watch.

  ‘Five forty. I’m out.’

  I inclined my head. ‘The pub it is then.’

  I made the tone of my voice light. However, inside I was hiding my urgency to find the name on page twenty-three of the order book. Just how the hell was I to do it?’ The book was tucked away under the counter only inches from where I was standing. It might as well have been in the next county.

  Then Georgia said, ‘Just have to get my bag. It’s in the back cloakroom.’

  Elation surged within me. ‘Sure, no hurry.’

&n
bsp; The instant she disappeared, I reached over the counter and found the book. With mounting excitement, I turned up page twenty-three and ran a finger down the column. In seconds I found the correct entry: one dozen white roses. The flowers had been bought by a Mrs Smith and the address given was listed simply as Nottingham. My excitement gave way to frustrated annoyance.

  Replacing the book, I knew the person who had requested the white roses had deliberately used the name Smith, being virtually untraceable, and not only that but the one word, Nottingham, wasn’t even a clue, merely a blind. Whoever it was didn’t want to be found, had made sure they couldn’t be. I’d set up the date with Georgia merely as a follow-on from discovering who the person was, a kind of payment in lieu. Now it was pointless. I was no further forward.

  Georgia reappeared with a wide smile on her pretty face and the shop keys swinging from her fingers.

  ‘Ready?’ I swallowed the disappointment.

  ‘Can’t wait. But, not being funny or anything, Harry, I need to get home after we’ve been to the pub. Makes sense to have my car.’

  I appreciated that. And it would also make it easier to take my leave of her.

  We ended up driving our own cars – hers a sparky, bright red Mini – and I followed her to Woolsthorpe.

  I knew as soon as she tooted and turned left off the lane leading to Belvoir Castle, she was heading for the Dirty Duck. She changed to third and drove carefully down the narrow track. The pub was a landmark around here for miles. It was where I’d met Uncle George again after he’d been eighteen years in the marital wilderness. Mike frequently suggested we meet up there for a meal – a good blowout for him, a much more modest although no less tasty one for me.

  In addition, I knew it would be all round the local grapevine, as well as the Internet, I’d been seen with a new lady friend. And I also knew it would, without doubt, come to the ears of Annabel. If I tried to explain with the truth as to how it had come about, she would certainly disapprove. For goodness’ sake, even I disapproved. Georgia didn’t know I was simply making use of her and I’d no intention of letting her find out.

  At the far end, where the track met the Grantham canal, it petered out and it was necessary to take a left into the car park that encircled the pub on three sides. On the fourth was the canal. It was a real crowd-puller, giving views of the Leicestershire countryside in both directions down the peaceful, duck-littered stretch of water.

  We parked both cars and went through the entrance lobby into the main bar. Over to our extreme right, the barman smiled a welcome.

  ‘Georgia, good to see you. Harry.’

  I nodded back and Georgia wiggled her fingers.

  ‘Any preference, tables and drinks?’ I asked her. It was still early and we had the choice. Later, it would be heaving.

  ‘I’m going to take advantage of the fire, and a white wine would be nice.’

  The barman was already fixing her drink as I saw her to the table nearest to the roaring fire. I opted for a lager and took both drinks over to join her.

  ‘Cheers.’ She smiled prettily and we chinked glasses. Sipping the chilled wine, she looked at me over the rim. ‘I know why you invited me out …’

  I inclined my head and raised one eyebrow.

  ‘But I can’t give you what you want.’

  ‘And what do I want?’

  ‘You want me to tell you the name and address of my customer.’

  I pursed my lips and nodded. ‘Yeah, I admit I’d really like to know who it was.’

  Her lips went down at the corners.

  ‘But, now we’re here …’ I waved towards the cheerful blaze that flickered on the wonderful, gleaming array of brass pans decorating the walls, the cosy, subdued wall-lights, ‘… I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be right now. Shall we just enjoy our drinks and relax?’

  She began to smile. ‘Why not?’

  ‘You said my customer. Does that mean you actually own the flower shop?’

  ‘Hmmmm … I’ve always been interested in horticulture – well, more than just interested, it’s a passion of mine.’

  ‘You must have had training, I mean, all the different varieties …’

  She was openly laughing at me now. ‘Five years at college. I started at the bottom, literally, from the grass roots up – no, below that, all the different types of soil and what each plant grows best in, or doesn’t.’

  ‘Wow, five years. Commitment in capital letters.’

  ‘I knew what I wanted and what it took to achieve it.’

  ‘Hardly anyone does know. An awful lot of disheartened, unhappy people are still searching for that unknown.’

  ‘Does that make me lucky?’ She took a thoughtful sip of her wine. ‘I guess it does.’

  ‘It makes the two of us lucky. I’m doing the only job I want to do. Not many people can say that.’

  ‘And some people never get the chance to follow their dream.’

  ‘True enough. What college did you study at?’

  ‘Riseholme, in Lincolnshire, near Gainsborough.’

  ‘They do agriculture, animal husbandry, yeah?’

  ‘Hmmm … and train jockeys.’

  ‘Really, I didn’t know that.’

  ‘They also support Bransby Horses, the charity over at Bransby village.’

  ‘Bransby rescue ill-treated horses and ponies. I’ve heard of them. Do a wealth of good work.’

  ‘Hmmm.’ She nodded. ‘I’ve visited on an open day. You talk about my commitment – well, their level of care for those abused horses is just amazing. It’s so good Riseholme is helping them. In my opinion, it definitely makes Riseholme one of the good guys.’

  ‘I’d have to agree with you.’

  ‘I certainly enjoyed my training there, thought it was a great place. You know, when you’re doing something you’re meant to do, even if it’s work, it’s pleasure. That’s what tells you you’re doing the right thing with your life.’

  ‘Is it the only thing you’ve ever wanted to do?’

  ‘Pretty much. Well, since I was about ten. You’re a bit unformed when you’re a child. Like, everything’s in front and anything’s possible.’

  ‘With me it was always horses. Suppose you could say they’re an obsession.’

  ‘And you’re extremely successful.’

  I shrugged. ‘You’re only ever as good as your last ride. And if you take a fall, if it’s a bad one, your career can come to a sudden full stop.’

  ‘Then what?’

  I grinned and drained my lager. ‘You tell me.’

  ‘Don’t jockeys usually go into training?’

  ‘A lot do, yes.’

  ‘But training doesn’t even come close to the buzz of riding winners, does it?’

  ‘No,’ I shook my head, smiling, ‘not even on the same planet.’

  ‘Then stick with it.’

  ‘My wife wouldn’t agree.’ I could practically feel the sudden drop in temperature.

  She stiffened. ‘You’re married?’

  ‘Don’t worry, we’re not living together.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Annabel lives near Melton, with her new man.’

  ‘He’s a jockey, too?’

  ‘Good grief, no. He’s in a safe office in London a good deal of the time.’

  ‘Uh-huh. Do I take it the word we’re looking at here is “safe”?’

  ‘You’re very perceptive.’

  ‘And,’ she gave me a quick, sideways look, ‘that’s the reason you’re not together? Annabel couldn’t take the harsh fact you were likely to get injured?’

  ‘Not just likely, extremely likely – probable odds of one in eight rides actually.’

  ‘She must love you very much.’

  I gave my empty lager glass serious attention.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to …’

  ‘No, no, it’s OK. And, yes, you’re absolutely right. The accident factor was the reason she left.’

  ‘No stronger force in the
world than love,’ she murmured.

  ‘What about you? Is there a man in your life?’ It was time to divert her away from me. ‘You sound like you’re talking from personal experience.’

  ‘Do I?’ She dropped her gaze, turning the wine glass round in her hands.

  ‘You don’t have to answer. I’ve no right to quiz you …’

  ‘Yes, yes, you do. We’re here, together, just having a quiet drink. But we still need to explore where we are. If you see what I’m getting at.’

  ‘Of course I do. But you don’t have to tell me personal things.’

  She lifted her chin and looked full into my face. I read a deep sadness in her eyes and it shocked me.

  ‘You’re quite right, I do know from personal experience. My boyfriend was a serving soldier, Afghanistan. He was killed in Helmand Province last year. To be factual, he was killed by an IED. I loved him – very much.’ Her chin jutted some more. ‘I still do.’

  I reached across the table, took the wine glass from her then held her hands between both of mine. ‘I’m a clueless prat. I’m so sorry.’

  Tears began trickling down her face. I fished into my pocket for a clean tissue and gently dabbed them dry.

  ‘I’m fine, except when people are sympathetic.’

  I nodded. I knew exactly what she meant. Personally, I could take any amount of pain or abuse but, given caring kindness, it did for me every time.

  She withdrew her right hand and reached for the wine. ‘I wonder, which is hardest, though?’ She took a large gulp of the Chardonnay. ‘To lose someone as I did and know that our love was ongoing or, in your own case, to have your partner still alive but not with you?’

  I returned my stare to the last drop of lager in my glass. ‘I was dead right, wasn’t I? You are very perceptive.’

  ‘I think most people would just call me Joe Blunt.’ She smiled. ‘Shall we move away from the past, give the present a chance, hmmm?’

  ‘Let’s do that.’

  ‘Are we up for another drink? We are driving.’

  I came to a quick decision. ‘Are you in an almighty rush to get home, Georgia?’

  ‘Not an almighty one, no. But I do have to do “water’s up” and check over my two horses. The stables are on automatic lighting so that’s not a problem.’