Murder in Mind

by Lyndon Stacey

  At this point, Matt acknowledged, with a kind of fatalistic calm, his options weren’t good. To move from his defensive curl would be to lay his belly and face open to potentially life-threatening injuries but, on the other hand, it would only take one hefty kick to the kidneys or spine and the outcome could easily be the same.

  Somewhere around the third or fourth blow, he came to the decision that, if he didn’t move soon, he might never do so again. He knew the first man could only have been temporarily incapacitated by his inexperienced punch and, once he was operational again, Matt’s chances, already minuscule, would be non-existent.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing?’ The stocky man sounded furious, and the onslaught faltered.

  Matt opened his eyes and peered through the gap between his upper arms. There was nothing within his field of vision other than grass and one of the front wheels of the van.

  ‘Deliver the message and put the frighteners on him – that was the brief – not kick the shit out of him. We don’t want a murder on our hands!’

  ‘He asked for it,’ the other one replied, punctuating his sentence with another kick, albeit with slightly less vigour, and Matt heard himself grunt.

  ‘Cut it out, I said!’

  Matt decided not to wait on the outcome of this dispute. The sight of the van wheel so close had given him an idea and, straightening out suddenly to full length, he rolled once, twice, and fetched up beneath the dark, oily-smelling underbelly of the transit.

  Wriggling sideways until he estimated that he was halfway between the wheels, he stopped, face down and chest heaving – partly from exertion and partly from fear. Incidental injuries in the course of his job were one thing, but never before had he been on the receiving end of a concerted effort by one of his own kind to do him harm, and the sensation was immeasurably shocking.

  What would they do next?

  It seemed likely that, with the temptation one step removed, the stocky man would be able to cap his colleague’s more murderous tendencies, but Matt wasn’t about to bet on it. What might they have in their van that could make life under it untenable? The way he felt now, nothing short of a shotgun would induce him to leave the comparative safety of his bolthole.

  He watched as one pair of boots hurried round to the other side of the van and then their owner knelt down and peered under.

  ‘He’s still there – in the middle. Shall I drive forward?’

  Matt’s heart leapt painfully. How stupid had he been to think he’d found refuge? One man to drive forward and one to pounce; he’d gained nothing.

  Just as he was wondering if he could roll out again in the moments before the van moved – or even if he had the nerve to try – Matt heard the other man say urgently, ‘Sshh! What was that?’

  There was silence for a moment, even Matt holding his breath in anticipation, and then, from some distance away, someone called, ‘Matt? Is that you?’

  Casey!

  Shit! He’d have to warn her, but would she hear if he shouted from under the van?

  He started to edge forward, swearing as he bashed his head on some protruding piece of metalwork.

  ‘Come on, we’ve done enough – let’s go,’ the man on the left suggested. The side door slid shut with a crash and, shortly after, the nearside cab door opened and the suspension dipped as he got in. Another dip, the two doors banged shut and the engine was gunned.

  Matt stayed where he was, pressing the right side of his face to the grass, and folding his arms over his head, resisting – with extreme difficulty – the urge to draw himself up into a protective ball. Hoping against hope that the only way out for the van was directly forward, he shut his eyes and tensed his whole body, as if by doing so he could prevent injury from the rolling wheels and the ton or so of vehicle they conveyed.

  For a moment nothing existed except noise, fear, and darkness, as the engine roared and the van pulled away over the rough ground. One of the wheels grazed Matt’s elbow, dragging at the sleeve of his jacket, and then it was gone, the chaos replaced by silence and a degree of light.

  Deliverance had been so sudden that relief was mingled with disbelief and he lay still, struggling to trust in his altered circumstances.

  ‘Matt?’ Casey’s voice sounded breathless and much nearer, and he felt, more than heard, her running footsteps approaching. They stopped. ‘Matt? Oh my God, are you OK?’

  Matt wasn’t sure. Compared with half a minute ago, he was terrific, but it had been a close call and, now that the terror was ebbing from his system, his brain was allowing the messages of physical trauma to get through. He wasn’t looking forward to moving. In fact, given solitude and a less public place, he would have postponed the decision until he felt more in control, but Casey was waiting, her concern very evident as she repeated his name.

  Matt gingerly raised his head three inches.

  ‘Just give me a moment,’ he told her, surprised at the normality of his voice.

  ‘What happened? Who were those men? Shall I call the police?’

  Realising he wasn’t going to be allowed the luxury of breathing space, Matt pushed himself up onto his elbows, wincing a little as all the major muscles of his torso protested in unison.

  ‘I should call the police,’ Casey said, but she didn’t sound convinced.

  ‘Not yet. I need to think.’

  With an effort, Matt turned partly onto his side, brought his legs up, and got as far as one knee, where he paused, waiting to catch his breath.

  Casey stepped forward, offering her hand, and, leaning on her a little, he got to his feet and managed the five or six feet across to his car. Once there, he remembered the state of the door handle and swore.

  ‘What’s up?’ Casey looked at him. ‘Haven’t you got the keys?’

  ‘Yeah …’ As he said it, Matt remembered that he had been holding them when he was attacked. He glanced down at the grass in the failing light. ‘Actually, I dropped them, but anyway, the bastards glued up the handle.’ Feeling unequal to initiating a search, Matt turned round, leant against the car, and slid down it till he was sitting on the ground with his back resting on the bodywork. He felt shaky and unutterably weary.

  ‘You can’t sit there!’ Casey exclaimed.

  ‘Just for a moment.’

  She looked down at him, her hair falling forward a little around her face, and Matt squinted through the twilight, thinking – for the second time that day – that something was different about her. Apparently working on the If you can’t beat them, join them philosophy, Casey watched him for a second or two more, then moved over to the car, turned round, and sat down beside him.

  ‘So, who were they? What did they want?’

  Matt shook his head slightly.

  ‘I’ve never seen them before, and, if I never see them again, it’ll be too soon.’

  ‘Well, didn’t they say anything?’ Casey was beginning to sound impatient, but Matt’s scattered wits were reassembling and he recalled her vocation.

  ‘Listen, I don’t want a whisper of this in tomorrow’s paper.’

  ‘Oh, that’s not fair! You can’t ask me to pass up something like this.’

  ‘Not a whisper. Promise?’ Matt looked hard at her through the gloom.

  At first she returned his gaze, but then she rolled her eyes heavenward and sighed.

  ‘Oh, all right. So what did they want? Were they sent to warn you off?’

  ‘Apparently.’

  ‘But that’s great! It means we’ve got someone worried. So now we just have to figure out who sent them.’

  Matt wished he could view the affair as matter-of-factly as she seemed to.

  ‘And do you have any bright ideas as to how we go about that?’ he asked, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

  ‘Well, the van registration might give us something,’ she said, studiously casual.

  Matt’s eyes snapped open again.

  ‘You didn’t … ? You got the numbe
r?’

  ‘Part of it,’ she said. ‘Echo Tango November, and I think there was a two or a five – it was a bit dark. But it might be enough.’

  ‘You little …’ He couldn’t think of a suitable epithet, and finished, ‘Well done! That’s brilliant!’

  Casey glowed.

  ‘So what about the police? Aren’t you going to tell them?’ she asked.

  Matt groaned. The thought of a session with Bartholomew, when all he really wanted was a hot bath and a stiff whisky, wasn’t inviting. After all, what could he realistically report?

  ‘No, not tonight. I will sometime.’

  ‘Bartholomew won’t be pleased …’

  ‘So what are you, my conscience?’ he demanded. ‘What can I tell him anyway? That I was set upon by two men – one of whom I didn’t get a good look at, and one who looked like any other tough Joe – but that I don’t know who sent them, or why. He’s bound to think I’m not telling him the whole story. It’ll take all night. Let’s wait and see if the registration throws up something, then I’ll tell him.’

  ‘OK.’ Casey didn’t seem unduly perturbed by the prospect of bypassing the authorities. ‘Well, hadn’t we better see if we can find your keys?’

  ‘Actually …’ Matt shifted his weight a little. ‘I think I may be sitting on them.’

  To Matt’s great relief, they found the handle on the passenger door was clear and, edging across from that side, Casey was able to open the driver’s door from within, but she then stubbornly refused to budge, insisting that Matt was in no fit state to drive home.

  Aware that she was probably right, Matt nevertheless didn’t relish the idea of the youngster at the controls of his precious car, even though the racecourse was his closest, being a bare thirty-five or forty miles from Spinney Cottage. However, Casey assured him that she had her licence and was perfectly capable, and so it proved; in fact, she drove the sports car so carefully that Matt was moved to ask her, as she headed along the A37 at a steady forty-five, what kind of car she herself owned.

  ‘I haven’t got a car, as such. Not yet, anyway,’ she admitted, not taking her eyes off the road.

  ‘So when exactly did you pass your test?’ Matt asked, with a growing conviction that he didn’t want to hear the answer.

  ‘Um – in August.’

  ‘This August? Last month? Why the hell didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘Because you wouldn’t have let me drive, if I had,’ she pointed out with inescapable logic.

  ‘Too right!’

  In spite of her inexperience, the short journey was accomplished without mishap and Casey pulled up in front of the cottage with an unmistakable air of triumph.

  Kendra met them at the door and was visibly shocked at Matt’s condition. He knew from the car’s sun visor mirror that a rapidly purpling bruise on his cheekbone now matched the one on the bridge of his nose and, however much he tried, he couldn’t disguise the stiffness that had set into his damaged muscles on the journey home.

  ‘What’s happened? Jamie said you’d had a fall – he saw it on TV – but he said it didn’t look too bad. Oh – hello Casey,’ she added, raising her eyebrows in mute enquiry as Matt stepped past her into the room.

  ‘Casey drove me home. We need to call her a taxi,’ he said, knowing that the explanation was woefully insufficient.

  ‘That was kind of her.’ Kendra led the way through to the kitchen. ‘My God, Matt! What on earth have you been up to?’

  Matt looked down at his clothes, becoming aware – for the first time – of the grass and mud stains on his beige trousers and the elbows of his jacket. He sighed.

  ‘I – er … had a spot of trouble,’ he said.

  A quarter of an hour later, when the taxi arrived, Kendra was in possession of the full story and, due to Casey’s interjections, far more of the details than Matt had intended she should have. Her reaction had been less pronounced than he’d expected, but it clearly wasn’t an accurate gauge of her emotions for, as soon as they had seen Casey off, she got straight down to business. They were back in the kitchen, where he was finishing a cup of coffee to which Kendra had added a good slosh of whisky. It was making him feel drowsy, and he was looking forward to a hot bath.

  ‘I want you to stop this, Matt,’ Kendra said suddenly.

  ‘Stop … ?’

  ‘You know damn well what I mean. Stop this messing about – playing at being a private eye! I know why you’re doing it, and I love you for it, but it’s getting scary now. You could have been killed today, and for what? You say you don’t even know why they attacked you. It’s crazy! If Jamie’s innocent, he’ll be OK. The police will find out who did do it; it’s their job. Those men were right – your job is riding horses, as if that wasn’t dangerous enough …’

  ‘Hang on,’ Matt cut in. ‘What do you mean if Jamie’s innocent? Don’t you believe it anymore?’

  ‘Well, of course I want to believe he is – but how can we be 100 per cent sure?’

  ‘I’m sure,’ Matt stated quietly. ‘And you were, last time I heard. You’ve certainly changed your tune.’

  ‘I haven’t. Oh, don’t change the subject! We were talking about you getting beaten up – for nothing.’

  ‘But, don’t you see? This means I’m getting somewhere. Somebody’s scared of what I might find out; that’s what this was all about. Why else would they go to all that trouble?’

  Kendra, who had been pacing round the room, stopped and made an exasperated noise.

  ‘But how does it help, if you don’t know what prompted it and you don’t know who sent them?’

  ‘We’ll wait and see what the registration number throws up,’ Matt said.

  ‘No. Give it to the police. If this was just a warning, what’ll these people do next time?’

  ‘I’ll be more careful now,’ he promised. ‘And I will tell Bartholomew, if Casey comes up with something.’

  Kendra pulled out a chair and sat on it, abruptly, heavily, as if all the strength had gone from her legs. She pushed back her long blonde fringe and Matt was shocked to see tears in her eyes. She rarely cried.

  ‘What’s this all about?’ he asked gently. ‘It’s not just what happened today, is it? You’ve been on edge for a while. Can’t you tell me about it, Kennie? Maybe I can help.’

  ‘No, it’s not just what happened today,’ she admitted. ‘It’s everything – Sophie, Jamie, you doing this stuff, Deacon’s cat, everything. I just feel scared all the time and I should be so happy – especially now …’

  Matt’s attention sharpened.

  ‘Especially now?’ he asked, the penny teetering on the edge.

  ‘Because I’m pregnant,’ Kendra announced, and burst into tears.

  ‘But that’s brilliant!’ Matt exclaimed. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Of course I’m sure!’ she sobbed. ‘Oh – and I wasn’t going to tell you like this – I wanted it to be special …’

  ‘It is special.’ Matt leaned over the table, reaching out to take and hold her hands, oblivious – in the joy of the moment – to the discomfort of his bruises. ‘It’s absolutely amazing! When’s it due?’

  ‘About May-time, I think.’

  ‘Oh, wow! This is incredible! You’re incredible!’

  ‘Well, you had a little something to do with it,’ Kendra told him, with a flash of a watery smile.

  ‘That’s a relief to hear,’ he joked. ‘But, you know, that’s why you’ve been so anxious lately. You’re hormonal.’

  ‘Oh – that’s it! Now you’re happy,’ she exclaimed. ‘The male answer to every female emotion – hormones.’ She pulled her hands free and wiped her eyes.

  Matt prudently changed the subject.

  ‘One thing still puzzles me. Where does your brother’s cat fit into all this?’

  ‘Oh, that was so sad. The poor little thing got run over.’

  ‘Not by Deacon?’

  ‘No. It was Niall, I
think – Niall Delafield. Deacon was devastated. I didn’t see him, but Mum says it brought on one of his awful migraines. He stayed in his room all day.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry. Poor Deke!’ Matt wasn’t a cat man, but he knew how he’d feel if it happened to one of the dogs. ‘By the way, when are we going to tell your family the news?’

  ‘Not just yet, I think,’ she said. ‘Let’s keep it to ourselves for a little bit longer, shall we?’

  With the conversation back to Kendra’s exciting revelation, they spent some little time marvelling and making plans before Matt finally rose stiffly to his feet and headed upstairs for the longed-for bath.

  In spite of his aches and pains, he felt wonderfully content. They hadn’t planned to start a family so soon, but, now that it had happened, he wouldn’t have had it any different. The only cloud on his horizon was their unresolved disagreement over his efforts to clear Jamie’s name, but he decided, with a complacency born of exhaustion, that he’d deal with that another day.

  Unfortunately, ‘another day’ turned out to be the very next day and, furthermore, first thing in the morning, over the breakfast table.

  Unusually for him, Matt had slept late, and Kendra had let him, informing him – when he awoke in a panic – that she had already rung Rockfield and excused him from riding out.

  ‘You didn’t say anything about what happened last night?’ Matt asked in alarm.

  ‘No, I just said you’d had a problem with the car and didn’t get in until late. I also said you’d picked up a few bruises from your fall yesterday. Well, John’s bound to notice, with you moving around like an eighty-year-old!’ she added, as he started to protest. ‘And that’s another reason why you should leave this Sophie business to the police. If you won’t do it for me and the baby, you should do it for yourself. If you get yourself all beaten up, you won’t be able to ride. I know you’re in demand right now, but only as long as you deliver the goods. Look what happened to Jamie. If word gets about that you’re not as fit as you might be, they’ll drop you like a shot.’