A Corpse at the Castle

by R B Marshall

  After half an hour’s internet sleuthing and a large cappuccino, I’d uncovered some information about Hamish which made me see him in a different light.

  With most people, I could find out quite a lot merely by checking out their social media profiles—who they were friends with, events they attended, photos they appeared in. But the stud manager, perhaps unsurprisingly, didn’t appear to ‘do’ social media.

  However, a Google search did spit out something interesting.

  Like I’d thought when I was in his ultra-tidy office, Hamish was ex-military.

  In the eighties, as a member of the Household Cavalry, he’d bravely leapt to the Queen’s rescue when a lone gunman fired shots at her during the Trooping the Colour parade in London. His courageous actions had probably saved the sovereign from a nasty end. I guess his reward was a job for life here at the stud.

  A wave of sadness washed over me. If he’d been a trooper in the Household Cavalry, he’d have been a great rider in his prime, and a good horseman. It was a shame the world had lost such knowledge and experience.

  But Hamish’s quick thinking back in 1981 had thwarted the ambitions of Marcus Sarjeant, a seventeen-year-old who’d been desperate for the fame and notoriety he’d gain by attacking the Queen. Later that year Marcus had been convicted of treason, then served three years in a psychiatric prison.

  The thing that caught my attention was that, on release, the wannabe assassin had changed his name and disappeared into obscurity.

  Doing some mental arithmetic, I worked out that Marcus would be in his 50s now. Could he have tracked Hamish down all these years later and wreaked his revenge? Possibly.

  Would he really have waited that long, though? Probably not.

  I sat back in my chair and drummed my fingers on the armrest, staring out of the window, eyes fixed on the dark green fronds of the pine trees opposite, but not really seeing them.

  The Trooping the Colour attack was definitely a lead, and something to follow-up on. But logic surely implied that it would be something more recent that had inspired the ex-cavalryman’s murder? I needed to dig deeper about Hamish and his work here at Balmoral, to see if I could tease out any motives for murder.

  Time for the heavy guns.

  Flexing my fingers, I fired up Gremlin, the app I’d written specifically for burrowing into the deep web, and set it to hunting for additional information about the stud manager.

  Chapter Eight

  While Gremlin worked its magic, I took out my phone and texted Trinity, updating her on what had happened, though I didn’t tell her about last night’s dinner. And afterwards. That would take longer than a text message.

  Next, I dialled the number on Sergeant Lovell’s card.

  Perhaps unsurprisingly, since he was probably still interrogating Craig, I got his answering service. Grrr. “It’s Izzy Paterson,” I enunciated carefully. “I have some more information for you if you could phone me back please?” With a sigh of relief, I ended the call. I hate these things.

  In fact, I avoided speaking on phones wherever possible, preferring email or text messages. At least that way the person could read your message when they got time, and their reply wouldn’t interrupt anything important. A little voice told me that I was probably just projecting—I had an aversion to phone calls because I somehow always managed to get tongue-tied or embarrass myself.

  Gremlin hadn’t produced any results yet, but it was after noon, so time to try a trip over to the estate to check on the mares. Pausing the app, I packed up and made my way back out to the lorry.

  Of course, inevitably, Sergeant Lovell called back when I was driving to the stables, and there was no hands-free connection in the lorry. By the time I’d found somewhere on the narrow road to pull over and speak safely, he’d rung off. Growling with frustration, I hit ‘redial’ and finally got through to him.

  The sound of that chocolatey voice soothed my irritation somewhat. “Ms Paterson! I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.”

  “Yes, well…” I rubbed my forehead. How do I broach this? “It’s just… There was something else about last night I forgot to tell you. I—uh—Craig MacDonald walked me back to the B&B. Just to make sure I found it in the dark,” I added hurriedly. “So he can corroborate on the time I left the pub.”

  There was a brief silence on the other end of the line. Probably scribbling in that notebook of his. “And obviously that means you can account for Mr MacDonald’s whereabouts at that time too.”

  “Yeah, I guess so. Plus I think Mrs Beaton saw us arrive back, as I said earlier.”

  “And would anyone be able to vouch for what time you left The Queen’s Arms?”

  I pressed my lips together. “Maybe the barman, I’m not sure. Richard Mortimer and the man he was speaking to had gone by then. But we left just after Mrs Douglas asked us about Hamish, about ten o’clock I think.”

  Another silence. More scribbling, no doubt. “Okay, thank you Ms Paterson. Feel free to call me again if you’ve forgotten to tell me anything else.”

  I could almost hear the air quotes around the word ‘forgotten’, and my cheeks pinked, despite the fact that he couldn’t see me. “Of course,” I replied, suitably chastised.

  Fifteen minutes later I’d negotiated my way through security and into the estate, and had parked the lorry in the parking area in front of the outdoor school.

  There was a police car parked outside the closest cottage, sides chequered in blue and yellow, light bar strapped across its roof. A uniformed policewoman stood guard at the entrance to the stable yard, thumbs hooked in the edges of her flak vest, blue and white police tape fluttering in the breeze behind her.

  At least with the police here, the murderer should keep well away. That thought gave me pause. Maybe you should’ve thought of that before you returned to the scene of a crime, Izzy? I rolled my eyes at my own stupidity and briefly considered cranking up the engine again and hot-footing it back home.

  Then my shoulders relaxed. But surely the police must think it’s safe, or they’d not have opened the estate up again. So maybe not so stupid after all. And I did have the mares to look after.

  Across to my right, two paddocks away, I spotted the girls, heads down and happily munching on lush green grass.

  Pulling a couple of grooming brushes from a box in the opposite footwell and a Puffa jacket from behind the seat, I stepped out of the lorry and shrugged on the extra layer.

  Today’s weather was less typical for May, but more typical for the Highlands—oppressive grey clouds obscured most of the sky, and the wind held a hint of winter cold rather than summer warmth.

  I shivered. Still haven’t got used to this Scottish weather. It was at least two degrees colder up here than it was in London, but on days like this it felt like the Arctic, not the Highlands. Especially when I’d just been sitting in front of a roaring log fire in the pub.

  Under the clock tower, the policewoman had stiffened, presumably a response to my arrival rather than the cold. Narrowing my eyes, I stuffed the brushes into my pockets. Then I walked round the front of the lorry to retrieve the mares’ passports from the glove box on the passenger side, in case she got all officious on me.

  “Afternoon, Ms Paterson,” said a male voice behind me.

  I just about jumped out of my skin, banged my elbow on the lorry door and managed to drop the passports at the same time.

  “Forgive me!” Sergeant Lovell bent quickly to retrieve the booklets and held them out to me. “I didn’t mean to give you a fright. Are you okay?”

  One hand hanging onto the lorry door to keep me upright, I had the other on my chest, waiting for my heart to stop pounding. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

  He gestured at the cottage behind him. “Needed to speak to Mrs Douglas.”

  “Ah.”

  Mocha-coloured eyes regarded me in silence. Was there a hint of a smile on those full lips?

  It was when his head tilted questioningly that I r
ealised I’d been staring at his mouth, and that he was expecting me to speak. “I—uh, came to check on the mares.” I pulled one of the brushes out of my pocket as evidence, hoping my cheeks hadn’t gone pink and betrayed where my thoughts had been headed. “They’re just over there.” I pointed at the paddock.

  The sergeant’s jaw clamped, and he glanced across at the policewoman by the entrance, then back at me. “Check in with PC Adamson first, then. Tell her I said it was okay.” Touching the brim of his uniform cap, his brown eyes burned into mine. “Till next time,” he said, then spun on his heel and strode back to his squad car.

  For a moment, I watched his retreating back, my stomach churning. Why did he affect me so? I liked Craig, didn’t I? With a shake of my head, I took a deep breath, then walked across to where the constable was stationed. “Afternoon,” I greeted her.

  “Ma’am.” She bobbed her head, giving me the once-over from under the brim of her uniform cap. In the flattering black of her police garb, she had the look of someone who went to the gym regularly, and her glossy, raven-coloured hair and matching fingernails made me think she was also familiar with the insides of a beauty salon.

  I pointed at the mares. “Sergeant Lovell said it would be okay for me to go over and check on my horses? I think I can get through the field gate over there, or I’ll climb the fence.”

  She frowned at me and quirked a perfectly arched eyebrow. “Got some documentation to prove they’re yours?”

  Opening the passports at the pages that described the horses, I nodded across at the mares and handed her the booklets. “Allegra is the bay—brown with black legs—her full name is Glengowrie Allegretto. The white one—grey, in horsey parlance—is Glengowrie Miss Contrary. We call her Daisy.”

  Constable Jobsworth’s mouth pursed as she perused the paperwork, lips showing tell-tale vertical lines that made me wonder if she was a smoker. But she smelled of some rather overpowering perfume rather than cigarettes. So perhaps not.

  She spent a full minute flicking through the pages suspiciously, but seemed unable to find anything untoward, so with a slight shake of her head she closed the booklets and slipped them into their sleeve. “They seem to be in order, Miss—?” She paused expectantly, holding the passports out to me.

  “Paterson. Isobel Paterson. I work for Lady Letham who owns the mares.”

  Her head jerked back, and I got a sharp look that wouldn’t have been out of place from a magpie. “You were interviewed by the sergeant earlier.” A statement, not a question.

  I nodded. “Yeah, the mares arrived yesterday afternoon, and he said they were speaking to everyone who’d been on the estate that day.”

  A muscle tightened in her jaw and her nostrils flared slightly as she looked me up and down again.

  What’s her problem? I held up one of the brushes. “I just want to check on the girls and give them a groom. I won’t be long.”

  Her face didn’t lose the mistrustful look, but she jerked her chin at the horses. “On you go then,” she said grudgingly. “But stay where I can see you.”

  With a mumbled, “Thanks,” for nothing, I hurried off and let myself in through the five-bar gate in the paddock to the right of the road in front of the stables, and made my way across to the next enclosure, where I unbuckled the mares’ head collars from the gate. When I approached, Allegra’s head came up, and she snorted in alarm, making Daisy stop eating and stare at me suspiciously.

  “It’s only me, silly,” I crooned, sending out calming vibes and angling my shoulders so they weren’t directly facing the mares, to seem less aggressive. Allegra’s neck relaxed, and Daisy took a step towards me. “Want a treat?” I asked, fishing in my pocket for a polo mint.

  It was there that Craig found me ten minutes later, grooming the grey while the bay hung out nearby, hopeful that another sweetie would be forthcoming. Allegra noticed him first, her suddenly alert pose warning me that someone was coming.

  When I saw who it was, my heart skipped a beat. “Craig! Glad to see they let you go.”

  He pressed his lips together. “And so am I.” Taking a step closer, he scratched Allegra’s shoulder, getting her instantly onside. Outwardly she seemed like a suspicious creature, but in reality she was a softie. Bit like me. “But they’ve told me I’m not allowed to go anywhere.”

  “Yeah, I got the same warning.” Stopping grooming, I let out a long breath. “It’s hard to believe that the guy who was all red-faced and grumpy yesterday afternoon is… gone.” I looked across at him. “Must be worse for you, since you worked with him.”

  “Aye, I havenae got my head round it yet. The man’s been here, like, forever. Long before I started. And,” he shoved a stray curl back under the brim of his cap and re-seated it on his head, “it’s such a strange way for him to go. I mean, getting kicked like that.”

  Shaking his head, he moved his arm in an arc to indicate the surrounding fields. “All the horses we have here are quiet as mice.” His mouth turned down at the corners. “The queen’s in her nineties. She’s no’ a spring chicken any more. So we darenae have anything difficult or dangerous around her.”

  I frowned. “Did you hear which horse it was?” Then my eyes widened as a terrible thought struck me. “It wasn’t one of these two, was it?”

  “I don’t think so.” He pointed a finger at the stable yard. “If you look, all the police tape is at the stables. So I suppose it must’ve happened there.”

  “Makes sense. What horses use the stables? Eagle was in when I was there yesterday.”

  “Aye, and the other stallions. And the mares who’re close to foaling come in from the fields at night. And any garrons who’re getting used up the hill the next day.”

  I sucked air through my teeth. “That doesn’t narrow it down much.”

  “No, it doesnae.” Fishing in his pocket, Craig found a piece of carrot and offered it to Allegra. The mare did her magician’s assistant thing and disappeared it in a trice. “But I suppose we’ll be finding out in due course.”

  “You’ll have a friend for life there,” I said, changing the subject and tilting my head at the bay. “That’s Allegra. This one is Daisy.”

  He grinned and caught my eye. “I like me a nice brunette.”

  My heart skipped a beat again. Is he flirting with me? I was totally out of practice if he was. “I prefer a chestnut myself,” I said, glancing at his ginger hair to check it hadn’t magically changed colour in the trip from the police station to the estate. “As long as it hasn’t got white socks.” That was a reference only a horseman would get—chestnut horses have a reputation for being difficult, particularly if they’re mares, and even more so if they have white legs.

  Suppressing a smile, Craig reached down theatrically and pulled his trouser leg up an inch. “Black,” he said, angling his ankle so I could see it.

  “Good choice.” I nodded approvingly. “But that makes you more of a bay, doesn’t it?”

  “Bright bay, maybe?”

  “Still not a chestnut,” I said playfully.

  He rolled his eyes. “I’ll wear the red socks tomorrow, just for you.”

  I grimaced. “I may not be here to see it. Or I shouldn’t. But—” I rubbed Daisy’s face, “I guess it depends whether we’ve introduced the girls to Eagle. Or not. Hamish said he and Stan would have Eagle service them today…” I trailed off.

  Craig’s gaze drifted across to the stables, his expression turning serious. “Well, I suppose that would be up to me, now,” he said, then scratched his chin while he eyed up the two mares. “Are they shod behind?”

  “No. Daisy is barefoot; Allegra just has shoes in front.”

  Pulling his cap off his head, he ran a hand though his curls. “So they cannae kick chunks out of a stallion, even if he’s being really annoying.” His gaze fell on the paddock beside them, which was empty. “D’you know, I’m a great believer in keeping things simple. Hows about we move Eagle so he’s next door, and they can be getting to know each other ov
er the fence.” He patted Allegra’s neck, then gave me a sideways look. “And after that, if all goes well, we can put them together and let nature take its course.”

  “That sounds like a plan.” And it meant I didn’t have to deal with Stan the creepy stud groom again.

  “D’you think Lady Letham would be okay with leaving them here for a few weeks? That way we’ll be knowing they’ve definitely been covered.” One eyebrow quirked up. “And maybe I could meet you for a drink at the pub again, when you come back to collect the mares?” Frown lines appeared on his forehead. “Unless you’re seeing thon policeman?”

  Taken aback, I made a face. “No, why would you think that?”

  Both eyebrows quirked up this time. “Because he’s got the hots for you.”

  I raised my eyes heavenwards. “It’s like being back at primary school!” But I couldn’t stop a tiny grin creeping over my face. Craig wants to see me again. “Want me to help you shift Eagle?” Scanning the fields around us, I spotted him in one of the paddocks closer to the stables.

  “If you want to. It’s up to you,” Craig replied in a way that totally meant ‘yes’.

  I unbuckled Daisy’s head collar and held it up. “We could use this to move him?”

  “Aye, good idea. He’s usually quiet enough.” With a sideways glance at the policewoman standing guard at the stables, he added, “And I don’t think they’ll be allowing us on the yard yet, so we wouldnae be able to collect one, anyway.”

  Eagle spotted us coming and had trotted down to the gate before we’d even got it open. But something about him was a little off, compared to his demeanour when I’d seen him yesterday. There were lines round his eyes almost like he was worried about something, and his mouth seemed pinched. Quite different to the proud, happy horse I’d seen yesterday.

  “Does he seem okay to you?” I asked.

  Craig looked up from fastening the head collar on. “Say again?”

  I pointed at the stallion. “He looks—” I wrinkled my nose, “upset, maybe? D’you think he somehow knows about Hamish?”