‘Are the police any nearer to catching the bastard who did this?’ Giles enquired, recalling the business of the day. ‘Have you heard anything?’
Gideon shook his head. ‘I had another session with Coogan yesterday, but if they’ve made any breakthroughs he wasn’t about to tell me. I rather think they’re stumped. There’s a lay-by on the side of the road beyond that wood, and it’s very popular with dog walkers, so there are often one or two cars parked there. Tilly says the police were back there this Sunday, stopping cars and questioning people, but she doesn’t know if they came up with anything. I suppose it would be easy enough for someone to walk off into the trees with a gun held under their coat – especially if it was one of the sort that comes apart.’
‘Somebody must have known you would ride that way, though,’ Giles pointed out, frowning as he accelerated smoothly onto the Blandford road.
‘Well, we’d ridden that way the last three times. We were trying to get Nero used to the noise of the guns, but I think it was a regular route of Damien’s, anyway.’
‘So why did the police want to see you again?’ Pippa asked.
‘I should imagine it’s routine. I expect they’re just hoping I’ll remember some vital fact that I’ve hitherto forgotten, although Coogan always gives me the impression that he thinks I’m hiding something.’
‘Oh, for heavensakes! Surely he doesn’t think you had anything to do with shooting Damien . . .’
‘No, I don’t think I’m a suspect exactly, but . . .’
‘But what?’
Gideon shrugged. ‘I don’t know. It’s probably just his manner, and anyway, I guess they have to cover all possibilities.’
There were, Gideon estimated, upward of two hundred mourners at Damien Daniels’ memorial service, and it became clear that the choice of the minster instead of the parish church had nothing to do with any perceived idea of status and everything to do with practicality. As it was, extra chairs had to be found, and there were still an unlucky few standing along the side aisles.
As well as Damien’s friends and family, Pippa pointed out several of his fellow trainers with their families, and a number of jockeys he had either ridden against, or who had, more recently, ridden for him. There were even – she told him in lowered tones – a couple of minor royals attending; the result, no doubt, of his having worn the Queen’s colours a time or two.
The press, predictably, were out in force, and a news team from both the BBC and a local TV station had been outside the lychgate to film the arrival of the mourners. Gideon saw one or two of the celebrities being asked to say a word or two, and hoped nobody would point him out as the man who’d been with Damien when he’d been shot. Somehow, his name and address had became known and, after being caught unawares once, he’d spent the last week checking his front garden before venturing out.
Thankfully, on this occasion, nobody came his way.
In due course, the family processed through the nave, all the ladies hatted and veiled, with Freddy, smart in grey and navy, stumping solemnly at Beth’s side.
Gideon noticed that in contrast to the bowed heads of the other family members, Barbara Daniels, arm in arm with her husband, was looking about her at the massed ranks of mourners and, even through the gauze, she looked plainly bemused. His heart sank. It seemed that even this formal acknowledgement of her son’s passing had failed to pierce the self-protective bubble she had formed around herself. He wondered what would happen when reality finally filtered through, and feared for her. In the meantime, he knew it was making a difficult time much worse for her family.
Due to the number of people who wished to say their piece, the service was fairly long and, by the time the congregation filed out into the spring sunshine, many of the younger members had become fidgety and complaining, and a baby at the back of the building had started to cry fitfully.
As Gideon’s party left the cool of the minster, a tallish man in grey corduroys and a tailored leather jacket appeared beside them and tucked his hand proprietorially through Pippa’s arm.
‘Lloyd!’ she exclaimed, looking pleased. ‘How long have you been here?’
‘Oh, quite a while – I don’t know, twenty minutes? Half an hour? I managed to get away earlier than I’d expected. I think it was about half past eleven. I arrived in the middle of “Abide With Me”, but I had to stand at the back. What a turnout! Old Damien would have been flabbergasted! Hi, Giles; Gideon.’
Recently separated, with two young children, Henry Lloyd-Ellis had grey-flecked wavy brown hair that was beginning to show signs of receding and an athletic figure that was showing signs of doing the opposite. In his youth and early twenties he had been a competitive, all-round sportsman who, Gideon knew, had represented England in the triathlon. Generally popular, it was often said that he was impossible to dislike, but somehow, Gideon managed.
‘Henry,’ he nodded briefly, enjoying the flicker of annoyance his use of Lloyd’s given name invariably produced.
Born into a wealthy family, and heavily involved with the local foxhounds ever since leaving full-time education, Lloyd had switched successfully from fox hunting to drag hunting following the countrywide ban, and was now Master of the Tarrant and Stour Drag Hounds. He had, at the same time, ridden the tide of ill feeling the ban caused and put himself forward to stand on countryside matters in the upcoming parliamentary elections. His was very much a rural constituency and the general consensus was that he had a very good chance of success.
Joining the flow of people, the four of them moved on to the car park and in due course headed for the hotel and the reception, Pippa abandoning Gideon and Giles in favour of Lloyd’s Range Rover.
Looking at the busily chattering throng from his position near one of the tall Edwardian sash windows, Gideon supposed that the reception would be accounted a success but, for his part, he hoped that Giles wouldn’t want to stay too long. This was, he knew, a rather forlorn hope, because Giles was one of life’s born socialisers and never happier than when in a room full of people. He sighed. If he’d thought of it, he would have made some excuse of having to get away early, declined the lift and made his own way to the service. He found his eyes straying, not for the first time, to where Pippa and Lloyd sat sharing a window seat and, shaking off the mild irritation that this provoked, wondered if Eve would be waiting for him when he got home. He glanced at his watch, supposing – when a decent amount of time had passed – that he could feign a headache, say his farewells and call a taxi.
Somewhere between the minster and the hotel, Barbara had disappeared, presumably taken home by a relative. A sensible decision, Gideon thought; she could only be further confused by the occasion, and it saved both family and guests from possible embarrassment. Much easier and kinder to say that she didn’t feel able to face everyone.
After half an hour or so of small talk, canapés, and waiters who tried to top up his glass every time he took a sip, the room was becoming stuffy and Gideon’s claim to a headache could be made in all sincerity. Disengaging the grasp of a portly individual with a red-veined nose and watery eyes, who insisted on clutching Gideon’s sleeve while he regaled him with doubtful tales of his part in Damien’s success, he went in search of Giles to inform him of his change of plan.
Pippa’s brother, true to form, was surrounded by a group of rather more females than males, and appeared to be having a fine time, entirely forgetting, Gideon suspected, the reason they were all there.
Gideon approached from behind, laid a hand on his shoulder, and spoke close to his ear.
‘Going to make my own way home, Giles. Say goodbye to Pippa for me.’
Giles swung round, an elegant brunette on his arm. ‘Gideon! Say hello to Leila, she’s an air hostess.’
‘Flight attendant,’ the girl corrected, transferring her blue gaze to the newcomer with every appearance of appreciation. ‘Hi, Gideon.’ She made the two words a full-on flirtation.
‘Hi,’ he said with a brief smile.
‘Look, if you’re really going now, why don’t you take the Merc?’ Giles suggested. ‘I probably shouldn’t be driving anyway – I think I’ve probably had rather too much to drink. These waiters fill up when you’re not looking!’
‘Yeah, well I changed onto orange juice for the same reason. OK. I’ll do that. I’ll just say my goodbyes to the family.’
Giles held out his car keys and the ticket for the car park and, with another smile for the others, Gideon collected his jacket from the chair-back he’d draped it over, and began to thread his way through to where he could see Hamish’s curly blond mop showing over the heads of the other guests.
He found Damien’s father in a small group that included his daughter-in-law, a big fair-haired man who might have been a brother, and two younger Japanese men, who quite obviously weren’t.
‘Thank you for coming, Gideon,’ Hamish said, after he’d said his piece. ‘It’s wonderful that so many people wanted to pay their respects.’
Before he could say anything else, a look of distraction came over him and he put a hand into the inner pocket of his jacket, withdrawing a mobile phone.
‘It’s on silent,’ he said, by way of an explanation. ‘Excuse me.’
Hamish turned away to speak and, as Gideon took his leave of Beth, he could sense from the low, urgent tones that the phone call was important.
Then Hamish was back. ‘Has anyone seen Tilly, lately?’
‘I think she went to the loo,’ Beth told him. ‘Is there a problem?’
‘Just got to nip home for something,’ Hamish said, avoiding the issue.
Beth’s look sharpened. ‘It’s not Barbara?’
‘No. Nothing like that.’
Hamish gave his daughter-in-law a significant look and Gideon sensed that he didn’t want to share his news with all and sundry.
‘Well, you guys obviously have family business to discuss, so I’ll be on my way,’ he said, hoping the other men would follow his lead.
Thankfully, they did, and Hamish shot Gideon a grateful look as the three of them turned away.
As a result of the quantities of orange juice Gideon had consumed, and with the prospect of a longish drive home in mind, he paid a visit to the men’s room on his way out, and when he emerged from the rear entrance of the hotel into the crowded car park, the first person he saw was Hamish. The farmer was standing staring in frustration at a Volvo and a sports saloon that were blocking his own vehicle in.
‘Hell and damnation!’ he exclaimed as Gideon approached. ‘This is all I bloody need!’
‘Anything I can do?’
‘I wanted to slip out quietly but these morons have double-parked! It’s going to take for ever to sort out, and by the time we’ve finished, everybody’ll be wanting to know where I’m going and why.’
‘Well, I could give you a lift,’ Gideon offered. ‘I’m taking Giles’ car and he’s getting a taxi later. We parked in the multi-storey round the corner because we thought this might get a bit chocker.’
For a moment, Hamish hesitated.
‘You don’t have to tell me anything,’ Gideon said.
‘But it’s way out of your way . . .’
‘No problem.’
‘OK, thanks.’ Suddenly Hamish was striding towards the car park exit and Gideon had to hurry to catch up.
‘That was Barbara’s sister on the phone. She took Barbara home after the service; we thought it was best.’
‘I meant it,’ Gideon assured him. ‘You really don’t have to explain.’
‘Well, you’ll hear soon enough, anyway. I just didn’t want a fuss in there – you know. It’s bad enough already with the way Damien died, and the press and everything. I kept hearing people talking about it, and then they’d go quiet when they realised I was near.’ He broke off as they turned towards the town centre. ‘Oh, I suppose you can’t blame them, but now, on top of everything else, we’ve been broken into. The farmhouse, I mean. When Lucy and Barbara got home they found the glass in the French windows broken. Some bastard’s taken advantage of us all being out, and helped themselves!’
‘Oh, God!’ Gideon was appalled, immediately thinking of the effect this further calamity would have on Damien’s mother.
‘I managed to persuade Beth and Tilly to stay and keep up appearances, but I don’t envy them. God knows what they’ll say if anyone asks where I am. They’ll have to make up some excuse.’
In the multi-storey, Gideon paid for the time the Mercedes had been parked and they hurried up the steps to the next level.
‘I’m sorry,’ Hamish said presently, as he settled himself into the passenger seat. ‘You said you had to get home – this is going to delay you . . .’
Gideon shook his head. ‘That’s all right. To be honest, I’d just had enough. I’m not one for crowds.’
‘That’s good. That’s good. Neither am I,’ he replied, distractedly. ‘Oh, God, we could have done without this!’
Gideon stopped the Merc at the barrier, fed his ticket into the machine and waited while the bar was raised. Easing out into the town-centre traffic he asked, ‘Was there no-one at the farm?’
‘Well, most of the girls wanted to come to the service, but Megan was there – she’s our house-help and extra groom. The house was locked but not alarmed, because she needed to get herself some lunch. Normally she’d be in or around the yard, within sight of the house . . .’
‘But today . . .?’ Gideon prompted.
‘Well, apparently two of the horses got out, so she had to go and round up a couple of the farm workers to help find them.’
‘Got out, or were let out?’
‘That’s what I was thinking,’ Hamish agreed. ‘We didn’t advertise the service but, as you saw from the numbers, it wasn’t exactly a secret. Oh, God! You hear about this happening but you never really think it will happen to you, do you? Lucy says Barbara’s in a bit of a state.’
Gideon drove as fast as he dared but nevertheless, when they reached the farm some fifteen minutes later, there were already two police cars and a van parked by the low garden wall. The front door stood open, and Hamish leapt out of the vehicle almost before it had stopped moving and headed up the garden path.
Gideon parked the Mercedes and then followed more slowly, passing a uniformed policeman in the doorway. The officer, perhaps assuming he was one of the family, didn’t question his right to be there, so Gideon went on in, lured partly by a desire to help and partly by good old-fashioned curiosity.
Out of habit, he made for the kitchen, glancing through the open lounge door as he passed. Two men in white coveralls were at work in there, bent over the huge oak sideboard on the far side of the room. Their starkly clinical figures looked incongruous standing on the deep-pile carpet, amidst the cosy luxury of the sitting room, like white paper cut-outs on a velvet-draped stage. Thankfully the room didn’t appear to have been too badly desecrated.
In the kitchen he caught up with Hamish, and found also Barbara, an older woman who was presumably her sister Lucy, and Detective Inspector Rockley. Gideon paused in the doorway just in time to hear Barbara say, in a voice that shook piteously, ‘But why did they have to mess up the cottage? I was trying to keep it nice for when Damien comes back. They’ve spoiled it. Damien will hate finding it like that; he’s so tidy.’ Tears shining in her eyes, she looked up at her husband who stood with his hand on her shoulder. The black of mourning accentuated the lacklustre quality of her skin, and she looked desperately frail.
‘We’ll put it right again,’ Hamish promised, as one might to a child, but this time it seemed she was not to be comforted.
‘You can’t,’ she said brokenly and, with aching sympathy, Gideon witnessed the dawning of the full, devastating truth. ‘He isn’t coming back. He’s gone; my baby’s gone. Why did he have to leave me? Why? Why Damien? Why?’
She cried out the last words with a sudden rush of grief and then began weeping with terrible keening sobs, rocking to and fro as if the
pain was physical.
‘No, Babs, please . . .’ Hamish pulled her towards him and held her tight but the wailing continued unabated. He looked helplessly round at the others, and it was Rockley who said decisively, ‘She needs a doctor. Do you have a number?’
By the time the doctor arrived, just over fifteen minutes later, Barbara Daniels’ heart-rending sobs had quietened but she still rocked constantly in her husband’s arms, eyes wide open and tears streaming down her cheeks.
Rockley beckoned to Gideon and led the way outside, wandering down the path with every appearance of enjoying the sunshine, and stopping to rest the seat of his grey trousers against the garden wall.
Gideon did the same. The rough stone was warm, and aubretia sprouted from the cracks to tumble down the sides in purple and white cascades. A fly buzzed and settled on his hand. He shook it off.
‘Hamish a particular friend of yours?’ Rockley asked after a moment.
Gideon shook his head. ‘No. Actually, I hardly know him. I drove him back from the reception because his car was blocked in in the hotel car park, that’s all.’
‘What was Damien’s relationship with his father like, do you know?’
‘OK, I think. I’m not really sure. Surely you’re asking the wrong person . . . One of his family – Tilly or someone – would know much more.’
‘No. I’m asking the right person.You strike me as more than averagely perceptive, and I’m interested to know what you think.’
Gideon was surprised. ‘All right,’ he said slowly. ‘For what it’s worth, I think the whole family are very close. I also got the impression, from a couple of things he said, that a certain amount of pressure was brought to bear by Hamish to get Damien to give up his racing career, but I don’t think that came between them at all. After all, it was understandable, don’t you think? Jump racing is a dangerous game, and having already lost one son . . .’
‘Some families don’t seem to have much luck, do they?’ Rockley pushed a pebble round with the toe of his shoe, watching it with apparent concentration. Suddenly he kicked it away. ‘And what about you? Have you remembered anything else about the morning Damien was shot?’
Time to Pay Page 4
