by Gwyn GB
He heard the metal mechanism on the barn door handle squeak, and it creaked open to show Jack and the two forensics officers walking in, deep in conversation. Jack looked around the barn.
‘Harrison?’
‘Here,’ he replied, pulling the gaze of all three men upwards. ‘Was there any evidence that things had been removed before you got here?’ he asked the SOCOs as he climbed back down the ladder.
‘Not that we’re aware,’ one of them replied, ‘but we weren’t first response, just got called in today.’
This confirmed Harrison’s suspicions that they really had drawn the short straw, probably new recruits. He’d have to speak to the crime scene manager.
By the time he’d reached the ground floor, the bright lights had been switched back on. He spent a few minutes looking around, but after all the activity that had been in the barn in the last forty-eight hours, he didn’t expect to find much in the way of signs. Instead, while Jack was being given a guided tour, he slipped outside.
Harrison started a slow clockwise walk around the barn. Clockwise because that took him first to the most sheltered side, away from where the cars were parked. Again, he didn’t hope for too much in the way of tracks to see, there would have been too many officers walking around the site, but he was looking for something else.
Harrison almost missed it. The hole had been plugged by a small piece of wood which nearly matched the barn wall. Having the bright lights on inside helped him, because a tiny amount of light seeped out where the wooden plug didn’t quite fill the hole. He stopped immediately and studied the ground. The rain would have obliterated any tracks from the night Paul died, but there could be signs that someone came to this spot regularly. The mud was indeed compacted, and the grass trodden into it. The area definitely looked more worn. Harrison wanted to pull the piece of wood out and peer in to see what view it gave, but it could potentially hold DNA evidence of the man who’d put it there. Instead, he carried on walking, searching for anywhere else that someone could see into the barn.
By the time he’d circled back to the door, it was obvious that was the only spot. He went back inside.
‘I need one of you to bag something. Could have DNA of the killer on it,’ he announced to the forensics officers who were still stood talking to Jack and looked up at him surprised.
‘OK, I’ll get a smaller bag, or is it a big object?’ one of the young men replied. He looked fresh out of school with keen, bright eyes. Harrison suspected they’d not yet broken him in on anything too gruesome yet. He still had the enthusiasm of someone who thought he could make a difference, not the resigned professionalism of those who had seen it all before.
‘What have you found?’ Jack asked.
‘I’ll show you,’ Harrison replied, walking back outside.
All four trooped around the back of the barn. Harrison was careful to lead them a couple of feet away from the wall, so that when they got there, they didn’t tread on the ground around the hole.
‘The mud has been compacted. Someone stood here more than once. There’s a hole, which they plug with wood so it doesn’t get discovered. I need you to bag it so we can see what it is they look at.’
Jack took a few photographs on his phone, and one of the SOCOs stepped forward and tweezer’d the wood out of the hole and into a bag. He stepped aside so that Harrison could take a look. The hole gave the perfect view of the ‘altar’ area in the barn. Whoever stood there would have been able to watch all the ceremonies and meetings and could even just about see up to where the hangman’s noose had been attached to the wooden pillar.
‘Most of the ceremonies would have been at night, he’d have watched in the dark so they wouldn’t see the hole being opened up,’ Harrison said as he stepped away to let Jack look through. ‘This man was clearly obsessed with The Horsemen.’
‘How would he have known when they were holding their meetings?’ Jack asked. ‘I assume that nothing else went on in this barn, no naked yoga or anything like that?’
The two forensics officers smirked, but quickly wiped the smiles from their faces when they saw Harrison wasn’t laughing.
‘No,’ he said in the same serious tone, completely ignoring the joke. ‘Nothing else could have gone on here. It would have compromised their secrecy, so that’s a good question. How did he know when only the members received invites? Answer that and we find the killer.’
19
Jack and Harrison left the two young forensics officers to carry on with their hay bagging, while they went to interview Gabby Peterson, Paul’s girlfriend. She didn’t live at Three Oaks Stables, but with her parents in a small village about ten miles away. The roads were starting to look more familiar to Harrison, and while Jack drove, he mulled over his question of how the killer could have known when meetings were being held.
‘You could at least let me get a word in. You never stop the banter, do you?’ Jack broke the silence in the car.
Harrison turned to look at him. There was a broad grin on his face.
‘Marie enjoying being at her parents?’ Harrison asked, suddenly mindful that he hadn’t enquired how she was getting on.
‘Absolutely, can’t thank you enough for the suggestion. It gave her the excuse to come see them and they’re loving having her there with Daniel.’
‘It will help her feel like he’s really part of the family, to see them with him and to be in their lives.’
‘Yeah, I can see that. Her mother won’t put him down, so it’s giving her the break she needed. They’ve even dug out some old toys Marie had as a baby. It’s given me a break too. I’ve not had to worry about them all morning.’
There was a brief lull again, this time while Jack thought about something. His words had triggered Harrison’s thoughts to turn to Tanya. When he’d woken up this morning, he’d texted her to check everything was alright, but there was a constant worry at the back of his mind. He felt London pulling him back, like a child tugging on his sleeve.
‘Is it hard having to investigate murders like this, you know, when it’s a hanging?’ Jack broke the silence again and Harrison felt him throw a glance away from the road and in his direction.
‘Because of my mum, you mean? No. I never think like that,’ he replied.
‘Did you ever know your dad?’ Jack asked.
‘No. I have no idea who he is, or even where my mother met him.’
‘Not even any suspicions?’ Jack pressed, amazed. ‘Your mum was blonde right, and you’re clearly not.’
‘That much is evident, but it still doesn’t help with finding who my father might be, other than the fact he almost certainly wasn’t pale blond, short and puny.’
That made Jack laugh.
‘He may not even know I exist. He was never in my life.’
‘I’m sorry, it must be hard. Look, I’ve been thinking, I really want to help you find your mum’s killer. If you believe there’s been a crime, then we’re duty bound to investigate it.’
‘It’s been over fifteen years.’
‘It doesn’t matter how long, you know that.’
‘They said it was suicide, the local police weren’t interested.’
‘Yeah, well, I looked at the reports. There were inconsistencies, flags that would have told me it wasn’t.’
Harrison looked at Jack now. He was focused on driving, his face serious as he turned the car into a residential road. The satnav announced that they’d reached their destination and Jack pulled over, switched the engine off, and twisted round so he could face Harrison.
‘I hope you don’t mind that I looked, but once you’d told me, I thought I should see if you had a case.’
‘I know she was murdered,’ Harrison replied.
‘I believe you, Harrison. There were defence marks on her arms for one thing.’
For the first time, Jack saw the impenetrable cool of Dr Harrison Lane waver. He said nothing, but Jack suspected that was because he was struggling to speak. It might be over fift
een years, but the grief was still there to see. Harrison turned his head away.
‘Look, I’m serious. I want to help you, and get justice for your mother. When we get back to London, I’ll pull in some favours and see what we can find.’
‘Thanks, Jack,’ Harrison finally said. ‘I appreciate you believing me.’
‘First time we worked together, I was told you’re always right and to trust you,’ Jack replied in his more usual tone, and he smiled as he got out of the car.
They were in a small road of semi-detached houses, built in the 1950s when gardens were big enough to fit more than just a couple of plant pots and a chair in them. The Peterson’s house was number 12, a small metal gate lead into a lawned front garden with flower beds cut into it and a rosebush in the middle on each side. It was a classic British residential street. Sparrows were sat in a row on the guttering, arguing and squabbling, while below them a blackbird flung leaf debris around in the flower bed, searching for worms and grubs. There was a porch attached to the front of the house, which wasn’t locked. As they walked towards it, the blackbird flew up, squawking a warning, and Jack stepped inside to ring the front doorbell.
Inside the porch, Harrison could see riding boots lined up with walking shoes and wellies. His mind went back to Paul Lester’s hallway.
The door was opened by a man in his fifties with a full head of greying hair and a friendly face that was just the wrong side of handsome. He was in jeans and a green Ralph Lauren woollen jumper with a checked shirt underneath.
‘Mr Peterson?’ Jack asked. ‘I’m DS Jack Salter, and this is Dr Harrison Lane. We’re hoping to speak with Gabby about Paul Lester.’
‘She’s already given a statement, you know,’ her father answered, not aggressively, but he was clearly concerned about the whole situation and what impact it might have on his daughter.
‘It’s OK, Dad,’ a voice came from behind him, and Gabby appeared at the door alongside him. ‘I’ll talk to them. If it helps catch Paul’s killer, then I’ll answer as many questions as they need.’
Frederick Peterson stepped aside and waved them both in.
‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ he said, and disappeared into the kitchen ahead of them, while Jack and Harrison followed Gabby into their sitting-room on the right-hand side. Gabby was a petite redhead in her early twenties, with a pixie face. Despite her slight build, Harrison suspected she was strong. Her active work with horses would ensure good fitness levels, and she looked like the kind of girl who took care of herself and didn’t abuse her body. Today she had dark circles under her eyes, accentuated by her pale skin, from where she’d been crying.
‘I can’t believe that anyone would do this to Paul,’ she said, as they each chose somewhere to sit. The words hung in the air between them, as they did at so many meetings like this after a murder.
‘We’ve read your statement,’ Jack began, settling into the large leather sofa and pulling out his notebook. ‘We’ve got just a few more questions, if that’s OK?’
Gabby nodded and immediately began playing with the sleeve of her jumper. Harrison looked around the sitting-room. It was stylish, in a traditional sense, with a nice, polished mahogany sideboard. Along the mantlepiece was a row of wooden ornaments, Harrison guessed Mr Peterson must be into wood turning. There was a selection of family photographs—it appeared Gabby had an older brother—and a pile of Woman & Home magazines on the coffee table along with an iPad.
It didn’t look as though the Petersons were particularly horsey people until Gabby came along. There were photographs of her as a young girl atop a pony with rosettes and a more recent one of her on-board a racehorse at one of the big meetings. Harrison wasn’t sure which course.
‘We understand Paul had a row with Alex Michaels. How was he after that?’
‘He was fine. He just thought Alex was a dick. Sorry.’ She looked embarrassed for her language. ‘I mean, he didn’t have much time for him, you know? Thought he was an idiot.’
‘Why was that?’ Jack pressed.
‘Alex is really ambitious. He doesn’t give a toss about anyone but himself and winning races. That goes for the horses too. Paul hated that he used to whip them too much. He got disciplined and suspended a couple of times over it. Paul always said that jockeys should rely on balance and rhythm to get them over the finish line, and that using the whip was the sign of a bad rider who wasn’t in tune with his horse.’
‘Is that why they argued?’
‘Not the last time, no. Paul said Alex had drifted off his line purposely to block him. The stewards called it careless riding, but Paul accused him of being dangerous and trying to stop him from getting through. Another horse won. Alex wasn’t ever going to lead the field, but he wanted to make sure Paul didn’t.’
‘So there was a personal rivalry?’
‘Definitely. They both trained at the same time, but Alex drinks too much and was banned a couple of years ago for a few months after they found cocaine in a pre-race drugs test. Paul was a better jockey and Alex always struggled to keep his weight down.’
Gabby’s father popped his head around the door at this point.
‘Tea or coffee, gents?’
‘A coffee would be lovely, thank you,’ Jack replied.
‘I don’t suppose you have any herbal teas, do you?’ Harrison queried.
‘Yes, we’ve got mint or chamomile in the cupboard,’ Gabby replied, as much to her nonplussed father as Harrison. ‘Mum likes it.’
‘Then I’ll have a mint, thank you,’ Harrison said.
‘Just normal tea for me, please, Dad,’ Gabby added.
Harrison turned to Gabby when her dad had gone.
‘Were you aware of the group that Paul belonged to? The Horsemen?’ He watched Gabby’s face closely. Her face had hardened ever so slightly. There was tension in her jaw and she twisted her sleeve hard.
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘Do you know if Alex was in that group?’ Jack asked.
‘No. Definitely not. Paul wouldn’t talk about it much. I knew it existed, but it was all top secret. The one thing I do know is that they were all Paul’s friends who belonged to it, jockeys and those who worked in racing, and who he considered were good blokes and good to horses. Paul loved his horses.’ Gabby looked upset again, and they gave her a moment.
‘How was Paul in the days before his death? Was he any different to usual?’ Jack asked.
‘He was fine.’ She shrugged. ‘We were both riding at a meet this weekend and he’d suggested we stayed over in a hotel together. We were planning ahead, talking about summer holidays.’
‘Is there anything that seemed to be worrying him? Anyone else that he’d had a run in with?’
At this point, Mr Peterson returned with a clinking tray of drinks.
‘I brought sugar, as I wasn’t sure if you took it,’ he said, handing a mug to each of them. ‘Paul was a good lad, you know,’ he added. ‘Didn’t deserve this.’ He shook his head and looked sadly at his daughter.
‘Yes, he wasn’t aggressive, didn’t go round picking fights or anything,’ Gabby said now, animated. ‘He was a gentle guy… it’s just he couldn’t stand horse cruelty.’
‘We’re not suggesting he wasn’t, Gabby, but someone wanted to kill him and so we need to know about every disagreement he had in order to try to find that man.’
Gabby looked down at her hands.
‘We have to ask you this, but I need to confirm your whereabouts on Friday evening,’ Jack asked.
‘I was here. Went to bed early, didn’t I dad?’
‘Yes. She did,’ Mr Peterson confirmed. ‘They get them working very early, you know. And it’s often long days, it’s no wonder she’s tired out. Some days we don’t see her at all because she’s up and gone before we’re even awake. That evening she was in bed early, exhausted.’
‘Good that you’re in a nice quiet street here then, so you don’t get woken up.’ Jack said.
Gabby’s father smiled.
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‘Yes it’s quieter out back, but Gabby likes her old room at the front don’t you love. Once you’re asleep that’s you gone until the alarm isn’t it?’
Gabby smiled at her father and he slipped out the room.
‘They worry about me,’ she said to Jack and Harrison. ‘Actually, there was one other thing I forgot to mention to the other officers, but I’m not sure if it went anywhere. It was with a trainer and Paul told me not to tell anyone.’ She looked up at the two men’s faces. ‘He found out that one of the trainers was using EPO with his horses, to boost their red blood cell counts. I can’t remember its full name. People use a version called Epogen, you’d get given it if you were anaemic. Lance Armstrong the cyclist was supposed to have used it because the more red blood cells you have, the more oxygen there is. It’s a performance enhancer, and it’s difficult to test for because basically it’s just encouraging a natural process. Paul saw blood coming from a horse’s nostrils after a race and the jockey let slip. It’s dangerous for the horse because it can encourage them to push their bodies too hard, and sometimes it thickens their blood making heart attacks more likely. Paul told the trainer he wouldn’t ride for him anymore, and threatened to report him unless he stopped, but I’m not sure what happened.’
‘Which trainer was this?’
‘Gavin Simons at Belle View Stables.’
Jack scribbled down the name.
‘Actually, I heard he’s just been banned for ketamine.’
