RIGHT ROYAL REVENGE, A

by R B Marshall

  “Of course, miss. The sergeant said for me to accompany you back to your vehicle. Just in case.”

  I was half expecting that the party back at our lorry would have turned into an all-nighter, but, to my surprise, all was in darkness. The policeman waited until I’d unlocked the door and given him a thumbs-up after I checked inside, before giving me a salute and heading back to the crime scene.

  From Trinity’s bed on the far side of the room came a gentle snoring, so I waited till my eyes adjusted to the darkness, then tiptoed over to my end, and retrieved a bottle of water and my e-Reader from my backpack.

  Pulling off my outer clothes, I left them in a heap at the bottom of the ladder, and clambered up to bed.

  I’d thought, after the long and exciting day that I’d had—winning at the Highland show, seeing Craig for the first time in ages, finding a dead body, and getting dumped by the policeman—that I’d find it hard to get to sleep. But exhaustion kicked in pretty quickly, and the next thing I knew, someone was hammering on our door like they were about to break their way in.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Izzy, Izzy. Are you in there?” a distraught voice shouted, and then the hammering started again.

  “Are you ’avin a laugh?” Trinity threw the door open, wearing only a long t-shirt and an angry face. “It’s hardly six in the morning. What’s yer emergency?”

  Francine McDade pushed past her and climbed into the lorry. Her nose wrinkled, probably at the mess, and then she caught sight of me, peering over the edge of my platform bed. “There you are! Did you hear about poor Jason?”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  Trinity fired a look at me, but I didn’t get the chance to explain.

  “It’s part two of the competition today,” Francine continued, “and I really want Darcy to win. In memory of my dear Pat.” She put her hand on her heart.

  Behind her, Trinity rolled her eyes, and I could see she was thinking the same as me—that this was the woman who, not twenty-four hours ago, had been canoodling with another man.

  “So I want you to ride him,” she declared, staring at me. “I’ll pay you the same riding fee I paid Jason. And I’ll give you the same bonus I promised him, if you win.”

  “You want me to jump Darcy at the Highland Show?” I asked, incredulously. There wasn’t enough coffee in the world to help me cope with such a preposterous idea at such an unearthly hour of the morning.

  “She’ll do it,” interrupted Trinity. “I’ll get him ready, and she’ll ride him.”

  “But—” I spluttered.

  “Wonderful!” Francine’s expression lightened. “Pat would have been so pleased.” Swivelling a gold band on her thin wrist, she checked the time on the tiny watch face. “The class starts at one o’clock today. I’ll meet you there.”

  With that, she was gone.

  I threw myself back on my pillow with a groan. “What have you gone and done?” I said to nobody in general, and my housemate in particular.

  “Earned you five hundred quid, hopefully,” she said smugly.

  “Five hundred?” That woke me up.

  “That’s what the gossip is—that she pays Jason five hundred smackers every time he wins. Plus two hundred for riding.”

  “Really?” Perhaps I was in the wrong game. I’d never heard of fees like that for dressage riders.

  Trinity filled the kettle and lit the gas burner. “Now, get yersel’ down here and tell me what’s going on with Jason, while I make your coffee.”

  “How did I sleep through all that?” Trinity asked with a shake of her head, when I’d finished explaining about finding Jason, and the police arriving.

  “I don’t know, but you were snoring when I got back.” I couldn’t resist pointing that out.

  “I don’t snore!” she said, indignantly.

  I raised my eyebrows. “I’ll record you next time.” Taking a sip of my coffee, I changed the subject. “Who d’you suspect, then? Who could’ve done it?”

  She scratched her chin, then pulled a bowl from the cupboard and poured some cornflakes. “Want some?”

  “Yeah.” I jumped up, and readied some cereal for myself, then we sat at either side of the galley table, munching on our breakfast.

  “You’re not going to like this, but I think it might have been Ruth,” Trinity announced after a contemplative pause. “She couldn’t have Pat herself, so she didn’t want Francine to have him either. And then she killed Jason out of spite.”

  I put my spoon down, and rested my elbow on the table while I mulled that over. Ruth was certainly big enough to have been the person that Darcy saw last night, and I knew she’d been here at the show yesterday. And I had no doubt she’d be strong enough to punch someone. “You’re right. She’s a contender.”

  Then I remembered the suspicions we’d had about Pat’s business rival. “What about the colonel?”

  She screwed up her face. “I don’t see it. What reason would he have to kill Jason? And were he even here?”

  “You’re right, I’ve not seen him, although it’s a big place and we might have missed him. But there’s no obvious reason for him to kill a show jumper.” I took another sip of coffee, and it rattled something loose in my brain. “Maybe we need to look at it another way. What connects Pat and Jason? I’m sure it was the same person killed them both.”

  “Francine.”

  I nodded. “And Darcy.”

  “Well, it weren’t him, that’s for sure.”

  I drummed my fingers on the table. “The Horseman’s Guild?”

  “But Jason wasn’t a member yet.”

  “Yeah. That’s pretty tenuous, you’re right. So Francine is the connection?”

  “Looks that way. Her or Ruth.”

  “But I can’t see how Francine could be the killer. The person Darcy saw was much bigger.”

  Trinity lifted a shoulder. “Could be she hired someone.”

  “That’s true. And I could see how she might be after Pat’s money. But why have Jason killed?”

  “Maybe he was in on it, and they fell out, and he threatened to expose her to the police.”

  “You should write for Eastenders,” I joked. “That sounds about as convoluted as one of their scripts. But it’s given me something to go on.” Draining my coffee, I checked the time. “When do you have to start getting Darcy ready?”

  “About eleven, I reckon. But I need to go up to the shops and buy some more plaiting thread. I nearly ran out, yesterday.”

  “Okay. I’ll stay here and do some more digging, get Gremlin on the case.

  She waved goodbye and hopped out of the lorry.

  Trinity had not been gone for long when my phone rang, its ringtone loud in the relative silence of the lorry. ‘Dev’ the screen said. I pressed the green button. “Hiya, how’re you?”

  “Oh, busy, busy, you know how it is. What’re you up to yourself?”

  “I’m at the Highland Show, would you believe?”

  “Up in the Highlands? Did you not tell me you were living near Dundee?”

  “It’s not… Never mind,” I said, deciding it was too complicated to explain that the Highland Show took place in the Lowlands of Scotland. I gave him the simplified version. “It’s a big horse competition.”

  “Well I’ll not keep you long, then. I’m sure you’d rather be out riding.”

  “I’ve got this morning off, so it’s not a problem.” I remembered that last time we’d spoken, he’d been going to investigate Francine. “Have you got some new information for me?”

  “I do, although I’m not sure what to make of it. The first thing is about that McDade character. Back at the beginning of the year he paid twenty-four grand for something, but I’ve not been able to find out what. The only reference on the transaction says ‘pop’.”

  “As in, father?” I grabbed a pen and scribbled a note.

  “Exactly.” The phone line crackled, as if Charlie was trying to grab the handset again. “Sorry,” he said, “had to
change ears—there’s a fire engine going past making enough noise to wake Sleeping Beauty. Anyway, right, the next thing. Remember last time, I said that there were some strange shenanigans going on?

  “Yeah.” I wondered what was coming next.

  “Well, McDade really was in the financial doo-dah. He was in debt up to his armpits, and taking out new loans to pay off old debtors. A proper Ponzi scheme.”

  “Maybe that’s what the twenty-four grand was for?”

  “Could be, although there’s no record of him paying that amount against any of his liabilities.”

  Rubbing a thumbnail against my bottom lip, I considered what my friend had said. Could some loan shark or mobster have killed Pat? But then, why would Jason have been killed? Were they maybe trying to put pressure on Francine?

  “Thanks, Dev, that’s been really helpful. I feel like we’re getting quite close to solving his murder here.”

  “That’s brilliant. I’ll give you a call if I find out anything else.”

  “Okay. Give my best to Charlie.” I pressed the red button, then sat for a minute staring at the door.

  I need to talk to Francine, I decided, but then realised I had no idea where she was. Of course, I could phone her, but I really wanted to talk to her in person.

  Maybe she’d be along at Darcy’s stable. I decided to try there first.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  When I reached Darcy’s stable, I stopped in shock. It was empty.

  Yellow crime scene tape criss-crossed in front of it, and a lone guy in a white paper coveralls was on his hands and knees, examining something on the ground outside the stable.

  “Excuse me,” I said, my voice higher-pitched than normal. “Where’s the horse?” I pointed at the empty stable. Surely Francine would have said, earlier, if something had happened to him?

  “They moved him,” the technician said, succinctly, and turned back to whatever had caught his attention on the ground.

  I ground my teeth. “Do you happen to know where they put him?” I asked, trying not to show my frustration.

  He jerked his head to the left. “Up there somewhere.”

  “Thanks for your help.” Not.

  Stomping off around the corner, I scanned left and right, looking everywhere for Darcy’s handsome chestnut head.

  In the end, it was Francine’s floaty black clothes that caught my eye, standing outside a stable door. “Hello,” I called out, walking across to her. Over her shoulder, I spotted Darcy standing at the back of his box, and I breathed a sigh of relief. “They moved him,” I said, for something to say.

  “Yes,” she said, and I realised she was holding a piece of card and a pen. “I was just writing him a new name card.” Reaching forward, she slid it into the slot at the side of his door, and patted the top until it sat flush with the edge. She stood back to admire her handiwork.

  In neat script, she’d written: ‘Pride of Pemberley’.

  I stared at it, my eyes widening. Of course. Pride of Pemberley. P O P. Pop. It was Darcy that had cost Pat twenty-four thousand pounds at the start of the year. My eyes watered at the amount, but then I remembered how effortless it had felt to jump the gelding. Perhaps he was worth it.

  “Francine, do you mind if I ask you something?”

  “No,” she said, turning towards me.

  For someone who’d been recently widowed, and had just hours ago lost her lover, she seemed remarkably calm. At the back of my brain, a little voice niggled, reminding me that I’d once read that sociopaths were devoid of empathy and remorse. I’d need to tread carefully.

  “Darcy is such an amazing horse, I just wondered where you got him?” I asked.

  “Oh, we were so incredibly lucky!” she gushed, turning to look at her horse with a soppy expression on her face. “There was a bit of a bidding war, but we got him over the Reids. And then they got Flash, so they were happy too.”

  “George Reid, the saddler?” I clarified.

  “Yes,” she said, pushing her pen back into the bag that hung over her arm. Then she checked her watch. “Aren’t you a little early? The class isn’t till one. I was intending to get some brunch in the members’ pavilion beforehand. Would you care to join me?”

  I checked my own watch, to give me a second to think of an excuse. “Uh, yes, I am rather early, aren’t I? Thank you for the offer, but I daren’t eat before I ride. Superstition, you know.” I waved my fingers airily, hoping she’d believe my lie.

  “Of course. Poor Jason was the same, said he would be sick if he ate too much.” She pulled the zip on her bag closed. “Well, I’ll leave you to it, then. See you after lunch.”

  As soon as she was out of earshot, Darcy put his head over the door. I ruffled his ears. “It’s okay, boy, she’s gone now. Does she stress you out too?” His head bobbed, as if he was agreeing with me, and I laughed.

  Then I looked him in the eye. “You need to look after me this afternoon, okay? I can’t do this without you.” Again, his head bobbed in agreement, and I rolled my eyes at my own fancifulness. Maybe I needed to get some food, too. I was turning delusional.

  I took a short diversion on the way back to the lorry, and bought myself a coffee and a muffin at one of the concession stands.

  The sun was beginning to filter through the clouds, so I sat in the open doorway with my laptop on my knee, sipping coffee and using my phone as a hotspot so that I could surf the internet.

  Quickly, I found George Reid’s social media profile, and scanned through it to see if anything jumped out at me. Francine and Ruth were still at the top of my list of suspects, but, now that I’d discovered the saddler had lost out on buying Darcy, I needed to rule out revenge as a motive.

  After all, it could explain both Pat and Jason’s deaths. Although… I stared at a photo of the grey-haired man. He was small enough that you could almost imagine him being a jockey in a former life. Certainly not the hulking shadow I’d seen in Darcy’s vision.

  Which led me back to Ruth again.

  I was just about to flip over to her profile, when my finger slipped, scrolling the page a little further, and I gasped at what I saw there.

  “What’s up, boss? You look like you seen a ghost.” Trinity appeared in front of me, clutching a number of plastic bags.

  I stared at her, my mind racing. “What time is it?” I asked, ignoring her question, then glancing at my watch to answer my own. “Eleven.” I still had a couple of hours.

  She held up a palm. “I were just about to go and do Darcy. He’s still pretty clean from yesterday. Won’t take me long to plait him.”

  “Okay. I’ll not get in your way.” Closing my laptop, I tucked it under my arm and grabbed my coffee, waiting at the side of the steps while she deposited her bags and changed into a different fleece.

  Two minutes later, she bounced out of the van and raised a hand in farewell. “I’ll make sure he’s ready for quarter to. Don’t you be late!”

  “I won’t,” I replied, watching her retreating back until she was out of sight. Then I dumped my laptop back on the step, and pressed a button on my phone. Staring at nothing, I tapped my foot impatiently until he answered. “Dev!” I said. “I need a rush job. Can you help?”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Two hours later, I was sitting astride Darcy, waiting for our turn to go into the ring for the style jumping.

  Trinity fussed over the horse with her grooming kit. “Got to have him looking his best, she said, wiping an imaginary speck off his shoulder. Then she stared at my jodhpurs. “Are those new?”

  I nodded. “I decided green wasn’t my colour.”

  Behind her, a tall figure loomed. “Hi, gorgeous,” said The Terminator, planting a quick kiss on her cheek.

  Putting a leg against Darcy’s side, I moved him out of their way. “I’d better go and warm him up. Will you still be here when I’m done?”

  Trinity waved a brush at me, menacingly. “Of course!”

  I trotted Darcy away, trying to pus
h everything else to the back of my mind, so that I could concentrate on the job in hand. After this morning’s investigations, I was fairly certain that I knew who the murderer was, and why the two men had been killed.

  But I’d promised Francine I’d jump her horse, and, if I was honest, I wanted to do it for Darcy more than anyone. I thought he deserved to show the world what a superstar he truly was.

  Keeping my wits about me—because there were horses coming at us from every direction—I trotted and cantered Darcy around the collecting ring. After about ten minutes, I popped him over the smaller of the two jumps in the centre. As we cantered away, I grinned. How different today’s Izzy was from the apprehensive dressage rider of the other week. “It’s all thanks to you, clever boy,” I said, scratching his neck.

  Then I spotted Francine at the side of the ring, and guided the horse over so that I could speak to her.

  “He’s feeling good,” I said, smiling at her. “Have you been keeping a note of where we’re at? It’s not our turn yet, is it?” Most of the competitors were still milling around the collecting ring, so it was hard to tell who was due in next.

  I’d discovered that, as the fastest horse in the first round, Darcy would be last to go, meaning George Reid would be second-last. Since there was no timed element to today’s round, there was no particular need for me to watch the other competitors, but I was curious to see how our main rivals would perform.

  “I believe they said that the horse in the ring at the moment is lying fifth,” said Francine.

  “Thanks.” I noted her outfit, which was different from earlier, and had to stop myself from peering over her shoulder to see if I could spot a label sticking out of the back. “That should give me time to put him over another couple of jumps before it’s our turn.”

  “Best of luck,” she said, chewing on her bottom lip. “I’m counting on you, Izzy.”