A Racing Murder (The Ham Hill Murder Mysteries) Page 18

  Sarah went on, ‘Callum told Alex she was a tart and she'd better watch out because some men were after young girls like her and it was disgusting, and if that was the kind of guy Alex liked, he – Callum – wanted nothing more to do with her.'

  She took a breath. ‘I don’t know who he was talking about. Alex said she didn't care, Callum wouldn't be getting any more out of her and she'd see whoever she liked. Then she jumped up and left, and Callum looked up and saw me and Colin. He came over and talked to us, and he called Alex all sorts of names,’

  ‘Did he say any more about the man she'd been with?’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Sarah, ‘that's all I know. Now, let's decide how we’re going to cut your hair today. The colours look amazing.’

  That was all the information Imogen was going to get out of Sarah.

  26

  Hotel

  ‘Well, look at you,’ Emily gasped, as Imogen popped her head around the door of the office to announce her return. ‘You look amazing – there's no other word for it. Just wait until your Dan sees you.’

  Imogen, who'd spent much of the journey back from town stealing glimpses of her hair in the rear-view mirror, gave an awkward laugh. She’d entered the hotel by the front door, secretly pleased to show off her new ‘do’. She tucked a strand behind her ear. ‘You don’t think the colour’s too bright?’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ said Emily. ‘There's just a tiny gleam of copper and it suits you.’

  ‘Well,’ said Imogen. ‘At the price I've just paid, it jolly well should.’

  Dan planned to visit that evening and Imogen's heart was fluttering. I wish, she thought, I could behave like a proper grown-up. Her head was a mess. She couldn’t decide what she really wanted. Neither, she supposed, could Dan. He certainly hadn’t made any advances on her. It was as though they were keeping each other at arms’ length, trying to make up their minds.

  Nevertheless, this evening she’d found one excuse after another to hover between the dining room, the main lounge, and the reception area, knowing that from any of these vantage points, she'd catch sight of him as soon as he entered.

  She soon had to leave the dining room. Her presence made the staff uncomfortable. They tiptoed round the room, adjusting knives and glasses, polishing the silver and removing invisible specks of dust from tablecloths, constantly glancing Imogen’s way, looking for approval.

  It was exhausting for all parties, so she found a window seat in the lounge, facing towards the front. The French doors at the other end of the room were firmly closed. The afternoon was turning to evening and it would be dark, soon.

  It was close to seven o'clock when he arrived. Imogen had drunk three mugs of coffee in addition to the one at the hairdressers’. Her hands were beginning to tremble slightly. It was definitely time for a glass of white wine.

  ‘Imogen?’ Dan looked at her for a long moment, finally announcing. ‘You look fabulous. Great hair.’

  ‘You like it?’

  ‘It's wonderful. I didn't know you were planning a transformation.’

  ‘Come and have a drink,’ Imogen said, wondering how bad she’d looked before. ‘I've got so much to tell you.’

  ‘And I had an interesting time today. Not so much with the horses as the lads. Those beautiful, and very expensive, racehorses intimidate me a bit. All teeth and hooves. I keep well away from both ends, I can tell you.’

  He made himself comfortable by her side.

  ‘How's Mrs Hammond?’ Imogen asked.

  ‘She's back home with her brother, now. The hospital let her out. I looked in at her bungalow and she says she's fine, though she looks pretty shaken up, to me.’

  Imogen said, ‘Flowers, I think, and chocolates.’

  Dan gave a lopsided grin. ‘Already sorted, days ago.’ He sat opposite Imogen at the table they'd last occupied a few days ago. ‘By the way,’ he said, ‘I'll be buying you dinner tonight. I sold a painting this week so we can drink champagne and choose the most expensive dishes on the menu, if you like.’

  ‘That sounds wonderful,’ Imogen agreed, feeling suddenly shy.

  ‘Who's going to go first? Dan asked.

  ‘I will. I've had a busy day,’ Imogen said. She explained her progress, from the chat with Oswald, that led her to seek inspiration from Edwina Topsham’s local knowledge, and from there to her conversation with Sarah, the hairdresser, and the news that Alex had gone through boyfriends, from Tim to Callum and on to some unknown older man.

  As she talked, Dan watched her face, intently. She felt a little thrill of excitement. It was many years since anyone had looked at her with half that degree of interest.

  Her insides tied themselves in a little knot and she took two or three gulps of champagne, feeling it go straight to her head. She'd eaten little today apart from the sandwich in town, and her head was beginning to swim.

  She liked the fuzzy feeling, but replaced her glass on the table. There was no hurry; no need to rush. She had the whole evening alone with Dan. She watched him talking, liking the way he ran his hand through his hair.

  ‘So, Alex went through boyfriends like a knife through butter?’ Dan commented.

  ‘So it seems. And, by all accounts, Callum does the same with women.’

  ‘The stable yards seem to be hotbeds of sex. I can tell you, most of the lads at Leo's had their eye on Alex. She was pretty well flavour of the month there, even though she worked in the other yard.’ He grinned and his eyes glinted with sudden excitement.

  Imogen said, ‘You look like the cat that’s stolen the cream. Have you made some kind of breakthrough?’

  ‘I didn’t find much in the way of secrets. In fact, I think my career as a sleuth is probably over before it began.’

  He shrugged, but he wasn’t fooling Imogen. He was bursting to tell her something. ‘Get on with it before I throw wine over your head,’ she said.

  ‘I overheard one thing that made me think. It's probably nothing but—’

  ‘Yes,’ Imogen encouraged.

  He narrowed his eyes. ‘I heard one of the lads having words with Callum. He said, “You don't seem too upset about Alex Deacon. I thought you and she were having a thing.” And Callum said, “Didn't mean anything. Course, it's a shame she died, but Leo didn’t like me hanging around her. I’d decided to move on, anyway. She was just a kid.” And he went on, “Now you get on with your job”.’

  Imogen, disappointed, said, ‘I’m not sure that takes us much further…’

  Dan leaned across the table. ‘It’s not so much what he said, as the way he looked. He walked away, out of the box, and I caught sight of his face. He looked like he was about to take a swing at someone. All bright red face and screwed-up eyes. He’s not the friendly, happy-go-lucky guy he seems. One of the other lads, the chap who shares a flat with Belinda, he was standing near me and he gave a funny little whistle and said, “You don't want to get on the wrong side of our Callum, and that’s a fact”.’

  Imogen thought about that. ‘So, he has a temper. I heard he was angry about this older man? Could he have killed Alex?’ She puffed out her cheeks. It was hard to keep track of these people and their love affairs.

  Dan refilled Imogen's glass, and his own. ‘I don’t know any more. That's all I have to tell. Your friend, Adam, won't be impressed by my lack of detective skills.’

  Imagen glanced at his face. ‘Nonsense. It was your photo that alerted us to Callum, you know. Maybe it will turn out he's the villain, and you spotted him first.'

  27

  Tim

  Tim Booth, Alex's ex-boyfriend, lived with his parents in a small semi-detached house not far from the hairdressers’. Rex had provided Tim’s address and phone number, but despite ringing two or three times, all Adam ever got was a recorded message from Tim asking for his number.

  Adam couldn't bring himself to leave condolences on an answer machine, so he continued to call from time to time and Tim continued to ignore the messages. Adam wasn’t surprised. The boy’s ex
-girlfriend had just died, he wouldn’t want to chat, and he’d probably been plagued by a local journalist or two who’d tracked him down as one of Alex’s friends.

  Adam preferred not to descend, uninvited, on Tim’s doorstep. The poor family had enough to cope with.

  On the fifth try, Adam’s call to Tim’s mobile was answered, although not by Tim. A female voice said, ‘This is Gina Booth. Tim can't come to the phone just now, I'm afraid.’ Tim’s mother, Adam guessed.

  He said, ‘Mrs Booth, my name is Adam Hennessy. I'm a friend of Belinda Sandford’s mother and she asked me to help clear Belinda’s name. I’m hoping Tim might talk to me.’

  ‘Oh, I know who you are. I saw your name in the papers over that business of Greg Bishop. But Tim had nothing to do with Alex’s death. He wasn't even at the races that day. He's dreadfully upset. That's why he won't answer his phone, not even to his friends.’ She sounded exhausted.

  Adam said, gently, ‘I'm not accusing him of anything. I just need to know more about Alex, so I can help Belinda. I'm sure Tim will want to lend a hand with that. They’re friends, aren’t they?’

  ‘I don't really know…’

  In the background, Adam heard a male voice, muttering something Adam couldn’t catch.

  ‘Yes, dear,’ said Mrs Booth.

  ‘Look,’ she talked fast. ‘I have to go. My husband isn't well and he needs me. Tim will be here, at home, this evening. He's hardly been outside the door, except for work, since Alex – you know.’ She cleared her throat. ‘If you come around about seven – we’ll have eaten by then – he might talk to you, but—’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Please don't upset him.’

  She sounded near the end of her tether.

  When Adam arrived, she welcomed him politely. She was small and frail and her face bore the pallor of long-term ill health. Her smile was tremulous.

  ‘I'm so sorry this has happened,’ Adam said. ‘It must be hard for Tim. Sudden death like this upsets so many people.’

  ‘Come inside,’ she said. ‘Tim’s waiting for you.’

  Tim Booth was a fresh-faced youth, shorter than average, and slightly built, but Adam noticed a pair of bulging biceps on the verge of bursting from a short-sleeved T-shirt.

  He half rose as Adam entered the room, sank back into his chair and slumped, gazing at his fingers, his right thumb picking at a nail on his left hand.

  ‘I'm sorry for your loss,’ Adam said, formally.’ Tim jerked his head, but said nothing.

  Mrs Booth said, ‘Tim, mind your manners.’

  She was hovering in the doorway. Adam said, ‘It’s fine.’

  Mrs Booth dithered. ‘I’ll leave you alone together, shall I?’

  Adam gave her a warm smile. ‘That would be best, thank you.’

  He sat on a chintz-covered chair. Tim kept his face turned away and Adam decided not to beat about the bush. ‘I expect you know you're one of the suspects, if Alex Deacon’s death was murder.’

  ‘Course,’ Tim mumbled, his voice a monotone. ‘Me and Belinda, too. People seem to think it's one of us. I expect you do, too.’

  ‘Not at all. In fact, as Alex’s friend, I would have thought you'd be one of the last people to want to hurt her.’

  The boy crossed and uncrossed his legs once, and then crossed them again. One ankle rested on the other knee. He moved his attention from his fingernails to the knee of his jeans, which was fashionably ripped, and pulled at a loose thread in silence.

  Adam said, ‘I heard you and Belinda used to be a couple.’

  Tim grunted. He flashed a look at Adam's face, and dropped his eyes again.

  Adam waited. This boy would make a terrible witness in court. He was likely to incriminate himself and end up in prison, innocent or not. Neither police nor juries liked sullen teenagers.

  Adam took off his glasses, pulled a large white handkerchief from his pocket, breathed on the glass and rubbed it vigorously. He’d give Tim a chance to think, hoping he’d decide to tell him everything he knew.

  Finally, Adam looked up. He said, ‘Belinda told me Alex stole you from her, deliberately. Is that true?’

  Tim bit his lip.

  Adam held onto his patience. ‘You can tell me the truth, you know. I'm not a copper. I used to be, but these days I'm just a pub owner, trying to save Belinda from an unfair and very serious accusation. If you won't cooperate, you'll be letting her down. You may no longer go around with her, but I bet you won't want to see her in prison for thirty years. Unless she did kill Alex, of course.’

  That got Tim's attention. He heaved a sigh. ‘’Course she didn’t. Those two, Alex and Belinda, they were always at each other's throats, ever since they were kids. They both had to be best, all the time. The best rider, groom to the best horses, who got offered the best ride – you know what I mean? My mum used to say it would end in tears.’

  Tim’s voice squeaked at the end of the sentence. ‘Belinda wouldn’t kill anyone, though. And nor would I.’

  Tim seemed to make his mind up. He pushed back his shoulders, took a deep breath, blew it out and began to talk.

  ‘The three of us go way back – to when we were about twelve. None of our families have money to throw around, but we’re from farms and like everyone in this part of the world we lived around horses.’

  ‘I thought Belinda's father was a lawyer?’

  ‘He was, but her mum, Diane, grew up on a farm. Alex's dad used to work for the Collinses on their farm, and Alex kept her pony in one of Mr Collinses fields.’

  He gave a watery grin. ‘You don't have to be rich to keep a horse in Somerset and the pony club’s not just for stuck-up kids. None of us had expensive riding clothes, like you see on those kids at the Horse of the Year Show – just a hard hat and a pair of jodhpurs. The pony club makes you wear hats or helmets.’ He chuckled. Adam guessed he’d had some arguments with Pony Club officials in the past.

  ‘We were all horse mad. There were about eight of us in our crew, but Alex and Belinda were the best riders. I knew I'd never be too great as a jockey but I like working with horses. Being part of a racing yard is about all I ever dreamed about, but the girls set their hearts on becoming champion jump jockeys.’

  Adam said, ‘And I suppose, as you all grew older, you paired off.’

  ‘We did, but for most of us, it didn’t mean much. By the time we had full-time jobs at the stables, Belinda and I were a sort-of couple, but I don't think either of us was really serious. More like friends, really. Useful to go around with, to parties and things. Good for a chat.’

  Adam nodded. Tim was looking at him at last, frowning earnestly, and Adam felt inclined to believe he was telling the truth.

  Tim continued, ‘I was always a bit in awe of Alex, to be honest. For one thing, by the time we were sixteen, she was an inch or two taller than me. I used to be a bit sensitive about my height.’

  Adam nodded. ‘I know the feeling.’

  The boy gave a short bark of laughter. ‘Maybe you should have thought about riding.’

  Adam patted his stomach. ‘Not with the weight I carry. I don't know how you riders keep so thin.’

  Tim was nodding. ‘It can be a problem. My mum says we're like ballerinas.’ He laughed again. An old family joke, Adam guessed. ‘We have to keep our weight down. I don’t have any trouble, but I’ve known people make themselves ill. Sometimes, jockeys don't even take a drink of water on a race day in case they don’t make the weight.’

  Adam raised his eyebrows, genuinely shocked. ‘That's not healthy, surely.’

  The boy shrugged. ‘Like I said, ballerinas. Jockeys suffer for their art. Even if you’re a groom, you have to watch your weight if you want to ride the horses out.’

  ‘So, it's not all rosettes and prize money in your world?’

  ‘I wish.’ Tim rolled his eyes.

  Now that the lad had relaxed and was talking freely, Adam brought the conversation back on track. ‘So, you were with Belinda then, as a sort-of couple. Di
d something happen to break you up?’

  ‘We rubbed along okay, but I think we were both looking around. I don't know if you've seen Callum, at her yard?’

  ‘The tall, good-looking, older guy?’

  ‘Exactly that. Why would Belinda care about someone like me, someone she'd watched fall off a horse a million times, never going to make a name for himself? She had her eye on Callum. In any case, Pat isn’t keen on relationships between the two yards, although he doesn’t seem to mind what Callum does.’

  ‘Why’s that?’ Adam was pretty sure he knew the answer to that one.

  ‘The yards are in competition with each other. Oh, they get along fine, but no trainer wants his lads telling the other yard how training’s going.’ He chuckled. ‘We can watch each other riding out, of course. There’s no way to stop that, and every trainer worth his salt has someone with a pair of binoculars keeping an eye on the other yards.’

  Adam thought about that. ‘Would Callum be part of that?’ he suggested. He’d wondered why an older stable hand like Callum, with no real future prospects, seemed to be so highly regarded at the yard.

  ‘Everyone knows he goes in for a bit of spying.’

  Adam tucked that piece of information away in his brain and returned to Tim’s relationship with Belinda. ‘You and Belinda were tired of each other, then. No shame in that. It’s perfectly normal, happens all the time. Maybe, one day, you got talking to Alex.’

  Tim hesitated, as though reluctant to admit what had happened. ‘We got together one day at the races and went out a few times,’ he said, at last.

  He fidgeted, crossing his legs and uncrossing them. He clearly felt bad about dumping Belinda. ‘Alex was fun. There was never a dull moment when she was around. You can’t blame a man for having fun, can you? It’s not as though Belinda and I were really serious.’