A Racing Murder (The Ham Hill Murder Mysteries) Page 8

  At the end of the row of stables, a small group of human beings wearing expensive wellies and jackets clustered in front of a handsome grey horse. ‘That, presumably, is Butterfly Charm?’ Adam asked. Belinda nodded and Adam took a deep breath, smiled broadly and joined the group, wondering how long he could conceal his total lack of horse knowledge. He wasn’t used to going undercover.

  Leo Murphy was a broad, strong-looking Irishman, with vein-threaded cheeks and cauliflower ears from more than one heavy fall.

  He shook Adam’s hand, enveloped it in fingers as fat as sausages, and dismissed Belinda with a curt nod. Maybe he hadn’t quite forgotten Saturday's racing blunder. She rolled her eyes at Adam as she left.

  Leo introduced him to the three syndicate members: two women and a large, beefy man in a well-worn Barbour coat and green wellies. Adam felt uncomfortably aware that his own boots, quite sturdy enough for walking around the village, were woefully inadequate for navigating steaming manure mountains.

  With a silent groan, he concentrated on the syndicate. Leo introduced Henry Oxon, who exclaimed, ‘Good man, good man,’ and grasped Adam’s hand in a grip that threatened to crunch the bones to a pulp. Adam recognised the voice. He’d heard it boom loudly from the dining room at the hotel on Saturday evening. This was the barrister, a long-term friend of Diane and her late husband.

  ‘Meet the wife.’ Henry threw an arm around the smaller of the two women and squeezed. Elegantly, she detached herself and shook hands with Adam, her hand encased in the softest of tan leather gloves.

  ‘This is Ling,’ Henry announced. ‘Don’t be fooled by appearances. She looks like a lotus flower but she was the sharpest barrister in the chambers.’

  He thumped her on the back and laughed.

  He was right, though. She was lovely, her black hair neatly caught into a chignon at the base of her neck, with not a wisp out of place. She smiled at Adam, her lips bow-shaped, her teeth small and white. Her eyes were dark, almost black. It would be hard to know what she was thinking.

  Clearly used to her husband’s heartiness, she said, ‘Butterfly Charm expects a treat from every visitor. Here.’ She dipped a hand into her pocket and brought out a carrot.

  Adam gulped. She expected him to offer it to the horse. He feared for his fingers.

  Ling said, ‘Hold out your hand, like this. And keep your thumb out of the way or Butterfly Charm will think it’s the carrot and bite it off.’

  Less than convinced, he copied her, his thumb stretched backwards so far it hurt. The horse snuffled his hand gently and took the carrot. The lips were warm and soft against his bare skin.

  The other woman in the party, the elegant blonde – Laura Wilson, Adam deduced – said, ‘You’re not used to horses?’

  Adam sighed. It had taken less than five minutes to give himself away. No point now in trying to pretend.

  He chuckled, and the woman beamed, a smile crinkling the skin around warm brown eyes. She held out a slim hand, bare of gloves, one finger sporting a diamond ring that glittered like frost in the still air. ‘The trophy wife,’ Imogen had called her.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Laura said. ‘You don’t have to ride the horses you own. Henry’s never been on a horse in his life, so don’t let him fool you. He and Ling come for the thrill of the racing.’ Henry laughed, unperturbed.

  ‘I’m Laura, by the way. I do, in fact, come for the horses. I’ve ridden all my life. It’s very good to meet you and you’ll soon fall in love with racing. My husband, Magnus, did and now he’s as keen as I am. I’m sorry you’ve missed him. He’s been called away. He’s an anaesthetist at Yeovil District Hospital and at the mercy of his phone.’

  ‘I think I saw him leaving,’ Adam said. ‘Range Rover?’

  Henry’s laugh, of which Adam was already weary, drowned out Laura’s reply. ‘Practically a uniform, out here, a Range Rover,’ he said. ‘And not one of those namby-pamby Chelsea taxi affairs folks drive in London. Magnus has a Sport. I’m waiting for delivery of my latest – like to keep up with the newest version every couple of years, don’t you know?’

  Adam kept a straight face, mentally dubbing Ling’s husband Hooray Henry. Public school and wealthy parents. Nice life as a barrister. Adam had better keep him away from James Barton, who had no time for people he called ‘rich prats’.

  Adam smiled at Ling, hoping for something more from this morning than a conversation about whose car was best.

  ‘We've all had a shock,’ she said, with a slight wave of the hand, as though dismissing her husband’s behaviour. ‘I see you know Belinda.’ There was no change in Ling’s tone, but she shot Adam a sharp glance. Definitely the bright one in that family, he decided. ‘I expect she told you about Saturday's race. Not really Butterfly's fault, that problem at the end. Just a spot of bad luck, impeding the other horse by mistake. I’m sorry Diane didn’t feel up to coming here today. She was so upset about Belinda’s race.’

  Adam wondered if anyone would mention Alex Deacon’s death. They seemed far more interested in that race.

  Leo described it in detail, his Irish accent stronger as he became more animated. ‘Tons of potential in this horse. Just a touch of inexperience on Belinda’s part, so there is. My mistake, perhaps, letting her ride a young one.’

  His face softened as he offered the grey a carrot and stroked her nose. ‘Will you look at her now,’ he said. ‘She's a real lady, is Butterfly. No wonder Belinda begged to be allowed to ride her. Was it Butterfly you were interested in, now?’

  Put on the spot, Adam thought fast. ‘I'm just a beginner,’ he said. ‘A townie for most of my life. I've only lived in Somerset for a couple of years, at The Plough in Lower Hembrow, but my locals keep telling me Somerset has the best racing stables in the country, and I heard this is one of the premier yards.’

  Nothing beat a spot of flattery.

  Leo beamed. ‘We’re proud of our success, to be sure, here in the south-west. You can keep your Newmarkets. We’ve taken over a hundred thousand pounds in prize money so far this season,’ he added. ‘We have fifty boxes here.’ He talked on, listing Butterfly Charm’s parentage and throwing in facts and figures about the yard’s successes that meant very little to Adam, but sounded impressive.

  As Adam nodded seriously, he glanced up and met Laura’s eyes. Her mouth twitched. She really was a most attractive woman. Lucky man, this absent Magnus.

  ‘It's a cold old day today,’ Leo said at last. ‘Let's get in the warm and have some lunch. You'll join us, will you, Mr Hennessy? We’ve plenty of food, now Magnus has been called away.’

  He led the way out of the other end of the yard, nodding to the elderly, wizened little man who’d been watching the exercise string ride out on the hill.

  ‘This is Pat, my head man,’ Leo said. ‘He runs the yard, has done for years. If you’ve any questions about the horses and I'm not around, Pat’ll give you the nod.’

  Pat, short, wiry, his battered flat cap moulded to his head as though he’d worn it his whole life, nodded at the men, twinkled at the two women and gave a barely-concealed sigh as he looked Adam up and down, taking in his inadequate jeans, sweater and waterproof jacket.

  Nothing got past these horsey people. Adam’s cover was flimsy and they’d seen straight through it. He followed the others inside, wondering whether any of the group realised they could be suspects in a murder. So far, they’d behaved as though Alex Deacon’s death had never happened.

  12

  Syndicate

  Lunch was a convivial affair. Leo, a hard-living, hard-working, hard-drinking kind of Irishman, swallowed vast amounts of wine and whisky with no obvious ill effects. But no one, Adam thought, has seen his liver. He stuck to water with his own lunch.

  Adam seized the opportunity for a chat with Laura, who sat by his side. She was around thirty-five, he judged. Her hair was blonde, but the sun had caught it while out in the yard, glinting on strands of red. Strawberry blonde, he decided, with no dark roots. Either she was a genuin
e blonde or she kept a hairdresser on weekly standby. He grinned to himself. Hair and make-up were a mystery to him.

  Her clothes were figure-hugging, beautifully cut, perfectly fitting, but low-key; a cashmere sweater and designer jeans. Her voice was beautifully modulated, with just a hint of a local West Country burr.

  Like all well-brought-up girls, she seemed far more interested in talking about Adam than about herself. ‘The Plough’ she smiled. ‘I think I've been there. A lovely old place, although it was a little run-down, at one point. I expect it's doing well, now.’

  ‘It keeps me busy. Are you a local girl?’

  ‘I am. Born and bred in Somerset. My parents have a farm, and had five children.’

  ‘But, you're not a farmer yourself.’

  The smile played on her lips. ‘Sadly, no. Just a few chickens at our place near South Petherton.’

  Adam shot a glance at Laura's fingernails. Imogen often told him you could recognise someone who works on the land by their ruined hands. Laura's, though, were immaculate.

  She’d turned the conversation again. ‘Belinda tells me you brought the most delightful dog with you today.’

  ‘Not mine. He belongs to the hotel across the road.’

  Laura's laugh was deep and sounded genuine. ‘That's right. I met him at The Streamside, when we had dinner on Saturday after – you know, after the races.’ She swallowed, apparently not keen to talk about that day. Adam pondered. Was that important? Laura didn’t know he was investigating. Maybe she was just too well-brought-up to gossip. If so, she had more self-control than anyone in Lower Hembrow.

  ‘Who would have thought a hotel and a pub would work so successfully, just across the road from each other?’ she said. It seemed she knew Lower Hembrow well. She went on, ‘I gather the new owner of the hotel is something of a celebrity gardener. The owner of Haselbury House is full of praise for her skills. She remodelled the grounds there. He’s very excited about the number of visitors he's expecting this year as a result.’

  ‘Imogen’s very talented. She’s working on the hotel garden, and planning to open it soon, although she’s a bit worried that the Spring Fair in the hotel grounds might ruin the lawns.’

  ‘Ah, the Lower Hembrow Spring Fair. In May, isn’t it? I’ve been going to it for years, and they’re usually lucky with the weather. Magnus and I will make sure to be there – although,’ her face fell, ‘Magnus is so busy. He’s often called back to the hospital. I’ve stopped giving dinner parties, because I end up hosting alone. Not,’ she leaned closer, as though sharing a secret, ‘not that I like dinner parties, anyway. Magnus enjoys them more than I do. He likes to invite the other members of the syndicate, and he’s wonderful company.’

  Adam said, ‘Rupert Sandford was another member of the syndicate, wasn’t he? You must all miss him?’

  Laura's face fell. ‘Dreadfully. I knew Rupert well – he was a lovely man. I worked in the same chambers before I married Magnus. Nothing intellectual, I'm afraid. I was admin only, unlike Ling and Henry. Rupert was quite brilliant, of course.’

  Henry’s braying voice cut across their conversation. ‘Expecting any winners in the next few weeks, Leo? Where should we put our money? Any tips?’

  He dominated the conversation for the rest of the meal, talking almost exclusively to Leo and Adam, leaving Ling and Laura to talk quietly to each other. Adam caught the odd word. They chatted a little about Ling’s son, currently taking A levels before going to university. Then at last, they turned to Alex Deacon’s death. They, at least, were thinking about the poor girl who’d died. Adam hoped for a few titbits of information. He tried to listen covertly.

  ‘Diane’s in pieces,’ Ling said, ‘and Belinda’s terrified she’ll be blamed, because of that bust-up after the enquiry.’

  ‘Imagine,’ Laura said with a shudder. ‘Drowned in a water trough. Dreadful. It might have been an accident, I suppose.’

  ‘Let’s hope so, but I can’t see how.’

  Every time Adam tried to speak to either woman, Henry, ever the barrister, interrupted with a question. How long had Adam been at The Plough? Was it a going concern? Why did he want to join a syndicate?

  He made no mention of the tragedy.

  By the time they reached dessert, Adam was frustrated to boiling point by the talk of betting odds, the cost of fodder and Butterfly Charm’s chances for the rest of the season. Did these racing men not care about the death of a jockey?

  He could bear it no longer. He opened his mouth to ask a question about Alex Deacon, but at that moment all conversation died, drowned out by shouting. The syndicate stopped eating. Henry’s mouth hung half open.

  ‘Don't you dare.’ A woman’s voice. Belinda’s? Something clattered on stone. Adam could hear the telltale sounds of a scuffle.

  He half-rose from his seat, but Leo held up a hand and he subsided. He wasn’t a policeman nowadays, and this was Leo’s yard. His nerves twitched.

  Leo drained the last drop of whisky from his glass, rose calmly to his feet, excused himself and left the room, closing the door firmly. The diners pretended not to listen and began a polite, half-hearted discussion about the merits of Wincanton Racecourse as compared with Exeter and Taunton, none of which Adam had ever visited.

  Someone screamed.

  Adam threw good manners to the winds and ran outside, and the others followed.

  Leo and Belinda faced each other in the yard. With one hand, Leo gripped Belinda’s arm. In the other, he grasped a small knife. Belinda’s, Adam guessed.

  ‘You try anything like that again, young lady, and you’ll be out of my yard for good,’ Leo hissed.

  Belinda struggled to pull her arm free. ‘I wasn’t doing anything,’ she shouted. Her face was brick-red, screwed into ugliness. ‘He called me a murderer.’

  ‘She tried to stab me.’ A boy of about Belinda’s age, face flushed, stood full-square in front of her, arms folded.

  ‘I never did,’ she shrieked.

  ‘Pipe down,’ Leo said. ‘There are guests here.’ He gave her arm a shake. ‘And what were you doing with the knife?’

  ‘Opening a bag of oats. I just – he had a go at me about the race. I just turned round and he screamed out that I was attacking him.’

  The boy’s face was brick red. ‘I thought you were going to knife me. Kill me – like Alex.’

  ‘Are you accusing me?’

  The air turned several degrees colder. In the silence behind Adam, one of the syndicate gasped.

  Leo growled, ‘No one’s accusing you of anything. Calm down, both of you. Andy, watch your mouth. Don’t go around accusing people, and you, young lady, learn to keep your temper.’

  He gave her arm a shake, and let her go. Both Andy and Belinda stared at their feet.

  Looking from one to the other, Leo seemed satisfied. ‘Now, get out of my sight for the rest of the day and I’ll decide what to do with you later. Pat!’ he shouted. ‘Sort these kids out before I fire them both.’

  Pat grabbed the teenagers by the arm and marched them both out of the yard.

  Leo turned to his guests. ‘I'm so sorry,’ he said, smoothly. ‘The kids in the yard can be more trouble than the horses, and of course they’re upset about young Alex. Let’s finish our meal.’ A vein pulsed at his temple.

  Henry said, ‘No problem at all. This business with the dead girl’s bound to cause a bit of trouble in the yard.’

  And with this massive understatement, Leo’s guests returned to their meal.

  They’d all lost their appetites. Ice cream gently melted in their bowls.

  ‘We’re not used to such excitement here,’ Henry said.

  Laura said, ‘Poor things. They’re just children, really, and they knew the girl that died. Of course they’re upset.’

  Leo sighed. ‘Such a tragedy, Alex Deacon dying like that,’ he said. ‘She was an up-and-coming star of the future. She rode one of my horses once, earlier in the season. Ann Clarkson asked me to give her a ride when one of
her horses went lame.’

  Leo and Ann Clarkson must be on good terms, if she was willing to share a jockey. Leo said, ‘She came in a good third, and with a bit more experience, she might have won. Ann wouldn’t let me borrow her, since then. Still, Belinda’s shaping up well enough.’

  Henry said, ‘She’ll be top of the heap, now.’ The others glared. ‘What?’ he asked. ‘I’m only saying what everyone’s thinking.’

  Ling tapped his wrist. ‘Sometimes, it’s best not to, darling. You’re not in court, now.’

  Adam ventured, ‘Do the stable boys and girls from different yards all know each other?’

  Laura nodded. ‘Yes, they bump into each other all the time. You see, the grooms look after individual horses and accompany them to the races. They groom them and tack them up, and lead them around the parade ring before the start. There's quite a bit of rivalry as you can imagine. There’s usually a prize for the best turned-out mount.’

  ‘Do all the grooms become jockeys?’ Adam asked.

  ‘If they show signs of enough ability. They attend courses run by the British Racing School. I believe Alex and Belinda were on the same one recently. They’re taught for a few weeks and they come away with a certificate that allows them to ride as a conditional jockey. They don't have to carry so much weight, you see, as the professionals do. That’s why those two were competing on Saturday. Their trainer supervises them before and after the race, to make sure they weigh out and in again properly, and so on.’

  ‘And then, if they're successful, they go on to become professionals?’ Adam asked. ‘How close is young Belinda to that?’

  ‘She's got a little way to go. This was her first ride as a conditional.’

  Ling said, ‘That’s why she was so upset at the Stewards’ Enquiry. It would have been a real feather in her cap if she'd won that race.’

  ‘That's the way it goes,’ Leo said. ‘I think she has a future. I'm giving her another ride in a few weeks. I don’t want her to lose her nerve.’