Jude’s plump body moved with surprising speed back across the tarmac to the Renault. Carole took a moment or two to interpret her friend’s excited gabble, but once she understood was quickly out of the car. With her torch.
Its beam did not improve the look of the body. The man had been the object of a frenzied assault. A trail of bright blood spots suggested that he had been backing away from his attacker. Deep gashes on his hands showed that he had tried to protect himself, until he had tripped backwards or collapsed from his injuries.
The horses in the stalls framing the women shifted nervously, some snorting unease at this new invasion of their domain.
Carole looked back along the trail of blood. A few feet beyond where the broken line stopped-or in fact where the spillage had started-the door to a wooden two-storey building hung open. A solid door, not divided in the middle like those on the loose boxes. Hinged metal bars and heavy padlocks hung from rings on the frame. From inside there was a slight glow from a hidden light source.
“What’s that, Jude?”
“I’ve no idea. First time I’ve been to this place. Saddle room, tack room maybe? Mind you, the blood spots suggest that the victim and his attacker came out from there and-”
“It’s not our place to make that kind of conjecture,” said Carole, suddenly all sniffy. “We should ring the police. You’ve got your mobile, haven’t you?”
“Yes…” Jude reached reluctantly into the pocket of her coat. “I wouldn’t mind having a quick look around before we-”
Carole’s Home Office background would not allow the sentence to be finished. “This is a crime scene. It would be deeply irresponsible for us to disturb anything.”
“Just a quick look?” Jude wheedled.
“No.” A hand was held out for the mobile. “If you won’t do it, then I will.”
A short hesitation, then Jude said, “I think we should tell the Fleets first.”
“What?”
“The people who own the place. They must live in the house next door. They should know what’s happened on their premises before the police arrive.”
Carole wavered for just long enough for Jude to say, “I’ll tell them,” and set off towards the gates.
“Do you want the torch?”
“No, I can see. Besides, I don’t want to leave you alone in the dark with the body.”
“We must call the police as soon as the Fleets have been informed,” Carole called after her friend’s retreating outline. “We must be very careful we don’t tamper with a crime scene.”
She stood still for a moment, then let the torch beam explore the space around her. Not onto the body-she had seen quite enough of that for its image to haunt her dreams for months to come.
Most of the loose box top-halves were open, but the moving ray of light did not reveal any of their inmates. The horses lurked in the recesses of their stalls, snuffling and stamping their continuing disquiet.
A complete circuit of the yard revealed double gates at the far end, offering access to the paddocks beyond, and gateways leading to barns, tack rooms and the indoor school. The torch beam ended up once again fixed on the open door. Carole felt a sudden, overwhelming temptation.
She shouldn’t do it. Everything she had ever learnt during her extensive dealings with the police told her that she should touch nothing, explore nothing. Jude’s footprints and her own might already have destroyed important evidence. To investigate further would be the height of irresponsibility. Her duty as a citizen dictated that she should stay stock still where she was until the police arrived. Or, perhaps even better, go back to the Renault and wait there.
On the other hand…How were the police to know that she wasn’t just another incompetent, invisible woman in late middle age? In most recent dealings she’d had with them, that’s how she had been treated. There could be any number of reasons why an incompetent, invisible woman in late middle age might go through that open door. She might be looking for bandages, cloth, something to staunch the wounds of the victim, unaware that her ministrations would come too late. She might be looking inside the wooden building for someone to help. She might go there to hide from the homicidal maniac who had just committed one crime and was about to commit another. She might…
Almost involuntarily, Carole felt her footsteps following the torch beam towards the open door.
The lack of lights in the Fleets’ house was a discouraging omen, and repeated ringing of the bell confirmed that no one was at home.
For a second, Jude contemplated ringing the police from their doorstep, but quickly decided not to. Maybe, after all, Carole could be persuaded into a little preliminary private investigation before the call was made…?
But the walk back from house to stables was interrupted by the beam of high headlights turning into the car park. Jude stopped, thinking the Fleets might have returned, but quickly recognised the Range Rover as it drew up beside her and the driver’s-side window was lowered.
“Jude…so sorry. Have you been waiting hours? I just got horribly delayed.”
Even though flushed and flustered, Sonia Dalrymple’s face was still beautiful. She was a tall, leggy blonde in her early forties, with a fabulous figure toned by riding and a metabolism that never seemed to put on an ounce. Her voice had the upper-class ease of someone who had never doubted her own position in society. No one meeting her would ever be able to associate such a goddess with the deep insecurities that had brought her to Jude in search of healing.
“No, don’t worry, there’s no problem.” As her client doused the lights and got out of the car, Jude realised how inappropriate, in the circumstances, her words were.
Sonia Dalrymple was wearing cowboy boots and the kind of designer jeans that had been so gentrified as to lose any connection with their origins as working clothes. She had a white roll-neck sweater under a blue-and-white striped body-warmer. The blonde hair was scrunched back into an untidy ponytail.
“Again I’m terribly sorry. Come on, let’s see how old Chieftain-”
“Sonia, something’s happened.”
“What?”
“I was just trying to tell the Fleets…at least I assume they live in that house…”
“Yes, they do.”
“…but there’s no one in. There’s…Sonia, there’s been an accident in the stables.”
The woman’s face paled. “Oh, God. Is Chieftain all right?”
“Yes. All the horses are fine.”
Sonia’s reaction of relief seemed excessive to Jude, but then she wasn’t a horse owner.
“No, I’m afraid it’s a human being who’s suffered the…accident.”
“Who?” The anxiety was at least as great as if had been for Chieftain.
“No idea. It’s a man.”
“What’s happened to him?”
“He’s dead.”
“Oh, but…how?”
“It looks very much as if he’s been stabbed to death.”
“You mean murder?”
Jude nodded grimly. “Come and have a look.”
Inside the stables Carole stood exactly where Jude had left her, torch modestly pointing downwards. Sonia was hastily introduced, and Carole moved the torch beam to spotlight the dead man.
“Oh, my God!” A deep sob shuddered through Sonia’s body.
“You recognise him?” asked Jude.
“Yes. This is-or was-Walter Fleet.”