The Stabbing in the Stables

by Simon Brett

  “I—we would rather do it in person.”

  “Very well.”

  “Are you free tomorrow?”

  Carole was thrown. “Tomorrow? Sunday? Um, yes. Yes, I think so.”

  “We’ll come down to Fethering and take you out to lunch somewhere.”

  “Come here. I’ll cook Sunday lunch for you.”

  “But—”

  “No, Stephen, I insist.”

  “All right. We’ll aim for about twelve-thirty. I must dash. All hell breaking loose here at work.”

  When wasn’t all hell breaking loose at Stephen’s work, Carole wondered as she put down the phone. She felt bad. The small triumph she had achieved in persuading him to have lunch at High Tor was swamped in the dread of the confrontation ahead. Her son and Gaby were coming to announce the end of their marriage. Why hadn’t she bitten the bullet and stayed with David? Why hadn’t she been a better role model?

  “There are, as I say, one or two things the detectives asked me which—though I answered them to the best of my ability—well, I just wondered why they were asking them, and thought maybe you might be able to clarify that for me.”

  Though his exterior urbanity remained intact, Jude could detect from Nicky Dalrymple’s body language that he was far from at his ease. He looked huge, perched on the edge of one of the Seaview Café’s plastic chairs. The place had only just opened, and the few other customers sipping their mournful teas were too far away to compromise the security of Jude and Nicky’s conversation.

  Deliberately, she tried to shut her mind to the fact that she was sitting opposite a man who used violence against his wife. Though she desperately sought the ending of that situation, Jude knew it would not be improved by her intervention. The impetus had to come from Sonia, and Jude was determined to help her find the strength for that impetus. In the meantime, she would forget the character of the handsome man in front of her, and concentrate on what he had to say about the night of Walter Fleet’s murder.

  “The detectives mentioned a couple of things that made me curious, and, as I said on the phone, since you found Walter Fleet’s body…”

  Jude’s customary conversational manner encouraged people to speak, made them feel at ease to say anything they wanted. She didn’t feel inclined, though, to make anything easy for Nicky Dalrymple.

  “I was interested to know whether, when you found the body, you saw anyone else at the stables?”

  She was intrigued by the question. Surely the police hadn’t implied to Nicky that she had seen anyone else? Maybe it was just the fact that she’d heard the click of a wooden gate, that she’d just missed seeing someone. Either way, her instinct told her to ration very carefully the amount of information she gave. That way Nicky Dalrymple might be forced to show his hand, to reveal what he knew.

  “I was in no doubt that someone else was in the stables,” she replied. “Or at least had been in the stables very recently.”

  “Yes, but you didn’t actually see anyone?”

  She had a brainwave. “I wasn’t the only witness.”

  “Oh?”

  “What other people”—no harm in cloning Carole a few times—“may have told the police they saw, I wouldn’t know.”

  “No. No. Of course not.” Nicky Dalrymple was in difficulties. Jude took indecent pleasure in seeing the overconfident bully squirm. There was something of which he needed to unburden himself, and her uncooperative response seemed to be the best way of making him do it.

  “Look, the fact is, Jude—you don’t mind my calling you ‘Jude’?” he asked, flashing one of his dazzling smiles.

  But she was immune to his charms. She knew he was just prevaricating and said nothing.

  “The reason I’m asking all this,” he struggled on, “is that the police asked me whether I went to Long Bamber Stables that night.”

  “That’s an odd thing to ask.”

  “My feelings exactly, but…er…”

  “So you told them you didn’t go there?”

  “Of course.”

  Suddenly she saw it all. Nicky Dalrymple had been at Long Bamber Stables the night Walter Fleet died. He’d denied it to the police detectives, but they’d left open the possibility that he might have been seen there. The reason that Nicky Dalrymple had sought her out was because he wanted to know whether Jude had seen him at the stables. Definitely time for a tactical lie.

  “I didn’t know it was you,” she said. “I only the saw the outline of a tall figure in the gateway as you left the yard.”

  “Oh, well then, I—”

  She saw too much relief in his eyes, too much hope of escape, and cut it off at source with another lie. “But of course another witness saw where you’d parked the BMW.”

  “I didn’t park it in the car park. It was off the road, up a farm track.”

  “Which is where the witness saw it,” said Jude, grateful for Nicky Dalrymple’s unprompted generosity with information. “So I suppose the police,” she went on, “putting two and two together, concluded that you must have been there.”

  For one of the very few times in her life, Jude got a charge of intense pleasure from her own cruelty. Nicky Dalrymple’s handsome head dropped forward onto his hands.

  “All right. I’ll tell you what happened.”

  “Have you told the police yet?”

  “No, but I’ll have to, now I know that you know.” All trace of bravado was gone from his voice. “The fact is, I arrived home earlier than expected. I’d had some business in Rome, we got it sorted far quicker than expected, my secretary rescheduled my flight and I got back to Unwins about five that afternoon.”

  He paused to retrieve his precise memories or, Jude wondered cynically, to invent them. “Well…I’m afraid Sonia and I had a row, and a lot of stupid, hurtful things were said—she’s always been prone to hysterics.” Even when digging himself out of a hole, he couldn’t resist a side stab of disparagement at this wife. “And she said something which implied she knew a man who would be kinder to her, more considerate than I ever was.

  “Well, I’m afraid that made me very jealous, and I insisted on her telling me who the man was.” Jude wondered how physical a form his “insistence” had taken. “Eventually, she told me it was Walter Fleet. I knew him for a smarmy bastard, always chatting up the ladies, but I hadn’t realised he’d ever tried his smooth tricks on my wife. And I’m afraid what Sonia said made me absolutely furious—I have quite a short temper, you know.” I know, thought Jude. “So I jumped into the car and drove straight to Long Bamber Stables.”

  He stopped, seemingly aware of how carefully he must negotiate the next bit. Perhaps he was even rehearsing how he would present his embarrassing admission to the police. The silence was filled only with the clack of teacups on saucers, the complaints of distant seagulls and the regular sighing of the sea.

  “To have it out with Walter Fleet?” Jude suggested.

  “Yes. Yes, exactly that.”

  “So what happened?” she asked gently. “What time did you get there?”

  “About…I don’t know…quarter to six, maybe?”

  All too vividly, Jude could picture the scene. The shock has diluted in the weeks since Walter’s death, but Nicky’s words made her confront it again.

  “And there were no lights on?” she asked. “The stables were dark?”

  “Yes.”

  “Exactly as they were when I got there about a quarter of an hour later.”

  “Mm.”

  “And there were no lights on in the Fleets’ house either?”

  “What?”

  “Well, presumably you went to the house first? You’d have expected to find Walter there, rather than in the stables, particularly if there were no lights on in the stables.”

  “Hm.” He seemed thrown for a minute, then went on. “Yes, I suppose I should have gone to the house first, but I wasn’t thinking very straight. I was so angry about this nasty smoothie coming onto Sonia that I…Anyway, the stable gat
es were unlocked—”

  “Just as I found them.”

  “Right. And I went in, I suppose you could say to have some kind of revenge on Walter.”

  He was silent, and Jude felt a momentary pang of fear. Was Nicky about to confess to the murder? And if he did, what kind of danger would his confession put her in?

  But no, Nicky Dalrymple was simply practising his narrative technique. This was exactly how he would retell his denouement when he did it for the benefit of the police. He slowed his voice down for the final line, and gulped uncomfortably at the recollection. “But then I found the body lying in the middle of the yard, the blood on his face and chest glistening in the moonlight…and I knew that Alec Potton had already had a far more extreme revenge on Walter than any that I had planned.”

  “How do you know Alec Potton killed Walter? Did you see Alec there?”

  “No. But he did it. Maybe you haven’t heard? Alec Potton has confessed to the police that he stabbed Walter Fleet.”

  “Ah.” Jude made the monosyllable light and noncommittal, neither confirming nor denying that she already knew about the confession. “Well, good luck when you tell all that to the police. I don’t think they’re going to be terribly pleased about the fact that you lied to them.”

  “No.” But he didn’t sound too worried. In fact, relieved by unburdening himself to Jude, Nicky Dalrymple appeared to have regained some of his old confidence. “Probably get a rap over the knuckles for my little white lie. But at least I haven’t done anything worse than lying. There’s nothing else the police can get me for.”

  Oh no? thought Jude. There are crimes other than murder, you know. And, in the view of some, no less serious. Like domestic violence, for one.

  31

  “I DON’T KNOW, Carole. I don’t think Nicky was telling out-and-out lies. There was some truth in there. I mean, he’d got himself into a position where he had to admit that he was at Long Bamber Stables on the relevant evening.”

  “Or you had got him into a position where he had to make that admission.”

  “Whichever.”

  “No, there’s a big difference. From what you say, I think you played him very skilfully, Jude. Credit where credit’s due.”

  “Well, thank you. So yes, Nicky Dalrymple was at Long Bamber Stables, but I’m not entirely convinced about the reasons he gave me for his being there.”

  “You’re not suggesting he actually killed Walter?”

  “I don’t think so. His description of how he found the body was pretty accurate, and he did seem genuinely affected when he spoke about it. No, I don’t think Nicky Dalrymple’s our murderer.”

  “So Alec Potton is.”

  “I’m not yet entirely convinced about that either. Mind you, there is one useful detail that Nicky’s given me.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The timing of the murder. I’ve assumed—I don’t know whether the police have too—that the person I heard leaving the yard was Walter Fleet’s murderer. But now I know that person was Nicky Dalrymple. Well, the stabbing could have happened at any time after the last owner left the yard, which I think was established to be about five o’clock. Maybe the police have already worked that out from the postmortem.”

  “I doubt it,” said Carole, recalling her Home Office experience. “I don’t think time of death can be established quite that accurately.”

  “Hm. But it does open out the time frame a bit, doesn’t it? Raises the possibility of other people being at Long Bamber Stables between five and six that evening.”

  “Yes. What we really need to do, Jude, is to establish some alibis.”

  “Which I’m sure the police have already done.” She ground her teeth in frustration at their lack of information. “I wish I knew what Alec Potton was doing during the relevant hour that evening, and sadly the police are the only people who could tell us about that.”

  Carole chuckled. “Oh, come on, he’s the one person who we do know about—or at least in his case we know what the police think he was doing. If he’s confessed, he must have told them that he was at Long Bamber Stables, stabbing Walter Fleet.”

  “Yes, I suppose so. Oh, if only the police would let us have access to their files.” Jude smiled lugubriously across at her neighbour. “No fun being an amateur detective, is it, Carole?”

  “Hello, Jude?”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s Sonia. Listen, I’ve just had a rather worrying phone call from Imogen Potton.”

  “Oh?”

  “Apparently she’s staying with her grandmother in Northampton, but she’s very upset.”

  “Hardly surprising, given her father’s being charged with murder.”

  “But that doesn’t seem to be what’s upsetting her. In fact, she didn’t mention Alec at all. First, she asked if I was all right. Then she wanted to know if Nicky was home. And, finally, she got round to what was really upsetting her. She’s worried about Conker.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with Conker, is there?”

  “No, no, she’s fine. I’ve checked with Lucinda. It’s just, you know, Imogen feels very close to that pony.”

  “Yes,” Jude agreed. “She channels most of her emotions through her. Displacement anxiety. The pony’s easier to deal with than her parent’s divorce—and no doubt her father’s murder charge.”

  “But Imogen’s terribly worried about her.”

  “Anything specific?”

  “She keeps going on about the Horse Ripper.”

  “Why? There hasn’t been another incident, has there?”

  “Not so far as I know. But there were a lot around this area. For some reason Imogen’s got it into her head that Conker’s going to be the next victim.”

  “And she feels that, stuck up in Northampton, she can’t do anything about it?”

  “Exactly. Oh, I’m sure it’s just an adolescent girl’s overactive imagination at work, but she does sound in a bad state. I’ve tried to reassure her, but I don’t think I’m much use at the moment to anyone.”

  “Don’t say that, Sonia. Do you have Imogen’s grandmother’s number?”

  “No, but Immy rang me on the mobile. I’ve got that.” She gave it to Jude. “If you wouldn’t mind ringing her…”

  “I’ll try, but she didn’t have much time for me when we last met.”

  “Please.”

  “All right.”

  “I’m sorry, Jude, I feel I should do something, but I just know if I suggested the idea, Nicky would forbid me from having anything to do with any of the Pottons.”

  “By the way, did he tell you he came to see me?”

  “Nicky?” At the other end of the phone, Sonia Dalrymple sounded thunderstruck. “Why on earth would he come to see you?”

  “He wanted to check some things that the police had said to him. Didn’t he tell you?”

  “No.”

  Of course he wouldn’t have. No way Nicky Dalrymple was going to spoil his image of infallibility for his wife, was there?

  “Imogen?”

  “Who is this?” The girl’s voice on the phone was guarded. There was the sound of traffic around her; she was in the open air somewhere—presumably Saturday evening in Northampton.

  “My name’s Jude. Do you remember, we met at Sonia Dalrymple’s.”

  “Oh yes, you were trying to heal Chieftain. And failing,” said Imogen with some satisfaction.

  “I just couldn’t get through to him.”

  “Huh.” It was one of those expressions of total contempt that only teenage girls can really do properly. “But Donal could. He really understands about horses. Anything to do with horses, Donal’s the person you want to talk to. I don’t know why Mrs. Dalrymple didn’t ask him to do it in the first place.”

  “Nor do I.” And the thought reminded Jude to check why Sonia had been so unwilling to have dealings with the Irishman. She had claimed to know nothing about his squatting in her hayloft, but there was some reason why she wanted to keep awa
y from him. Presumably the blackmail? Jude had asked Donal enough about that. Maybe the time had come to put a few more direct questions to Sonia on the subject.

  “Anyway, what do you want?” asked Imogen gracelessly.

  “I just had a call from Sonia—Mrs. Dalrymple. She said she was worried about you.”

  “So? What business is that of yours?”

  That was actually a very good question. Imogen’s emotional state was no business at all of Jude’s, but she still replied, “Mrs. Dalrymple’s very busy at the moment, so she can’t help you. She thought I might be able to.”

  “Why?” Imogen was proving to be rather good at relevant but difficult questions.

  “Well, Sonia doesn’t like the thought of you being upset and…”

  “I’m all right,” said the girl defiantly.

  “And you’re at your grandmother’s?”

  “Yes.”

  “In Northampton?”

  “Ooh, you’ve done your homework, haven’t you?”

  “But you’re not in her house at the moment. I can hear traffic.”

  “No, I’m nipping out to the corner shop to get some shopping for Granny. Is that all right? Am I allowed to do anything without reporting back to someone every ten minutes?”

  “Yes, yes, of course you are, Imogen. Listen, I know you’re worried about Conker.”

  “You don’t know what I’m worried about.” But suddenly the girl sounded very young, on the verge of tears.

  “She’s not in any danger. Conker’s safe at Long Bamber Stables.”

  “Thinking about what’s happened there in the last few weeks,” said Imogen bitterly, “it’s the last place I’d call ‘safe.’”

  “But Conker’ll be all right there. Lucinda Fleet will look after her.”

  “Huh.” But teenage toughness soon gave way to tears as she went on. “If anything happens to Conker…She’s the only one who’s really on my side. I’ll kill anyone who tries to hurt Conker.”

  “Imogen, tell me why you’re worried about Conker? What is it that makes you think she’s in danger? If you tell me, then—”

  “Oh, shut up!” said the girl in a burst of savagery. “All you grown-ups think you know what’s going on in my mind. And none of you have got a bloody clue!”