‘It is now.’ Felix pointed up at the roof. Sage could see small holes but the ivy had covered any larger gaps. ‘They’ve jacked up the roof at the back as well.’ He looked down at her. ‘I’m staying on for a few days. This looks like it might relate to the animal attacks in the 1990s.’
Lenham waved an arm around the stable. ‘I need you to go over it like another crime scene. I have to concentrate on River and the grave in the garden, but we need to know if Lara is here too, if the two girls ended their lives in the same place.’
She looked around the floor, seeing piles of ancient straw, flattened by the animals. In the corner was a heap of rubbish, newspapers and card. She lifted what turned out to be the remains of a blanket and a flat cardboard box.
‘Ah.’ She turned the box to the light. ‘Equicura wormer.’ She dusted off the label with her glove. The information on the prescription label had faded to nothing, but the manufacturer’s information was clear. ‘Expires August 1993 but I can’t see when it was dispensed. We can’t be sure when the horses died but it might narrow it down.’
‘The Metropolitan police had an equine crime unit here until 1993,’ Lenham said, holding out a bag for it. ‘Forensics might be able to get more information. The dates are around Lara Black’s disappearance.’ He picked up a newspaper, blanched on the outside but legible on the inside. He took it into the light to read it. ‘July 15th, 1992.’
Sage nodded. ‘We heard of an attack nearby, possibly in November 1991, from the couple in Chilhaven who knew Lara. They thought Alistair Chorleigh was questioned at the time.’
Lenham made a note. ‘I’ll look into it. Of course, he was a juvenile; we didn’t keep every interview back then.’
Felix started sorting through the tack. ‘If we don’t find anything later than 1992 it might connect Lara to the dead horses. I think the disappearance of a girl who cared about animal rights at the scene of the abuse of two horses is unlikely to be a coincidence.’
‘Exactly,’ Sage said, as much to herself as the men. ‘We’ll search the stables. If Lara was ever in here, we might find something.’
Lenham shook his head. ‘Her body’s not here now. God, I hate spiders.’ He wiped the webs on his hands onto the back of his notes. ‘The stable was put in in 1989, we’ve checked with building control that signed off the structure. Trent’s going to check under the concrete inside and out once forensics have worked it. To bury a body, someone would have had to create a hole in the slab, dig a grave in the subsoil and concrete back over it but I can’t see a patch.’ He peered up at the roof. ‘We once found a gangster under the floor of his own pub, the patrons never suspected, it was all done overnight. It is possible.’
Sage turned over a pile of straw, welded together with webs, to find a large penknife in the corner, still open. ‘I’ve got something.’
Lenham peered at it. ‘Bag it. The blade tip is bent, it’s distinctive. Where’s Trent?’
‘He’s been called to the other case.’
Lenham lifted a tangle of straps that might have once been a halter. ‘We’ll need to get the animals out to look at the floor.’
‘I’ll concentrate on clearing the stable with the SOCOs.’ Sage walked outside, grateful for the smell of grass and leaves. Despite the time that had passed, there was still a stink of decay around the bodies. She stumbled over a line of bramble laid across the thick grass, catching her hand on one of the holly branches beside the stable.
Lenham followed her out. ‘I’ve got a young PC who needs forensic experience, he’ll give you a hand. I can’t spare the SOCOs for more than a day on an animal case or a tenuous link to a missing person.’
‘They will still be too heavy for just two people to lift.’
There was some light sunshine but in the shade the woodland was cold. ‘Get Guichard to help you,’ he said. ‘The animal attacks were his case.’
* * *
Laying two tarpaulins twenty metres away and then heaving out the surprisingly heavy remains took over an hour, even with help from PC Stewart and Felix. Sage had decayed horse dust in her hair, up her nose and even inside her forensic suit. There was a wide stain on the floor from the decomposition fluids: the majority of the soft tissues of the two animals had liquefied onto the floor, probably in a boiling sea of maggots which left thousands of pupa cases all over the concrete, and despite the time elapsed, a vile smell.
There was no obvious sign of euthanasia on the skulls, like shooting or captive bolt marks. She supposed they could have been injected with something, but why leave the bodies to rot? She worked her way over the carcasses, until she found an anomaly on the neck of the larger horse. Closer examination revealed another on the pony, although the skin was less well preserved as it had been lying a little under the larger animal. Fluids from decomposition must have bathed the smaller horse. She laid a measure alongside each and photographed them.
They were both small cuts, about 31mm wide, deep stab wounds. She passed a probe into two of them and they seemed to extend into the desiccated muscle; the space had pulled open as it dried. Threads of meat had been pulled out of the incisions at one end. She spoke into her phone’s recorder. ‘Mention wounds on right side of the neck of both horses to vet doing the necropsy. Query folding blade. Check this odd ragged edge.’
She searched the interior of the stable with the two scene of crime officers. There was no explanation for the damage to the walls other than the animals’ frenzied efforts to get away from something, or escape their captivity. In places the walls were almost breached; a little longer and they might have broken free. From her rough measurements she estimated the smaller animal was a pony whereas the larger was a heavily built horse.
‘Like a Shire horse?’ Felix asked.
‘I’m not sure,’ Sage said; never having succumbed to a pony fixation as a child she was hazy on the distinction.
‘More likely a hunter. Look at the kit,’ PC Stewart said, pulling out the edge of decayed saddle. ‘These suggest a decent pony, maybe for an older child, and a large horse for an adult. The vet will probably know more.’
‘Will the family’s vet have records after all this time?’ Sage looked at Stewart. ‘Perhaps he knew the animals, prescribed the wormer.’
‘I was brought up around here. The practice shut down about ten years ago when the owner retired, but I’m pretty sure he still lives in the area.’
Sage looked back at Felix, sorting through a pile of old newspapers. ‘I could take Professor Guichard to ask him about the wormer. We can’t do the GPR on the stable floor until it’s clear and Trent is here.’
PC Stewart nodded. ‘I’ll check in with the boss, see if he can arrange it.’
‘OK.’ She walked over to Felix. ‘I’m going to get some coffee. Then I’m headed out to talk to the original vet, if you want to come with me.’
They walked through the woods to the van, the doors open and a canteen of warm coffee in the back. Felix accepted a paper cup and downed it in three gulps.
‘Maybe the vet will know something about the other animals that were abused.’
Sage took her time, sipping the black, bitter drink. She remembered the enormous cases of equipment in her car and offered her keys to PC Stewart when he walked up, waving his radio. ‘Tell Trent where I’ve gone, if he turns up,’ she said. ‘The equipment is in the boot if he needs it.’
He nodded. ‘I’ve tracked down the vet – he’s in and this is the address. Trent is holding off doing the floor until the SOCOs have completely cleared the area.’
She took the address. ‘It might help with the animal cases and maybe even give us an idea about Lara too. Do you mind driving, Felix?’
‘No problem,’ he said, dropping the cup into a bag hung off the police van. ‘Maybe we can get a decent coffee somewhere.’
* * *
Felix drove Sage through some of the best scenery of the forest. Open country was peppered with mature trees, ponies grazing in small groups.
Sage glanced
at her phone the second she got a signal, away from Fairfield. ‘Have you ever heard of similar cases of horses left to rot like that?’
‘People do leave horses tethered and without water,’ he said. ‘Or just dump them beside roads. But in both cases they might have hoped members of the public might intervene, which they generally do. There was no hope of that here, in fact every effort was made to isolate the animals.’ He glanced at Sage. ‘It was oppressive in there, wasn’t it?’
‘Those poor animals,’ Sage said. ‘Anyone capable of that would be capable of hurting a teenager, I imagine.’
‘Except for the time frame, which is wide,’ Felix said, slowing as he approached houses. ‘Let’s try to narrow down the date a bit by finding out when he prescribed the wormer. Stewart said the vet’s retired now, he lives in the village – ah, here we are, Rose Lane.’
He pulled up outside a pretty thatched cottage that looked like something out of a calendar.
‘There’s good money in veterinary medicine,’ he said, squinting up at the house. ‘This must be worth a packet.’
Sage got out, stood at the gate while he locked the car and gathered his bag. ‘I’m struggling to pay for a one-bedroom flat,’ she said.
‘It can’t be easy for you. I suppose the rest of the time Nick’s rattling around that enormous vicarage.’
‘It’s his work.’ When she thought of Nick she recalled snappy conversations in whispers over Max’s head, or phone calls to cancel plans at the last moment. His work was immersive. He hadn’t yet sorted out a work–life balance – shit, neither had she. Every moment was Max, childcare, work, sleep.
Sage rang the doorbell and waited for someone with white hair to open the half-glazed front door. A deep bark from somewhere in the property was answered by the man shouting back into the hall.
‘Shut up, Henry!’ He opened the door. ‘Come in, come in. Ignore the dog.’
‘Mr Westcott? Dr Sage Westfield and Professor Felix Guichard. I believe the police rang ahead?’
‘They did, and I’m happy to help if I can. Call me Malcolm, please.’ He escorted them into a living room that went right through the property. ‘Take a seat.’ Malcolm sat in a wing chair opposite them. ‘What’s this about?’
‘We were wondering what you remember of Mr George Chorleigh, or his son, Alistair,’ Sage said. ‘Of Chorleigh House outside Fairfield.’
‘George was a nasty bit of work, chief agister at one point. Rode his horses hard – they were always lame after a few days out with the hunt. Chorleigh senior lived for his hunting. Alistair was a quiet lad, nice enough. My wife knew him better than I did.’ He took a deep breath and leaned back in the chair. He stared at Sage. ‘Doctor of what?’
‘Archaeology,’ she answered. ‘I’m training to become a forensic archaeologist. Felix is a social anthropologist.’
Malcolm stared at her for a long time. The room was full of paintings, some hanging askew. Half were faded watercolours of flowers, the other half were of dogs.
‘I suppose you’ll be looking into that missing girl again, Lara Black,’ he said. ‘We knew her, of course, she used to come to the hunt to wave a few banners and distract the hounds. I was questioned, anyone who’d visited the place was. I couldn’t say much about George’s character except what I told you. He punished the boy even harder than his horses, I recall that. Alistair was still at college then, but I was surprised when they questioned him about the girl. I would have thought he wouldn’t say boo to a goose.’
Sage made a note. ‘Do you remember anything about Chorleigh’s animals around that time?’
‘Oh yes, George had a bloody great hunter called Brutus and a pony. He used to have a third horse but he was too heavy for it and he said it was skittish. Sold it to a friend of mine; it turned out to be a sweet mare away from Chorleigh.’
‘Any other animals?’
‘A couple of dogs, he might have had a cat or two, just to keep rats and mice down,’ the vet said. ‘Of course, he had the pony for his wife. When she left, Alistair rode her. New Forest chestnut, about fourteen hands. She must have been over twenty at that point. I remember seeing the boy out on her when he was younger. Jenny, I think she was called.’ Sage must have winced at the mention of the pony. ‘What?’ he asked, looking at her.
Felix had his pen poised over his notebook. ‘When was the last time you saw the Chorleighs’ horses? Either of them?’
The old man leaned back in his chair and chewed his lip. He looked at Sage. ‘What has all this got to do with the horses?’
‘We were wondering if you saw them around the time Lara Black went missing. September ninth, 1992.’
‘Yes, I think so. I went around to the house to do some routine thing, deliver wormer or something. I remember speaking to Chorleigh; he was as puzzled as anyone about the missing girl. We talked about a bridle he wanted to borrow from my wife, I told this to the police. This was in the days after she disappeared – they were knocking on doors all over Fairfield. I can’t remember when they took Alistair for questioning; I know he had an accident around that time.’
Sage leaned forward. ‘You remember that?’
He nodded. ‘What I remember is how furious his father was. We – my wife and I – always suspected Alistair was being hit by his father.’
Felix looked up from his notebook. ‘And the horses were all right then?’
The old man shrugged. ‘I suppose they must have been. The records are all gone now, of course. We used a card record system until about 2000.’
‘And when did the Chorleighs stop asking you to see their horses?’ Felix asked.
‘That I do remember. Chorleigh was usually lazy about the bills, and I recall him paying up in full in the autumn. He said he’d sold the horses after all the trouble with Alistair. The boy was in hospital for a while, you know.’
Sage looked across at Felix. ‘What happened to him?’
The vet shrugged. ‘I was told Brutus had reared up and hit Alistair in the face. But no one really knew. I don’t think I actually saw the horses after that, now I think about it. I would have been wary.’
Felix scribbled it down. ‘Can you state for the record when you think the last time you did see the horses was?’
‘I don’t know… before the girl went missing? Ninth, you said? Maybe the month before, I don’t think I saw them when I dropped in the wormer that last time. I remember talking out on the drive.’ The old man seemed to sink back into his memories. ‘I’m not sure any more.’ He looked at Sage. ‘What is this about? You haven’t found the girl, have you?’
Sage wasn’t sure how much he knew – or was allowed to know. ‘We were called in on a separate case. A recent burial was found.’
‘Not that girl, River? I thought she must have gone missing in Southampton.’
Felix leaned forward. ‘The body of a girl was discovered in the garden of Chorleigh House. It was on the morning news.’
‘Poor girl, how awful. At Chorleigh?’ Malcolm shook his head. ‘To be honest, I don’t follow the news much, just see the headlines outside the shop when I pick up my milk.’ He seemed lost in his own thoughts for a long moment. ‘It wasn’t Alistair, was it? I mean, I never believed all the rumours with the other girl.’ His hands were shaking. ‘When Chorleigh senior reminded me that Alistair had been visiting my wife to pick up a hackamore for Brutus, I told it to the police, I didn’t question it. Now I’m not so sure.’
Felix shook his head. ‘You were just going on what Chorleigh senior had told you.’
‘The boy was always here; my wife was very fond of him since his mother left. He probably was here.’ He shook his head. ‘Bloody hell. I’ve sworn up and down the forest that the boy didn’t do it.’ He looked at Sage. ‘If I had my doubts it was about his father. He was a nasty bit of work. Not just heavy-handed with the horses, he had a terrible temper, very quick to despatch injured animals in the forest. He beat his stable lad up before he fired him. He said he had been stealing and t
he boy was too frightened to press charges.’
Sage leaned forward. ‘Do you remember his name? The police could talk to him.’
‘Jimmy something. Nice lad, a bit wild.’
She took a breath, tried to keep her voice even. ‘Do you have any recollection of Chorleigh having his horses put down?’
‘He would definitely have called me if they were ill or injured; aside from being heavy-handed he took good care of them. Brutus would have been worth a few thousand. He sold them, I told you. What’s this about?’
Sage could see the old man had tears in his eyes. ‘Do you know that for sure?’ she asked gently. ‘Did he sell them locally?’
‘I used to be on call to the forest auction. No, he would have sent Brutus up country anyway, to get a good price. The pony wasn’t worth more than dog food. Nice little mare, probably all the affection that Alistair ever got since his mother left.’ He looked almost as white as his thick hair. ‘I need my tablets.’ He waved at the coffee table in front of Sage, and she handed him the pill packet there.
‘Do you need some water? I could make some tea.’
‘Would you? Don’t mind the dog, he’s all talk.’
Sage walked over to the door he had indicated and opened it a few inches. The deep bark had come from a spaniel who looked as old as his owner and wagged his whole back end at her when she patted him. She soon found the kettle and put it on. The draining board had one plate, one cup, one setting of cutlery. She found two more mugs in a cupboard and set them out. She leaned through the door. ‘Do you take milk and sugar?’
He surprised her by coming to the kitchen door. ‘Not usually, but I think I will today. I feel a bit wobbly.’
‘I’ll bring it over.’
The old man’s fingers whitened on the door frame. ‘You’re going to tell me something happened to those horses, aren’t you?’
Sage didn’t know what to say. Her silence seemed to answer him though.
He nodded slowly. ‘Two sugars, please, young lady. There are biscuits in the barrel on the windowsill. I have to keep them up there, away from the dog.’
A Shroud of Leaves Page 10