by Elena Forbes
And alcohol and drugs and money, Eve thought. It was a heady, possibly dangerous, mix.
The door blew open and banged against the bookcase behind, sending the bells into a frenzy of jingles. A couple of elderly women in hats and waterproofs stepped inside, one struggling to manoeuvre her dripping umbrella through the doorway. The umbrella jammed in the opening and, as she tried to free it, another gust of damp, freezing wind filled the room, extinguishing the candle by the till in a puff of sickly-sweet smoke.
Eve stood up. ‘We’re probably done for now. Thank you for your time.’
Annie shivered and got to her feet, tugging her cardigan even more tightly around her narrow shoulders. ‘I should start charging. You know, you’re the fourth person asking about Jane in less than twelve months. I’m beginning to feel like a celebrity with all the attention.’
Eve failed to hide her surprise. ‘Four people? Who do you mean?’
Annie started to count on her fingers. ‘Number one was this journalist … a young chap from the local newspaper. Number two was some private investigator—’
‘Is this the PI?’ Eve asked, taking out her phone from her pocket and showing Annie the photo of Mickey.
Annie peered short-sightedly at the screen. ‘No. He’s number three. I spoke to him only a few weeks ago. The second one was another investigator, or at least that’s what it said on his card.’
‘When was this?’
‘About six months ago.’
‘Do you still have the card?’
She shook her head.
‘Do you remember his name? Or what he looked like?’
‘Middle-aged, a bit fat round the middle, in a suit and tie. I thought he was a policeman when he come into the shop. But that’s all I remember.’
‘Do you know who he was working for? Could he have been sent by Sean’s family, or by his solicitor?’
‘No idea. He just said he was lookin’ into Jane’s murder, tryin’ to trace everyone Jane knew. I heard from a friend of mine who still works for the Michaels that he’d been over at the yard askin’ questions. He went into the office, bold as brass, then Harry came back from somewhere and saw ’im off. There was a real to-do, from what I hear and Harry gave him a bloody nose.’
Outside in the car, Eve called Dan. She told him about the other private investigator, but he had no idea who he could be and said he would contact Sean and ask him.
She was about to drive off, when her phone rang. It was Gavin.
‘You’ll be delighted to hear I’ve managed to track down Lorne Anderson,’ he said a little hurriedly. He was outside in the street, judging by the noise of traffic and voices in the background and she had difficulty hearing him clearly. ‘He’ll be at Newbury Racecourse later today. He said he’s happy to speak to you there. He’s got some guests for lunch and a couple of horses running, but any time after around two will be fine.’
‘How do I find him?’
‘He’ll be up in one of the hospitality suites in the Berkshire stand. Go up to the fourth floor and ask for him by name. I’ll text you his phone number, in case you have any problems.’
‘Gavin, I’m really grateful for this.’
‘Don’t mention it. I’ve got a load of meetings today, otherwise I’d come with you. But why don’t we catch up this evening, if you’re free, and you can tell me all about it? I’ll be in need of a stiff drink after all the fuss I’ve had getting his number.’
THIRTY-FOUR
The rain from the morning had moved eastwards and the sky above Newbury Racecourse was the colour of lead. It was a miserable day for any outdoor sport, Eve thought, passing the parade ring, where knots of racegoers were huddled under umbrellas in the centre and around the perimeter, watching as the horses from the last race were unsaddled. The announcer’s voice blared cheerily over the loudspeakers, but anyone sensible was inside in one of the many bars, watching on a TV monitor. The entrance to the Berkshire Stand was just opposite and she took the lift up to the fourth floor, where the hospitality suites were located. Staff bustled in and out of the various rooms along the long corridor, carrying leftover food and empty plates, the buzz of voices and laughter floating out behind them through open doors. She asked for Lorne Anderson and was pointed towards a door about halfway along. The room was large and square, with a wall of sliding glass doors at the front leading out onto a wide balcony, with a clear view of the racecourse and finishing post below. Coffee and tea were being served at the back of the room, along with brandy and port. A few people were still seated around the dining table, chatting and watching a re-run of the previous race on a wall monitor. The rest of the party was gathered in front of the doors, glasses in their hands, staring out across the racecourse.
Eve asked an elderly man dressed in tweeds, who was seated in a wheelchair at one end of the table, where she could find Lorne Anderson.
‘Out there, having a smoke,’ he said, pointing towards the balcony.
She threaded her way through the other guests and pulled open one of the sliding doors, letting in a blast of freezing air. Two men stood outside, their backs to the room, talking animatedly.
‘I’m looking for Lorne Anderson,’ she said, peering out.
Both men turned around and the shorter of the two said, ‘I’m Lorne. You must be Eve.’ He stubbed out his cigarette and stepped back inside, giving her a very firm, cold handshake. ‘Let’s go and find a quiet corner. I understand you’re an old friend of Gavin’s.’
He was stocky, with a broad, puckish face, dressed in a well-cut, brown-coloured suit and a silk bow tie. Although he looked to be in his late forties, his shock of hair was prematurely white and he matched the description of the man Steve Wilby had seen with Jane in Berkeley Square, whom he had assumed was her father.
‘We’ve finished lunch but would you like coffee or tea, or something stronger, maybe?’ he asked.
‘Nothing, thank you.’
He pulled out a couple of empty chairs and they sat down together at the table.
‘Gavin tells me you’re looking into Jane’s murder,’ he said. ‘He’s explained about the CCRC and that there’s not much time. I’m very happy to help in any way I can. I knew Jane quite well, you see.’
She picked up a surprising softness of tone. ‘By “knew” do you mean from the office, or something more?’
He peered at her for a moment. ‘Both, I guess. There’s no harm in telling you. I had to come clean with the police at the time, of course. They had logs of all my phone calls to her. Thank Christ I had a rock-solid alibi, otherwise I’m sure they’d have tried to pin the whole damn thing on me.’
‘You were having an affair with her?’
He winced. ‘I’ve been divorced and remarried since then, so nobody’s going to mind now, but I wouldn’t quite put it like that. We weren’t exactly having a relationship, just more of a light-hearted flirtation, let’s say.’
‘Nothing more than that?’ She looked at him enquiringly and he shrugged.
‘Look, it was pretty dull for her working at the yard. She was also new to the area and didn’t have many friends. I think the girls she shared with were quite bitchy. She also liked being taken out from time to time, and wined and dined. I occasionally bought her the odd little present, although nothing particularly expensive that would attract attention.’
‘Someone saw you with her in Berkeley Square.’
‘Did they indeed. Well, that’s easily possible. My office is around the corner. We’d occasionally meet up for the odd lunch when she was in town. It was easier seeing her away from Marlborough. She was a nice girl, but she knew I was married and that I didn’t want to take it any further.’
So far, he hadn’t tried to deny anything, but she had the impression that he was glossing over what had happened. He made it all sound so simple and harmless, but things were rarely so light-hearted and balanced on both sides. Without knowing Jane, it was impossible to say if she had been dazzled, or even in love with him, or
merely, as he said, happy with just a light-hearted flirtation, whatever that meant. The way he talked, he came across as the sort of man who was used to having ‘flirtations’, as he called them, and was probably good at handling them. She wondered why he bothered getting married. Maybe the mix of it all was part of the fun, or the thrill. But for the moment, it didn’t matter. Unless the police had been completely incompetent, they would have checked his alibi very thoroughly, given all the calls to Jane’s phone and his admission of their closeness. If Jane’s relationship with Lorne Anderson was developing, or she had hopes that it might go further, it possibly explained why she had decided not to carry on seeing Steve Wilby.
‘This went on for how long?’ Eve asked.
‘Oh, around three months or so, right up to the day she disappeared.’
She remembered Sean Farrell saying that Jane had been flush with cash. ‘As well as the lunches and dinners and the little presents, you were also paying her, weren’t you?’
He shifted his weight in his chair and stared at her, as though looking at her properly for the first time. ‘Gavin said you’re sharp. How on earth do you know about the money? That’s something I never told the police.’
‘Why was that?’
He continued to look at her for a moment, as though assessing her, then sighed. ‘I suppose, if I’m honest, it all felt a bit grubby. It muddied the waters, so to speak.’
Curious that he had felt ashamed about the money, but about nothing else, she said, ‘You gave her cash, am I right? Quite a bit, from what I hear.’
He nodded.
‘Was this for sex, or something else?’
He grinned, revealing a gap between his top two front teeth, his small hazel-coloured eyes slanting upwards with merriment. ‘I’ve never paid for sex in my entire life, or at least not directly. No, Jane was doing something for me. It was a business arrangement. It’s really why I got friendly with her in the first place.’ He hesitated, then leaned forwards towards Eve, resting his arm heavily on the table and using his shoulders to screen them from the other guests behind. He lowered his voice. ‘I suspected something was up at the Westerby yard. I needed somebody on the inside who’d keep an eye open for me.’
‘So you used her?’
He put his head to one side and studied her quizzically. ‘As you’re a good friend of Gavin’s, I won’t take offence. All I can say is, Jane didn’t seem to mind. She was a nice girl, quite pretty, in fact, if a bit naïve and inexperienced. She was hard-up and lonely and I needed information. It was a happy bargain on both sides.’
Again Eve wondered if Jane really had been happy with the arrangement, although there was no way of knowing now. ‘What sort of thing are you talking about?’
‘Let’s just say there were a few very odd results.’
‘Race results?’
He nodded. ‘A couple of my horses should have done a lot better than they did in certain races. I went to Tim Michaels about it and he got very angry, but I could tell I’d hit a nerve. He knew exactly what I was talking about. He tried to explain it away by blaming the jockey, or by saying that the horse must have had a virus, or an off day. Of course, it happens. Horses and jockeys aren’t robots. But I wasn’t the only one at the yard who was a little suspicious. To cut a long story, I kept a closer eye on things after that and for a while it was all hunky-dory. Then just when I thought I’d got it all wrong, it happened again. This time I went straight to the British Horseracing Authority, who had recently taken over as official regulator for the sport.’
‘What do you think was going on? Race fixing?’
He nodded.
‘Were the police involved?’
‘I don’t know if it got that far. I heard unofficially that the BHA had several enquiries going on that year, but although a trainer and an owner and two jockeys were eventually suspended, only the trainer and one of the jockeys received a ban. Interestingly, the jockey also used to ride for Tim Michaels.’
‘Was Tim Michaels ever investigated?’
‘I know from Jane that they were certainly talking to him. She said they came to the yard a couple of times, although Tim tried to pass it off as something routine. She also overheard an argument afterwards between Tim and his wife, Sally, about it. Everyone had gone home for the evening but Jane had gone back to the office to collect something she had forgotten. She said Sally and Tim were in Tim’s office at the back, having a right old ding-dong. Even though the door was closed, she could hear Sally tearing a strip off Tim, telling him they’d be ruined if any of the owners got wind of the fact that they were being investigated. Apparently, Tim kept saying there was nothing to hide, but it sounded as though she didn’t believe him. So much for trust between husband and wife. I don’t know if you’ve ever met Sally, but she’s a pretty strong type. She speaks her mind far too freely.’
‘I’ve met her. I know what you mean. Were they aware that Jane had overheard what they were saying?’
‘She said she managed to slip out again before they came out, so I don’t think so.’
‘When was this?’
‘Several weeks before Jane disappeared. Then Tim committed suicide.’
‘You told the police?’
‘Of course. But they weren’t that interested, particularly when I said I had no proof. Maybe they got as far as talking to the BHA, but I don’t know. Not long after, the farrier was arrested and that was that, I guess.’
She wasn’t surprised that the police had discounted it. Farrell, the jealous, stalking, ex-boyfriend was a much more likely suspect. Even so, if somebody had found out that Jane had been snooping around, and there was something criminal going on, which was worth hiding, it was a clear motive for murder. With the odd scene she had witnessed between Harry and Stacey Woodward in mind, she wanted to ask Lorne for his views about the Westerby Racing yard now, and if he thought it was clean. But she reminded herself that even if he knew anything about it and was prepared to comment, it had nothing to do with Jane’s murder ten years before. That was all that was important.
‘What was Tim Michaels like?’
He looked at her thoughtfully. ‘Used to be very good, although not a patch on his father, I gather. I never had any problems with Tim on a personal level, until I started asking awkward questions. He was so vehement that I was wrong, it made me wonder if my suspicions might be correct. No smoke without fire, as they say.’
‘What if Jane discovered something else and maybe he caught her? Is he the sort of man who’d kill her to keep her mouth shut?’
He folded his arms across his broad chest. ‘I guess anything’s possible. People do terrible things when their back’s up against a wall.’ He glanced down at the floor for a moment, studying the toes of his polished brown shoes. ‘He’d certainly have been hopping mad if he caught her spying on him,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘But he’d have sacked her on the spot.’
‘What if she was blackmailing him?’
He looked up and met Eve’s eye. ‘Jane wasn’t like that. She liked the good things in life and having a bit of money, but I don’t think morally she was that sort of person. Nor do I think she’d have had the nerve.’
‘But if he knew he’d been found out, how would he have reacted?’
‘Racing was his life-blood and reputation is everything at his level. He’d have fought tooth and nail to keep things quiet. But if he murdered Jane, why kill himself so soon afterwards?’
‘Guilt?’
He shook his head. ‘Not the type. Tim wasn’t blessed with sufficient imagination or sensitivity to have much of a conscience. Also, even if I’m right about what was going on, it’s not at all a given he’d be found guilty. These things are rarely cut and dried. BHA investigations can drag on for months, if not years and if the police get involved, they usually make a hash of things. There’ve been a number of cases recently where people who’ve been up to all sorts of dodgy stuff have managed to wriggle off the hook. But say things hadn’t gone well for Tim
and he’s banned, I think he’d have found it very difficult to live with the shame. At that point,’ he said, raising his index finger, ‘he might very easily have felt life wasn’t worth living. But why do it after getting rid of Jane, with everything still to play for?’
She nodded slowly. What he said made sense and as far as she could tell, he seemed a good judge of character. There didn’t seem much point in killing somebody to shut them up, then committing suicide.
‘Was Harry Michaels involved in the yard at the time?’
‘Most definitely, although Tim was still very much in the driving seat. I never got on with Harry. He’s an arrogant prick. After Tim’s death, when I told him I was taking the horses away, we had a real bust up.’
‘Do you think he could’ve been mixed up in any of this?’
He looked at her thoughtfully. ‘I really don’t know. He and Tim hadn’t been getting along for a while and there’d been a bit of a schism. I heard on the grapevine that Harry had some idea about setting up his own yard, which would have been heresy in the Michaels family. Tim’s suicide put paid to that, of course.’
‘Do you know why they hadn’t been getting along?’
‘Father and son stuff, I guess. Tim was very old school, whereas Harry was very much the new blade, with all sorts of ideas Tim probably didn’t approve of.’
She kept getting drawn back to Harry and the present which, while interesting in terms of background, meant they were getting off what really mattered: what had happened to Jane.
‘Did you know one of the other owners, a man called Stuart Wade? He rang Jane’s number a couple of times in the week before she disappeared, as well as before.’
‘I know who he is, but I don’t know anything about him, except that he and Harry were as thick as thieves.’
Eve thanked him for his time and made her way downstairs into the main foyer. She was about to walk outside, when she heard someone behind her call her name. She turned around and saw Harry coming towards her from the bar area. She froze.
‘Eve, what a surprise. What are you doing here? I didn’t think racing was your thing.’ He was smiling, as though pleased to see her.