For Your Sins: previously published as Joseph's Mansions

by Richard Pitman

  Stonebanks looked up at him. ‘Frankie, I’m not saying you’re wrong. Not in the least. I’m saying we can’t prove it. It’s a sound theory but we simply can’t back it up.’

  ‘Maybe Culling will confess!’

  ‘Why should he? Why on earth should he? He’s been a respected Jockey Club vet for years. His character is totally unblemished. There’ll be bloody ructions if we go steaming in like the Sweeney trying to get a confession out of him. Can you imagine what they’d be saying about us? About the Jockey Club Security Department? About you, on your first assignment?’

  The passion and impatience slowly drained from Frankie’s face as he realized the logic of what Stonebanks was saying. He sat down again, slowly shaking his head. Looking at Stonebanks, he said quietly, ‘He could be involved in the kidnappings too, you know. There’s no telling how close his relationship with Monroe is.’

  ‘Can’t have been that close or he wouldn’t have named him so quickly to you, would he?’

  Frankie shrugged. ‘Maybe.’

  Stonebanks sighed. ‘You could easily be right about Culling, Frankie, but there’s nothing to really suggest he’d tied in with the kidnappings. At best we’ve got two different cases here and we need to make up our minds which one we’re going to try and crack first.’

  Frankie nodded.

  ‘Now is it going to be Monroe or Culling? If we go for Culling with absolutely no solid evidence, we could lose him completely. He could up stakes and disappear. If we can get Monroe and tell him Culling dropped him in it originally, there’s every chance Monroe will tell you all you want to know about Culling. At least then you have some evidence.’

  Frankie knew he was right. He couldn’t risk confronting Culling and losing him, couldn’t have lived with that afterwards. ‘You’re right Geoff, I’m sorry.’

  ‘Nothing to be sorry about, Frankie, nothing whatsoever. If it’s Culling, we’ll get him. I promise you.’ He leant across the table and clasped Frankie’s arm. Frankie smiled wearily.

  Stonebanks said, ‘Right, let’s get to work. Let’s try and nail this horse-switching theory of yours. I’ll call the lab about the urine sample and speak to the forensic boys about a visit to the stream where we found the corpse.’

  Frankie watched him, all business-like and confident, pick up the phone.

  38

  At the cemetery, Jane walked with Sean ahead of his mother and Aunt Phoebe, who had lent her sister the money to pay for this funeral. There was no one else except the priest. The undertaker’s men, helped by the gravediggers, carried the coffin with little effort. Only Aunt Phoebe had seen what was left of Brendan Gleeson; she had formally identified the body to save Sean further distress. The Garda had found no evidence of crime. They had heard what had happened, but they knew there was no chance of convicting Corell. The officer in charge had put it down to suicide. Sean had been too shocked by the death and too afraid of the police to argue that it was murder. Jane had complained strongly on his behalf, marching into the police station and demanding to see the superintendent, but it had done no good. A cold-eyed man in plain clothes saw her and told her they had plenty to do without chasing their tails for years on this, and anyway, nobody would be rushing to commemorate the life of Mr Brendan Gleeson.

  Except for Brendan’s son, he was right. Nobody but Sean mourned the death. As Bridget Gleeson watched the coffin being lowered, she felt only the relief that she was finally free, that she didn’t need to leave Ireland again if she didn’t want to, that she could have her son back. The trouble was that Bridget wasn’t sure now that she wanted him back. She’d had three relationships while she’d been away. All but the first man had treated her well. She was enjoying the freedom, having a good time. Watching Jane put her arm around Sean at the graveside, she thought that in little Miss Pretty Face, he had quite enough. And he’d lived without his mother all this time. He had already mentioned going back to England with Jane for a while. Well, that would suit Bridget Gleeson just fine.

  The priest finished as the rain started, heavy drops falling in the dark spots on the mound of earth by the grave. Aunt Phoebe stepped forward and picked up a handful of earth and threw it on the top of the coffin. Bridget did the same then bent and picked up some more. She turned and offered it to Sean. He looked up at her and shook his head. ‘I’ll not help bury me da,’ he said with determination as the tears squeezed through again, stinging his eyes and the flesh just below, which was raw from rubbing. Jane squeezed his hand tighter, then put her other arm around his shoulder and led him away toward the car as the dark clouds finally burst and the freezing rain cascaded down.

  Two researchers from the horseracing forensic laboratory in Newmarket found shreds of skin and hair at the site where the horse said to be Ulysses had been dumped. But no comparable samples were available from any lab or from his ex-trainer, who had, as part of his training regime, had his horses blood-tested regularly but retained none of the samples. The same applied to Zuiderzie, whose urine sample had also been disposed of by the lab after proving negative for dope.

  Frankie needed a break. For all Stonebanks had said that the potential doping of these horses and the kidnappings were two separate cases, proof that Ulysses’ carcass had actually been that of Zuiderzie would at least have told him that Ulysses and Angel Gabriel were probably still alive or, at least, had not been killed by Monroe at the time he claimed. As far as Ulysses was concerned, although he hoped for the horse’s sake that it hadn’t been slaughtered, making his arrogant, spiteful owner feel better didn’t matter to him. But it would mean an awful lot to Frankie to be able to return Gabby to the Cassidys - which reminded him, again, he really should call Maggie.

  He’d been avoiding it since that night when he’d told her all about Kathy, that drunken night when he’d been so hyped up with the good news about Monroe that he’d let himself go too far. He had never drunk that much before in his life, never talked like that to anyone about Kathy. He blushed as he recalled it. He had always wanted to tell Maggie about Kathy, but not in that way. It made him feel somehow that he’d given away some of their secrets. And when Maggie had said she wished she could take Kathy’s place, bring her back to him, well, he thought that was so like Kathy herself to have offered that. Kathy would have done the same.

  Kathy. Kathy. Kathy. What a burden had been lifted since finding out about Sauceboat. It was a feeling he couldn’t understand; if he was right about the horse having been doped by Culling, surely it was a terrible thing? It might not have been murder but it was manslaughter. An awful crime. And yet, his heart was lighter. A large part of the guilt he’d felt at her death had gone. There was an earthly reason for that death. And now, probably above all this, he had something to hang it all on, someone to blame, a way of finalizing this wretchedness he had thought was going to be with him all his days.

  Frankie wanted to spend some more time sitting in the George in Lambourn, jogging memories, reminding people that there was a fifty-thousand-pound reward waiting for the person who nailed Gerry Monroe. He was due to meet Stonebanks in the pub and, as he pulled up in the car park, Maggie Cassidy called him. He saw her name on-screen and immediately felt guilty for not ringing her.

  She seemed nervous when she heard his voice, almost upset. She said, ‘Frankie, I’m really sorry to bother you.’

  ‘Don’t be daft; it’s me who should be sorry. I’ve been meaning to call.’

  ‘No, no, you’ve got a million things to do. Look, it’s just that Jane’s coming home tomorrow. I want to try and plan how best to tell her about Gabby, and I just wondered if there was any news about him.’

  Frankie closed his eyes and reproached himself. ‘Maggie, I’m sorry, I’ve just been trying to sort things out with Joe Ansell. Joe thinks he might need another week or so.’

  There was a silence for a few seconds then she said, ‘Will he, you know, keep for that long?’

  ‘Yes, Joe’s confident he will be OK. You’ll have him home in a week. T
hat gives you a bit of leeway to let Jane settle back in. You can delay the news for another week if you want to.’ Frankie wanted so much to tell her what had happened, the temptation was almost irresistible.

  ‘I could do with a week’s grace,’ Maggie said. ‘She’s upset enough. Her boyfriend’s father was killed in an accident. Sean’s coming back with her.’

  ‘Oh that’s terrible, Maggie, I’m sorry to hear that. You must be at the end of your tether. Is Graham any better?’

  She hesitated. ‘I’m afraid not. He’s still in bed, still very, very down.’

  Frankie drew a long breath and sighed. What to do? He believed completely in his theory that Ulysses and Gabby had not been killed by Monroe and he knew that telling Maggie about it so she could tell Graham would give him so much hope… but if he turned out to be wrong and Graham was plunged back again into the thoughts of the savaging his horse had undergone, it might well be worse in the long run.

  She said, ‘Are you OK?’

  He knew she meant was he alright after all the emotions of the other night, but he let it pass. ‘I’m fine, Maggie. I’m fine. I just wish everything would come together so you can all get your own lives back to normal. I’m just about to go into the busiest pub in Lambourn. I’m meeting Stonebanks here. We’re really hopeful of picking up something on Monroe very soon.’

  ‘I’ll say a prayer.’

  ‘It’s a deal. I’d better get in here. I’ll call you as soon as I have something.’

  It was Friday evening. The pub was busy, smoky, noisy with music and chatter. The talk was as it had been in this pub on Friday nights since it had opened in the thirties, of hopes for tomorrow, the big racing day of the week. Half-drunk lads boasted of how far their horse would win next day, placed side bets with doubters, mocked others making similar claims. At the bar and in corners, tips were whispered and gossip exchanged. Frankie and Stonebanks moved around, chatting to lads, to girls, trying to pick up any scrap that might lead them to Monroe.

  The pub grew warmer as it became busier, and a young blonde girl playing pool hauled off the heavy yellow sweater she wore, pulling up the skimpy blue T-shirt underneath to reveal her black bra. The lads around the pool table made various noises and one of the girls shouted loudly, ‘Ooohh, Belinda!’

  Frankie was close by, and he smiled with the others as Belinda pulled her T-shirt down again and leant forward to make a shot. Frankie noticed a heavy locket dangling from her throat. He moved closer. The locket was swinging slightly. It was a gold case with a clear front. Inside it was a lock of dark hair. Belinda played her shot. Frankie went up to her and nodded toward her locket. ‘You looked after Zuiderzie?’

  She smiled widely at being recognized. That’s right.’

  ‘If you let me borrow what’s in your locket for twenty-four hours I think I’ll be able to tell you exactly how he died.’

  Late afternoon, the next day, the call came which told them that the DNA analysis on the horsehair from Belinda’s locket matched that taken from the flesh and hair found at the place where the supposed Ulysses’ carcass had been left. Stonebanks smiled at Frankie. ‘Well done! You were absolutely right!’ Frankie shook the outstretched hand, smiling widely and feeling a strange satisfaction, a contentment he’d never experienced.

  ‘It was Zuiderzie, not Ulysses,’ he said to no one in particular.

  Stonebanks pumped his hand. ‘Ulysses may well still be on his travels, my friend!’

  Frankie picked up his jacket. ‘And I’m on mine. The Cassidys deserve to get this news face to face.’

  ‘You just want to see them smile, and take the plaudits! ‘ Stonebanks said.

  ‘You’ll get your fair share of credit, don’t worry!’ Frankie laughed.

  Stonebanks put an arm on his shoulder. ‘Only kidding, Frankie. You deserve it all.’

  Frankie was halfway out of the door when he turned. ‘You sure you don’t mind me going to Shropshire? Don’t mind carrying on ferreting around down here for some news on Monroe?’

  ‘I don’t mind at all. Stay a few days if you want. We can keep in touch by phone.’

  ‘No. I mean, thanks Geoff, but no. There’s too much to be done down here. Somebody must know something about Monroe’s whereabouts. If the horses are still alive, somebody must know where they are. They need looking after, vets, shoes and all the other stuff. Somebody must know something. I’ll be back tomorrow.’

  Stonebanks held his hands up. ‘Fine, fine. It’s your call, Frankie boy. If you change your mind, just let me know.’

  39

  On the drive north, Frankie decided to call Maggie and give her advance warning of the news he was bringing. The decision on telling Graham that the Cheltenham body was not Gabby was one she’d have to make. If Frankie arrived unannounced, it might be much more difficult to pull Maggie aside and tell her. It would be easier to do it this way.

  When she put the phone down, Maggie was elated, but she had already decided not to tell Graham about Ulysses. Although it was certain that the carcass Graham had seen at Cheltenham had not been that of Gabby, Frankie had told her to think long and hard before telling him right now. Both horses could have been killed by Monroe since then if he had panicked, and Maggie was terribly afraid that Graham wouldn’t be able to withstand another let-down if she built his hopes up now. She’d asked Frankie if he’d have dinner with them and went to the kitchen now with a spring in her step, but trying not to raise her hopes too high.

  Jane and Sean arrived home that afternoon. She’d told them that the police and Frankie and his colleagues were doing everything they could to find Gabby, but she was sure that Sean had other things on his mind. She’d taken to him immediately and told him he could stay as long as he wanted. She went now to tell them that Frankie was on his way and would be having dinner with them.

  Frankie was talking to Maggie as she filled the dinner plates with roast pork, potatoes and vegetables. Billy came running in giggling, with a smiling Jane hot on his heels and Sean just behind them. ‘Settle down, please!’ Maggie ordered, carrying the plates to the table.

  ‘I’ll get you later!’ Jane promised Billy who pulled a face. ‘Hi Frankie.’

  ‘Hello. Did you have a good break in Ireland?’

  ‘Yes, thanks.’

  ‘I see you captured one of the natives,’ Frankie said, nodding toward Sean who stood awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen.

  ‘That’s Sean. He’s my boyfriend.’

  Frankie walked over to Sean and held out his hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, Sean.’

  Sean shook Frankie’s hand. ‘Hello, Father.’

  Everyone looked at Sean. Jane said, ‘He’s not a priest anymore, Sean.’

  Sean blushed pink. ‘Sorry.’

  Frankie chuckled. ‘Nothing to be sorry about, Sean. Call me Frankie.’

  Sean nodded. Maggie said, ‘Shall we sit down?’

  Billy watched where Frankie made for, and quickly moved to be alongside him. Jane, Sean and Maggie sat opposite. Frankie spent time gently coaxing Sean into conversation, talking about Dublin and the parts of it they knew. But Frankie made sure he included Billy in the chat. He liked Billy and knew the boy looked up to him for some reason. Maggie had told Frankie how worried Billy was about his father.

  ‘How’s the inventing going?’

  ‘I’m working on, well, trying to think up a device for protecting horses against getting kidnapped.’

  Maggie and Frankie glanced at each other. Maggie had told Frankie she’d been hoping they could avoid talking too much about the kidnap. Sean had done a lot to take Jane’s mind off it but Billy seemed, understandably, obsessed by it. Maggie knew that Billy’s motives were centred on his father, not the horse. Getting the horse back, for Billy, was just a means to getting his father back.

  Now Sean joined in. ‘Maybe they could put those microchips into horses. That’s what they’ve started doing with the ponies in Dublin. Then you’d know where they were all the time.’

&nbs
p; Billy nodded. That’s a good idea, but I thought that any criminals might just cut the horse open and take it out. They put the chips just under the skin so they’d probably be easy to cut out. But it is a good idea.’

  Maggie looked at her son with pride. She thought it very kind of him to handle the rejection of Sean’s idea so well.

  ‘Maybe they could bury them deeper in the horses,’ Jane said protectively.

  Billy nodded. ‘Maybe.’

  Jane looked at Frankie. ‘Mum said you’re making progress, Frankie. Do you really think we’ll get Gabby back?’

  Frankie looked at Maggie who shrugged slightly and half-smiled as though to say, “We’re into it now, might as well go with the flow.” Frankie said, ‘We’ve a very strong suspect, a man called Gerry Monroe. Your mum and dad have identified him as the fella who stole the money and we’re almost certain he has Gabby and at least one other horse. The police are looking for him here and in Ireland.’

  ‘In Ireland?’ Jane asked.

  ‘We know he took a horsebox there, one he stole from his employers. He went there not long after kidnapping Gabby.’

  ‘So Gabby might be in Ireland and we’ve just left there,’ Jane said.

  ‘All we know for sure is that the horsebox went there. We’re kind of assuming Monroe was driving it and that the horses were inside. There’s a big reward for anyone who can tell us where Monroe is. Your mum put up the money.’