by Gene
`How much?'
Àt least twenty grand, probably more. He didn't let Filthy count it, of course. Just flashed it at him to show off.'
`Was he really that stupid?'
Simon shrugged. `He was a heroin addict. Native intelligence is not their strong point.'
Ànd the money and the bag were not discovered on the premises?’
'Funnily enough, they weren't. However, in the toilet upstairs, the lid of the cistern was lying on the floor and we found traces of dirt on the bog seat.'
`So you think that's where Pete hid the money and they tortured him until he revealed the hiding place?'
Simon nodded. `Not the most original hidey-hole. Not worth getting a third-degree burn for, if you ask me. They'd have found it in five minutes anyway.'
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He nodded at the waiter and suddenly plates and a large salad bowl appeared on the table. A dish of pasta was set between them.
Simon took over the serving duties and spooned ribbon-thin linguine studded with clam shells on to her plate. Their fragrance filled her nostrils.
Maybe she wasn't as full as she had thought.
`So where do you think Pete got the money?’
'Dunno. Perhaps he won the pools. The important thing is we know it was in the house at nine, when Filthy left, and gone by midnight. So there's your motive. Robbery.'
Ìt doesn't seem worth killing two people for twenty thousand pounds.' He laughed. Ì've known plenty killed for a whole lot less. And so have you, I bet.'
That was true. Her last murder investigation had been of a pensioner mugged for the contents of her handbag.
`But this is so callous. To kill the girl too.'
He sighed. `Those Albanians don't muck around.' `So what have you done about them?'
`Put them under surveillance, raided their lodgings and pulled some in for questioning. Funny how their command of English dries up in an interview room. We're working through interpreters who are probably related to the blokes we're interested in. There's a shifting population of adult males plus a whole caravan of women and kids. So far we've pinned nothing on them worse than pimping and possession of an offensive weapon. They favour serrated kitchen knives.'
`So, beyond Mr. Barrable's statement, you have no evidence they have any connection to Pete and Amanda?'
`We know Pete was in York on the day he was killed.' He twisted linguine round his fork. `But you're quite right - there's nothing on them we can use. Not yet anyway.'
Jane pushed her plate away. She'd been brought into the investigation to provide an objective view and she would do just that. Simon's scenario might well be accurate but she was determined to take nothing at face value. She'd go over all the statements and reports bit by bit until she came to her own conclusion. She thought of the bulging briefcase on the sofa in her flat.
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Àre we finished?' she said, taking in the empty plates on the table. They'd done justice to the wine as well.
Òne thing,' he said in his soft deep voice. Ì've got two ex-wives, a teenage daughter who treats me like a mobile cashpoint and a live-in partner who's just decided to live out. I go home, pick the bills off the mat and eat in front of the TV If that's the life of a ladies' man, I hold my hand up.'
She didn't know what to say. It sounded depressingly familiar but she wasn't going to let on. She'd slipped up at the start of the evening by being too friendly; she wouldn't make the same mistake again.
ÒK, Simon. I shan't make any more assumptions - provided you do the same for me.'
He smiled his pleasant smile - the non-sinister version. Ì never really thought there was anything between you and Keith Wright. You're far too classy for him.'
His eyes twinkled in the candlelight. It was definitely time to go home.
Matilda, Pippa's red setter, bounded ahead of Jamie down the dark path.
Though Pippa's yard had long ceased to be a farm, some of the fields were leased out to the neighbour who farmed the adjoining property. He kept sheep there in the winter and, in the summer, turned the land into a campsite for summer visitors. So Jamie wasn't surprised to see a tent lit up by the flicker of a small fire on the other side of the hedgerow as he walked the dog. He wondered what kind of person chose to camp out in a muddy field in January. It certainly wasn't his idea of fun.
As he drew closer, the oncoming breeze bore the smell of smoke into his face - and something else that set his taste buds tingling. Bacon. He'd not enjoyed his meagre supper earlier and there was something about the smell of bacon cooked outdoors. It reminded him of camping trips as a kid, when his Uncle Bob would take charge of breakfast.
He stopped at the hedge and looked over. The small ridge tent had obviously seen better times but the campsite was neat and the fire burned in a shallow trench to protect it from the wind. A frying pan - presumably the source of the bacon aroma - sat on the ground next to the flames, as if it had just been removed from the heat. There was no one in sight, though the visitor could not be far off.
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Jamie was about to call out a greeting. Maybe the happy camper would like directions to Shelley Farm should he run out of water or milk. But Jamie was forestalled by a scrabbling in the hedge ahead and the sight of a bounding four-legged shape charging towards the tent.
'Matilda!' he shouted, all too aware of what was about to happen. `Don't you dare - heel!'
He was wasting his breath. Matilda was young, insubordinate and always hungry. In an instant she was by the fire, flipping the pan and its contents into the grass.
Òy!' came a shout of outrage from inside the tent.
Jamie sprinted to the gate and vaulted over. In the dim light he could see a tall figure on his knees grappling with the dog, who was emitting a high-pitched squeal of protest. Something metallic flashed in the man's hand. A knife!
`Don't touch her!' Jamie screamed. He pelted towards them and threw himself at the stooping figure, grabbing the arm with the knife. The pair of them tumbled over with Jamie on top and there was an Òof!' of surprise from the man beneath him. Jamie pressed the other's face into the soggy grass and rammed his arm high and hard into his back. `Let go of the knife,' he hissed, òr I'll break the bone.'
The man beneath twisted to squint up at him, then began to shake, a strange gurgling noise coming from his throat. Jamie shifted his weight off the prone body though he still gripped the arm tight.
In the shadow Jamie could make out a shaved head beneath him, an earring winking in the lobe of one ear, and a mouthful of teeth bared in pain or - as he realised the gurgle was more like a chuckle - amusement.
He recognised the face at once though his brain was slow to put a name to it.
Ànd I had you down for a pacifist, Jamie mate,' said Dave Prescott. `Glad you learned something in the nick.'
Chapter Five
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Dave seemed less put out than Jamie by their tussle in the grass. He was still chortling to himself as he retrieved his frying pan and showed Jamie thèknife' he'd been holding - a bent fork with a missing tine.
Ì don't mind your dog scarfing my supper,' he explained, `but I don't want her going off with my cutlery. I've had this fork a long time.'
`Sorry, Dave,' Jamie said for the umpteenth time. `She didn't mean any harm.'
Matilda had made herself at home by the fire, her eyes following the movement of the frying pan in Dave's hand. He was giving it a quick wipe down and reaching for a plastic food-container. `Think you can keep her under control while I cook some more?' he said.
Jamie put the dog on the lead and fastened her to a nearby fence post.
Matilda looked at him in reproach but for once he ignored her. `You got my message then?' It was a bit of a silly question but Jamie was still bemused by the events of the past ten minutes. `Why didn't you call me?'
Dave looked up from spreading brown sauce on slices of white bread. Ì
wasn't sure about it. It's not a good idea to hang around with the bl
okes you knew inside.'
Jamie couldn't agree more but it was strange to realise that someone might think that way about him.
`No offence, mate,' the thin man added, slapping bacon rashers between the bread. `Want one?'
Of course he did, but it didn't seem fair to make further inroads into Dave's resources.
Dave saw him hesitate. `Go on, take it.'
It was delicious. Matilda was whining in the background but that was too bad - she wasn't getting any of his.
`So, given that you've obviously decided to take a risk and look me up, what are you doing out here?'
Dave chewed thoughtfully. Ì knew you weren't in 'cos I kept an eye on your place. The bloke who let me camp here told me you were riding at Haydock.'
`But my sister's there. She'd have looked after you till I got back.' Dave pulled a face, stretching his rubbery features out of shape. Ì dunno about that, Jamie.'
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On reflection, looking at the glistening bald head of the spindly limbed runner and the rope burn tattooed round his neck, maybe it wasn't such a bad thing he hadn't pitched up out of the blue and surprised Pippa.
And before you say anything,' Dave continued, Ì prefer sleeping outdoors.
I can't be doing with being banged up inside.'
Jamie wondered how Dave had managed to survive prison. Or was it being in prison that had made him like this?
Ì know what you're thinking,' the runner said. Ì wouldn't describe myself as an actual loony. I'm more of a genuine eccentric.'
Jamie wasn't going to disagree.
Malcolm stretched lazily in the empty bed. He reckoned he deserved a bit of a tie-in after his exertions of the night before. Pippa had brought him a cup of tea when she'd got up for first lot but it had long since gone cold.
He drank half of it in one gulp regardless. He'd drunk much worse. In his Army days, after forty-eight hours in the mountains without food or sleep, a cup of cold tea would have counted as nectar.
He swung his legs out of bed and trod on something small and hard. He smiled as he picked it up. It was the button he'd lost off his shirt when he'd been fooling around with Pippa last night. It was gratifying to think he could still make her lose her cool in the bedroom after two years of marriage.
He ought to knock his side interests on the head. Beverley had served her usefulness. He'd miss her babe-in-a-business-suit appeal but maybe it was time for him to be a good boy. It was only fair to the wife.
Plus, of course, he had his long-term prospects to think of. Pippa was in line for some decent money the day she and her brother sold the land they were sitting on. It would take a few years, maybe, but eventually the offers would be too good to refuse. Of course, if her frustration with the yard continued he might be able to persuade her to cash in her chips sooner rather than later. The way things were heading - like the crackpot idea of roping in some jailbird athlete - pay day was just around the corner.
Maybe then, with the training bug out of her system, she'd get on with turning out a couple of sprogs and the pair of them could earn Brownie points with his father. That ought to prompt the old man to move aside at Ridgemoor and pass the yard on to the pair of them. He could spearhead 91
the business and let Pippa handle the training side. Surely that was where their future lay.
On the other hand, he couldn't be expected just to think of the future. A man had to have his amusements to keep life interesting. And, with the long-term solid, an appetiser on the side like Bev certainly spiced up the main dish. That was his experience.
It was a nice problem to have.
He checked his mobile for messages. Surprise, surprise, there was one from Beverley, left half an hour ago.
`Malcolm, we need to schedule a debrief. I'm at home all morning and I expect to hear from you.'
He chuckled and pressed the Call button. Then he cut the connection. He had a better idea.
Ten minutes later he was driving out of the yard. He'd make that call in person.
`Pippa,' she looked up from rinsing mugs in the office sink, Ì want you to meet someone.'
She took in the tall bald man in a muddy tracksuit by Jamie's side. `This is Dave Prescott.'
From what shed heard, she wasn't predisposed to like this former jailbird and she had no confidence that he'd be able to help her out. However, shed not wanted to dampen Jamie's enthusiasm and, being honest, she could do with some new ideas. But - from this bizarre looking individual? She took in the tattoos and the earring and the enormous head perched on his skinny body. God help us.
Yet, as Dave extended his hand in greeting, she couldn't help responding to him. There was warmth in the size of his grin and the touch of his long bony fingers. His eyes held hers as he said, `Really pleased to meet you, Ms Hutchison. Heard a lot about you.'
Ì've heard about you, too.' Which was true. Jamie had found references to Dave's athletic career in a couple of old books. He really had been an international runner. The words òddball' and `controversial' also accompanied reports on his races. Now she looked closely, the long nose and sunken eyes were recognisably the same as in the photos from the 92
1980s, though the hair - a shaggy mullet - was a thing of the past. A good thing too, in her opinion.
Pippa made them all tea and cleared a space on her desk to sit on - the paper pile was growing by the day - while Dave perched on the spare chair and Jamie leaned against the filing cabinet. The room seemed very small with the three of them huddled so close together. `So,' said her gangly guest, `what's this all about?'
Evidently Jamie hadn't told him. Maybe that was best. `What do you know about training horses, Dave?'
He rolled his eyes. They were of a different hue, she noticed. One was more green than brown, the other more brown than green. It figured. `Not a lot,' he admitted. `That is, nothing at all. Sorry.'
`But you know about training athletes?’
'Sure.' He laughed, an engaging throaty cackle. Ìt's about all I do know, as a matter of fact.'
She nodded, took a deep breath and said, Èxcellent. That's exactly what we want.'
He looked surprised. Ìt is?'
'Absolutely,' she said with a confidence she did not feel. `Just pretend my horses are people for the next couple of days and then tell us what you think.'
His cackle was more prolonged this time. `Will you do it?' she said.
`We'll pay you for your time,' Jamie chipped in.
Òk,' said Dave, setting down his empty mug. `But why?'
Pippa explained about Black Knight, how the horse had improved out of recognition once he'd joined another trainer.
Ùntil then I thought I was as good as anyone. But I've rarely had horses leave to go to another trainer. Usually their owners take them hunting or send them to point-to-points. What I know about training I've learned from watching people round here at work and from reading up. It's not as if I've been all over the world working for different trainers. Now I'm wondering if I don't need some new ideas. Maybe I'm not very good after all.'
Ìn case you hadn't noticed,' Jamie said, `my sister is suffering from a crisis of confidence. The truth is, she's brilliant with animals. She has a 93
sixth sense when there's the slightest thing wrong with them. Anyhow, we'd like you to give us your opinion.'
Dave considered what he'd heard, then turned to Jamie.
`You must have ridden for lots of different trainers in the past. What do you think?'
Àctually, I did most of my riding for one gaffer back then. I'm sorry to say I wasn't very observant about his training methods. I was just keen to do well and I did what I was asked without thinking about it. In any case, training has probably changed a bit since then.'
Pippa stepped in. `The bottom line is, Dave, we'd just like your input. If you tell me I'm not doing anything wrong I'll be thrilled to hear it.'
Ànd if you tell her she is, she won't take any notice,' Jamie butted in with a grin.
Pippa looked
indignant. `Come on. Let me show you round.'
As she led the pair of them out into the yard she noticed Dave trying to keep a straight face. He probably thought she was the oddball. Maybe he was right.
Ì thought you wanted to discuss yesterday's race,' Malcolm murmured, staring at the rosebud-pink ceiling of Beverley's bedroom through the curtain of her blue-black hair. The ceiling toned nicely with the candy striped wallpaper and cherry-blossom curtains. He could describe the decor of this room in detail. It was the only place in the cottage where he'd spent any time.
She rolled to one side of him and snuggled into the crook of his arm, her bare breasts nestling pleasantly into his ribs.
`Yeah, sure.' She sounded as if it were his idea.
`That's what you said on the phone. I presume you talked about it with Beaufort afterwards.'
'Barney was really disappointed.'
Ì could see that. But I thought it didn't matter how the horse performed.
Your company just wanted an entry on the card, remember?'
`That was my idea but Barney takes these things to heart. I mean, Adolf didn't just lose - he gave up. And the jockey didn't help either.' Malcolm was taken aback. `Jamie's a top rider.'
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`Really?' She pulled away from him and sat up. `Two years ago on the Flat maybe. The only publicity we got out of yesterday's race was about an ex-con making a comeback and losing. I tell you, Malcolm, it's not good enough.'
He stared at her in surprise, realising that their moment of intimacy had turned into a company broadside - and he was on the receiving end. Those pale blue eyes, for once unscreened, blazed with cold fire and her chin jutted aggressively. She was quick to spoil for a fight. He'd bet her subordinates at the office got it in the neck on a regular basis.
Beverley's full bosom positively quivered with her discontent. It was the first time he'd been given a dressing down by a stark-naked woman. There was no denying it was a bit of a turn-on.