Time to Pay

by Lyndon Stacey

  He turned to find Beth, neat in a navy skirt-suit, her dark eyes barely level with his shoulder. Freddy was astride her left hip.

  She held up her racecard.

  ‘There’s a horse here called Reuben Jones,’ she said quietly. ‘And it reminded me of the Reuben at home. You’ve heard about him, right?’

  ‘Sorry.’ He shook his head. ‘You’ve lost me.’

  ‘Reuben – you know – the recluse who lives in the charcoal burner’s hut on the farm and looks after the gallops. Hasn’t Tilly mentioned him?’

  Light dawned.

  ‘Oh, yes, of course. I remember now.’

  ‘You were asking where Damien might have hidden this diary you’re looking for. Well, he liked Reuben and used to visit him from time to time. What if he left the diary there, with him? I know he once told me he’d trust him with anything . . .’

  ‘That’s an idea,’ Gideon said. ‘You could have something there.’

  At this point Freddy, who’d been uncharacteristically quiet so far, picked up on the name and began to chant loudly, ‘Reuben Bones, Reuben Bones, Reuben Bones!’

  ‘Jones,’ his mother amended, smiling. ‘Sshh!’ But Freddy liked his own version, and carried on chanting.

  Hearing him, Tilly looked over her shoulder at Gideon.

  ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ she asked quietly.

  Gideon nodded. ‘It’s worth a try, don’t you think? When could we go and see?’

  ‘It’ll be too dark tonight. Perhaps if you came over in the morning you could ride out again and we could go on from there.’

  ‘I shall be out with Eve tomorrow,’ he said regretfully. ‘We’ve got to be in London for twelve.’

  ‘There’s a gallery owner I want Gideon to meet,’ Eve put in.

  Tilly raised her eyebrows and smiled sweetly.

  ‘First lot’s at half past six.’

  Gideon groaned.

  Bed had never seemed so alluring as it did at five o’clock the next morning, and if it hadn’t been for Eve pulling the duvet off him, Gideon would probably have turned the alarm off and gone back to sleep.

  However, at six forty-five, with the sun sparkling on the dew-laden, cobwebby turf, and banishing wispy high clouds from a clear blue sky, he was glad he’d made the effort, and filled with a kind of self-righteous superiority over all those still under the covers. He rode Nero again, and the brown horse strode out next to Tilly’s mount, apparently none the worse for his exertions the day before.

  Tilly was relating some of the positive feedback she’d received after Tremelo’s impressive performance at Towcester when she was interrupted by Ivan calling back from his position at the head of the string.

  ‘Sheep’s out, guv!’

  ‘That’s strange . . .’ She frowned and pushed her horse forward to come alongside the ex-jockey. ‘I wonder if Reuben’s ill. He’s never forgotten before.’

  ‘What d’you wanna do? Can’t work ’em with sheep all over the place,’ Ivan stated.

  ‘They’ll probably move if they see you coming,’ Tilly told him. ‘As we were only giving this lot easy work today, Ivan, can I leave you to organise that, while Gideon and I go and check on Reuben?’

  Ivan nodded. ‘No worries.’

  Trotting Nero next to Tilly’s horse along the valley bottom, Gideon had a feeling of deep foreboding.

  ‘Well, I don’t have to think up an excuse to visit him now,’ Tilly said. ‘But I hope he’s OK. He’s never been ill before – at least, not so ill that he hasn’t looked after the gallops.’

  She clearly didn’t suspect anything more sinister, and Gideon could only hope that his own burgeoning suspicions were proven unfounded.

  They weren’t.

  The old charcoal burner’s hut was located in a clearing deep in the hazel copse that bordered the field next to the gallops. They approached it in single file down a grassy path, leaning over the horses’ necks to avoid the low, whippy branches. Tilly was in front and as soon as she reached the open area she reined in sharply, causing her horse to throw its head up in surprise.

  ‘Oh, my God!’

  Although Gideon had never seen the place before, it was impossible to miss the signs of the wholesale ransacking that had taken place. The clearing, extending to perhaps a quarter of an acre, was dominated by three round corrugated-iron structures, some twelve feet in diameter, two of which were smoking sluggishly. On the far side was a thatched wooden hut, so old that it blended almost seamlessly into the fabric of the woodland. It was fronted by a raised deck with a lean-to roof, which was currently sagging crookedly, one of its supports having been smashed away. A further covered area at the side of the hut was strewn with all manner of tools, pots, pans and utensils, with a rack of shelves thrown down on top, and a little way off a hen house had been overturned and broken, a few of its occupants remaining to peck hopefully amongst the scattered ruins.

  The hut stood forlornly in the midst of the disorder, its one visible window shattered, and its chimney showing no sign of life.

  ‘Oh, my God!’ Tilly said again. ‘What on earth . . .?’

  ‘We’d better see if he’s all right,’ Gideon said, urging Nero forward. ‘He may have got away and be hiding in the woods.’

  ‘Who could have done this?’ Tilly was following, her horse baulking and shying at the smoking charcoal burners. ‘Nobody knows it’s here, even.’

  Somebody clearly did, Gideon reflected.

  They left the horses tied to two separate posts and, between them, managed to raise the sagging roof of the lean-to enough for Gideon to prop it temporarily on a broom handle. With this done, they could see that the hut’s door was standing open six inches or so and, when Tilly pushed it wider, they were greeted by a low rumbling growl from within.

  ‘That’s his dog,’ she said softly, glancing at Gideon. ‘He’s not terribly friendly.’

  ‘Do you know his name?’

  ‘Um . . . Buddy, I think. Yes, Buddy.’

  ‘OK. Let me go first.’

  She stood back and he went past her into the gloomy interior of the hut, pausing to let his eyes become accustomed to the poor light. His movement was greeted by a second, more menacing growl.

  The inside of the hut was in much the same state as the outside had been. It appeared that everything that could have been tipped over or thrown on the floor, had been. Even the small black potbellied stove had been toppled from its stone slab in the corner of the room, wrenched away from the flue pipe, which now hung bent and redundant. Against the far wall the pallet bed was also broken, its mattress lying on top of the splintered remains, and on top of that Gideon could see what at first he took to be just a tumbled pile of blankets. Then, with a shock, he realised that beneath the covers lay the motionless body of a man. In front of the bed stood a black and white sheepdog, head and tail low and lips drawn back from a set of undoubtedly sharp, white teeth.

  First things first. Gideon crouched down sideways on, and averted his face.

  ‘Hello, Buddy,’ he said, quietly. He was rewarded by a repetition of the growl but sensed no real aggression, only a wash of fear and anxiety as tangible as a physical embrace.

  Holding one hand out, palm downward, he closed his eyes to block out any distraction, and pictured the dog coming towards him, head down, ears flat and tail wagging.

  There was another growl, but with a measure of uncertainty this time, and tailing off into a whine.

  ‘Good boy. Good Buddy. It’s all right now. No-one’s gonna hurt you, little fella.’

  Another wave of fear and doubt reached him, and he had to suppress the instinctive response of pity. Pity wasn’t what Buddy needed right now. What he craved was someone to offer him security and strength, to take away the awful confusion in his mind.

  ‘It’s all right, little dog. We’ll take care of you. Don’t worry, little fella.’

  The dog was coming. Gideon sensed the decision moments before he felt the whiskery muzzle touch t
he back of his outstretched hand.

  ‘Good boy.’

  He waited a few moments longer before opening his eyes, unwilling to scare the animal by making his move too soon. He found Buddy sitting beside him but looking back at the bed and its unmoving occupant.

  ‘Good boy,’ he said again, slowly straightening up. ‘Let’s go and see what we can do for your master, shall we?’

  As soon as he stepped forward, the dog trotted back to Reuben’s side and stood with his chin on the blankets, but he made no attempt to warn Gideon off again.

  Even in the dimly lit hut, Gideon could see that Reuben was in a bad way. He was lying on his side with a blanket pulled roughly over him, and the side of his face that was visible was darkened by two massive bruises, one of which was crusted with dried blood.

  Gideon leaned over the man on the pallet bed and spoke his name, softly at first and then progressively louder, but there was no response.

  ‘Tilly. We need an ambulance,’ Gideon said over his shoulder. ‘And the police, too. Have you got your mobile? Good. Tell them he’s been assaulted.’

  Tilly nodded and went back out into the sunshine to make the call and, with the dog looking on, Gideon gently shook the man’s shoulder.

  He was rewarded by a low groan, but repeating Reuben’s name brought the same negative result as before. In case the wounded man was able to hear him, Gideon crouched by the bed and began to reassure him that everything was going to be all right.

  ‘Buddy’s here. He’s fine, and we’ll look after him until you’re better,’ he promised, hoping that Tilly would agree to put the dog up. He had an idea Elsa wouldn’t be too chuffed about having a strange house guest foisted on her.

  ‘They’re on their way,’ Tilly said, coming back into the hut. ‘They’re sending a helicopter and want me to go out into the field and guide them down. Will you be all right?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘Pretty rough, I think. He’s only semi-conscious. Look, if you ride back, be careful with the horse when the chopper comes down, we don’t want another accident!’

  It was just over twenty minutes before the helicopter paramedic reached the hut in the clearing, and during that time Reuben gave no sign of a return to consciousness.

  Gideon sat with him and the dog, talking to both, and taking in the details of his surroundings as his eyes adjusted fully to the poor light. In spite of the chaos left by whoever had trashed the place, there was no sign of dirt or neglect. As a home, the hut was spartan, to say the least, but there was no smell beyond the inevitable tang of woodsmoke and a rather pleasant overtone of pine resin.

  These things he noticed almost in passing, his brain being occupied with the worrying question of just who had carried out this vicious attack. According to Tilly, Reuben had been on the gallops the morning before, standing watching the horses as he often did, so the attack had taken place in the last twenty-four hours. It was difficult to believe it was a coincidence that his name had come up at Towcester.

  On the other hand, if it wasn’t a coincidence, then someone at the racecourse had overheard their conversation and moved exceedingly fast.

  Who?

  As far as Gideon was concerned, the finger of suspicion fairly stabbed in the direction of Lloyd. However one looked at it, there really wasn’t any other option. Aside from Pippa, Giles and Eve, the others had all been members of Damien’s family. Gideon didn’t think Lloyd had been close enough to overhear the conversation between Beth, Tilly and himself, but he would have had to be deaf not to have heard Freddy’s enthusiastic chanting of Reuben Bones. As a long-time friend of Damien’s, it might well have reminded him of the charcoal burner at the farm, and led him to have drawn the same conclusions as had Beth and Tilly.

  Lloyd.

  The ramifications didn’t bear thinking about.

  He looked down at the battered face of the man on the bed. It was difficult to tell how old he might be, but although he remembered Tilly saying he could be anything from fifty to seventy, Gideon thought he looked nearer the lower end of that estimate. From what he could see, he got the impression of a strong face, lined but not wasted. Could the Lloyd he knew really do something like this? In spite of his dislike for the man, he found it hard to believe.

  Gradually the heavy throb of the approaching helicopter intruded onto his deliberations, and he abandoned the unpalatable train of thought in anticipation of the paramedic’s arrival.

  ‘Help is on its way. They’ll soon be here,’ he told the unconscious man, reflecting, even as he did so, that to a man such as Reuben the information was likely to be more painful than soothing. Having successfully shut himself away from the world for thirty years or more, it would surely be a mental torment to have the world, in its most busy, authoritarian guise, invading his tranquil haven.

  From that point of view, Gideon thought it was probably a good thing Reuben was unconscious.

  ‘But I don’t understand. Why would someone do that to a man like Reuben?’ Tilly asked, frowning.

  She and Gideon were riding back to the farm on horses that had grown cold and fidgety with waiting while Reuben had been examined, transferred to the air ambulance and borne away. The police observer who had accompanied the paramedic had taken their details and remained at the hut to await the arrival of a forensic team.

  ‘I mean, he doesn’t trouble anyone,’ she went on. ‘Hardly anyone even knows he’s there. And he’s got nothing to steal, you can see that.’

  ‘Except perhaps the diary,’ Gideon pointed out.

  Tilly’s head snapped round.

  ‘Do you think that’s what they were after?’

  ‘It’s possible, don’t you think? Probable, even.’

  ‘But why now, suddenly? Just when . . .’ She broke off as her thought processes caught up. ‘You don’t think someone overheard us?’

  ‘It’s possible. After all, Freddy was shouting Reuben Bones at the top of his voice.’

  ‘But hardly anyone knows about Reuben. In fact, outside the family and staff, probably only you.’

  And Lloyd, Gideon thought, but he didn’t say it. In spite of his suspicions, he had no proof. Much better to let Tilly work it out for herself. He looked back at the hermit’s sheepdog, which was trotting quietly behind Tilly’s horse at the end of a long piece of rope. ‘Good lad, Buddy.’

  ‘What are we going to do with him?’ Tilly asked, her attention momentarily diverted. ‘I expect he’d be all right with us, just as long as someone didn’t let him out by mistake. There are so many comings and goings at our place.’

  ‘Well, I’d offer to take him, but I’m not sure Elsa would be too happy, and I’m not going to be there today – oh, shit! I’m supposed to be back by half past nine – what time is it?’

  ‘Ten to. You’ll be all right – just.’

  ‘When I say back by half past nine I mean home, showered and changed, ready to set out for London.’

  ‘Oh, I see. Might be tight, then,’ Tilly agreed. ‘Well, don’t worry about Buddy. We’ll look after him. He’d probably be happiest tied up in the barn. At least it’s warm and quiet.’

  In the event, Gideon and Eve were a quarter of an hour late setting out for London, a circumstance that Eve bore with good grace after Gideon had filled her in on the events of the morning.

  ‘If you seriously think Lloyd has something to do with all this, why would he have helped you out the other day?’

  Gideon shrugged. ‘It made him look good.’

  ‘You mean he set the whole thing up? Don’t you think you might be allowing your personal feelings to get in the way here?’

  ‘I don’t know. I hope not . . . Maybe.’

  Eve turned the Aston Martin onto the main road and accelerated hard.

  ‘I don’t think it’s fair to assume it’s Lloyd, just because you can’t think who else it might be. I mean, what if someone was watching our party yesterday? The way that kid was shouting, almost anyone wit
hin fifty feet could have heard him.’

  ‘But the name wouldn’t have meant anything, if they didn’t know about the guy in the hut,’ Gideon pointed out. ‘That’s what it comes down to.’

  Eve sighed. ‘Well, the police are involved now, so maybe you should tell them what you know and leave it to them, huh?’

  ‘Yeah, maybe.’

  She looked sideways, but Gideon’s face was giving nothing away.

  ‘What? Come on, I know that look.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know – it’s this diary thing. If Damien was using it to blackmail the people on the list, it’s going to be a hell of a shock for his family. They don’t need that.’

  ‘Gideon!’ Eve’s tone was loaded with frustration. ‘This isn’t just a bit of amateur sleuthing any more; we could be talking murder here! I know you wanted to keep Damien’s name clean, if you could, but enough’s enough, surely. While you’re so busy trying to keep everybody else’s name clean, you’re going to end up with your own name on a gravestone if you’re not careful!’

  ‘I will be careful. I just want to find this diary first. Tilly and I are going to visit Reuben tonight, if he’s well enough for visitors. If he says the diary has gone, I’ll go straight to the police, OK?’

  ‘And if it hasn’t?’

  ‘Then maybe he’ll tell us where it is . . .’

  Eve just shook her head in defeat.

  When Gideon picked Tilly up that evening, he collected Buddy, too.

  ‘I thought Reuben would be worrying about him,’ Gideon told her, pulling into a muddy gateway to allow a large four-by-four to pass. The blonde at the wheel turned her head and waved.

  ‘Oh, it’s Harriet!’ Tilly exclaimed, and waved back cheerily. ‘Harriet Lloyd-Ellis, Lloyd’s ex.’ She lives just a couple of miles away. We’ll be passing their place. I’ll point it out.’

  They had left the lanes and were travelling along the main road when Tilly pointed to a tree-flanked gateway.

  ‘It’s down there. The drive’s about half a mile long, and they have stables and quite a bit of land, or rather she does. It’s still hard to imagine that they’ve split up. They were always sniping at one another, but most of us would have taken odds that they’d stay together; they’d been married for twelve years. Their squabbles were part of life – I mean, we used to laugh at them; nobody took them seriously.’