Spiral of Hooves

by Roland Clarke

  “Well it’s your fault’ honey, you created this dressage fiend.”

  He still swept her up in his arms after her victory, until she forced herself free to add a steady double clear on the other youngster, Muninn, who might be ready to stake a better intermediate claim than his injured stablemate, Huginn.

  It was bliss to drive just a couple of miles home and settle the horses into the yard that she had done so much for.

  Sadly, too many of the horses had remained at Fenburgh or had been sold. This move was a new beginning, and Gilles had said that in time, Vecheech would buy more horses to compete and breed from. For now, there was a lot to do at Hazelmead, and although Gilles said Vecheech would expect them—meaning Armand—to do most of the restoration work, she made one crucial call. Sprawled on a sofa in the familiar bungalow after Armand cooked them a meal, she rang her father, who had done architectural designs for a building firm with expertise in equestrian properties.

  “It’s so good to be back, Dad, but there are repairs, and I was wondering if you had time...” He remembered exactly what its dilapidated state had been, so he had teased her about the hopelessness before giving in, “...okay, we really need a lot of help, but you’re the best. We can’t use the farmhouse as it is.”

  As Gilles’s antique clock struck one in the morning, she closed her eyes on the homecoming memories, feeling inspired again and ready for Hazelmead’s new dawn.

  *

  As he returned to the yard where Carly and Armand were starting the afternoon feed, she saw Gilles’s face was drained, so she moved to hold him. A kiss might stop the dreaded words.

  Too late.

  “I've just rung Canada... the Québec police. They’ve found Odette—her body. In the St. Lawrence, on a beach.”

  Carly shuddered and noticed Armand wince. They had little time to absorb the half-expected shock when Gilles continued.

  “They're doing a post-mortem, but initial thoughts are that a branch knocked her into the river, the blizzard you see...”

  Carly did a frantic map search in her head. “But your place is inland, so how?”

  “Our river feeds it, so possibly the body was trapped in the ice until the thaw—happens in Québec. Must have been carried downstream—fisherman found the body.”

  Armand was silent. His morose expression had returned and weighed upon his face. Carly could see tears forming.

  He asked, “The funeral, Gilles? When are they... burying her?”

  He turned away and picked up a tin of saddle soap. Carly joined in the pain displacement, finding a bridle that needed cleaning.

  “Not sure, probably immediately after the post-mortem. The Fédons will ring me. I'll have to go, since Papa won’t. He won't even ring the police...or the family.”

  Carly put her arms around Gilles, and then pulled in Armand; they needed each other through this.

  “Maudit, this should never have happened. Odette was...”

  “...so special,” said Armand, eyes closed and shaking his head.

  “Yes, totally. I must ring Lina before my father tells her—his way. I need to phone her anyway, about Wanda's foal going to Canada.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  The sun pouring into Hazelmead should have eased the despondency, but Lina's arrival had given fresh blood to the dejection.

  However, Carly was glad Lina planned to stay for a week, until after Badminton. It had lifted everyone's spirits, and the Latina was relaxing into the life that the farm offered. As Carly led her friend down to the water meadows, the pheasants called in the woods. Trees were awash with fresh green, white blossom dotted the hedges, and wild flowers were emerging in the pastures. Scudding clouds chasing shadows made Carly wonder whether it would be another evening with rain.

  At the bridge over the stream, they paused to watch the swirls. Carly remembered her mother and closed her eyes.

  “You can't hide it either, chica, even though you never knew her.”

  Carly let the misunderstanding go. She was after all upset about Odette as well. “I feel I knew her, through the way you all talk about her.”

  “Te Dios vayas bien,” said Lina and crossed herself. “Life will be better when she is buried.”

  True, although the emptiness would never leave, as with her mother. “It can’t be easy for you, not going. No closure. Loup seems torn up.”

  Leading the way for Lina and Muninn, the uninjured six-year-old, she rode Torc over the bridge and along the river.

  “Simple amiga, Armand has a swan tattoo on his right arm.”

  “Hang on, swan? Like Swan Lake? Isn’t the heroine...?”

  “Called Odette, yes. Poor Loup, I must be there for him. I’m worried. He has a nasty scar on his shoulder.”

  “Scar?”

  “Let’s just say I saw injuries like that... growing up—street violence. I think someone attacked Loup. He’s not strong, or wasn’t, so he must have lost.”

  “Over Odette? Why? Did he love her?”

  “Probably just a distant fantasy or the scar was from when he was younger. They have gang problems too, in France.”

  Carly was uneasy. Gilles would have reacted badly if his friend and his groom were having an affair. Or, had someone else having a relationship with Odette attacked Loup? Maybe that person had killed Odette? Lina was concentrating on her horse, so didn’t notice Carly’s anxiety.

  They rode onto a lane that crossed the stream, and then they turned left by a black barn down a cinder track. Carly shivered. Was she cold in the trees’ shadows, or in fear of what had happened? This was crazy; she was creating a conspiracy— murder. She felt as though she was losing her mind.

  But she remembered the scissors flying towards Roman’s back.

  *

  The trees shuddered, and their branches whipped the air. Snow tumbled as the blizzard tried to wipe everything out. Odette stood no chance. Helmet shattered, she laid lifeless on the ground, blood oozing into the snow cocoon that buried her.

  But there had been a flash from the farmhouse, and there was a shadowy figure in the swirling snow.

  Armand struggled out of the storm in his head, knowing it for what it was. A jumbled mass of memories fighting to bury the truth; two memories merged.

  My soulmate is dead. My cousin was murdered. And I saw someone: a murderer. My memories were locked like a mental safe. Trauma induced amnesia. I was warned by the doctors about the condition. I never thought it was possible, but now I have to unravel the tangle. I must stop running away. It’s time to confront the nightmares.

  He slipped off his bed trying not to wake Lina in the spare bedroom next door. Fortunately, the violence of his nightmare and his cries hadn’t woken her. She must have been exhausted by everything, including the stress at Fenburgh.

  Earlier, he had tried to convince her to end the unrecognised work, saying, “You should leave Fenburgh. Why remain there? The lab is nearly ready here. We need you at Hazelmead.”

  “Don't worry, Loup. I need to finish at the stud. I'll survive. I've lived through worse.”

  She hadn’t elaborated, and delving wasn’t the right move.

  He slipped down the corridor, past the main bedroom that Gilles had claimed, then into the kitchen where he retrieved his notebook diary from behind the food cupboard. He had to unravel the twisted strands to make sense of recent events, but without his guilt and pain overwhelming him again.

  He recorded his mental profile of his cousin’s assassin:

  (i) Adept at moving quickly and invisibly in the snow;

  (ii) Proficient with weapons—E.g. crossbow;

  (iii) Appraised of Odette’s movements;

  (iv) Knew where to strike so river would remove her body;

  (v) Access to area of murder;

  (vi) Although pre-meditated, didn't need to know the victim.

  With the profile, he analysed his suspects logically, listing their names, plus: (a) Possible motives; (b) Opportunity; (c) Profile comparison; and (d) Overall ev
aluation.

  ROMAN:

  (a) Motives: Open dislike of Odette—threat to dealings &/or GM trials

  (b) Opportunity: None—all day meeting with Gilles, BUT could have hired assassin

  (c) Profile: Military and hunting background; home patch; access to details of staff movements

  (d) Evaluation: Motive strong. Profile match 4/6

  The obvious suspect as far as Armand’s gut felt, but he had to follow this task through to its conclusion. Eliminate the outsiders, as far as he could—if there were any.

  GILLES:

  (a) Motives: Threat to his dealings and activities

  (b) Opportunity: None—all day meeting with Roman, BUT could have hired assassin

  (c) Profile: Hunting background and extreme sports/athletic including skiing. Home patch—knew Odette's movements

  (d) Evaluation: Motive medium/strong. Profile match 5/6

  Armand rubbed his neck, feeling the tension knotting up his muscles. He was ready to abandon his approach as it seemed flawed, especially if Gilles was more suspicious than Roman. There had to be others, so he added one of Roman’s associates.

  MICK:

  (a) Motives: Odette openly opposed to Vidarranj & GM

  (b) Opportunity: No evidence in Canada—except Vidarranj active there;

  (c) Profile: No evidence

  (d) Evaluation: No opportunity. Motive medium. Profile match 1/6

  If not Mick, then who had been in Canada? An unknown assailant, even one paid by Roman, or Gilles, could not be followed up—for now.

  A sigh from the nearby bedroom made him pause, and he closed his notebook.

  Standing up, he remembered waking after the blizzard. Lina had been searching for him and found him in the snow. He sat down and opened the notebook, then added another entry.

  LINA:

  (a) Motives: Possible jealousy of Odette's influence as head groom

  (b) Opportunity: Outside in blizzard around the time of the murder

  (c) Profile: Athletic & fit, including skiing. Knew location; knew movements

  (d) Evaluation: Motive poor. Profile match 4/6

  Armand stood up. Outside, the owls called, and he wondered if he had lied to achieve the results.

  The notes pointed to a hired killer, and he, or she, was still unidentified. There were still reasons to suspect everyone, even Mick, whose past relationship with Carly couldn’t be ignored. Although she held Odette’s post, a groom job was no motive. However, in France, she would be guilty until proven innocent.

  Passing over thoughts of Carly as suspect, Armand realised that there was another. One he wanted to ignore as it was the hardest to address, but he added the name:

  ARMAND:

  (a) Motives: None

  (b) Opportunity: Outside at time of the murder. Witnessed Odette’s murder

  Was he right? Was it her murder that had invaded his old nightmares? What was he covering up, burying in his trauma?

  (c) Profile: Trained to kill. Knew location, knew exactly where to find Odette and possibly when.

  If only I could remember more before the blizzard blasted my mind into confusion.

  (d) Evaluation: Motive none unless hired. If so, profile match 6/6

  He winced, realising he was the prime suspect, especially if the police found any incriminating evidence, now that the body was being examined. The word trained condemned him, even if that training had let him down when it mattered. He could so easily have killed Odette if he had been made to forget the family tie. Any motive was buried by his memory loss, which was a convenient alibi for a murderer—a hired killer who knew Gilles and Roman.

  Did they use me? How could they bury so much unless they doctored my mind? Guilty as charged until I can prove otherwise. I must expose the other suspects.

  Someone was capable of devising a means to kill without leaving a trace. Who could disguise murder to seem like misadventure? It could have been someone with technical or scientific skills, perhaps. Or, someone with access to weapon technology—like a high-spec crossbow.

  A shadowy figure stepped from the nightmares and into his head. Memories were trickling back. Odette’s killer in the snow was too real now. A custom-made crossbow bolt could be designed to knock a rider into an icy river, leaving traces that forensics could explain away as a tree bough tossed by a blizzard.

  A padding noise made him close the book.

  It was only Guinness coming for a drink. The flatcoat lapped, then came and rested his head on Armand’s lap. He stroked Guinness’s soft fur and relaxed again, until his focus slipped onto Carly. She didn't match the killer’s profile, but she fitted the victim’s: head groom, championed by Gilles, opposed to GM and hated by Roman.

  TWENTY-TWO

  “So, tell me again what we’re going to do here.” Carly stood in front of the lake fences. The dawn light glittered on the water and across the majesty of Badminton House behind. Crowds were already gathering to watch the crucial cross-country, some walking the course, others choosing the best vantage point for the action to come. Some riders, like Carly and Gilles, were putting the final resolve on their chosen strategy.

  Carly was gesturing at the substantial brush fence into the lake, knowing the crowds would be massed along the banks, some waiting for a faller in the water.

  Gilles pointed across to the narrow fence in the water and the bullfinch on the bank directly opposite.

  “Well, I intended to take that route, but the brush comes up a bit sharpish after the Mitsubishi Pickups. You know Drac’s a little bold.”

  “So, you’re considering taking the alternative. There’s a similar fence into the lake, then a wade through, followed by a bullfinch out. I don’t understand—almost identical fences, just a longer, more time-consuming route. It’s no easier.”

  “After failing to do Kentucky I need to go well. Twenty-eighth after the dressage, I can’t afford a mistake but...”

  “Your father wants you to be among the leading challengers. Does he expect you to ignore common sense today? Ridiculous. Most people will take a few alternatives, to reduce the risk of mistakes at the really tough fences. Not this one, though, where there are as many potential errors as on the short direct route.”

  “But I could make the Canadian squad if I do well by playing safe here, then go direct everywhere else, and make up time.”

  “That’s not you talking, that’s Roman’s pride. He doesn’t care about the means or the cost, just the result.”

  Gilles nodded, and Carly slipped her arm around him. “You know what’s best, not him. You must ignore him. Have faith in yourself and Drac—just don’t take any risks, anywhere, please, promise me.”

  “Same goes for you. Don't be reckless to prove a point either, trust Torc.”

  *

  The possibility of rain wasn’t putting anyone off, and already there was the promise of a Saturday in the sunshine. Families, gaggles of youngsters, and couples of all ages flowed alongside the course in an ever-growing stream of colours: reds, browns, greens, blues and even some neon beacons; an enthusiastic congregation drawn to the sport’s spring celebration. Variety was everywhere in footwear, headgear, dogs and even languages. Television cameras peered at the track in strategic places, expectantly waiting, while their still brethren roamed for the shot that would grace some wordsmith’s page or an internet blog.

  Gilles and Carly walked along the sacred track between the fences, watched by the fence judges and autograph hunters.

  Ahead lay the Village, a combination of house-like fences on the site of a medieval settlement, and the best route wasn’t obvious. Whichever way she went, she would have to use Torc’s energy, late in the course when the time would be crucial. Carly carefully walked the route she favoured: three jumping efforts all on the angle. She was satisfied with the lines that they had worked out together, fixing an object beyond each one as a marker.

  Then Gilles forced himself to walk the ‘father’ route: one less effort for Drac but one
of them was a wide ninety-degree corner. Crazy, as they had already agreed that they didn’t like it even though some of the top riders would take that route.

  “Come off it, stop confusing yourself. What do you feel is right for you and Drac?”

  She could sense him struggling for an answer as the doubts crept back into his head. As at other events, his mind would freeze up, and his stomach begin to churn—except this was too early.

  She held his face in her hands and kissed him. “If you can’t think clearly for yourself, how about for me? Remind me how I should ride it—but if I was on Drac.”

  He walked her through their route, pacing it out with her. He relaxed as the 'father' route vanished, exorcised forever, unless Roman interfered again.

  For the remaining fences their own conviction replaced confusion, and by the time they returned to the Start-Finish area, they had sealed their strategy for tackling the four and a quarter miles and thirty fences in a few hours’ time.

  TWENTY-THREE

  They all stood willing Gilles on but seeing only what the monitor showed, as it cut between the three riders tackling different parts of the course. This was frustrating, especially with one of the top British riders out on the course getting the attention.

  They had watched Gilles clearing the first fence, the Mitsubishi Starter where Armand took a photo. But from there, it was either the commentator or the screen following his steady progress—or neither.

  Carly was rigid with worry, and the pounding in her head was worse than any nightmare. Watching was hard, but she had to, whatever happened. The further round the course Gilles and Drac reached, the harder she found looking. Although they were halfway, some of the toughest fences were still to come.

  The wait was agonising with the cameras locked onto one of the top New Zealanders, jumping the final five fences and taking the lead on his best horse.

  The picture cut back as Gilles tackled the Farmyard, but, clearing the second corner, Drac stumbled on landing. Carly’s hand grabbed Armand’s for comfort and hung on, even after Gilles had recovered and headed on towards the next obstacle.