by Agatha Frost
“I used to ride here as a little girl,” Julia started, trying to summon as much of Sue as she could. “It’s changed a lot since, but I still remember it fondly. I adored it, you see, and I’ve wanted to throw myself back into it for years, but I never had the courage, so I thought I’d come and talk to you about possibly booking some lessons?”
“Oh, you’re one of those.” Florence rolled her eyes. “You don’t talk about horse riding, you do it. How you remember prancing around on a pony as a little girl will bear little resemblance to what it’s like learning to ride as an adult.”
“Yes, I understand that, but—”
“Josh!” she yelled down the row of stables. “Bring out Samson. He’s already tacked up and ready to go.”
Florence tilted her head and assessed Julia with a level of scrutiny that made Julia feel like her personal space was being invaded.
“You have quite a large head,” Florence stated. “Luke? Bring me a seven and a quarter hat. Actually, make that the seven and three-eighths.”
Before Julia knew what was happening, a large riding hat was being crammed on her head and fastened under her chin. It dropped forward, covering her eyes. She pushed it back to see that Vinnie had been wheeled away by a group of teenage girls, and a red step had been placed in front of her. Samson, as it turned out, was a black horse so large, Julia had to crane her neck to look up at him.
“I—I—I—”
“Isn’t he a beauty?” Florence slapped his neck as she kicked the step towards him. “Eighteen hands from foot to shoulder. That’s six foot in normal speak. More if you count his head.” Florence admired the horse for a moment before turning to Julia with a wicked grin. “Well, what are you waiting for? Climb on up. You said you wanted to get back into riding.”
Julia felt the colour drain from her face as she looked helplessly around the stable. All eyes were on her, and they all shared a similar grin that let her know she was taking part in a frequent ritual of public humiliation.
“No?” Florence said. “Are you sure?”
Julia gulped, and for a moment, she actually considered climbing atop the horse to prove some vague point. As though her inner child was screaming out, her bottom suddenly hurt, and she imagined how much more painful it would be to fall as a thirty-nine-year-old from a horse taller than any human she’d ever met.
“I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” Julia said, forcing the shake from her voice as she stepped away from the horse. “I—I—I just—”
“Relax, love.” Florence knocked on Julia’s hat. “I’m pulling your leg. It’s a little game we like to play around here to see how far people get. For a second, I actually thought you were going to do it. Even I need a stiff drink before braving this beast.”
The teenager who’d brought the horse led it back to its stable, and the hat and step disappeared as quickly as they’d appeared. Vinnie was returned to Julia with a carton of juice that one of the girls must have given him.
“You should have seen the look on your face.” Florence chuckled. “Picture perfect.”
“Yes, very funny.” Julia tried to laugh, but her nerves were too shaken.
“Listen, let’s stop the games.” Florence lowered her voice and turned serious for the first time. “I know why you’re here. I saw you at the bake-off when I gave Tony a taste of his own medicine. They warned me you might show up.”
“They?”
“The police.” Florence motioned for Julia to join her in the office. “Leave the baby. He’ll be looked after. Couldn’t find a better group of kids if you tried.”
Trusting her word, Julia left Vinnie with the girls, who seemed more than happy to fuss over him. Following Florence, Julia cast her gaze up the row of stables to the giant horse at the bottom who had extra high walls compared to the other horses. In the split-second before she looked away, she saw someone who looked strangely familiar walking out of one of the stables with a wheelbarrow.
“I could have sworn I just saw Tony’s wife.”
“Camila?” Florence replied as she shut the door behind Julia. “Yeah, she keeps her horse here, although I’m not sure for how much longer. She’s a month behind on livery. I’ll let her off this once because her husband just died, but I’m not running a charity.” Florence sat behind the tiny desk and motioned for Julia to sit across from her. The small office’s walls were made from exposed cinderblocks and were covered in years of cobwebs mixed with dust and hay. An overwhelming number of tatty and well-used hats lined one of the walls on shelves that looked ready to snap under the sheer weight of them. The desk was just as dusty, with an open book for lessons sat on top a mountain of paperwork.
“Help yourself to mints.” Florence motioned to the stacks of boxes behind Julia’s chair. “They’re a couple of months out of date, but we get them cheap because the horses love them.”
Julia declined the offer, but Florence reached past her and grabbed a tube. She peeled back the foil and popped the circular discs into her mouth one by one.
“So, does this mean I’m a suspect in your little mystery?” Florence said while crunching the mints. “How exciting! I don’t make my way into the village all that often. I’m much more suited out here. I get my shopping delivered, and I have all the company I’ll ever want. This place is full morning till night. I suppose you want to know why I threw coffee in the beloved Tony Bridges’ face?”
“I would.”
“I hope you haven’t lost any sleep over it.” Florence finished the packet of mints and tossed the wrapper into an overflowing bin. “I didn’t kill him, but you don’t think that, do you? You would have been here sooner if you actually thought I’d killed him. I wish I had. Peanut oil in the cake? Genius! It’s a good job I love my horses too much, or I would have done much worse to that awful man.”
“The coffee?”
“He killed one of my horses,” Florence said bluntly. “Turned up to collect Camila three weeks ago, and he reversed right into Rocky. A beautiful chestnut Shetland. Broke two of his legs, and—you know what we do to horses with broken legs?”
Julia nodded, gulping hard.
“Then I won’t go into the gory details.” Florence cleared her throat, and she seemed to be holding back tears. “Reversing into Rocky? I could almost forgive that. I won’t pretend like this is the most organised operation in the land. There’s always kids and horses cluttering the place, and accidents do happen.” Florence’s jaw gritted tightly. “Tony driving off like nothing had happened? Again, I could almost forgive that. He was driving a big Range Rover. Maybe he didn’t realise what he’d done? What decent human being would hit a horse and then knowingly leave without trying to see what happened?”
“No one would do that.”
“Exactly. As you probably found out for yourself, Tony Bridges was the furthest thing from a decent man. I listened to his radio show here and there. I never developed much of an opinion on him, but I didn’t dislike him. Then, Camila moved her horse here, and though Tony would come to pick her up, he never got out to talk to anyone. I never held it against him. I thought it might have been nice for him to say hello to the kids, being a local celebrity, but I wasn’t in denial. These places aren’t for everyone. The smell alone is enough to make you run.”
“You get used to it.”
“Don’t lie.” Florence half-smiled. “Horses stink. I love them, but they do. I’ve always loved horses more than people, but that doesn’t mean I hate people, I just find horses uncomplicated in comparison. I can honestly say I didn’t hate anyone until I chased that man’s Range Rover to the top of the lane. Again, I thought maybe he couldn’t see me, or maybe he had the radio turned on so he couldn’t hear me shouting after him. When his eyes met mine in the side mirror, I realised he was ignoring me on purpose, and knew very well what he’d done. Can you guess what he did next?”
“Got out and apologised?”
“He sped up.” Florence leaned forward across the table, her eyes inche
s from Julia’s. “That man looked me in the eye, knowing he’d just killed one of my horses, and he sped up. If that’s not pure evil, I don’t know what is.” The red mist faded. “I didn’t stop running until he had to stop for a tractor up near the farm. The man wouldn’t even roll down his window for me. Camila, bless her, realised what I was screaming about, and she got out, but Tony sped off the second the tractor moved. The only reason Camila is still on this yard right now is because she walked me back here, holding me together. I couldn’t see through the tears. She was the last person to leave that night. I will never understand why she was married to that man.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“There’s nothing to say.” Florence sighed. “After the shock wore off, I got my lawyers involved. Camila kept apologising on his behalf, but it wasn’t enough. I couldn’t undo what he did, but I could certainly rinse him for every penny. And then the idiot had to go and die, which I suppose is better revenge.” She stood and consulted the book again. “I’m already five minutes late for my teens’ group lesson, and teenagers aren’t known for their patience. I hope I’ve helped in some way.”
“You have,” Julia said. “At least I know you didn’t do it.”
“You believe me?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
Florence smiled as she opened the door for Julia.
“I like you, lady.” Florence shook Julia’s hand as she walked out. “If you actually want to get back into riding, you know where we are.”
Florence headed back to the school where the next group were already waiting on their horses. Julia retrieved Vinnie and thanked the girls for looking after him. Before she left, she circled the entire riding centre, making sure to check every stable, but Camila was nowhere to be seen. Julia wondered if she was hiding, or if she had been on her way home when Julia saw her. Either way, she had missed an opportunity to speak with the elusive widow.
As Julia walked back up the steep lane, she cast her mind to one man who had probably spoken to Camila on more than one occasion. She pulled her phone from her bag and scrolled to one of her least-used contacts.
“Hello, it’s Julia. I wanted to talk to you about the case. Can we meet? The Plough at five? I’ll see you there.”
Chapter Thirteen
With Vinnie back at the cottage with Barker, Julia indulged in a glass of white wine while she waited for DI John Christie to show his face at The Plough. She hadn’t expected him to be early, but when he arrived forty minutes late, she had almost given up on him.
“Do you mind if I get a pint?” he asked when he arrived, with no apology or explanation for his lateness. “I need it. Do you want a refill?”
Julia nodded as she drained her glass. She hadn’t intended on drinking more than one, but if a little alcohol loosened Christie’s tongue, she didn’t mind joining in. When he returned with their drinks, he planted himself in the seat opposite her and pulled off his tie; he looked drained.
“Rough day?” she asked after sipping her wine.
“You could say that.” Christie gulped down a quarter of his pint and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “On top of getting nowhere with the Bridges’ case, a car was stolen from a guest staying at the B&B. Guess where it turned up on fire?”
“Fern Moore?”
“Bingo.” Christie chuckled darkly. “It was burning in the middle of the place, and no one called the police. They’re all too used to looking the other way. Can you imagine that happening in the village? The station phone would be ringing before they’d finished dousing the thing in petrol.”
“Any idea who took it?”
“Wouldn’t be surprised if it was the same lads who mugged you.” Christie took another sip of beer. “If you’ve asked me here about that, I’m afraid I don’t have anything for you. Bus company claims their cameras weren’t working that day, and they don’t know who was driving the bus because the systems were somehow wiped. I think they’re trying to protect the driver.”
“Why?”
“Because I checked the timetable, and it wasn’t the end of the line.” Christie unbuttoned his collar and sighed heavily. “He kicked you off because he couldn’t be bothered driving you to the next stop ten minutes down the road. If they give him up, he could be liable for what happened to you.”
Julia sipped her wine, unsure what to think about the driver who had thrown her off the bus. He hadn’t seemed like the friendliest man, but he wasn’t to blame for what had happened to her. What’s to say she wouldn’t have driven herself to Fern Moore after reading Johnny’s text?
“Don’t go looking for him,” Julia said. “It’s not his fault. What about the kids who actually did it?”
“Oh, I know who they all are.” Christie leaned into his chair and rested his hands behind his head, showing the sweat stains under his arms. “Figured that out within the day. I have a few informants over there who are willing to squeal to protect themselves. The problem is, I can’t prove anything. Unless they’re caught red-handed trying to get rid of the jewellery they stole, there’s nothing I can do. They had their faces covered, you won’t be able to identify them confidently, and they’ll all lie through their teeth claiming to be each other’s alibis. Nothing would stand up in court, and they know that. Why do you think they do it in the first place? The estate should be bulldozed to the ground, with or without those scumbags inside.”
“They’re still human beings, Christie.”
“Hardly!”
“They’re kids who haven’t had the best upbringing. They could still turn their lives around.”
“And do you think they’re going to?” Christie glared at Julia. “Even with all the will in the world, people like that won’t change because they don’t want to. Crime pays, Julia, especially when you can get away with it. The odd few might get out, but most of the people who are born there never leave, and if they do, it’s usually to spend some time behind bars, which sounds like a holiday compared to living there. I can’t believe you’d even defend that place after what they did to you.”
Julia silently sipped her wine, not wanting to cause a full-blown row with DI Christie. Despite how some residents of the estate acted, she knew they weren’t all lost causes. People like Oliver and Addie proved that. She suspected that, at the end of the day, a lot of the people behind those flat doors were decent; their reputations tarnished by a vocal few. No matter what Christie thought, she hadn’t invited him there to talk about her mugging, and she didn’t want him to storm out.
“I guess there’s been no sign of my rings or the locket?”
“Not a peep.” He gave her a sympathetic smile. “When I say I’m trying to find them, I really mean it. I know how much that pearl ring means to you. Even if I can’t lock those kids up, I promise I won’t stop looking for your jewellery.”
Julia was touched by Christie’s determination. She hadn’t expected his edges to soften towards her, but if that was the one thing to come out of the mugging, she would take it. She waited until he had drained his first pint and ordered a second before getting to what she really wanted to talk about.
“Still think Bev killed Tony?” she asked, running her finger around the rim of her glass.
“Don’t you?”
“I have my doubts.”
“Why?” Christie wiped beer foam from his top lip. “She was caught red-handed.”
“And yet she’s not been charged.”
“Because the woman is sneaky!” Christie stamped his finger on the table. “She’s calling our bluff. She poisoned that cake knowing it would look like a set-up, and that she’d come out looking the victim.”
“What if she is?”
“I don’t trust her face.” Christie pushed the tip of his nose up. “If you know what I mean.”
“That’s just cruel!” Julia tossed a beer mat at him. “She seems all right to me. I’ve had two conversations with her, and she doesn’t strike me as the murderous type.”
“Oh
, and she must be innocent because Julia South thinks so?”
“Julia South-Brown,” Julia corrected him. “Married, remember?”
“Then where’s the ring to prove it?” Christie tossed back the beer mat with a deep belly laugh. “Oh, Julia. Barker is lucky to have you.”
Julia was taken about by his sudden playful side—something she had never seen. She hid her face behind her wine glass after taking a deep drink.
“Why’s that?”
“Because you care,” Christie cried. “And not just about Barker. You care about anything and everything. Do you know what my wife cares about?” Christie waited for Julia to respond. She simply shrugged. “Me neither! She sits in front of that telly all day, eating crisps and watching shows about housewives from all over America. She doesn’t even look at me when I come home.”
“I’m sure she cares.”
“You think?” Christie tossed back more beer. “We don’t even sleep in the same room. I’ve been in the guest bedroom since Christmas.” He paused. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”
Julia didn’t either. She was more than a little shocked that the DI was being so open with her. She put it down to the beer, but he hadn’t drunk enough for him to start spilling his deepest secrets without realising what he was saying.
“Christie, I—”
“Ignore me.” He sat up straight and cleared his throat. “It’s just been a long day. I haven’t slept properly in days. Weeks, even. If it’s not one thing keeping me up, it’s another.”
“Do you not have anyone to talk to?”
His eyes met hers, and for a moment, she thought he was going to put up a wall so high she’d never be able to ask about the case, but he shook his head, and his posture relaxed.
“Barker’s my only real friend,” Christie admitted. “And how do you talk about this stuff to other men? The boys at the station are fine, but I’m their superior. It’s not the same as when I was under Barker.”