`Don't give Vanessa too hard a time, Rich,' he said before he went. Ònce you walk her down the aisle I'm sure she'll be as good as gold.' He was still chuckling as he got into his car when his good humour was punctured by a sudden thought. Marie. He knew who she was now. Marie Kirkstall, the little sister of the boy on the horse. Was Jamie discussing his `dreams'
with her too?
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Malcolm didn't like it. A talk with his brother-in-law was long overdue.
He needed to find out exactly what was going on in his head. Then, if necessary, he could deal with him -just like he'd dealt with the others.
He hardly noticed the road as he drove home, he was thinking so hard.
Memory was a funny thing all right.
Marie found herself babbling, trying to explain to Jamie that she needed a word with him, and because she knew he wouldn't be at Ros's the next morning she'd cycled up here now and she was sorry but it wouldn't wait.
She knew she was sounding foolish but nerves kept her talking.
A dog appeared out of nowhere and saved the situation. A big soppy red setter bounded down the hall and flung itself into her arms as if she were its dearest friend and, at that moment, she was.
`Get down, Matilda,' shouted Jamie and dragged the animal off her. Ì
don't mind,' said Marie. Ì think she's absolutely lovely.'
The pair of them fussed over a squirming Matilda who was licking fingers and faces in an ecstasy of delight.
A dark-haired woman appeared in a doorway to what was probably the sitting room. `What's going on?'
Jamie introduced his sister though there was no need. Marie knew who she was, just as Pippa had known her. They'd sat close to each other in the public gallery of Leeds Crown Court on the day of Jamie's sentencing trial. Marie had felt sorry for her and she'd guessed the feeling was mutual.
They'd never spoken till now.
`You obviously like dogs.'
Òh yes. We used to have a red setter.' And they'd had to find the dog another home after Dad's breathing problems got bad - but she didn't want to talk about that.
`Why don't you both take her for a walk? She's always game for an outing.'
That was clever of Jamie's sister and Marie was grateful to her. It got over the awkwardness of her unexpected arrival and would give her a chance to talk to Jamie in private.
`What's so urgent then?' said Jamie as they walked up the path that led to the foot of the moor. Though the sun had long since set the light lingered longer up here.
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Ì've got some questions about the accident.' Ì'm sorry but I still don't remember any more.'
`You remember your injuries though, don't you? Like - which arm did you break?'
`My left.'
Ànd what about your ribs - which side was hurt?'
`The left. I was pretty smashed up all down that side of my body.'
Matilda bounded up out of the dusk, just to make sure they were following, then scampered off again.
`How come you want to know about my injuries?' he asked.
Ì saw your medical notes today at the surgery. Honestly, I didn't go looking for them. They turned up by chance.'
`So why are you asking me then?'
'I need to check - you don't mind, do you?'
There was a pause. She couldn't read his expression. `You can ask me whatever you want, Marie.'
ÒK, then. Your car, was it a regular right-hand-drive model?' `Sure. Are you going to tell me what this is all about?'
It was about time she came clean.
Ì'm very puzzled, Jamie. I know about the accident. I read the reports and the police explained it to us. Your car came up behind my brother on Misty, knocked them both off the road, crashed through the stone wall on the bend and finished up in some trees. I saw photos of it afterwards. It was a burnt-out wreck but you could see that the left side was all crumpled and bashed in. Two people got out of it with hardly a scratch but they carted you off to hospital in bits.'
They could hear Matilda woofing in the distance, probably after a rabbit or some other creature she'd never catch.
`What's your point, Marie?'
`My point is that the car was damaged on the left-hand side and so were you. The passenger side.'
He stopped in his tracks.
`Jamie, are you sure you were driving?'
Jamie slept badly that night. He often did before a race but this wasn't race nerves. Marie's visit had put him in a spin. He couldn't understand why she 272
was trying to get him off the hook. He'd never tried to make excuses for what he'd done, so why should she?
He'd explained that in car crashes the weirdest things happened. He'd read about it. The forces were so immense, the twists and turns of an out-of-control vehicle so unpredictable that no logical conclusions could be drawn about his injuries. For all he knew, the car could have been travelling upside down.
But she'd remained sceptical and now so was he. Just imagine if he hadn't been driving, after all ...
The hedgerow Washed by on his nearside, the leaves and grass stems in the verge ghostly in the headlights. Jesus, this was quick.
There was laughter and shouting in the confined space, his own whoops mingled with the others.
`Fantastic!’ yelled a voice at his side. `She goes like a bomb.' `Slow down, you bloody idiot,' cried another from behind.
Out of the window a big familiar shape. A horse and rider. A dappled grey coat and a riding boot so close it almost kicked in the glass. And a thump and a rumble beneath the wheels and the higgledy-piggledy stones of a moorland wall closing in.
An explosion of light in his head. Then darkness.
Jane spread her notes about the Bonfire Night Murders across the kitchen table. There was a new addition to the file - a sheaf of A4 that shed discovered that morning on the floor outside her room. Robbie really was the most disobedient boy. She'd told him not to look up the Hutchison drink-drive case on the internet but he'd gone ahead anyway.
It was hard to be angry with him, however. He'd saved her a task and she had something to read while she waited for the hands of the clock to creep round to nine - the time when she could put in her first call to Harrogate CID. She was determined to talk to Colin Stewart as soon as possible.
She ate a banana and some grapes as she read. Robbie had pulled off local newspaper reports which, to begin with, focused on the lad who had been 273
killed and the grief of his family. It was sad and sober reading. Imagine what it would be like to lose Robbie. She put the thought out of her head -
she couldn't get emotionally involved in this. It was hard though not to feel that this drunken dare-devil jockey had got off lightly. If it had been her son, she'd have wanted him incarcerated for life. At least he'd had the sense to plead guilty and spare the family the ordeal of a full-length trial.
The court appearance was for sentencing only and had lasted just one day.
Nine o'clock had come and gone by the time she picked up the phone. It was answered after one ring - thank God for that.
Jane was prepared for a fight for information, since the officers of North Yorkshire weren't always entirely cooperative with their Lancashire counterparts. The reputation of some of the old-school detectives was that women like Jane were only welcome in the CID room if they wore stockings and took charge of the kettle.
DC Stewart, however, was obviously not of the old school. What's more, he sounded almost as young as Robbie.
`Sorry I didn't get back to you yesterday, ma'am, but I was a bit tied up.'
Ma'am? She suddenly felt about sixty. She explained her interest in the death of Beverley Harris and he ran through the facts for her without further preamble.
The woman's body had been discovered late in the afternoon by her employer, Barney Beaufort, who had called the police. The uniformed officers who had first attended had summoned CID and so Stewart had attended the crime scene - if that was what it was. The death had been reported to the coroner who hadn't yet registered it as enquiries were still in progress.
`She was lying on her back in the bath,' Stewart told her, ànd she'd obviously been in the water some while. It's a bit difficult to pinpoint the time of death because the heat of the bathwater would have affected the body temperature. But the likelihood is that she'd been in the bath since the night before. The lights were on in the bathroom and in the rest of the house.
`There was an empty champagne bottle by the side of the bath and the pathologist says there was plenty of alcohol in her system, plus some anti-depressant drug. He says there were no bruises on the body or other signs 274
of violence. No evidence of sexual activity. The bathroom was well ordered - the floor was dry, a bathmat was laid out and there was a clean towel hanging on the radiator. She had a cupboard stuffed with medicines, all sorts of over-the-counter painkillers and some prescription drugs called Fluoxetine.'
Ìs that the anti-depressant?'
`Yes. Her doctor said she'd been on them for about a year. She was a bit of a high-flyer at work but the job stressed her out. The doc said she'd never been suicidal though.'
`So what do you think?'
The detective paused, probably to gather his thoughts. `My first impression- given that there was no sign of a third-party presence, no forced entry or anything like that- was that she got drunk on champagne which reacted with her medication. The bath was too hot and she fainted and drowned. I checked it out with people who supervise hot spas. They have to be careful that people don't collapse when the water temperature gets too high. It would be a funny way to deliberately kill yourself. She could have taken some of her pills if she wanted to do that.
There was no note and no indication from her colleagues that she was that way inclined. Apart from the anti-depressants, of course.'
`You think it was an accident?'
Another pause. Ì said that was my first impression. Then we got a phone call from a woman who said she couldn't prove it but she knew Beverley had been murdered and we ought to talk to Malcolm Priest. This got passed on to me but I hadn't got round to checking it out before she came on again. This time she gave her name - Karen Robinson. She worked as Beverley's assistant at Beaufort Holidays. I've now got a statement from her and she didn't hold back. Gave me all sorts of stuff about Beverley's love-life. Seems she was sleeping with Barney Beaufort himself, which explains why he had a key to Beverley's cottage. But she'd also been knocking off this Malcolm Priest. He's a bloodstock agent who'd acquired a horse for the company.'
Ì know who Malcolm is. He's the one I'm interested in.'
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Òh yes?' Stewart sounded interested himself. Ì'm going to pay him a visit shortly. According to Karen, he's a cross between Fred West and Ted Bundy.'
Jane chuckled. Colin Stewart was obviously a student of serious crime. A man after her own heart. `What did she say?'
`Plenty, but it's all based on her personal animosity to this Malcolm. He's rubbed her up the wrong way and no mistake. It seems he was smitten with Beverley and when she gave him the boot he wouldn't take no for an answer. He was on the phone to the office all day and Karen was left to field the calls. I got the impression he took it out on her and now she's getting her own back. I'll talk to him, but frankly, there's no evidence that she was murdered.'
Maybe not, Jane thought, but something else had just occurred to her.
,Colin, you just mentioned Ted Bundy. Before you talk to Malcolm Priest, can I give you another name?'
'Of course.'
`George Joseph Smith. Go and look him up.' `May I ask why, ma'am?'
She wished he'd stop doing that.
`Certainly,' she replied. `He's also known as the Brides in the Bath murderer.'
Gates of Eden was running in the second race on the card so Pippa insisted on an early start. She'd not run the horse before and she was keen to make sure he was well settled in unfamiliar surroundings. From reading his record, he'd never experienced the undulating delights of Carlisle as a Flat runner and now here he was in his first race as a hurdler. She wanted to make sure he was as comfortable as possible.
But as the Land Rover growled across country, her real concern was her travelling companions. As ever, Malcolm was making his own way, with a stop at his office en route, and she was travelling with Jamie and Dave.
Jamie grinned at her reassuringly every time she turned to glance at him in the rear seat but she knew he was only putting on a cheerful face for her benefit. That fall at Wetherby had knocked the stuffing out of him and she was worried he was coming back too soon. She'd tried to get him to postpone his return but he'd been insistent.
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Ì'm fine, Pippa. The headaches have cleared up and I've got a clean bill of health. I'm really looking forward to getting back on Gates.' That might well be true, she thought, but she could tell there were other things on his mind. That visit from Marie Kirkstall, for instance - what was that all about? She'd tried to ask him after the girl had gone last night but he'd not wanted to talk about it.
Ì met her up at Ros's,' was all he said.
`But what did she want? Why would she come up here to see you?' He'd given her an anguished look. Ì can't tell you now, Pippa. I need to think.'
And he'd gone straight off to bed.
Dave was also giving her cause for concern. He drove silently, concentrating on the road ahead. Usually he made a lot of noise, entertaining her with a stream of stories and irreverent comments. It was unlike him to be silent and out of sorts. But then, what did she know about him really? They'd worked together for just a few weeks. He was entitled to have an off-day like anyone else. Except, now she thought about it, this was more like an off-week. He'd not been himself for a while. Maybe he was worried about the race. This was the first time a horse he'd worked with had come under orders.
`Cheer up, Dave. It won't be your fault if Gates of Eden nose-dives at the first.'
`Thanks,' he said.