peered into the space at the top. Sufficient daylight penetrated up there for her to see that all evidence of anyone having slept there had been removed. The boards were bare, again swept unnaturally clean.
No surprise, really. The information available to the forensic police from a sleeping bag and other bedding must be invaluable. Maybe they had even found some DNA trace from Donal. Although Lucinda had denied he ever slept up there, from what she’d heard of the man, Jude reckoned he was quite capable of creeping in after dark when he needed a bed. Maybe the evidence that he had been up there was what prompted the police to take him in for questioning.
As she lowered herself heavily down the ladder, Jude again tried to visualise what had happened. Walter Fleet standing in the doorway. No light except for the diluted moon and what spilled from upstairs. If the intruder was up there, Walter might just about have been able to see him. Or her. Or to hear him. Or her. Whether or not the intruder had plans to commit burglary or some other crime, he was still a trespasser and had no right to be there.
Some kind of conversational altercation must presumably have taken place. Jude thought it unlikely that Walter had actually climbed up the ladder before finding his murderer. Made more sense that the murderer had come down to his level, with a view to escape. But Walter was barring the doorway. So the murderer must have picked up the bot knife from the bench and attacked the man who stood in the way of his freedom. Walter would have staggered back from the first onslaught, which would tie in with where the blood spots in the yard had started. The murderer continued, slashing away at his victim in a frenzy, until Walter Fleet fell backwards, dead. And then the murderer had rushed away from the scene through the wooden gate at the far side of the stable yard. Only moments before Jude had entered through the main gates.
That was the bit that was so frustrating. To think that she’d been literally seconds away from seeing the perpetrator of Walter Fleet’s murder.
13
“You look thoughtful.” Jude hadn’t noticed Lucinda’s approach until she stood in the doorway.
“Yes, I’m sorry. A bit distracted. I’m afraid it’s because…” She let the words trickle away. Probably not the right moment to raise the matter.
Lucinda Fleet had no such inhibitions. “You’re thinking about the night Walter died.”
“Well, I-”
“Don’t feel embarrassed about it. That’s all everyone who comes here thinks about. And for you…well, since you found the body, it must be impossible for you not to think about what happened.”
“I can’t deny it. But how are you coping?”
Lucinda shrugged. “I’m coping, getting on with what has to be done here. As you probably know-since everyone in West Sussex seems to know-Walter and my marriage was not the happiest since records began. Once I’ve got over the shock, I think I’ll be quite relieved. Oh, and once the funeral’s happened. Hopefully that’ll kind of put a lid on things.”
“When is the funeral?”
“I wish I knew. The police haven’t released Walter’s body yet.”
“That must be awful for you.”
“Not the best fun I’ve ever had, no. God, what it’d be like for someone who actually loved their dead spouse, I can’t imagine.”
“So the police are still doing forensic tests on…on the body, are they?”
“I assume so. I’m afraid I’m not the first person with whom they share information.”
Join the club, thought Jude. “But presumably there’s no doubt about how he was killed?”
“What on earth do you mean? You saw his body-slashed to pieces with that bot knife.”
“Yes, but sometimes…a murderer might have killed someone by another method, and then slashed the body to disguise how he’d really died.”
Lucinda Fleet cocked a wry eyebrow at Jude. “Big reader of crime fiction, are you?”
“Sorry. Just an idea. It’s inevitable, when something like that happens, everyone comes up with pet theories about it. A lot of local gossip.”
Lucinda raised her eyes to heaven. “Tell me about it. Well, congratulations on coming up with a theory I haven’t heard before-and I’ve heard a good few of them. No, the bot knife is definitely what killed him. The police questioned me quite a bit about Walter’s health, physical state, what have you. And left me in no doubt that it was the attack with the bot knife-wielded by some unknown assailant-that did him in.”
“Right,” said Jude thoughtfully. “And I don’t suppose you have any idea who that assailant might have been?”
The shoulders under Lucinda Fleet’s faded body warmer were raised in a nonchalant shrug. “Not a clue. I would assume some vagrant who was dossing down in here.”
“But not Donal?”
“No, very definitely not Donal. And thank God the police have realised that too. You heard they released him?”
“Yes. So…you were saying?”
“Yes, well, I assume this vagrant-probably a drug addict hoping to find something here worth stealing- anyway, Walter must have disturbed him and…I don’t know. Whoever it was, though, he may have done me a favour. Soon maybe I’ll be able to reclaim what’s left of my life.”
“Once you get the funeral out of the way.”
“Yes. That, as I said, will be a great relief to me. Not least because it is the last time I will ever have to see any of Walter’s ghastly relatives.”
“You don’t have any children, do you?”
“No.” Lucinda might have been about to say more on the subject, but decided against it.
“And…this is sheer nosiness, Lucinda, but since you know everyone in the area’s coming up with their own theories about Walter’s death…”
“Yes?” she asked patiently.
“Was Walter well heeled? Did he leave a lot of money?”
Lucinda Fleet let out a harsh laugh, and gestured around the yard. “What do you think? Neither of us had any secret stash of cash, I’m afraid. Everything we had we put into this place, which, as you can see, is in fairly desperate need of maintenance. And would have had that maintenance years ago, if we’d had any money to do it with.”
“Yes. I understand.”
“Anyway, perhaps we should go and have a look at Chieftain.”
The two horses who’d been tethered during the mucking out were now safely back in their stalls. Lucinda led the way across to a half-open loose box, over which a neat brass plate proclaimed the name “Chieftain.” Hearing their approach, the owner came forward and poked his head out to see what was going on.
“You know a lot about horses, don’t you?” Jude asked.
“If I don’t now, I never will.”
“And what’s your view on healers working with horses? Are you in the sceptical camp?”
“Certainly not. I’ve seen it work too often to be sceptical. No, I’ve come across quite a few horse healers in my time, and they can certainly do the business.” Lucinda slid across the outside bolt of the loose box. “Come on, Chieftain boy. You come out and let Jude make you better.”
As soon as she addressed the horse, Lucinda Fleet was transformed. The brusque, even harsh, exterior she presented to her fellow humans was replaced by a sudden empathy, not a sentimental approach as to a pet, but a deep and strong understanding of how horses ticked.
Chieftain, clattering out into the yard, was clearly used to Lucinda’s hand on his halter, but he eyed Jude warily, as if he recognised her but couldn’t place where they’d met. She was once again struck by the enormous bulk of the horse, and the amount of potential for damage in that strong sleek body.
Lucinda led the gelding across to the rail where the other two horses had been tethered, but she kept hold
